Monday 6th August 2018. An ascent of Clot la Cime 2732m/312m, from Col d’Izoard, Cottian Alps, France. 12.7km, with 400m of ascent and 990m of descent.

For the second week of our holiday in France, we moved to an apartment in a large old farm building in the tiny hamlet of le Laus, about 10km south-east of the town of Briançon in the Cottian Alps (see at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cottian_Alps). This was a very old building (the date 1768 was inscribed above the doorway), standing at an altitude of 1745m. The temperature dropped rapidly at night after the sun had set below the encircling mountains.

For my first hike in the area, I chose the mountain at the head of our valley, which rose prominently above the settlement. The standard route was from the Col d’Izoard (2,360m), another of the famous cols frequently used as a stage in the Tour de France (see at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Col_d%27Izoard).

ALT dropped me off at the col at 9 o’clock in the morning. Heavy rain and a possible thunderstorm were forecast for the area in the early afternoon. By my estimate, I hoped to have completed my hike before this came in. The morning was bright, hot and sunny, although cloud was beginning to gather to the south across the Italian border.

The trail headed west from the col around the south flank of a minor knoll with a viewing point, contouring around the east flank of the mountain. The path was well cut into the rock and scree, although the steep sweeping drop to the valley below meant care needed to be taken. I was passed on the trail by an athletic young couple who were making light work of the trail. The slopes of the mountain were ablaze with alpine flowers, and I lost count of the number of Mountain Ringlet butterflies availing themselves of the abundant supply of nectar. They were accompanied by the occasional Swallowtail, one of the most handsome of European butterflies.

Steepening further, the route took a rising traverse above some crags and up into the Ravin de l’Agnel on the south flank of the mountain. In places the path had eroded away, and closer attention was needed on the loose scree to circumvent the difficulty. Once in the ravine the trail, although steep, was less exposed. I made steady progress and was soon on the summit ridge.

The French have a habit, on occasions, of choosing as the ‘summit’ of the mountain a spot where the view is best, but which is not necessarily the highest point. The east top, at 2729m, was such a place. It sported a large cairn and summit marker post, and the view was, indeed, fine. However, I always make a point of examining the excellent French IGN maps carefully before starting a hike in the country, so I was aware there was a higher top several hundred metres to the west. A short stroll brought me to this. Although the view was more restricted, a rocky tor on the north side of the summit ridge, several metres lower than the true summit, added interest.

The weather was still fine, but I noted the cloud continued to amass in the direction of Monte Viso (at 3,841m, the highest mountain in the Cottian Alps) over the Italian border. It was time to head down to a safer altitude. I took my outward route, again with care, down to the Col d’Izoard. Rather than descend on the zig-zags of the D 902 road, I made a descending traverse on the northern slopes of Clot la Cime, then heading north around the Refuge Napoléon (an excellent place for lunch) to the marked trail that would take me down through forest to the Blétonnet valley and so to le Laus.

This proved an excellent choice. The forest was a beautiful natural one of sunny glades and alpine flowers. It was teeming with Mountain Ringlet butterflies. I had never seen so many butterflies in one place.

After a while my forest reverie came to an end, as the trail suddenly made a beeline for the eastern flank of the ridge, plunging rapidly in series of steep zig-zags to the valley below. More attention to foot placement was required again. I emerged, after crossing a fast-flowing stream by a bridge, in alpine pastures with the clank of goat-bells.

Looking south to the jagged arête of the Crêtes des Oules, which forms the west ridge of the stunning Pic de Rochebrune (3320m), I noted that the storm clouds were now piling in from the south. I made haste down the valley past a little chapel dedicated to St Gervais and St Protais, early Christian martyrs from Milan who are, appropriately, the patron saints of hay-makers. I just reached the lintel of our gîte when the first large raindrops began to fall.