Across the Belledonne

Day 1: Lac Luitel to Lacs Robert

Before setting off, I take a short walk around the lake to see it properly. This peat bog is France's oldest nature reserve, established in 1961. No fewer than fifteen species of dragonflies have been recorded in this lush green oasis. Unsurprisingly, bivouacking is prohibited here.

The red-and-white GR waymarks soon lead me through vast conifer forests. The route wastes no time climbing steeply, alternating between broad tracks and rocky trails. To avoid the ski resort, I take a shortcut across the Arselle plateau. For the first time, real mountains appear on the horizon: the Les Grandes Rousses massif, with peaks rising well above 3,000 metres.

As I approach the popular Lac Achard, streams of day hikers are making their way down. This alpine lake is now protected because of its fragile environment, and camping here during the summer has been banned following problems in the past.

The scenery becomes increasingly alpine and more remote. Via the Col de la Botte and the Col des Lessines, I continue towards Lacs Robert, where I rejoin the GR. Small tents are scattered around the area, but fortunately there is plenty of space, allowing everyone a bit of privacy. I try to ignore the ski lift and barren ski run on the southern slope. It remains a beautiful place to spend the night.

Climate change is impossible to ignore. In the past, mountain evenings cooled down quickly. Now I sit in my T-shirt until well after sunset, search for shade to avoid overheating while cooking dinner, and wonder why I didn't bring a lighter sleeping bag.

Day 2: Lacs Robert to a bivouac east of the Brèche de Roche Fendue (including the ascent of the Grand Pic de Belledonne)

Before dawn I shoulder my backpack again. Most of the other bivouackers are still asleep, and it's a pleasure to enjoy a few peaceful hours on the trail. The GR leads me towards the Refuge de la Pra. Near Lac Léama, a herd of chamois grazes quietly, while the local marmot kindly poses for a photo.

I pass one tent after another. So much has changed in just ten years. It's easy to understand why France has started tightening the rules. Everyone here seems respectful, yet the growing number of visitors inevitably has an increasing impact on the local wildlife and vegetation.

From the refuge I leave the GR once more to visit the highest point of the massif: the Grand Pic de Belledonne. The central summit is the most accessible and stands at 2,926 metres.

Beyond Lac de Grand Doménon, large patches of snow still cover the slopes. Everyone seems to pick their own route to the summit. The Col du Bâton looks too steep to me, so I stay well to the left and aim for the Col des Rochers Rouges instead, where the terrain becomes gentler again. For a moment I consider leaving my backpack behind, but for the challenge I carry it all the way to the top.

The traverse towards the Col de Freydane follows a steep, rocky hillside. At one point, part of the trail has collapsed and feels rather unstable. My brain almost goes into shutdown mode again, but after a few careful steps I'm safely back on solid ground. A long descent brings me to Lac Blanc, whose striking turquoise colour comes from minerals carried down by the Freydane Glacier.

Refuge Jean Collet clings to the mountainside like an eagle's nest overlooking the Grenoble valley. On the terrace I slowly enjoy a refreshing blueberry lemonade. The late lunch completely drains my legs, and the climb to the Col de la Mine de Fer feels much harder than expected. After a short break, I gather enough energy for the day's final pass: the Brèche de Roche Fendue.

On the descent I unexpectedly come across a small spring beside a patch of grass. It doesn't take long before my tarp is pitched. Finally, a bivouac all to myself, although hikers continue passing by until late in the evening.

Day 3: Bivouac to La Martinette

The sun is back, creating magnificent scenery. A few young ibex play among the rocks, and by approaching them quietly I manage to take a lovely photo. The Pas de la Coche turns out to be a popular bivouac spot despite the high-voltage power line crossing nearby.

On the way to the Col de la Vache, more technical terrain awaits. A large, steep snowfield provides the perfect opportunity to test my new lightweight hiking crampons, which fit over my trail-running shoes: the CAMP Ice Master Evo with thirteen 15 mm spikes. They make a real difference on hard snow. Once the snow softens, the spikes become less effective, but then it's also much easier to kick steps with my shoes. Thanks to that, I climb the slope comfortably without having to scramble through the boulder field.

For the descent I take them off and simply dig my heels into the soft snow. Overlooking Lac du Cos, I stop for lunch: a few tortillas with honey and a piece of cheese. I also add electrolytes to my water because, in this heat, I'm losing an incredible amount of fluid. I've never drunk so much water during a bivouac trip.

I expected the descent to Fond de France to be an easy stroll, but it turns out quite the opposite. Beyond the Refuge des Sept Laux, the trail becomes technical once again. Since I'll be climbing back up on the GR738 the following day, I choose the alternative GRP route. Zigzagging over rocky trails keeps the pace surprisingly slow.

The temperatures continue to rise, and the shade of the forest is more than welcome. Relieved to have finished another demanding stage, I settle onto the cosy terrace of the gîte d'étape La Martinette. I order a blackcurrant syrup with water and a faisselle, a wonderfully fresh local cheese served with blueberry jam.

Day 4: La Martinette to the Torrent du Veyton

It's a sunny morning, but thunderstorms are forecast for early afternoon once again. No time to linger. After a few gentle kilometres through the valley, the calves are put to work. The trails in this massif are consistently steep, with very few natural steps to make life easier.

It takes a while before I reach the tree line and regain sweeping views of the surrounding mountains. I had hoped to take the higher variant via the Col de la Valloire and the Col du Grand Glacier, but it turns out to be too technical, and I have no intention of attempting it alone. The Col Morétan is also discouraged because of a steep scree slope. During L'Intégrale, the ultra-distance version of the Echappée Belle trail race, a fixed rope is installed there. The Col du Vay, however, looks feasible, as the descent appears less steep.

After a sunny lunch below the Refuge de l'Oule, the sky still seems perfectly clear. But just as I begin the steep shortcut towards the Chalet du Vay, a thunderstorm suddenly erupts. The route—visible only on OpenStreetMap and absent from official maps—climbs steeply through several dry streambeds. That feels too risky, leaving me with no choice but to continue along the GR. A real shame.

Via l'Aup Bernard I follow narrow forest trails through remote countryside towards the Tourbière du Praillet. From there, a wide forest track, fortunately already softened by grass, zigzags back downhill. It feels like one of those sections where you're simply grinding out the kilometres, and my thoughts begin to wander.

Near Plan de l'Ours I decide to stop for the night. With thunderstorms inevitable, this seems the safest place to camp. Horseflies and mosquitoes throw me an enthusiastic welcome party. Even after dinner I keep pacing around to shake them off, but I'm still bitten dozens of times before finally retreating into my fully zipped bivy bag.

When night falls, I'm awakened by an impressive lightning show. Flash after flash lights up the sky. The rain returns in torrents, but I stay warm and dry and soon drift back to sleep.

Day 5: Torrent du Veyton to Chalet d'Arbarétan

The sky has cleared overnight, and I'm up early once again. Near the Refuge de la Pierre du Carré I discover what looks like a superb bivouac spot. It would probably have far fewer insects than the valley, although it also seems much more exposed during a thunderstorm. In good weather it would certainly be the better choice.

As I reach the Col de Claran, the sun rises above the horizon, bathing the landscape in golden light. Absolutely stunning.

The descent to the Chalet du Pré Nouveau is steeper than expected. At times the narrow trail feels like it runs through a miniature jungle. Rain from the previous night trickles down my socks and straight into my trail shoes, leaving my feet soaking wet. Fortunately, I packed a spare pair of dry socks, so I stop at the hut to change them.

The trail is remarkably quiet. Not until I reach the Refuge des Férices do I finally meet another person—a trail runner. At the unattended refuge I refill all my water bottles and take a quick look inside. It doesn't seem particularly inviting for an overnight stay, but it's well equipped with mattresses.

The landscape grows wilder and more beautiful once again. The GR winds up a steep mountainside towards the Col d'Arpignon, where I spread out my soaking-wet tarp during lunch to let it dry. I have to anchor it with a few rocks before the wind carries it away.

At the Sources du Gargoton I'm delighted to find wonderfully cold drinking water. The spot looks incredibly inviting for a bivouac, but it's still a little too early to stop. So I set off once more towards the Col de la Perche.

I'd love to climb the Pointe de Rognier. I hide my backpack in the bushes—completely unnecessary, as there's not another soul in sight—and switch to my small trail-running pack with the essential safety gear I always carry.

I begin full of confidence, but the route gradually becomes more technical. Standing on the ridge and looking at the final section, my confidence quickly fades. It involves quite a bit of scrambling above steep drop-offs, and I simply don't feel comfortable. If Ivo had been with me, I would probably have continued, but alone I decide to turn back rather than take unnecessary risks. I've read too many stories of solo hikers who never made it home.

Near Chalet d'Arbarétan I spend a while searching for a suitable spot among the rocky ground to pitch my shelter. With a fountain, a picnic table and even a toilet—well, a wooden plank with a hole in it—it feels almost like glamping tonight.

Day 6: Chalet d'Arbarétan to Aiguebelle

Another sunny morning dawns, sadly the last of my adventure. Along the Crête des Mollards, sweeping views open across the lowlands between Grenoble and Albertville. Civilization lies literally at my feet.

A pleasant descent leads towards Bourget-en-Huile, before the GR turns north just above the village along an enjoyable forest trail. Crossing the green meadows of Les Marais, I briefly feel as though I've wandered into the Vosges, with its wooded hillsides and scattered little villages.

The final climb to Fort de Montgilbert begins gently enough before suddenly becoming steep. At the Source de Gélon I hope to refill my water, only to find the spring almost dried up. I retrace my steps slightly and scoop water from a tiny trickle lower down. It probably won't be long before even that disappears.

The fort itself stands abandoned and neglected behind locked gates. Built between 1877 and 1882 to defend the Maurienne Valley, it soon became obsolete as military artillery rapidly evolved.

One final steep rise remains, followed by a long descent along the Côte du Suet to Aiguebelle, where this unforgettable crossing of the Belledonne Massif comes to an end.