Posted on May 29th, 2016

Words & Photos: Filippo Canetta

A few years ago, I found an old book of my grandfather's describing a route around the Matterhorn. It took me a while to organize myself and set off on the adventure I want to tell you about: a solo Tour du Cervin.

Covering so many kilometers alone and completely self-sufficient made the journey even more special.

I was focused on my route, but also careful not to miss a single moment of this precious life experience. The loop was demanding, the terrain is technical and, at times, very tough, the average altitude is 2,400 m, and to complete it you have to cross 8 passes above 2,800 meters, 4 of which are above 3,000 m, with 159 km and 10,400 m of elevation gain. But raw numbers never really capture what you can encounter over 31 hours on foot.

Dawn

Silence

That precise moment when the sun's first rays light up the mountains is always magical. First the highest peaks, then the lower ones, and finally the valleys get flooded with its golden light. I tried to keep moving during the 15 hours of daylight between dawn and sunset that late-August days give us. This one was taken shortly after starting out from Cervinia.

Especially in the early morning hours, silence in the mountains is nearly absolute. I always try to move without making noise, almost on tiptoe, so as not to disturb anything.

The climb and descent from Col de Valcournera are genuinely demanding, and they make me doubt whether I have what it takes to pull this off. The terrain is tough, exposed in places, there's not a soul around and I feel a bit alone. I hardly ever think about it, but this is one of those times when the thought creeps in: if I fall and get hurt here, I'll be stuck for quite a while. I move forward as carefully as I can, until I'm back on a proper trail, where I start running as fast as I possibly can, as if trying to flee the danger I'd just escaped.

Perspective

Often, in the mountains, just like in life, it's all a matter of perspective.

At the beginning, the destination seems out of reach.

When we finally, painstakingly, get there, we realize we're only halfway.

By the end of the route, once we've reached the highest point, what once seemed hard now feels, all things considered, simple.

In the end, it's really just a matter of point of view.

By the way, if you happen to pass by the Nacamuli refuge, during the climb to Col Collon, go in and get yourself a slice of blueberry pie, it's well worth it, because after that you cross into Switzerland.

Appearances Are Deceiving

What, in theory, was supposed to be the toughest and riskiest point of the entire route turned out to actually be fairly easy to get through. In the photo you can see the Arolla Glacier, or rather, what's left of it.

The gateway into Switzerland, on the maps, is still marked all the way to the spot where I am when taking this photo, spanning over three kilometers, but in reality, the ice field is now no longer than one kilometer. I was quite worried about crossing it, since I couldn't rope up with anyone, but once I reached the huge stretch of loose rock left behind by its slow but relentless retreat, I simply felt like a sad spectator to this effect of global warming. I'd brought along Nortec micro-crampons anyway, since I had two glaciers to cross.

The Sun

I've run out of water. The sun is baking my head. Cursing myself for forgetting my hat at the start. I finally run into some hikers and ask them if there's any water at Col de Torrent or on the descent. In various languages, they all say NO. There's nothing like knowing you can't drink to make thirst spike. A liter and a half of water has basically evaporated.

The sun is drying out my skin. My neck is burning, I turn to look back down the valley and catch sight of the Fourthousanders again. It makes me laugh, a pass called "Torrent" without so much as a trickle, despite sitting at nearly three thousand meters. There's nothing to do but keep going and hope to find water...

Just past the pass, I see Lake Moiry down in the valley. From up here the lake's water looks turquoise and stunning, if I had a paraglider I'd jump right in from here. On the way down I take a dozen detours searching for water at every trough and cattle tank, but not a single drop comes out of the pipes.

As I lose altitude, I spot cars on the road around the lake, and when I reach it I find a rather upscale bar-restaurant, which I walk into looking pretty worn out and smelling none too fresh. I ask for directions to Zinal the fastest way, and, thinking I was on a bike, they point me toward the paved road. I try to explain myself better, showing them the map, and they tell me the Col de Sorebois route is very long and that they've never done it themselves. I thank them for the confidence boost and head off.

Zinal

This is where the historic Sierre-Zinal finishes. It makes me laugh to picture myself trudging along the same trails where Kilian, THE champion of trail running, flies toward victory. Luckily I'm heading the opposite direction, following the yellow SZ trail markers.

The Moon

It's starting to get dark. But once the moon comes out, at night, you feel a little less alone.

I'd planned to reach the Hotel Weisshorn by 9 pm, since they kept the kitchen open until then, hoping to grab something warm before nightfall, but I'm running late, and the 10 km and 750 m D+ separating me from Zinal feel endless. Sure enough, I arrive just as they're closing up for the night. All I manage to grab is some fruit and water. I head back out, it's starting to get cold, and I need to find somewhere to rest for a bit.

A little earlier I'd passed a wooden hut that looked abandoned. I find it again, and it really is abandoned, in the sense that the roof is falling apart. I decide to stop outside on a kind of bench, I've gotten cold and I put on everything I have: in order, short trail running shorts, leggings, wind pants, short sleeve tee, long sleeve tee, a light down jacket, hat and gloves. My stomach is upset and I can't manage to eat much.

Taking a quick inventory of my food supplies, I realize I haven't eaten much because of the intense heat. Now, instead, I've got the shivers and frozen feet.

I can't sleep, even counting the house lights down in the valley slowly switching off one by one. On the bright side, above me there's one of those starry skies that makes you believe in the existence of some kind of divinity.

DAY TWO

After a rough, cold night on a bench, day two is never easy. But setting off again also means warming up and chasing the sunrise up there. Up high, where the view can open onto the mountains and the whole world.

What I see once I reach the Meidpass at dawn is breathtaking, and I sit for a moment to burn it into my eyes. At this hour, this high up, there's no one around, not even the odd hiker with their oversized backpack.

Running on Another Planet

Climbing up to Augstbordpass, you enter another dimension. The meadows and forests of the western side give way, and it feels like the earth itself has vanished, leaving nothing but rock, small enough to trip on, big enough to leap over, but just rock, for kilometers and kilometers.

This is probably the toughest stretch of the loop, but also the one that's stayed with me the most. Thirty kilometers of rock, flanked by an endless line of peaks over 3,000 m, with names impossible to pronounce.

When I finally, with some effort, spot the Topali hut, grey in a sea of grey, I almost tear up.

The view from inside, in fact, is stunningly beautiful. Off the menu, I'd recommend their hot broth, it can set even the most battered stomach right again.

Return to Civilization

The descent into Randa, with its houses, roads and train station, abruptly ends that wonderful sense of detachment from reality I'd been living in for two days. I struggle my way to Zermatt, where I see threatening clouds gathering around the Matterhorn. I need to hurry to avoid getting stuck by bad weather. I'm too tired to look for an alternative, so I try to push forward as fast as I can, but the climb is demanding, and I realize I'm moving very slowly.

I know the Theodul Pass well (I'd trained on the Cervinia-Zermatt-Cervinia route a few months earlier), once past the glacier, the descent onto the Cervinia ski slopes poses no real problems, even in tough conditions. The clouds and wind pick up. I bundle up properly and push on, my feet soaked from the decomposing glacier.

The survival instinct, along with the urge to savor, one last time, the silence and solitude of the mountains, manages to pull the last bit of energy out of my body, and I climb happily all the way up to the 3,315 m pass.

This loop is what gave birth to one of our most loved tees:

P.S. if anyone's training for Hardrock 100, this is, in my opinion, the ideal route.

Strava

Here are my tracks (only things I left behind):

TECHNICAL NOTES

The route is normally covered by hikers over multiple days.

For more information on possible stages, you can check the Tour du Cervin website.

Two maps are available (essential):
Tour du Cervin 1:50000, Editrek & L'escursionista editore
Tour du Cervin 1:50000, Rotten Verlag