Dries Buytaert

Last month, my son Axl turned eighteen. He also graduated high school and will leave for university in just a few weeks. It is a big milestone and we decided to mark it with a three-day backpacking trip in the French Alps near Lake Annecy.

We planned a loop that would start and end at Col de la Forclaz, located at 1,150 meters (3,770 feet). From there the trail would climb through forests and alpine pastures, eventually taking us to the summit of La Tournette at 2,351 meters (7,713 feet). It is the highest peak around Lake Annecy and one of the most iconic hikes in the region.

Over the past months we studied maps, gathered supplies, and prepared for the hike. My own training started only three weeks before, just enough to feel unprepared in a more organized way. I took up jogging and did stairs with my pack on, though I should have also practiced sleeping on uneven ground.

Flying to Annecy

Axl thought the trip would begin with a nine-hour drive south to Annecy. What he didn't know was that one of my best friends, Ben, who owns a Cessna, would be flying us instead. It felt like the perfect surprise to begin our trip.

Two hours later we landed in Annecy. After a quick lunch by the lake, we taxied to Col de la Forclaz, famous for paragliding and its views over Lake Annecy.

Day 1: Col de la Forclaz → Refuge de la Tournette

Our trail started near the paragliding launch point at Col de la Forclaz. From there it climbed steadily through the forest. It was quiet and enclosed, with only brief glimpses of the valley through the branches.

Eventually we emerged above the tree line near Chalet de l'Aulp. In September, the chalet is closed during the week, but we sat on a hill nearby, ate the rice bars Vanessa had prepared, and simply enjoyed the moment.

After our break the trail grew steeper, winding through alpine meadows and rocky slopes. The valley stretched out far below us while big mountains rose ahead.

After a couple of hours we reached the site of the old Refuge de la Tournette, which has been closed for years, and found a flat patch of grass nearby for our first campsite.

As we sat down, we had time for deeper conversations. We talked about how life will change now that he is eighteen and about to leave for university. I told him our hike felt symbolic. The climb up was like the years behind us, when his parents, myself included, made most of the important decisions in his life. The way down would be different. From here he would choose his own path in life, and my role would be to walk beside him and support him.

Saying it out loud caught me by surprise. It left me with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. It felt as if we would leave one version of Axl at the summit and return with another, stepping into adulthood and independence.

Dinner was a freeze-dried chili con carne that turned out to be surprisingly good. Just as we were eating, a large flock of sheep came streaming down the hillside, their bells ringing. Fortunately they kept moving, or sleep would have been impossible.

After dinner we set up our tent and took stock of our water supply. We had carried five liters of water each, knowing we could only refill at tomorrow's refuge. By now we had already used three liters for the climb and dinner. I could have drunk more, but we set two liters aside for the morning and felt good about that plan.

Later, as we settled into our sleeping bags, I realized how many firsts Axl had packed into a single day. He had taken his first private flight in a small Cessna, carried a heavy backpack up a mountain for the first time, figured out food and water supplies, and experienced wild camping for the first time.

Day 2: Refuge de la Tournette → Refuge de Praz D'zeures

Sleeping was difficult. The ground that looked flat in daylight was uneven, and my foldout mat offered little comfort. I doubt I slept more than two hours. By 4:30 the rain had started, and I started to worry about how slippery the trail might become.

When we unzipped the tent around 6:00 in the morning, a "bouquetin" (ibex) with one horn broken off stood quietly in the gray light, watching us without fear. Its calm presence was a gentle contrast to my own concerns.

By 7:00 a shepherd appeared out of nowhere while we were making coffee. He told us wild camping here was not permitted. He spoke with quiet firmness. We were startled and embarrassed, having missed the sign lower down the trail. We apologized, promised to leave no trace, and packed up to be on our way.

Before leaving he shared the forecast: rain by early afternoon, thunderstorms by 16:00. You do not want to be on a summit when lightning rolls in. With that in mind we set off quickly, pushing harder than usual. Unlike the sunny day before, when the path was busy with hikers, the mountain felt empty. It was just the two of us moving upward in the quiet.

Shortly before the final section to the summit it began to rain again. Axl put on his gloves as the drops felt icy. The rain passed quickly, but we knew more was coming.

The final stretch to La Tournette was steep, with chains and metal ladders to help the climb. We scrambled with hands and feet, and with our heavy packs it was nerve-racking at times.

Reaching the top was unforgettable. At the summit we climbed onto the Fauteuil, a massive block of rock shaped like an armchair. From there the Alps spread out in every direction. In the far distance, the snow-covered summit of Mont Blanc caught the light. Below us, Lake Annecy shimmered in the valley, while dark rain clouds gathered not too far away.

We gave each other a big hug, a quiet celebration of the climb and the moment. We stayed only a short while, knowing the weather was turning.

From the summit we set our course for the Refuge de Praz D'zeures, a mountain hut about two hours' hike away. As we descended, the landscape softened into wide alpine pastures where bouquetin grazed among the grass and flowers.

Pushing to stay ahead of the rain and thunderstorms in the forecast, we reached the refuge (1,774 meters) around 14:30 in the afternoon. The early start seemed like a wise choice, but our hearts sank when we saw the sign on the door: "fermé" (closed).

For a moment we feared we had nowhere to stay. Then we noticed another sign off to the side. It took us a minute to decipher, since it was written in French, but eventually we understood: in September the refuge only opens from Thursday evening through Sunday night. Some relief washed over us. It was indeed Thursday, and most likely the hosts or guardians of the hut had not yet arrived.

We decided to wait and settled onto the wooden deck outside. Our water supplies were gone, but Axl found an outdoor kitchen sink with a faucet, fed by a nearby stream, and filled a couple of our empty water bottles. I drank one almost in a single go.

To pass the time we opened the small travel chess set I had received for Christmas. The game gave us something to focus on as the clouds thickened around the hut. A damp chill settled in, and we pulled on extra layers while we leaned over the tiny board.

Sure enough, a little later the hosts of the refuge appeared. A couple with three children and two dogs. They came up the trail carrying heavy containers of food, bread, water, and other supplies on their backs, all the way from a small village more than an hour's hike below.

Almost immediately they warned us that the water at the refuge was not potable. I tried not to dwell on the bottle I had just finished, but luckily Axl had used his water filter when filling our bottles. We would find out soon enough how well it worked. (Spoiler: we survived!)

The refuge itself was simple but full of character. There is no hot water, no heating, and the bunks are basic, yet the young family who runs it brings life and warmth to the place. My French was as rusty as their English, but between us we managed.

It was so cold inside the hut that we retreated into our sleeping bags for warmth. Then, as the rain began to pour, they lit a wood stove in the main room. Through the window we watched the clouds wrap around the refuge while water streamed off the roof in steady sheets. We felt grateful not to be out in our tent that night or still on the trail.

That night we had a local specialty: raclette au charbon de bois, cheese cooked on a small charcoal grill in the middle of the table. I have had raclette many times before, but never like this. The smell of melting cheese filled the room as we poured it over potatoes and tore into fresh bread. After two days of freeze-dried meals it felt like a feast. I loved it, especially because I knew Vanessa would never let me use charcoal in our living room.

After dinner we went straight to bed, exhausted from the long day and the lack of sleep the night before. Even though the bunks were hard, we slept deeply and well.

Day 3: Refuge de Praz D'zeures → La Forclaz

Morning began with breakfast in the hut. A simple bowl of cereal with milk tasted unusually good after two days of powdered meals. Two other guests joined us at the breakfast table and teased me that they could hear me snore through the thin wooden walls. Axl just grinned. Apparently my reputation had spread faster than I thought.

The day's hike covered about 8.5 kilometers (5.3 miles), starting with a 350-meter (1,150-foot) climb to a ridge, followed by a long descent of nearly 1,000 meters (3,280 feet). The storms from the night before had left everything soaked, so even the flat stretches of trail were slippery and slow.

Reaching the ridge made the effort worthwhile. On one side the clouds pressed in so tightly there was no visibility at all. On the other side the valley opened wide, green and bright in the morning light. It felt like standing with one foot in the fog and the other in the sun.

We walked along the ridge and talked, the kind of conversations that only seem to happen when you spend hours on the trail together. At one point we stopped to look for fossils and, to our delight, actually found one.

By the time we reached the village of Montmin it felt like stepping back into civilization. We left the trail for quiet roads, ate lunch in the sun near the church, and rinsed our muddy boots and rain gear at a faucet. From there it was only a short walk back to La Forclaz, where three days earlier we had set off with heavy packs and full of anticipation.

We had returned tired, lighter, and grateful for the experience and for each other. To celebrate we ordered crêpes in a tiny café and ate them in the sun, looking up at the peaks we had just conquered. Later that afternoon, we swam in Lake Annecy in our underwear and finished the day with a cold beer.

The next morning we caught a taxi to Geneva airport, flew home, and by afternoon we were back in Belgium, welcomed with Vanessa's shepherd's pie. In just a few weeks Axl will leave for university and his room will be empty, but that evening we were all together, sharing stories from our trip over dinner.

It had been a short trip, just three days in the mountains. Hard at times, but very manageable for a not-super-fit forty-six year old. Some journeys are measured less by distance, duration, or difficulty, but by the transitions they mark. This one gave us what we needed: time together before the changes ahead, and a memory we will carry for the rest of our lives. On the trail Axl often walked ahead of me. In life, I will have to learn to walk beside him.