With the sound of trekking. Upon arriving in Chamonix it was like entering trekking heaven.  Fountains flowed, flowers bloomed, and for a moment I thought small birds would fly down and carry my bags to my room like some animated movie.

We set off the next morning like the ‘Magnificent Seven’, although we had eleven so we were Mountain Elevens.  We had a mission to accomplish and all had their eyes on the prize…165km circuit of Mont Blanc with over 11,000m of up and 8,000m of down (only 4 per cent was flat) in 10 walking days.

Our first two days included hiking high enough to look straight at Mont Blanc…but like the great pen maker which keeps its methods under wraps, the peak was kept in clouds. Perhaps we had to prove ourselves worthy like some exclusive European club before we saw the top? There was no doubt by the end of two weeks the mountain would see us differently (if only I knew how true this would become when I wrote it).

Walking days three and four (through Switzerland to Italy) brought rain, fog and an amount of despondency. At times it was enough to make me want to be back in my bed listening to the avalanche mimicking continual snoring of my appointed room-mate.  I continued on as only one can, thinking if the Von Trapp family can do this, bloody well so can I.

As we descended into towns in a ‘peaceful invasion’ they seemed vacant except for the smell of burning wood, the sound of ice melting, cowbells ringing…and the occasional local delight in a refuge.

Day five did bring the schnapps, chocolate, and Swiss cheese to an end when we hit the highest point of the trek thus far.  The last few steps up revealed a vista of Italy, France and Switzerland…you could only laugh at how magical it was.  One fellow trekker broke out into The Sound of Music…applause ensued.

Day six was torrential rain and freezing cold as we went forth into Italy, the only thing warming me was the knowledge I had put my hard earned euros under different rocks a few days ago…in the tradition of hiding your money in Switzerland.  On top of this Mountains Eleven became Nine – just like a plot from Agatha Christie…who would make it through to the end?

Day seven (in France) and eight added snow to the fog, rain, zero degree temperatures and black skies to create arctic conditions…building to a complete white out. The memory of the warmth from large glasses of Genepi Pere Chartreux was disappearing as quickly as our footsteps in the snow, each step requiring complete focus. A fleeting moment of sun brought joy and then hail.  Untouched snow capped mountains, and eight hours of walking ahead…it was the best of times, and also it was the worst.

Day nine was rated the hardest yet and with an incline of one in four, mud, fog and freezing rain it certainly live up to predictions.  As we looked upon valleys it was eerie and semi apocalyptic as patches of fog lifted to expose rock glaciers. We were a team now and together we would finish, end of the world aside.

Day ten was sunny and clear, enabling this story to end as all stories should – perfectly.  As we trekked we were surrounded by butterflies that were guiding us towards the finish like fan at the end of a long race.  Mont Blanc revealed itself to show that worthy we had become.

As we made it back to Chamonix we came across a yoga festival, that when combined with the amount of trekking, I could only think it was time to Split (groan…or maybe not? Stay tuned).

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