Today we set out to hike Roc d'Enfer (hell rock). This should be a good ridge top loop, peaking at the summit of Roc d'Enfer at 2,244m. Not a walk in the park, but not anything too crazy either since we want to stay at lower elevations because of the lingering snow. The sun was shining as we started, but some dark clouds loomed in the distance, with the threat of thunderstorms that have dissipated each afternoon this week. We couldn't find the trail head we set out for, but made our way up and connected with a well worn path before too long. (Mom, you'll want to stop reading here).
After a short climb, and a fair amount of time given to searching for our determined starting point, we decided to sit for lunch before starting a snow traverse. We found the first sign post that signaled we had reached Col Ratti, one of the points on our agenda, and from there, before dropping into the basin, thought we pieced together the route from a few footprints and sections of trail that we could see.
There is a lot of snow. After a good while in the snow, and a clinging-to-rocks-and-clumps-of-grass climb (we must have lost the trail for a while in the snow) we reached a sign directing us upward to Roc d'Enfer. DANGER, in red letters, is not what we wanted to read as hail and rain started and we heard an avalanche somewhere nearby. I took a few quick photos from here while we considered our options.
From here we could continue our loop, but we would be faced with more elevation gain, a narrow ridge with steep drops on either side, and unknown trail conditions. We could go back the way we came, but the reverse would mean more time in snow, crossing avalanche fields, and retreating down what was a difficult climb up grabbing onto clumps of dirt. Our instinct was to get down. Get off the mountain, and so we chose to make our way down the other side. There were a few tight switchbacks indicating this was a legitimate trail, and a stroke of paint on one of the rocks. We could see a ski lift below- there would likely be an access road. It wasn't a great solution, but neither were the other two options.
Without exaggeration, the first stage of our descent was the most dangerous experience I've put myself into. The trail down completely disappeared under snow within a few tight turns. We found ourselves squeezed between the rock face and the melting edge of the steep chute of snow. We inched our way down the couloir, grabbing brown grass and mud with our right hands and trying to wedge into the ice with the left, extending our heals and scooting to keep from sliding uncontrollably downward. This was stupidly steep, and we each slid, several times, relieved to stop ourselves against rocks or dropping into the crevasse beneath the snow. (My stomach churns just thinking about it). I let my poles slide a few hundred meters ahead since they were more trouble than help. Eventually I saw Derek reach the edge of the snow just a little ahead of me. I slid the final few feet of the snow patch, past Derek, and continued downward over the slick muddy grass, finding nothing to stop myself. An arm caught my arm thrown back behind my head, and while we both continued to slide, Derek maintained enough grip on my and on the slope that we slowed and stopped. We have just reached the start of the third arrow in the picture below.
Without exaggeration, the first stage of our descent was the most dangerous experience I've put myself into. The trail down completely disappeared under snow within a few tight turns. We found ourselves squeezed between the rock face and the melting edge of the steep chute of snow. We inched our way down the couloir, grabbing brown grass and mud with our right hands and trying to wedge into the ice with the left, extending our heals and scooting to keep from sliding uncontrollably downward. This was stupidly steep, and we each slid, several times, relieved to stop ourselves against rocks or dropping into the crevasse beneath the snow. (My stomach churns just thinking about it). I let my poles slide a few hundred meters ahead since they were more trouble than help. Eventually I saw Derek reach the edge of the snow just a little ahead of me. I slid the final few feet of the snow patch, past Derek, and continued downward over the slick muddy grass, finding nothing to stop myself. An arm caught my arm thrown back behind my head, and while we both continued to slide, Derek maintained enough grip on my and on the slope that we slowed and stopped. We have just reached the start of the third arrow in the picture below.
Eventually, we reached safety. We were soaked from the rain and from laying in the snow, muddy, a bit banged up and bloodied, but alive and uninjured, which was actually hard to believe. There was a break in the rain and we were on level ground...not level, but not the steep side of a mountain.
Time to face the next challenge, making our way back to our starting point. We can't go back up and over, so we tried to go around the mountain that stood between us and going home.
Here's the short version of the next five hours. It rained, we made several wrong turns, climbed 600 meters only to double back when we realized overtaking the ridge to descend to our starting point wasn't an option, backtracked through snow, streams, and mud to search out a town we had seen in the distance earlier, the opposite direction of where we wanted to end up. Finally arrived, soaked and pathetic and cold in a cluster of three holiday rentals, a chair lift, and a small bar minutes before ten o'clock. Closing up the empty bar in La Chevrerie, the man there offered to take us to the nearest hotel in Bellevaux, another 7 kilometers away.
We drank beer (the best beer I've ever had) and stumbled through conversation with the owners who were amused to received two Chicagoans lost in their remote village. They had one room available. It was warm, the sheets were clean, we washed off all the caked mud, and hung our socks hoping they wouldn't be as bad to put back on our feet in the morning. These strangers saved us from a long, cold, dangerous night and even gave us a ride the 40 kilometers back to our car in the morning to spare us from enduring the return trip in more wet weather. We managed to stay calm and support each other through the ordeal, but the experience was humbling. Sometimes the mountain wins, and we are just fortunate to make it back.
