I slept in a bed, narrowly avoiding the kitchen floor. Danny slept on the settee underneath his sleeping bag, comfortable and fully dressed.

The beds hadn’t been made, you needed a doctorate in physics to understand the heating and lighting, and the water was cold. But it was ok. A place to sleep in relative comfort.

We were able to cook some of the remaining Go Outdoors sausage and baked beans pack and some pasta to supplement it. A half decent breakfast.

Today was the last putsch and I had every intention of thumbing a lift and letting Danny off the leash so that he could speed ahead and bring the car back to pick me up if my hitchhiking endeavours were fruitless. My cold was still wotten and wubbish and we needed to be back in Bourg St Maurice before 17.00. I have rarely been so defeatist.

We started walking and for the first time it was cloudy and likely to rain.

The Italian cloud may have won the War of the Weathers.

The longer I walked the less I wanted to stop. I’ve been following Danny Poos day after day and it may be painful but it feels good to be in the fresh air climbing mountains. Today was a high climb followed by a long descent. Even with heavy cloud the views were fantastic.

The path wound up the mountain and disappeared over its shoulder. As it did so it narrowed, to the extent that I didn’t fancy following it. Instead I climbed up the mountain to the road and walked along the tarmac until the path joined up to it in less than 200 metres.

Danny appeared up the path and looked a bit spooked. The path had almost disappeared, with a drop down to a torrential stream. It had been replaced by chains in the rock face which he had held on to as he climbed along the route of the path.

Glad I missed it. This is the chained rock face. No wonder he looked spooked! The path is much narrower than it looks and the angle is horrible.

After that the track was straightforward. It wasn’t too steep and it wasn’t too narrow. It didn’t have a massive drop at the side and it didn’t need chains to traverse it. Perfect!

After four hours’ climb we made the top. And it started to rain to welcome us to the other side, almost completely hiding the Chapelle Notre Dame de Toute Prudence.

The road dropped down towards Val d’Isere, taking long, sweeping hairpin bends. Our track ran straight downhill, occasionally cutting through the road. It ran through fabulous autumnal undergrowth. Just fantastic.

And here we were. Well on our way to Val d’Isere, which nestled down below us.

We legged it and arrived at the car, which Danny had left in a free car park, ten minutes before our deadline. It meant that we could stop at a pub on the way back to Bourg St Maurice and rattle down a quickie. In the event we stopped at two pubs and drank slowly. Thinking about a great Alpine trek.

Stopping at a supermarket we raided the seafood counter, and back at Dan’s house we drank wonderful wine from his collection and had a dozen oysters, some giant prawns and moules marinieres, which is now one of my signature dishes. A fitting end to a brilliant adventure.

Night night.

We woke reasonably refreshed, although my cold will not go away. I might sleep on the floor in the kitchen when I get home. I could put the microwave and kettle on the floor with me and a little camping stove. I could stay under my sleeping bag all day and cook meals for me and our lass. We could live in the kitchen and rent out the rest of the house as an HMO. Get young professionals in who would eat takeaways and wash their pots in the bath.

Sorted. Our route to an effluent retirement. Didn’t you mean affluent Dave? No!

We didn’t break fast as the route today dropped quite dramatically down to the valley floor, and passed through the village of Bessans, known for a brief mythical dalliance with the Devil. Well guys, Beelzebub and Asteroth are coming back to town for a bottomless brunch. Hooraaaay!!!

It was yet another beautiful day, and the cloud invader from Italy was still being held at bay.

Looking down the track we had come along last night the view was spectacular with dramatic clouds and sunlit, glacier dotted mountains.

We followed this track in the opposite direction, which was on the level for just 200 metres to the Chapel Saint-Antoine.

Here it started to descend, and we went with it. How pleasant it is. Aware that it was our penultimate parade I felt a twinge of sadness, but the fluid in my lungs and the aching in my bones would soon be exorcised when I finished this exercise. Boom boom.

When Danny was around nine months old I clearly remember walking along Weston Super Mare beach with him on my shoulders. I was singing to him “In a little Spanish town, t’was on a night like this, boom boom, boom boom boom boom.” With each boom I kicked out one of his feet. Poor little bugger must have been petrified.

The drop was long and quite steep in places, and the haze in the valley was ever present everywhere, and it’s ever present everywhere, that warm haze. Thanks Ivan.

This was a truly delightful day.

Towards the bottom of the valley we came upon a via ferrata, where climbing aids like cleats and chains were fixed into the rock face. We won’t be needing those thank you very much. Some poor climber had left his climbing shoes. Or maybe Satan had disappeared him. Ooooooh!

Or her. Could be a lady climber. I don’t like it when people say lady driver or lady this and that. What’s wrong with ‘woman’? Let’s call a spade a spade for goodness sake. I’m going to the bathroom. Why? Are you having a bath? No. You’re going for a piss and you go to the toilet for a piss, not the bathroom. Kids stop pissing in the bath when they’re four or five. Or twenty three in my case when I was still worried about the nature of infinity.

Down in the valley the trees were adopting an autumnal hue.

We were home and dry for today. We were only going to climb up 600 feet from here, at a shallow incline, walking another 16 kms or so. Easy.

Nevertheless it was still a decent schlep. Another little shrine along the route.

Walking along the valley floor was fine but we were parallel to, and not far from, the road so it was not the remote track we had walked, scrambled and climbed for the last 8 days.

Nevertheless we made it up to Bessans by 11am and found a decent place for a hot chocolate. And after relaxing outside the cafe we decided that a bottomless brunch was due to us here.

I’m only saying ‘bottomless brunch’ for cheap laughs. We had no intention of taking off our kecks and sitting on the raffia chairs at the side of a street. Firstly, there was a chilly wind and that would play havoc with our undercarriage. Secondly, the raffia would leave indelible lines on our butt-tocks. Thanks Forrest.

We had a great brunch. I can’t remember what Danny had. Some dish which was very local to Bessans and he loved it. And I had a burger with the local blue cheese sauce. Lovely.

We were concerned that we hadn’t been able to find anywhere in Bonneval, where we were sleeping tonight, that was open for evening meals. And certainly no shops. Danny mentioned this to the owner of the cafe, before we left, and he rang around his mates for us. One of them, in Bonneval, was open tonight and took a booking from us for 7.30pm.

Great service and a decent cove.

As we set off we called into the local supermarket, which closed for the day at 12.30pm, and stocked up on some stuff for tomorrow.

Then away up the valley, and we soon came upon a site of archaeological significance. Danny was just about to discover it around this corner,

They were Neolithic red ochre paintings of deer and humans on the rock face from over 6,000 years ago. Sadly they are too overgrown and hidden now for us to decipher them easily without an expert to point them out. But to know that they are there somewhere is something special.

Wandering up the valley was a breeze. I’ll just show you some photos.

And then we were there in Bonneval.

We were staying in an apartment I’d booked in the upper end of the village, so we made our meandering way up there. It was mid-afternoon and despite the b-less brunch we had arrived there in good time.

We loafed for a couple of hours and then walked down to the restaurant the lad in Bessans had booked for us. It had a fat landlord drinking Ricard with a bunch of his fat mates, whilst his wife served everyone else with a baby strapped to her, that could only have been a couple of months old. She looked brassed off whilst matey boy caroused in the corner with the fatties.

It wasn’t an impressive display. Nevertheless we ordered a Cote de Bouef for two and porker boy went behind the hob to cook it. And when it came out it was culinary magic. Fabulous beyond our expectations.

I took this photo after we had eaten half of it. And we finished it.

We waddled back to the flat and settled down for the night, after drinking a couple of cans of decent lager.

Life’s ok.

Night night.

It’s a play on the infamous Kennedy debacle where US sponsored Cuban expats landed at the Bay of Pigs to overthrow Castro. It backfired and they were all killed or rounded up within three days. Kennedy eventually paid Cuba $53m to get the prisoners freed. Two months earlier the Beatles had played their first gig at the Cavern in Liverpool. They were paid £5.

I don’t know if the world is better now or just different. There was a real threat of global destruction, triggered by the Bay of Pigs, caused by the ensuing Cuban missile crisis. I remember lying awake at night listening to aeroplanes and thinking that they might be Soviet missiles. I was eight years old. Four years later I lay awake at night terrified by the thought of infinity in terms of time and space and trying to work it out. I didn’t want to reincarnate back into this life when I died. That really worried me. I was prescribed Valium for a few years and it didn’t make me happy but it stopped the night terrors.

Strange thing childhood.

I think the world has become a worse place. Wealth concentration, greed and the excesses of an unfettered ability to manipulate markets and exploit people are a disgrace. The wielding of power by idiots who are unfit to wipe my arse is a disgrace. The rise of organised crime, unrestricted pollution, John Lennon’s assassination, the control exerted by obscenely rich media owners and dysfunctional democracy are all horrible, horrible things. A disgrace.

The day was another beautiful one. Shine on you crazy glaciers.

We set off with a jaunty air, with a 22 kms day and substantial rises and falls ahead. We dropped down the valley we had climbed up yesterday and then veered to our left and climbed up over the shoulder of the mountain. Good, cooler weather for walking.

After a couple of hours we came over the brow to the main valley which we had rapidly descended into two nights ago.

Turning left and heading away from Termignon, seen down here to our right, we dropped a thousand feet or so down into the valley through a forest. As soon as we were in the forest there was loud bellowing close by, with similar bellowing answering it from a few hundred metres distance. I’ve heard these noises before. They are wild boars, and big ones by the sound of it. Danny went off into the trees to catch sight of them and disturbed a couple which crashed away through the undergrowth. The bellowing came back at various stages throughout this Day of Pigs.

This valley is not too far from Italy. The glacier clad mountain in the centre of this photo straddles the border between France and Italy.

Once we had descended to a lower track it started rising again.

Let’s explain this trek better. I’m frustrated with myself that I haven’t done this before. This red line is the route and we started in the north east corner at Val d’Isere. At this point in time we’ve come right round anti-clockwise, to the point where that short thick red line crosses our route.

To the south of where we are at the moment is a valley opposite us with one of the biggest lakes in France. That valley runs up to a pass that crosses over into Italy. Today the warmth of the lake, probably fanned by a cooler wind coming down the pass from Italy, created heavy cloud in that valley which pushed towards us for the entire afternoon.

However, as soon as the cloud entered the main valley below us the ambient temperatures at the lower level dispersed the cloud and prevented it from progressing beyond the mountain gap. It was a bit of a meteorological push of war, with the cloud making a little progress on occasions into the main valley, only to be vanquished and held at bay.

This broader perspective shows the height at which the cloud was pinned back in its valley and the warmer haze in the main valley below. It also shows the extent of the forest on both sides of the valley that resounded with the roar of wild pigs.

After eight hours of walking we came upon the Refuge Vallonbrun. We didn’t know if it was open, all that we knew was that it wasn’t staffed. Danny went into the grounds and disappeared. Fingers crossed that he gets in. And he did! And we were the only ones there. Privacy. Hooraaay!

By climbing a small hill at the side of the Refuge we were able to get a signal and take in the views as the afternoon turned to evening.

We had carried two cans of lager each for two days and tonight we would drink them. Together with a can of couscous with a spicy Moroccan vegetable and chicken sauce. I barred the front door, in case the wild pigs tried to get in, and slept on the kitchen floor. It’s not a bad place to end the day.

Night night.

Breakfast was French so I boiled 5 eggs and had them instead of croissants. Stocked up on orange juice and coffee we decided to set off with vigour, across the road to another bar that stole our hearts with hot chocolate, whilst we scoured our maps for a plan. The contours were tight in every direction but we had a booking for the only Refuge, high in the mountains, that was still staffed. It was open for another two nights before the staff came down to this village for the winter.

We planned our route, it was uphill all the way. We needed to regain the five thousand feet we so easily gave away last night. Not for thirty pieces of silver, but for the deadliest of the seven sins. Gluttony. Gluttony I tell you! And some of what we had lusted after (another one there) was contained in a carry out container in our rucksacks. We hadn’t finished the two whole magrets de canard and slices of the delicious, bloody duck were wrapped and hidden for later. And they were bloody delicious. Kiss me Hardy, Kismet!!

Whilst we’re on a historical British military success theme this small band of brothers, well uncle and nephew actually, were just about ready. Into the valley of death rode the…… two. But not until after stocking up for the next couple of days in the local supermarket.

Bye wooden ibex.

Bye wooden stag.

We shook off our sloth (another) and shouldered our rucksacks with pride (another), before casting an envious (another) glance at a group of old men who were staying here in the sunshine to quaff coffee and wine. Our destination was through the valley of the shadow of death and our route along the paths of righteousness would spare us from the wrath (another) of God. Hooraaaay!!

And steep it was.

When you have a big climb you mustn’t look upwards when you’re tired. Keep a clear view of the route but just concentrate on your next steps. When it gets steeper then take smaller steps, but try not to take too many rest breaks. Don’t think of the weight of your rucksack. Eventually it becomes part of your body and the pain eases. Breathe deeply to take in more oxygen. Oxygen feeds your brain and blood.

I breathed in air. It came right inside of me, close as you can be, it kissed my blood and the blood kissed me. Thanks Mike.

After a few hours we stopped for water and to finish off the bloody delicious duck. It was even tastier than last night.

We sat by the shrine, loving the sun, food and water.

Then off again.

We try to gather water from streams that don’t have animals (wild or farmed) grazing near them, as cow piss and poo can give you real issues. Fresh from the glaciers water tastes clean and we usually don’t need to boil it or apply purification drops.

The good weather is great for trekkers like us but it is symptomatic of the affects of global warming on weather patterns and on the rapidly reducing glaciers. Just three small ones left on this north east facing slope.

Having climbed our restorative five thousand feet, and broken the final brow of the hill , we dropped down to our Refuge for the night. And it was great. We weren’t far from the Refuge where we spent our first night surrounded by students from Grenoble University. It felt like weeks ago. In the last five days we had completed the high altitude Tour des Glaciers de la Vanoise.

More beer, wine and good food in the communal dining room, cooked and served by the staff, was very welcome indeed. Our room was a small four bedded affair and we were sharing with one other bloke. My cold tired me and the food and wine had put me in a mood for sleep so I retired early. Danny played scrabble with some French girls and listened to the staff playing guitars and singing French songs, whilst drinking a drop more beer.

Another great day.

Night night.

Today was to be another very long day, and our sleep on the dining room floor was interrupted by people milling around making breakfast. We got up, broke fast and expressed our gratitude to the nice group who had fed and watered us the night before.

The sun was coming up, but was still behind the mountains in the east. We were heading towards the end of the valley, where it drops down to reservoirs below.

My cold was still in its prime, but I felt in slightly better shape than yesterday. And grateful for the brilliant weather. Looking back our Refuge for last night was still shaded from the golden sunshine.

How lucky are we to be able to walk and climb over these spectacular mountains in this spectacular weather. A much bigger valley cut across the end of our valley, so we rose up to the left and started to climb along the side of the new valley. Stopping to rest in the sun by a winter ski resort which was undergoing routine maintenance and some refurbishment.

Apart from these tiny areas of construction there is nothing. No animals, no people, not many birds and a deep silence.

As we took a water and rest break two paragliders marched up with small rucksacks and produced their huge paras from them.

On we plodded and it was going to be another 22kms day and a hefty climb. With steep slopes and very narrow ledges of footpath to entrust your safety to. Thank Christ it was dry.

The track turned left again and wound higher and higher as we headed up the high side of another valley. As we looked down I could see a village round about four thousand feet below us.

I had a signal on my phone and found a cheap hotel with a vacant twin room for the night. I mentioned it to Danny and we pulled out the map. Two consecutive nights of sleeping on the floor in a wooden hut made a third night less appealing. The thought of a meal being cooked for us, a proper bed and a glass of wine were overwhelmingly attractive. But we had to follow our path upwards, almost to the Refuge de l’Arpont before we could start to descend on a narrow track. Then there would be nearly a five thousand foot drop down to the village. Then we would have to climb back up again tomorrow.

Let’s go!

Our route would take us along the mountainside opposite before our descent.

And it was harsh, but we were motivated and kept a pace. The path wound in and out of little gullies in the mountainside and we knew that our downwards route would start shortly after one of the deeper gullies with a substantial stream flowing down it.

At last we crossed the flowing stream, climbed a hundred feet diagonally across the hillside and spotted a slight path.

It was difficult to follow as the drop was steep and the path hadn’t been trodden for some while. But as we descended we knew that it would turn back below the way we had come and would recross the raging stream on a bridge.

We found it. However, someone had destroyed the bridge. There was just a chasm. Looking downstream there was no chance, and if we didn’t stick to the path we could be in serious trouble in this landscape.

Climbing down the gully wall and following the torrent uphill we found a place where we could cross. Someone had put a makeshift wooden plank bridge but it was too slippy and dodgy so we crossed on boulders. Half stepping and half leaping across.

On the far side the bank was if anything even steeper, but there was a tree which was growing out of the side of the gully and we could reach its branches. With all our strength we pulled ourselves up from branch to branch until we were high enough to reach over onto level ground.

We scrambled down the rock face below, careful not to slip back towards the chasm, and finally found the path again. Looking back we breathed sighs of relief.

From then on we were like soldiers, piling on downhill and reaching the village in just an hour and a half.

Hooraaay!!

Proper beer, proper magret de canard, proper red wine, proper shower, proper bed, proper sleep.

Night night.

We were walking high up on the Route des Glaciers today, although the climb in total was a big one as the route weaves up and down. The stark, vertical rock faces mean that any footpath along the side of a mountain needs to drop down underneath or climb up over the top of each one.

I didn’t feel great as my cold had taken hold and my chest was tight as a duck’s arse. But I had slept better on the kitchen floor than I had expected. We pushed off into another beautiful day.

The glaciers were shining in the sun.

This was going to be a long slog and my spirits weren’t too high, as I coughed up chunks of yellow phlegm and spat them on the ground. Holding each nostril in turn and blowing snot around the place. I wasn’t feeling good.

In the meantime we marched along and Danny was determined to reach our next goal. Looking across at the next mountainside our path wound up and down in the sun.

Part way through the day I thought that I couldn’t make it and said to Danny that I felt like dropping down into the valley and walking back to the hotel in Pralognan that we had stayed in two nights ago. He chided me and said we needed to carry on.

And carry on I did, with weakening enthusiasm and pain in my chest and legs. I lost my will to take photos and felt more and more like dropping down and finding somewhere to rest. Dan took some of the weight from my rucksack and put it in his own.

The path turned sharply upwards but we missed it, and carried on along a lesser track that petered out on the side of the mountain. We struggled down the slope and through thick foliage to a path that we had seen a woman walking on earlier. What we didn’t realise was how far out of our way this mistake had brought us. Way down below where we needed to be.

Struggling back up to where we should have been it was clear that the sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon. We were ten hours into this walk and we were facing the last and most severe climb of the day.

Dan ran on ahead, dumped his rucksack and came back for mine. I struggled to climb even without my rucksack. He made three heroic runs like this until he was too exhausted to do it any more. I found some strength from his example and forged ahead with my rucksack whilst he followed on behind me, a dark form in the rubble below.

As we climbed higher and the shadows lengthened the Chamois came out to graze.

After eleven hours of walking we were beat on our feet, but we were high, even drawing level with some of the lower, smaller glaciers along the range.

Finally we reached the summit of the Col d’Auchois, at over 9,000 feet.

Our route to the Refuge dropped down through a tricky, rocky and rugged landscape, falling another 1,500 feet.

I have rarely been so fatigued. The last time was again with Dan when the village we were due to stay in, high in the Himalayas, had been washed away by a catastrophic flood, and we had to walk another full day’s trek in four hours.

We walked past a herd of Alpine Ibex and I couldn’t be motivated to lift my iPad to take a photo. The dropping path was never ending. And the last rays of sunshine lit up the higher peaks to the east of us.

As darkness fell, after more than twelve hours trekking, we made it to the Refuge, in the middle of nowhere, and it was heaving. We found an empty table in the far end of the kitchen diner and dropped down onto the bench, absolutely buggered. A French bloke from a nearby group, who had pitched their tents outside the Refuge, took pity on us and brought over a can of super strength lager and we quaffed it quite quickly. He brought over a pan of pork stew and ladled some out for us. Heavenly.

And the French philanthropy was capped by him bringing over a bottle of Alpine liquor and pouring us a glass each. Genepi. Tasting like the tears of an angel.

You can’t repay kindness like that.

As the crowd thinned out we put some padding that a woman had given us down on the dining room floor and spread our sleeping bags over the top.

Night night.

Today was to be a veritable beast. We would only cover 8kms today but they were all uphill and not a great deal less than vertical. It doesn’t look as steep and as high in the photo below than it is in real life.

We slowly packed and ambled down to a bakers, where we bought eclairs and pastries, eating them outside in the sunshine with paper cups of coffee. Weep with joy that we have lived to see this day. For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.

And shortly before noon, after a very lazy start, we commenced our climb, having luckily been advised by the woman in the bakery that one of the routes uphill was blocked. We took the other.

The climb was slow and hard. Pushing our rucksacks forward with aching legs and sweaty backs. Eventually Pralognan sank away into the distance, as another sunny afternoon wore on.

But as it did then the slope got steeper until we were scrambling on our hands and knees and then with proper climbing footholds and handholds. It began to feel a little serious and neither of us cope brilliantly with vertigo. Looking down Danny was twenty metres below me and I hoped that I wouldn’t dislodge a rock.

Thank the little baby Jesus that it wasn’t raining.

Eventually the slope slackened and we could walk upright uphill again.

It all felt safer and time to relax as we enjoyed the afternoon sunshine and the autumnal colours.

The destabilising part of rock climbing for us is the rucksack with 17 or 18 kilos of kit, clothes and consumables. With the rucksack on your back it is quite easy to fall backwards and we need to be vigilant at all times. So there.

Then we moved up into another steep and rocky section. Best not slip here.

It had taken us five hours of non-stop climbing as we began to move on to a more clearly defined path. The problem being that the path chose a tricky route. Although at the most difficult places someone had fixed chains to the rock face that we could hold on to as we continued our ascent.

We worked our way over another horizon and spotted our Refuge, some way ahead on the hilltop. It turned out that our remote climb had been rewarded by being with only two other people in the Refuge, an older woman and her daughter who had both hitchhiked down to Pralognan. They were impressed that we had made it up our climbing route.

I was beginning to feel a bit rough, as a cold that had been chasing me since England was finally feeling my collar. Only one thing to do …..

I couldn’t eat much, just half a sandwich and a bit of quiche. Best get an early night, on the floor in the kitchen. Best place for an old lag.

Night night.

Today was to be the longest, but not the harshest, day’s walking.

I awoke on the floor of the kitchen due to a student sneaking her way through to the outer door. I woke Danny in his upper bunk and we cooked some pasta and Go Outdoors prepared sausages with beans. Dan chucked some chopped cheese on it and we broke our fast.

Today was a long walk. Twenty four kilometres. Not that long, but it is when you’re at a slightly higher than normal altitude and the path goes up as well as down.

With some reminders of those who have perished en route. So young. Poor little bugger.

We were walking down the valley, to where two rivers meet, the Rocheure and the Leisse. With glaciers clinging on to north facing corries, desperate to avoid the inevitability of globular warmington on sea.

We made good time in the cool morning air. Marching like men do. Strutting like peacocks. The track almost became a road.

And over to the east, where we would resurface in a week’s time, the needles pierced the sky.

The needles pierced the sky? Getting a bit poncy aren’t we, you soft pillock? Who are you calling a soft pillock?

Meeee!!!!!!!!

Great walking country.

And we stopped for a water break at the next Refuge, which was as unstaffed as the rest.

We were above the confluence of the two rivers and turned upstream along the banks of the Leisse. This river has carved a deep valley to the south of two impressive Alpine peaks. La Grande Motte and La Grande Casse. Beneath Casse, the highest peak in the Vanoise, stood a small bridge, straddling the Leisse.

Over we went and up the other side to the Col de la Vanoise. From halfway up the Col the view eastwards of La Grande Motte was rugged and wild. Its scoured slopes, made pleasant by winter snows, stood harsh and naked in the autumn sun.

Another water break and consult the map. Danny’s got Strava, which keeps us on track when he can garner a signal.

On the brow of the Col another memorial to another fatality.

Just a few more steps to go before the track levelled out.

Thank the Lord it’s dry and warm otherwise these rock faces would be treacherous. Lucky we.

The glaciers on La Grande Motte were a shadow of their former stature. Warmington on Sea. “I’ll help Captain Mainwaring!”

The route across the Col was much longer than we thought. Beautiful nevertheless.

We reached the Refuge de la Vanoise and started to follow the track in a long, slow descent. With Danny leading.

How fortunate for us to be here, in the middle of billions of stars at this point in time when there is sufficient oxygen to maintain our lives and with the ability to climb and carry food. We are free men in Paris, we feel unfettered and alive. Thanks Joni.

We are going down to the town of Pralognan to stay in a hotel, sleeping in a bed and not on the floor.

What a wonderful day. I’m overjoyed to be here and to be here.

Dinner in the only open restaurant was cooked for us, after a fashion, and a jolly good night’s eating, drinking, carousing and sleeping was had by all.

Hooraaay!

Night night.

Thanks Paul.

Well, this is the first day of a nine day trek around the dizzy heights of the Vanoise, a large and largely wild region in the French Alps. I’m here with my nephew Daniel, who came to the Himalayas with me two years ago. We met up on a train in Sheffield and flew from Birmingham Airport to Geneva, two days ago.

Dan had left his car at Geneva airport and drove us up to Bourg Saint Maurice where he lives. With a well stocked fridge.

Yesterday we drove up to Val d‘Isere and stayed in a hotel locally for an early start this morning. And here we are!!!!

There are some difficult climbs and very exposed footpaths on our route and the weather could not be better for magnificent views and our personal safety. It’s great. However, we had a brilliant side of beef last night and drank a lot of wine so we were feeling a bit jaded. And the track was long and steep in places.

The local cattle didn’t struggle with the slope.

We were climbing up to over 9,000 feet today and as we got higher it did feel a bit harsher on our chests. It was difficult to determine whether this was due to oxygen deficiency or last night’s cap.

Looking back that track snaked down.

And the last thousand feet were a bitter struggle against slope and loose rocks, scattered by millennia of ice and snow assaults on the bedrock. Danny almost disappeared with his perfect camouflage.

It was harsh I have to admit. Our rucksacks, loaded with clothes, sleeping bags, food and water, were pushing up towards the high teens of kilos. But eventually we made it to the top of the pass at 9,550 feet (Col de la Rocheure) leading over to the Rocheure valley.

And the views were a magnificent reward for our efforts.

We were heading for an unstaffed Refuge, being a safe house for trekkers and climbers with camping gaz hobs, a cooking pan and usually a toilet. Basic but better equipped than Scottish bothies, which are largely walls with a roof. We didn’t know what to expect at the Refuge de la Femma. But the journey down was stunning. This is wilderness.

Finally we saw the Refuge down in the valley.

And a group of students and teaching staff from Grenoble University were hogging the dormitory accommodation.

We cooked some of our carried food but couldn’t achieve an early night as the students were busy studenting in the kitchen diner. I couldn’t sleep in the claustrophobic range of bunk beds so I waited for the kids to go to bed and slept on the floor in the kitchen.

Needs must.

Night night.

These are the voyages of Dave and Richard.

It was my last day of this particular trek and this afternoon I would be home again. I took my tent down and packed it away, along with the rest of my kit. Then Che cooked breakfast, another bacon, beans, eggs and black pudding extravaganza. Bugger the cholesterol; I’ll burn it off. Che ran me up to Kirkby Stephen station and I caught the 9.20 down to Ribblehead to meet Richard. He had driven up to Horton and then taken the train up to Ribblehead. From here we were going to walk a mile down the Horton road, turn right and climb steeply up Park Fell, walk along the ridge, climb up Ingleborough and follow the long trail down to Horton.

The morning was cool and breezy with low level cloud rolling over the mountains.

These Dales are special. However, today would be a well trodden track as half of our walk would be along the Yorkshire Three Peaks route. Rarely deserted and frequently swamped with folk.

Richard was clearly visible and on good form. Our daughters went to school together and now their dads hang out together.

Park Fell was steep but not too hard as there was a cool breeze and decent cloud cover. At the top we looked along the ridge to the back end of Simon Fell and beyond that, in the cloud, to Ingleborough.

When we reached Simon Fell the view of Ingleborough cleared. What a block of rock! I’ve climbed it many times now and it is still impressive. Particularly as, on the Three Peaks trail it’s the last of the Peaks, after 20 miles and two previous blocks of rock.

We caught up on the outstanding family chat and made reasonable time to the point where our path crossed the Three Peaks route. We couldn’t see that much with the cloud that kept sweeping across the blue sky and blocking out the sun, so it wasn’t the Three Peeks. Boom boom.

From there it’s a steep but relatively short climb up Ingleborough. We’d done the hard work earlier climbing up Park Fell.

And at the top we ate the sandwiches that Richard had brought, with typical generosity.

We made good pace down the mountain towards Horton and cracked on down the 3Peaks trail. I loved it.

We made Horton and Richard’s car before 3pm and managed a drink in the Crown before setting off home.

A great few days. I probably only covered 60 miles but I did climb 7 of the 10 highest peaks in Yorkshire as well as Wild Boar Fell in Cumbria. It’s a good start to my Alpine training. And it’s been beautiful country.

Night night.