This post covers section 1 of our clockwise hike of the Tour du Mont Blanc, starting in Chamonix, France and ending at Refuge du Lac Blanc.

Start: Brévent Gondola, Chamonix, France

Finish: Refuge du Lac Blanc, France

Mileage: 6.6 mi / 10.6 km

Elevation Gain: 1900 ft / 579 m

Elevation Loss: 2400 ft / 732 m

Auberge: Refuge du Lac Blanc

View section map on Gaia

We awoke in our attic room at La Croix Blanche, a cozy hotel in the heart of Chamonix. For the unfamiliar, it’s pronounced sham-o-nee—the “x,” like nearly every other letter in French I’d soon learn, is silent. We were exhausted from traveling across the Atlantic but our excitement quickly overrode the lingering remnants of tiredness. By 8am, we were out of bed, packed, and ready to tackle our first day of the Tour du Mont Blanc (TMB).

From start to end, the day was glorious. We were fortunate to have sunshine and its tendrils gave the perfect amount of warmth while hiking through stunning alpine scenery. We hiked along exposed trails that ran parallel to the Mont Blanc mountain range, its peaks rising high above the Chamonix valley. Staying at Refuge du Lac Blanc was the cherry on top. Of all the huts we stayed in, Lac Blanc had the most dramatic scenery and the coziest of ambiances. This small hut is tucked in among boulders on the mountainside and securing reservations is not easy. In fact, we almost didn’t get to stay there—meaning we’d be stuck on a mountaintop for the night without shelter—but more on that misadventure later.

For now, we’ll take it from the start, and in France the start always involves coffee and pastries. We stopped at La Panière, a café near the small church in the center of Chamonix, for a quick dose of caffeine, a little energy in the form of flaky carbs, and to snag a little something-something to snack on later. From there, we were off to the gondola that would take us high above Chamonix and to the beginning of our trek.

Note: as of November 2023 Refuge du Lac Blanc’s website is not active. If looking to book, additional research is required to confirm its current opening status.

Like most, we used Chamonix as the starting point of our TMB. Unlike most, we opted to hike clockwise. When planning our first day I realized we had three options for how to start:

1. Walk straight out of Chamonix and hike up to Lac Blanc

2. Take a bus to Les Houches and begin there

3. Walk to the gondola, take it up to the ridge, and start hiking from Brévent

Option 1 would be a ridiculously steep climb so that was quickly vetoed. Option 2 was sound but since we secured a reservation at the coveted Refuge du Lac Blanc it would be a long, hard day with crazy elevation gain—no, thank you. Option 3 made the most sense; the distance (6.6 mi / 10.6 km) and elevation was preferable for our first day. It also allowed us to spend the day hiking along the ridge line with open views rather than trudging up the side of a forested mountain along a steep gondola route. And so Option 3 it was.

From Chamonix’s city center, we walked uphill for about ten minutes to the Planpraz/Brévent gondola. To reach our starting point, we took one gondola to Planpraz, then a second to Brévent. (Only one ticket per person is needed to use both gondolas; $38 one way/pp, book in advance or on arrival, open 8:30 am - 4:45 pm in summer). As we ascended, we watched the narrow neck of the Chamonix valley grow smaller beneath the searing height of the mountains. The gondola soon deposited us on the mountainside at 8200 feet (2500 m) and thus began our TMB.

The trail ahead was an unexpected dry and rocky landscape that was challenging to follow. The path was masked between boulders and blended into the dust-colored terrain of rocks. We kept an (often unsuccessful) eye out for signs of the worn, narrow trail and followed an assortment of yellow dots painted on rocks. These, I may add, look an awful lot like lichen and not at all like way markers, but I digress. There were a number of times we found ourselves off trail and looking up or down at other equally confused hikers, with either party having a 50-50 chance of being on the correct path.

As we continued on, patches of grass began to sprinkle the landscape, making the path easier to follow. We soon stumbled upon metal ladders that connected the trail across small rocky drops which we deemed equal parts sketchy and fun to navigate. After a mile or so, the trail opened up and we were hiking among the grass-lined paths of Col du Brévent where vast, open views of the Mont Blanc mountain range welcomed us. A network of trails snake through this section so we liberally double-checked our map and confirmed with each sign on the trail that we were heading in the right direction. It was almost completely downhill from here and over the first few miles we lost approximately 2300 feet (700 m).

At mile 4.5 (7.2 km), we arrived at Flégère, a place whose name I was wholly unable to pronounce despite spending a mile saying it aloud and it being corrected by my French-speaking hiking pal, Mikki.

“Flajerie,” I said.

“Flégère,” she corrected.

“Fluhjere,” I tried again.

“Flégère.”

“That’s what I said: Flajeree.”

“Flégère,” she repeated.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Flahjerie!” I said with confidence.

“Flégère,” she corrected, again.

And so it went.

Flégère, pronounced however you can manage, is a speck of a place that includes a gondola, one restaurant, and a refuge. At the restaurant, we encountered our first segregation of TMB hikers and the non-hiking public—a far cleaner group of people. Throughout the TMB, there are a number of restaurants that cordon off hikers to a small area where they can eat food and drinks purchased from the restaurant. The emphasis there is on “purchased” because eating your own packed lunch is frowned upon and made very clear by large, unmistakable “NO PIQUE-NIQUE” signs. Being the respectful hikers we are, we purchased two hot chocolates, refrained from eating our extra pastry that was smooshed in my bag, and simply enjoyed the view from a picnic (excuse me, pique-nique) table in the sunshine alongside our fellow hikers.

From Flégère, it was all uphill to Refuge du Lac Blanc. It being a Sunday and Lac Blanc being a popular day hike from Chamonix, there were a good number of people on the trail. Fortunately, since we were arriving at Lac Blanc in the late afternoon, most day hikers were descending and the crowds thinned as we climbed. We were also so giddy to be hiking in the Alps that the number of people around us made not the slightest difference at all. We were finally doing the TMB! It was sunny! We still had an extra pastry to eat! All was well in the world, hoards of people or not.

Th stretch of trail between Flégère and Lac Blanc offered the most stunning scenery of the day. We were in no rush and we spent a good portion of the afternoon gawking at our surroundings and the pleasantness of it all. During one such reverie, I heard the distinct sound of a phone ringing. There were a few groups both ahead and behind us, and I scoffed at the sound and told Mikki that it was ridiculous for anyone to even think about taking a phone call up here. But it kept ringing, and worse, it sounded close. When I pulled out my phone I realized, to my horror, that it was me. I was the noisy culprit. Not only that, but suddenly there was someone talking to me from the other end. It was my good friend Sydney from home in Washington.

“Hello?” I said, very confused.

“Hello?” Sydney said with equal confusion.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“What do you mean ‘what’s up’?” she laughed.

“I mean, I’m literally hiking in the Alps right now. Why are you calling?” I asked, laughing in bewilderment.

“I know you’re in the Alps,” she said. “You called me!”

“Me?” I said, shocked. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” she said. “It’s one in the morning here.”

“Oh,” I said with embarrassment, still confused at how this happened in the first place and also impressed that I got any service up here at all. Then I remembered that Sydney is one of my emergency contacts and that I must have accidentally hit a button to call her. “I think I emergency dialed you.”

“Well, I’m glad to know it’s working,” she laughed. “And that you’re okay.”

“Yes, I’m very good, actually. It’s beautiful here!” I laughed. “Okay, well I’ll let you go to bed now.”

Two miles, 1600 feet (488 m) of elevation gain, and one rogue phone call later we made it to Refuge du Lac Blanc.

Refuge du Lac Blanc is, in a single word, stunning. Even that doesn’t wholly encompass it. It’s a cozy mountain oasis tucked discretely into the rocks just above a lake that is a searing hue of blue. From anywhere you stand, whether on the refuge’s balcony, peering out the window of the dorm room, or standing atop a nondescript pile of rocks near the lake, there are mountains to be seen in every direction, their peaks serrating the clouds resting atop them.

We arrived at 2:30pm, just before they stopped serving food at 3pm. What timing, we thought, we’re so good at this hut-to-hut hiking thing! We eagerly ordered a post-hike feast that consisted of cold beers, a crepe, and blueberry pie, then settled ourselves at table until check-in at 4pm.

When 4 pm rolled around, I got in line to check-in with the hut’s owner, a lovely woman named Marion. Unfortunately, Marion, despite all her loveliness, could not locate our reservation. Mind you, booking this hut was no simple task. Six months prior, I, per her request, emailed a completed registration form and had gone to my bank to wire transfer the deposit amount, tacking on an extra $35 fee to send it to France and clarifying at least three times to the concerned banker that yes, I did know where the money was going and no, it was not a scam. So when Marion said, “oh dear” to me, I was none too pleased. “Oh dear” equated to an epic miscommunication that had the potential to mean we’d be sleeping on the ground outside that night. “Oh dear” meant I had severely messed up, on the first day no less.

“You were supposed to be here yesterday,” Marion explained to me, flipping through her guestbook.

“No, no, I emailed you the correct date! We had to change it!” I tried to reason with her, showing her the email that said, in so many words, “oopsies, I got the date wrong when planning 12 huts across 3 countries and could you pretty please confirm the new date is okay?”

“After June, we don’t have access to email so I didn’t respond. And you didn’t call,” Marion said flatly, losing all loveliness in my book at this point despite the error being entirely mine.

“Okay, well, can we still stay here tonight? Is there room?” I asked, desperation tinging my voice.

“We are fully booked tonight,” she said, shrugging with ease and grace that only a French person can manage in one gut-wrenching micro-movement. “But if someone doesn’t show up by 6pm, you can have their bed.” It was better than nothing I supposed.

So there we were, at 4pm on our first day of the TMB without a place to sleep because I made a scheduling error. I thought through our options: if we left immediately, we could hike to another hut several miles aways before dinner, but even then it may or may not have availability—and we were in a dead zone without service or WiFi so calling to check wasn’t an option. Plus, this part of the TMB isn’t exactly rife with a selection of hotels; it’s all mountain and forest and cow fields. Don’t get me wrong, I love cow fields, but I don’t fancy sleeping in them. Next option: if we waited until 6pm and someone did claim their bed, it’d be too late for us to continue hiking on at all, so we’d be sleeping outside. We were, for lack of more nuanced wording, in a real pickle. There was only one logical course of action from here and we did exactly that: buy another round of beer, pull up a seat on the refuge’s balcony, and sit in the sun to await our fate.

All the while, I ran through the possibilities of where I would sleep that night. Although she was adamant that we’d stick together, I had already decided that if a bed was available it would be Mikki that slept in it. It wasn’t fair for her to deal with the consequences of my mistake. My first thought was to cowboy camp and lay out on the balcony for the night. It didn’t look like it’d rain and I figured that if I put on all my layers I’d stay warm enough despite being at 7500 feet (2300 m). Who knows, maybe they’d toss a blanket my way out of pity. Then I considered sleeping in the dining room but wondered if they’d allow that in fear of setting an unwanted precedent for others. Looking around, I saw a small covered shed beside me filled with wood, a few tools, and a wooden bench. That was it. Then and there, I concluded that’s where I’d sleep tonight.

I hadn’t realized how distraught I’d appeared, mindlessly sipping my beer and marinating in my stew of guilt while contemplating sleeping in a half-broken shed, until Mikki appeared in front of me with a cheese plate. I looked at her with confusion. “You looked so sad, so I got you some cheese.” This is why we are friends: she knows that cheese is a direct expressway to my heart.

At 4:30pm, far earlier than our quoted 6pm time, Marion came over to our table and told us that we had beds—yes, plural: beds. Oh, sweet Marion! I mentally took back any doubt of her loveliness and put all thoughts of using a wooden log for a pillow aside. Admittedly, we were confused at how we’d acquired beds if the place was apparently full and it wasn’t yet 6pm. Then again, we weren’t eager to argue with her reasoning. Instead, we downed our beers, grabbed our packs, and hurried inside as if the beds would be gone if we didn’t lay eyes on them within the next minute.

The room was tiny— 5 beds in a walk-in closet-sized room. It was also a bit stuffy and there was no water for showers since the lake was low. It was perfect. Absolutely glorious. It was everything we wanted and needed in this life and the next.

With beds secured and a few hours before dinner, we walked over to the lake to sit and write. We took in the mountains ahead of us fanned across the horizon in an endless sprawl. At 7pm—the unofficial time for dinner on the TMB we would soon learn—we scooted into the small dining room’s wooden booths and ate a light dinner. Being so remote, it’s difficult to get supplies up to Lac Blanc so portions are not as large as other places on the TMB. With a bit of foresight, we could have packed snacks but a pichet of wine would have to do instead.

Halfway through dinner the sun began to set and the colors that lit up the sky beckoned. We grabbed our wine, hustled outside along with several other hikers and took it all in from the cliffside below the hut. When the sun dipped behind the mountains, we returned to the dining room and found it alight with dozens of candles placed in old wine and beer bottles. To save electricity, the hut only uses light in essential spaces, making the remoteness of Lac Blanc all the more palpable. The evening was warm and cozy and intimate and perfect.

The night ended early, as it does on the TMB we’d also learn. We were in bed around 8:30pm, already packed and ready for an early morning. Around 9pm, just as I tucked myself in for the night, a woman in my room quietly mentioned how beautiful the stars were. Unable to resist the enduring spread of a clear night sky, I made my way downstairs to the balcony. I tiptoed through the dining room, the old wood floors softly groaning, and found the candles still flickering in comfortable silence. She was right, the sky was spectacular. Out here, where no city lights touched, the sky was vivid and enduring. I could faintly see the Milky Way over the silhouette of mountain tops, a brightness amid a smattering of stars tossed delicately across the curve of the sky.

After a full night’s rest in our walk-in closet room, we awoke to a small breakfast of bread with jam and black coffee. Simple, yet wholly appropriate for the minimalist nature of Lac Blanc. Although we had a long day ahead of us we had woken up early enough to soak the morning in slowly and I relished in the quiet of a new day. At 8am, we shouldered our packs and headed north. Onward toward Switzerland.