Ardeche in July

Sampling the meadows

Almond trees

Chez nous

Organic whilst on a cycle ride

Mt. Ventoux from Agueze

Vienne War Memorial

Rhone at Vienne

St-Maurice Cathedral, Vienne

Ardeche Gorge

Returning to our regular haunt in the Ardeche after the splendours of the Alps was swapping mountains for a limestone plateau, two of my favourite things. The journey across from the Alps passed through Gap and then the lower Alps before the final leg over the Rhone and onto the limestone plateau.We were met by Evelyne and shown to our suite of rooms. A bedroom with a balcony facing south, a large bathroom and a sitting room. We decided to eat in having spent the last five nights dining on 4 course meals with wine and liqueurs at the chambres d'hotes in the Parc des Ecrins.

The next day brought the mistral and heavy rain so we spent time in Barjac and then explored some of the villages to the south. The area was busier than usual with a high percentage of Belgian tourists escaping the shenanigans in Brussels. We had three Belgian couples staying at Le Garn and we obtained their take on the future of Europe. Needlesss to say they were not very enamoured with the efforts of David Cameron in calling and then losing a referendum.

There were also American guests who thought that Europe had it easy compared to the USA who had to contemplate Donald Trump. On hearing that Scotland had flown Mexican flags on his scottish golf courses during his recent visit, they wondered whether we would be prepared to accept a contract for his non return, maybe he could sort out the UKs immigration problems they opined.

I spent two days watching the tour de france, we visited the Luberon to see one of my oldest friends in his new house, a couple of days visiting other parts of the Ardeche and most days walking in the local area through the peach, apricot, fig, cherry and almond orchards and lavender fields, swimming, running and I even managed a couple of bike rides on the owner's mountain bike. In short we enjoyed the total peace and wonderful landscapes of our remote escape in rural France.

On the way back to Lyon we stopped in Vienne, where several friends that I had met whilst walking in in Corsica lived and we enjoyed a fine lunch and this splendid Roman town on the banks of the Rhone before the flight home.

Tour de France 2016

The Peleton with Sky Team leading pass through Redessan on Stage 12

After watching the Tour de France grand depart in Yorkshire in 2014, I had wanted to see the race on French soil and this year it was passing close to where we were staying in the Ardeche. The stage from Montpellier to Mont Ventoux had me thinking we should make our way to Mont Ventoux and watch the agony and ecstasy of the climb to the summit. The mistral was blowing and the route was truncated to save the riders battling with 100kph winds in addition to the over excitable crowds. We decided to watch it cross the Bouches du Rhone at Remussen instead.

It was a good decision we managed to park 400 metres away from the route. There was a supermarket handy to buy some lunch after the caravan had passed through dispensing gifts from the sponsors. It takes the caravan a good 25 minutes to pass and provides a level of silliness that is almost British. The crowds had made a day of it with bands, fancy dress, picnics and noisy instruments. A party atmosphere built up as the anticipation of the cyclists arriving although it was not as infectious as it had been in Yorkshire but the weather was better.

The caravan consists of over a hundred vehicles blaring out music and travelling at a fair dash. They are accompanied by motor cycle outriders and gendarmes but the mood is one of friendship and theatre. There is about an hour and a half to wait before the riders arrive. In this case a leading group of a dozen or so riders were followed ten minutes later by the peleton that was being led by the Sky team with Chris Froome to the fore. There were numerous motor bikes and support vehicles as well as 6 helicopters filming the race.  The peleton of 150 riders flew past in less than 30 seconds and was followed by a procession of team cars loaded with spare bikes, mechanics, team managers, medical staff and a final sweep of gendarmes. For a supposedly green sport the carbon footprint of the tour is massive, it must consume a large proportion of the Qatari oil production.

The next day was the time trial running the length of the Ardeche gorge and finishing by the recently opened Chauvet Cave. The stage had almost been cancelled following the atrocities in Nice the night before and there was a subdued atmosphere compared to the previous day. President Hollande had promised a heavier police presence although the gendarmerie seemed fairly relaxed about the security and spectators were able to funnel the riders as they began the final 6 kilometres of climbing to the finish. I spent a couple of hours watching the lead riders come through and observing the vicarious activities of the spectators. I met a Danish girl who told me that her father and boyfriend had walked a return trip of 25 kilometres the previous day from their parking spot to reach the route up Mont Ventoux and had not returned until well after midnight. It made me feel a bit happier about opting out of doing the same.

Once again I was staggered by the support for each of the 180 or so riders. Each one proceeded by a motorbike and followed by a car and then a motley assembly of race officials, cameramen and gendarmes going through on motor bikes. There was the usual circus of hawkers and fast food outlets along the route as well as families with camping chairs and sizeable picnics. Chris Froome set the second fastest time and was clocked doing 110kph as he descended to the Ardeche gorge from the plateau. I have long believed that this form of cycling must be the toughest of all sports, particularly as the vast majority of riders are domestiques for their team leaders and have little hope of glory. The Sky team are not very popular in France owing to their tendency to control the race by their disciplined professionalism in following team orders. If only other British sports had managers as capable as Dave Brailsford.

Taking it easy before the climbs at the end of the day

And then the train of support vehicles

The caravan of silly things comes first

And spectators join in the fun

It was too hot for the penguins

Ardeche, Stage 13 time trial with a heavy police presence

Local hero watches from an adjacent field

Geraint Thomas on a charge

Fabio Aru beginning the climb at Vallon Pont d'Arc

Top French rider, Romain Bardet

Petite Autane

Petite Autane from Chabottes

Sunday, 10 July 2016
Ascent:    1300 metres
Distance: 10 kilometres
Tim          4 hours 5 minutes


Petite Autane    2516m     2hrs 15mins

From our chambres d'hôtes nestled above the Champsaur valley in the Parc des Ecrins we had a magnificent view of Petite Autane, a 2500 metre peak above the ski resort of St-Leger. I immediately logged it as an objective and thought that it could be climbed in 4 hours or so. The was before I realised that it is a 1300 metre climb including a scramble up a steep rocky ridge to the summit. After the first three days of superb walking and climbing in the Alps at the head of the Drac valley, our last day in the Champsaur provided a chance to climb Petite Autane in the early part of the day before the threatened thunder storms moved in.

Jean, the owner of La Grange, had been a hill runner but seemed to me to be spending too much time running his new business and I asked if he would like to join me. He declined, it was Sunday and he had to clean the rooms, but suggested that one of his sons might want to make the climb. Adrian was 17, multi lingual, tres sportive and had quite a lot of experience walking in the Alps. We made the 15 minute drive to St-Leger and began the walk from a meadow at the foot of the ski area, ascending by a series of tracks and then using the pistes through the forested lower slopes. There were herds of cattle grazing and a group teenagers roared past us on their motor scrambling bikes just before we reached the start of the limestone ridge.

Adrian had climbed the mountain a couple of months earlier but had been unable to make the second and higher peak which was still covered in ice and snow and he had not taken crampons. I estimated that we should make the summit by noon, we had started walking at 9:45am. Adrian was less optimistic. Initially the ridge was gentle with a narrow path wriggling its way along the narrow ridge festooned with alpine flowers. At 2100 metres the steep climb began, it was a loose rock with sections of scrambling, exposed but nothing too difficult. We paused once to watch 6 eagles as they skimmed along the ridge and then circled above us in the thermals. We had a discussion about what type of eagles and Adrian thought that they were 'aigles' or golden eagles in english but I was less sure, their wings were lightly coloured compared to those in Scotland, but Adrian was right when we checked later. A mountain runner passed us on his descent and another couple were resting near the summit. Despite the heat, the lack of humidity meant that walking was easy in just trainers, shorts and a T shirt and there was no need for more than a wind shirt, water and bit of fruit in the rucksack.

We made it by noon and gave ourselves 10 minutes to take in the views. The higher peaks to the north and east were already covered in cloud and there was a distant crack of thunder. A parapenter glided above the ridge and waved before looping round and being sucked upwards by the thermals. We descended by the same route, making reasonable time down the loose rock along the ridge and then descending down the pistes and summer meadows to the car.

By 2:30pm I was sitting with a 75cl bottle of local beer after a swim in the pool. I could easily get used to summers in the Alps. Climbing 1300 metres in perfect visibility and low humidity and getting back to base by 2pm is an awful lot easier on the eye and the body than an 8 or 9 hour slog round a couple of Scottish hills with a high likelihood of rain, wind, poor visibility before a 2 hour drive home. But I did miss the midges.

Path up the ridge

Alpine flowers, a fine substitute for boggy ground

At the summit

Company at the summit

Show off

Alpine garden of flowers

Petite Autane from Ancelle

Ready to go with Adrian

Parc National des Ecrins

Peaks of Parc des Ecrins

At last a summer in the Alps. Why they have eluded me for so long is a bit of a mystery. I have visited them a dozen or so times in winter but never managed a summer in the Alps. Before the family arrived, it was too expensive and the Greek islands were too beguiling. Holidays with children were usually on Scottish islands with the occasional visit to Brittany. And having shed the children we have usually travelled outside the summer months to avoid the crowds and the commensurate prices.

We had decided to visit our normal retreat in the Ardeche in July this year rather than June or September so we could watch the Tour de France pass through. We usually combine this visit with a tour around another part of France, secure in the knowledge that we have a perfect place to relax after the travelling through other departments. I researched where in the Alps might be the most interesting location for a week of walking and climbing away from the maddening crowds. French friends from Vienne had always spoken positively about the Parc National des Ecrins. It is endowed with spectacular scenery but without the concentration of ski resorts and blighted slopes found in the Savoie Alps.

I found accommodation the Drac valley to the south-west of the Parc d'  Ecrins and less than a 3-hour drive from Lyon including a chance to see Grenoble. Our chambres d'hôtes, La Grange des Ecrins, lived up to its excellent reviews. Run by someone who had abandoned corporate life in China for the peace and tranquillity of the Ecrins, where his ancestors had lived. At the head of the valley, the ski resort of Orcieres Merlette gave chairlift access to the higher alps, but there were dozens of other tracks along glorious valleys into the alps. There are over 100 peaks of over 3000 metres and 700 kilometres of marked trails in the Ecrins. There are packs of wolves and large Pyrenean mountain dogs that protect the sheep that graze in the higher Alps. Summer was running late and it meant that we were fortunate to see the quite staggering display of alpine flowers in the meadows and among the screes and rock bands. They were displaying their brightest hues after recent rains.

On our first day, we were recommended to take a minor road around the foot of the Alps. We found recently cut meadows where groups of children were playing with a gusto and freedom that was reminiscent of childhood in our time and numerous parapenters were swooping beneath the blue skies against the backdrop of exquisite looking peaks. We parked at the ancient mountain village of Papric and walked through the enchanting assemblage of wooden houses as the church bells rang out for midday. We walked through the flower abundant meadows and up the valley to the chapel and waterfall before stopping for a lunch of cheese, fruit and water. I continued to climb a nearby peak passing a shepherdess who was looking after a large herd of sheep assisted by four large mountain dogs. There had been warnings that they were fiercely protective of the sheep but on a hot afternoon, they gave me no trouble. She lived in a mountain hut that I passed as I continued the climb and another large dog came to check me out, I must have passed the test and on my return half an hour later the dog didn't even get to his feet as I passed the front of the house.

I finally caught up with Aileen in the village, she had meandered down after lunch captivated by the flowers and scenery. Twenty minutes later we were back at La Grange for a swim and a beer. There was a British family there and in a fairly typical fashion, we soon discovered that the mother had a sister who lived near us and whom I occasionally went running with. The rest of the guests were French who were content with less active pursuits. We had the sense that the owner wanted to attract a more diverse clientele than had been the mainstay of La Grange before he took it over last year. The four-course evening meal was a fusion of French and Chinese cuisine prepared by his Chinese wife and served with local wines, a liqueur (Genopi) and local cheeses.

We found a similar walk on the next day and then on day three took a chairlift from Orciere to a group of lakes at 2400 metres. After walking up to the highest lake and having some lunch, I left Aileen and climbed up a rough path still holding patches of snow to a col with stupendous views over vertical inclined rock faces and then negotiated loose rock dotted with alpine flowers to reach a peak of 3100 metres. It was a perfect afternoon and the panorama of peaks in the Ecrins was lined up and could keep me happy for years. I was down at the cafe at the top of the ski lift by 3:30pm inhaling the clean dry air, shifting a beer, admiring the mountains all around and asking myself why I had waited so long before spending summertime in the Alps.

La Grange des Ecrins

Our first foray into the Alps -

Source of the Drac river above Prapic

Grazing sheep at 2100 metres

Shepherdess and dog

The Alps above Prapic

L'Aiguille de la Dibona

Gentian by Grand Lac des Estaris

Grand Lac des Estaris

Crete du Martinette from Col de Freissinieres

Le Sirac and Pointe de Chabourneou

Pointe Des Estaris

David Cameron RIP

Another whopper

And so another prime minister exits number 10, barely 12 months after his unexpected triumph in the 2015 general election. He was not the architect of his victory but the lucky recipient of negative campaigning against his opponents, which was influenced by a popular press that was mendacious in its dismissal of Clegg and Milliband. The Labour Party self-destructed under the pincer movement of the media, a rampant SNP and a failure to conjure a vision of economic competence.

Mr Cameron has never doubted his own ability and sought to inveigle his way into the good books of the electorate by being a ubiquitous presence on news bulletins with his ability to ad-lib confidently on the headline events of the day. He also gave time to his ministers for them to understand their briefs, he did not have the tendency to shuffle his cabinet. On many issues, he would give off-the-cuff responses or promises that were often impossible to deliver. He was comfortable being the front man for the government, a PM at ease with his own greatness. He left the heavy lifting and dirty work to his accomplices: George Osborne and Michael Gove; they were responsible for the careless whispering.

Prime Minister David Cameron built up an impressive bucket list of failures: housebuilding crashed, benefits slashed, Libya smashed, lib dems dished, democracy dashed, press complaints and press officers sacked, economy cracked, sustainable energy fracked, bankers stashed, fairness trashed, his inheritance cashed but not taxed. His ever-ready rhetoric changed by the day and had to be frequently amended or twisted by his communication team a few days after his utterances.

I happened upon the Anthony Selsdon and Peter Snow biography of David Cameron, Cameron at 10, in a bookshop last week and was tempted to buy it. I have read political biographies of most post-war prime ministers in recent years but I stopped myself fearing that it might influence my intuitive opinions of this apparently charming but ruthless man. Over his 6 years as PM, he has harmed the well-being of a majority of UK citizens, who have suffered the consequences of his loose and austere vision for public services.

At the start of the year, I reflected on whether David Cameron was possibly the worst post-war Prime Minister. This followed his announcement of the referendum on the EU and his claim that he had negotiated a groundbreaking deal for the UK to remain in the European Union. It was a bogus claim that set the scene for an unnecessary referendum that was designed primarily to keep the Tory Eurosceptics in their place. His strategy failed utterly through his lack of diligence and he scuttled his premiership in the sure knowledge that it would be an onerous and thankless task to negotiate an exit from the EU. It would require attention to detail which has never been his strong suit.

I will read a biography of Attlee and consider the major achievements of each PM, their success or otherwise in elections, their mistakes, their leadership qualities and communication skills before I finally rank Cameron in the hall of fame of post-war prime ministers. In the meantime, I would simply conclude that he has been a great disappointment and the damage of his tenure to the majority of UK citizens has been on a par with Mrs Thatcher. He has also damaged the reputation of the UK as a global player in contrast to Mrs Thatcher, who whatever her impact on less affluent communities in Britain, did gain respect on the world stage.

Orrest Head

Looking north to the Helvellyn Range

We had visited the Wainwright exhibition: A Love Letter to the Lakeland Fells in the Keswick Museum early in the week. It had reminded me of the day I had first climbed Orrest Head overlooking Windermere as an 11 year old on a school trip. It was a mesmerising moment with the horizon to the north and west peppered with shapely mountains. I have spent a lot of time since climbing all of these fells but only been back to Orrest Head on a couple of occasions. So on another rain threatened day in a week of downpours that provided some normality in a week of political chaos I suggested that we revisit Orrest Head and be reminded of its inspirational qualities. Instead of the usual route from Windermere we started from Causeway Farm to the north of the hill. We threaded our way through some deciduous woodlands on a muddy path towards Common Farm and then climbed up the short cropped grassland that was decorated with walls, stiles and sheep.

The walk was perfect and once again the views were a revelation. Windermere could be observed in its full sinuous length and the Langdale Pikes even popped out of the cloud for a time. Orrest Head had been the place where Wainwright had fallen in love with the Lakes. He was not alone, today the bare summit was awash with a party of teenage school girls taking selfies, a couple of townies, some Japanese tourists capturing the views with heavy Canon cameras, and a most joyous Indian family laughing with happiness at the spectacular views.

We were all taken by the words below that Wainwright had used to capture the epiphany that has lost none of its impact on the generations that have followed in his footsteps.

And the truth is Wainwright was right

The route up Orrest Head from the north

Nearly there

Windermere town and lake

Townie

Windermere and Langdale Pikes