Grand Crêt d'Eau (Nos 11, 17, 20, 27 & 31)

Le Tour de Grand Crêt d'Eau is the only trek in the Jura where it's possible to climb to the summit of five "top 30" peaks on one trek: Crêt de la Goutte (1621m, No.11), Crêt du Milieu (1597m, No.17), Crêt du Miroir (1584m, No 20), Crêt de l'Eguillon (1549m, No. 27) and Crêt des Frasses (1536m, No. 31). Lis and I did "le Tour" on a gorgeous, sunny Vaud public holiday (Monday 17 September), climbing all five peaks, as well as one other mystery 1608m peak ("Le Sorgia"?) which lies to the south of the other five.

 Standing under the telecommunications tower on top of the un-named 1608m peak at the southern end of the Grand Crêt d'Eau massif. Is it "Le Sorgia"?

Making the most of the public holiday, and the gorgeous autumn weather, we decided to tackle the last big massif in the Jura that lies north of the Rhône River - the Grand Crêt d'Eau (sometimes called "le Grand Credo") - and bag its five "top 30" peaks in a single day. Apparently le Grand Crêt d'Eau was supposed to be named "Grand Crêt d'Aulp" - which means "Great Alpine Peak", but somehow the intended name got lost in dictation ("a phonetic corruption" according to one account), and "Grand Crêt d'Eau" became the accepted moniker.

It took us about an hour and a half to drive there from St George - skipping west over the Jura's highest ridgeline via the Col de la Givrine (between St Cergue and La Cure), then winding our way south through the Vallée des Dappes, under the majestic cliffs of le Rocher des Hirondelles and Roche Franche, and through the Vallée de Valserine to the tiny little French village of Menthières. We drove straight through the scattering of houses and miscellaneous shuttered buildings (it seemed deserted), and headed up a forest road to the east - into the Bois de Boge. Eventually we came to a sign (at about 1235m), telling us we couldn't go any further.

 We knew we were in the right place.

Vous êtes ici.

So we parked the car, grabbed our packs and began walking in a northerly direction along the dirt track through the forest. It was about 10.30am.

Before long we came across a ski lift - which connected Menthières down below us to the top of le Grand Crêt d'Eau - at a place called la Charnaz. We decided to turn right and follow the ski lift straight up the steep hillside (a bad move) until we found a more gentle, grass-covered piste which slowly wound its way up and across the contours to the top of the massif. To the west of us we could look down on the Vallée de Valserine, and to the south, the regional centre of Bellegarde. After circling around the first crest we came to, we soon found ourselves at the first of the summits - Crêt des Frasses (1536m, No 31). The summit gets its name from the old French word "Fraisse" or "Frasse" (old Latin "Frassia") - which is the name given to the Ash tree (Fraxinus excelsior).

The summit of Crêt des Frasses, with le Reculet, Roche Franche 

and Crêt de la Grotte visible in the background on the right.

A closer look at the northern peaks above the huge scar of Roche Franche.

Looking south from Crêt des Frasses towards Crêt de la Goutte.

Scary commemorative pic atop Crêt des Frasses.

From Crêt des Frasses we could see three of the other four peaks, so we headed-off in a south-easterly direction, cross-country through tufted alpine grasslands to the Crêt de l'Eguillon.

 Looking back towards the Crêt des Frasses on the ridgeline near Crêt de l'Eguillon.

Before long, we were standing on its summit (1549m, No 27), where we stayed just long enough to take a few photos, and take-in the amazing views - especially along the Jura to the north; and out over the plains of Gex and Geneva, Lac Léman and the Alps to the east. Even Mont Blanc was on show through the autumn haze.

On top of Crêt de l'Eguillon.

 Looking north along le Balcon du Léman, 

the alpine pasturage farm of Chalet du Sac in the foreground.

 Looking east across the Rhône River towards the Alps. Mont Blanc in the centre.

 A closer look at Mont Blanc and nearby Alps.

 Looking south towards Crêt du Miroir (at far left), 

Crêt du Milieu (distant centre) and Crêt de la Goutte (right).

 We followed an unmarked trail alongside a fence-line - that led from the top of Crêt de l'Eguillion to the valley floor at a place called la Pierre à Fromage (1510m).

 The trailhead at la Pierre à Fromage.

I resisted the urge to photograph la Pierre (it was after all, just a rock sticking up out of the ground), and we headed on south up to the top of Crêt de la Goutte. ("Goutte" means "drop" or "blob" - which is a bit ignominious for the eleventh highest peak in the Jura.)

 Lis on the trail, Crêt de l'Eguillon in the background.

 The goal of the day: Under the iron cross at Crêt de la Goutte.

Crêt de la Goutte (1621m, No 11), is the highest peak in the Grand Crêt d'Eau, and for most of the walkers who come up here, the only one of the five peaks they bother scrambling to the top. Not surprisingly, it was here that we encountered the only other walkers we met during the day. Unfortunately it was around noon, and all of them had planned their walks to arrive at the summit at the same time - around lunchtime, so we found a grassy ledge a little distance from the summit and settled down for our trail lunch and siesta.

Lis at what has to be one of the world's best picnic spots.

Gazing out towards Mont Blanc and the Alps.

Life doesn't get much better than this.

Once again, we were spell-bound by the amazing panorama around us - from the Jura to the Alps and back to the Jura, and wandered around the summit taking lots of photographs.

Checking-out the orientation table.

This is truly a work of art.

The orientation table was built and installed in 1993 by "l'Association "Les Amis des Sentiers" de Bellegarde-sur-Valserine avec le Concours du Conseil General de l'Ain, de la Commune de Collognes & de la Commune de Confort". The similarly artistic-looking iron cross was apparently made by an artisan called Pierre Pautry, in 1996. It was donated by the "Famille Zuccone en hommage a ses bergers" and erected by "Monsieur le Maire de Confort" on the 26th of August 1998.

A last look at the iron cross and information table at Crêt de la Goutte.

Looking south towards Crêt du Miroir (at left) and Crêt du Milieu (centre, middle distance). In the background (right, distant) lurks the mystery peak ("Le Sorgia"?)

Although trekkers, farmers, Romans, cavemen and others have been coming up here for hundreds, if not thousands of years, perhaps the most famous day in the history of Crêt de la Goutte was Wednesday the 27th of October 1937. It was on that day that 24 year old Swiss glider pilot Michel Martin, from Geneva, got caught-out by gale-force winds thrown-up by a typically unexpected Jura storm, and crashed his "Grunau baby" glider into a patch of trees not far from the summit - at about 1400 metres. Still strapped to his wrecked glider, he fell about 20 metres to the ground, with his fall cushioned by the branches that slowed his path to terra firma. Despite being severely injured - including having a broken nose and a double compound fracture to his left leg, he managed to survive for four days and cold nights without water, finding some nourishment on a diet of snails, slugs, grass and leaves. A huge land and air search was carried-out, with scores of volunteers scouring the peaks and troughs of the southern Jura, but no trace was found of the glider or its pilot for four days. One evening Michel tried his best to get down the mountainside by crawling awkwardly on his back, but passed-out from intense pain. He planned to at least crawl into an open area where he could be spotted by the search planes, or where they might find his body, but could manage only about 300 metres - still within the darkness and shelter of the forest.

At around 8am on Sunday, a dog belonging to a party of hunters (oblivious apparently to the rescue operation that was going on around them) sniffed something that encouraged his owner to move toward what he was hoping was going to be game ("la chasse"). Imagine his surprise when he heard, then saw propped-up against a tree trunk, a pale, haggard, bloodied young man who could only call out "to drink, drink". He was taken down to Collognes, then to the hospital in Geneva, where (due to infection) doctors were forced to amputate his leg just above his knee. In a happy ending to this story, Michel, fitted now with a wooden leg, returned to the air a year later and continued to happily fly gliders for many years - until his eyesight deteriorated sufficiently for him to be "grounded" by his family doctor - in 1977.

If someone crashed down into the gorges, crevasses and sinkholes hidden among those trees, it sure would be difficult to find them.

Although we could have stayed at this amazing place all day, we resisted the urge and headed-off down the mountainside towards the three peaks to the south. The trail (now marked with the characteristic mountain trail red and white striped posts) took us into a broad expanse of relatively flat alpine grassland, which contained a couple of very neat looking, circular ponds.

Back on the trail below Crêt de la Goutte.

Highland pond.

 Sign on the trail.

Merci de votre comprehension!

Surprisingly (to us peak-grabbers at least), the trail took us right between (and past) Crêt du Miroir and Crêt du Milieu and began heading back down the mountain towards Collognes (the closest French town down on the eastern side of the mountain - on the plain, southwest of Geneva). We followed it for awhile, then headed cross-country to the summit of the un-named peak (1608m), which I saw referred to as "le Sorgia" in one Jura guidebook that I have on my bookshelves at home in St George.

Checking-out one of the radio-comms structures at the top of "le Sorgia". 

Down the cliffs just below is Fort de l'Ecluse - one of our favourite via ferrata climbing sites.

Lis checking-out Mont Blanc from "le Sorgia".

We didn't stay long, and were soon retracing our steps back towards the north of the Grand Crêt d'Eau, and the summits of the last two unclimbed peaks. First stop was atop Crêt du Miroir (1584m, No 20), where we paused just long enough for a commemorative pic. "Miroir" originates from the base Latin word miratorium "mirror", Latin mirari "admire", and old French mirour "mirror". It is thought to mean "a place with a good view". Well we can certainly attest to that!

Flying the flag atop Crêt du Miroir. (Not the French flag I know, but it was the closest I could find for le tricoloré. Just imagine it's turned on its side)

Lis gazing down on the Rhône.

One last look at Mont Blanc.

From here we headed west, downhill, then up - to the top of Crêt du Milieu (1597m, No 17) - the fifth and final of our target peaks for the day. Quite aptly, Milieu literally means "the one who is in the middle". A commemorative photograph, then a last quick scan of the 360 degree panorama, and we were on our way back down the mountain.

At the trig station atop Crêt du Milieu.

Looking north towards the summit of Crêt de la Goutte.

The summit of Crêt du Miroir, from Crêt du Milieu, 

with Mont Blanc in the background.

The trail took us back over the top of Crêt de la Goutte, so we stopped at the summit for one last photograph ...

... then headed north northwest towards Crêt des Frasses. Somewhere down to the left of us was the marked trail - passing by le Chalet de Varambon, but we headed cross-country - through the rough-and-tumble tussocky grasslands. After scrambling up and over one last rocky outcrop, we found ourselves back on the grassy piste below Crêt des Frasses, from where it was all downhill as we retraced our steps from earlier in the morning.

We arrived back at the car at about 3.30pm - after five fabulous hours atop the Haute Chaîne du Jura. Life doesn't get much better than that.

Jura peaks bagged:

• Crêt de la Goutte (No. 11) 1621m
• Crêt du Milieu (No. 17) 1597m
• Crêt du Miroir (No. 20) 1584m
• Crêt de l'Eguillon (No. 27) 1549m
• Crêt des Frasses (No. 31) 1536m

Montoisey (No 8)

Waking-up to another beautiful-looking Sweet-zerland Sunday morning meant there was a good chance of bagging a peak or two in the Jura before the end of the day. I'd been planning a walk for some time that would go from Crozet (in France, near Geneva) to the "Balcon de Léman" - the section of the Jura ridgeline which provides magnificent views out over Geneva, Lac Léman and the Alps on the eastern horizon. Above Crozet, it would be possible to reach the top of four peaks: Montoisey, Montoiseau, Treumont and Les Voyrieres.

The first two of these - Montoisey (No 8) and Montoiseau (No 16) - are often confused as being one and the same. But they're not, although very few people ever go to the top of Montoiseau. They do to Montoisey, because it's got a huge cable car station at the top to ferry skiers to the top of their run. Despite the fact that one can "summit" this peak in winter via a cable car, it's still the eighth-highest peak in the Jura, so was a "must-do" on my now expanded Jura project. (Why stop at the seven highest? We're still only just half-way through the year, and there are so many great walks to be done.)

While the drive from St George to Crozet (which is about 15 kilometres northwest of Geneva) was in glorious sunshine, we were a bit taken aback when we first spotted Crozet and the scenic Balcon de Léman ... as the latter was completed shrouded by a tablecloth of cloud that obscured the entire top of the southern, French Jura. We drove on with optimism, taking bets about what time the clouds would lift and dissipate as the day heated-up.

 Hmm, that doesn't look good.

The cloud layer was still there when we left the car in glorious sunshine at the cable car station at the top of Crozet (it's at about 600m). It was about 9.30am when we crossed the car park and first set foot on the steep trail that headed straight up the mountainside. The path more or less shadowed the cable car route directly up the steep slope, however mostly zig-zagged through the forest within a couple of hundred metres of the alien sounds and appearances of the easy-ascending apparatus. (Most of the other hikers we saw in the car park jumped into one of the gondolas, and headed up the mountain leaving us in their dust.)

 It's possible to walk up under the cable cars, 

but there's a much better trail through the adjacent forest.

The forest trail was steep and hard, with lots of rocks and tree roots to be wary of, but also very beautiful. It occasionally popped-out alongside the cable car route, crossed a couple of forestry access roads, and became entangled with a precipitous-looking VTT (mountain bike) trail; but in general it was fabulous.

Lis on the forest trail.

 Intersecting the cable car route.

The trail marking isn't the best, so at times one just has to follow your intuition, and keep heading up until you find another yellow or red trail marker on a tree or rock - somewhere on or adjacent to the trail. We were soon puffing, and sweating. It was getting warmer. Maybe the ridgeline will be clear of its clouds by the time we would get there.

 Follow the yellow markers ... or the red markers when the yellow ones disappear.

Unfortunately we had no such luck. The last bit of sunshine shone on us soon after we emerged from the forest trail near Le Fierney - the upper cable car station, which is connected to Crozet. It was about 10.30.

Approaching Le Fierney cable car station.

 Looking back towards Le Fierney: 

sunshine on the downhill, clouds on the summits.

We looked back down towards Crozet and the Pays de Gex, and further beyond towards Lac Léman and Geneva. All were bathed in sunlight. We turned around in the direction of the nearby summits of Montoiseau and Treumont. Both were obliterated by a swirling misty layer of grey clouds that were scudding across the Jura before dissolving into thin air. Hmmmmmm.

As insurance, I ducked into the cable car station and asked the attendant what time the last car would be going down the mountain. 5pm. That might be a useful option to have up our sleeve later in the day.

We headed further up the mountainside, past the fenced-off small botanical refuge (very luxuriant, as you'd expect in the Parc Naturel Régional du Haut-Jura and the nature reserve Haute Chaîne du Jura), the chalet de Fierney Girod, and numerous ski-lift structures.

 The botanical reserve near Le Fierney.

Being summer, the latter were all standing idle. And being such a misty mountain day, the empty lifts looked a bit like some kind of medieval death scene after a macabre public hanging. All these things were hanging in the mist, swinging in the breeze, as the wind whistled through their wires and gaunt structures. It was a weird scene for what was meant to be a lovely summer's day.

 Lifeless chairs swinging in the mist near Montoiseau.

We passed to the south of a small, picturesque lake, which also appeared grey and semi-hidden among the low-lying clouds that, by now, swirled all around us. We were walking into another of those "expect the unexpected" classic Jura white-outs.

 Lis heading into the white-out.

No problem. With my GPS switched-on, and permanently in hand, we soon found our way to the top of Montoiseau (No 16 on the list of Jura peaks, at 1600 metres). We'd climbed more than a thousand metres in altitude since we'd left Crozet. No wonder we were feeling leg weary. The weather appeared to be getting worse and worse, the higher we went, which meant we stopped at the summit for just a few minutes: only really long enough to take a couple of photographs.

 At the summit of Montoiseau. No views.

 This was as good as it got from Montoiseau.

Our next destination, just 700 metres to the west was Montoisey (No 8, 1669m). After a short push - up the "gravel" access road - we were soon standing alongside the cloud-shrouded Montoisey cable car station - which linked the summit with the town of Lelex, to the northwest in the Valserine valley, in France. We scrambled up the nearby hill-top to the summit of the mountain, and took another couple of commemorative photos ... just as the rain started to put a dampener on our summer's day stroll in the park. Montoisey, which used to be called Mont Oysel (in 1176), gets its name (as does Montoiseau) from mons or mont - meaning a mountain or summit, and oiseau, the French word for "bird".

Ricardo getting wet at the top of Montoisey.

We dashed back down to the cable car station, thinking we might find some shelter in its lee, but were discouraged from hanging around by the sudden appearance of one of those huge Russian mountain sheep dogs that was guarding his flock of sheep. He ran towards us barking like crazy, so we backed-off .... and headed back down the mountain. Our highest destination for the day provided zero visibility, no scenic panoramas to photograph, and no comfortable place to sit down for a trail snack. It was about 11.30 when we got there, and about 11.40 when we left, now wrapped-up in our Mammut windbreakers, with droplets of rain bouncing off our packs and shoulders.

We scurried-off the mountaintop, retracing our steps back to the Col de Crozet (1485m), where we had a brief "war council" to decide if we would push-on to the other two peaks, or beat a retreat off the mountain-top. At least the rain had stopped by now, so we decided to head-on - towards Treumont.

 Sign at Col de Crozet.

Treumont is not on the regular walk trail, so we had to head "cross country" through the lush, but lumpy alpine meadows. Between the millions of years of erosion, the umpteen many years of cow traffic, and the two-day-old rooting-around by wild boars; the terrain was rough and rugged. We had to watch carefully where we put our feet, as it would have been easy to twist, sprain or break an ankle. Still wet from our Montoisey soaking, we weren't in the best humour as we cut across the hilltops searching for the unmarked summit of Treumont amidst the blanketing clouds. Fortunately, once again, the GPS led us straight to the summit (at 1530m, and No 36 on the list of highest Jura summits), where we again stopped for just as long as it took us to take a couple of photos.

 

 Getting blown away at the summit of Treumont.

The summit of Treumont.

With hunger bells ringing in our stomachs, we found a sheltered hollow out of the wind - just over the crest of the peak - where we settled-down on some rocks and shared a hearty mountain lunch. While we were there, the sun began to occasionally break through the clouds, providing glimpses of the adjacent escarpment, and the plains of Gex and Geneva far below us.

 Looking through the clouds for views down below.

 Finally, a bit of landscape further down the escarpment.

Refuelled and refreshed from our lovely sheltered lunch stop, we decided to head-on to bag the fourth peak for the day - Les Voyrieres. Once again we headed back, cross-country, in a north-westerly direction, until we intersected the main Jura ridgeline walking trail between Crêt de la Neige (to the southwest) and Colomby de Gex (to the northeast).

 Heading cross country through the alpine meadows.

We headed northeast for about a kilometre, then left the trail once again to find the summit of Les Voyrieres. As it is another unmarked, off-the-beaten-track summit, we again relied on the GPS to lead us straight to its many-headed summit. Before long we'd located the trig station survey point among the swirling grass and found ourselves at the summit of les Voyrieres (No 12, and 1614m).

 A nip of rum to celebrate the fourth summit of the day - les Voyrieres.

Once again, Ra the sun god smiled on us and provided enough breaks in the cloud layer to provide some great views out towards Lac Léman and Geneva, and along the edge of the Jura escarpment above which we were perched. The summit is right at the top of le Creux de Praffion - an arc of cliffs that dropped away precipitously to the valley floor 300 metres below us. Not surprisingly, with the wind trying its hardest to blow us right off the top of the mountain, we kept well back from the edge of the cliffs.

Lis looking out from les Voyrieres over Creux de Praffion.

 Looking down over Creux de Praffion.

With mission accomplished - four Jura peaks bagged on the one walk - we shouldered our packs and headed back down the trail. We stopped from time to time to photograph some of the beautiful alpine flowers, geological features - like the sinkholes, and more interesting signage.

Oops, should have read this one before we went cross-country.

Of course I kept clicking-away at the incredible peaks and troughs all around us.

 Last glance at Montoiseau.

 Treumont - temporarily clear of clouds now.

We were soon back at the Cole de Crozet, and then past the gap between Montoiseau and Treumont, and down the mountainside to Le Fierney - where we bought a couple of tickets and jumped into the first available gondola that was heading down to Crozet.

Heading into the Le Fierney cable car station.

 Down the mountain in record time - by cable car.

We arrived back down at the Crozet cable car station after a rapid descent, at about 3.30pm - six hours after we'd first started our walk that morning. We often say that our walks are about an hour, or half an hour, too long, so it was good to have the cable car option to finish off today's walk.

Looking back towards the ridgeline, the top of the Jura was still blanketed with clouds, although not as bad as when we'd got to the top of Montoisey around noon. It was good to be back where we started, and good to think we'd soon be home with a hot bath and glass of red wine to celebrate having climbed to the top of Montoisey - that tenth peak in our list of the top ten summits of the Jura.

Jura peaks bagged:

• Montoisey (No. 8) 1669m
• Les Voyrieres (No. 12) 1614m
• Montoiseau (No. 16) 1660m
• Treumont (No. 36) 1530m