Pondering the TMB

France/Italy/Switzerland, August 2022

by Will Cook

I decided to embark on the Tour du Mont Blanc somewhat impulsively. Following the cancellation of a ski trip to Zermatt, due to a lack of snow on the glacier and the closure of the summer ski season, I decided still to head to the Alps but hike instead, unimpeded by the repercussions of global warming.

There is nothing new I can say about the Tour itself, the route is one of the most famous multi-day hikes. People from all round the globe come to the Alps to enjoy the trail, and understandably so. Day after day of flowing mountain footpaths, no complexity in navigation, coffee, cake and cold beer after every turn, a far cry from Dartmoor or the Brecon Beacons.

Due to the trip being last minute, I found myself hiking alone, something I’m not unfamiliar with, but not for a trip as substantial as the TMB. However, I was never really alone, meeting hikers from all around the world; the TMB is truly a social trail. Evenings and mornings would be spent in common areas of campsites, sharing stories, planning the days to come and later adventures. Many of the people I met as strangers, and left as friends, staying in contact and sure to meet again one day. All of them were doing their own walk, their own pace, their own style, from the ultra-light backpacking geeks to the slow and steady trekkers, to the luxury hotel hikers.

The trail itself can be made as challenging as you like. Some run it in 20 hours; some plod along it in 2 weeks. I saw no sense in rushing and completed the route in around 9 days. This involved no real epics, and only doubling up on a couple days. This was on my limit of comfort, I never really pushed too hard, always ensuring I had enough time to enjoy the camp spots, to rest and relax after a day on the trail. I was there to enjoy the trail and the mountains, to take photos, to stop and smell the flowers, enjoy a lunch and look at the mountains for a little too long. I had no intention of breaking records.

The connection between myself and nature on the trail felt somewhat confusing. I wasn’t expecting an “into the wild” type experience but I was in the mountains, I was outside, cooked and slept outside in my tent, the only buildings I entered briefly were shops and bathrooms. Conversely, I was walking along perfectly manicured trails, with signposts telling me where to go, and how long it would take. I bought several maps, yet never once took them out, only using the Cicerone guide, and, once or twice, a GPS on my phone. This connection with nature was something I stewed over while I walked.

My goal of the trail was the trail itself, I looked to remove myself from a commodified, concrete existence. If I managed to hike the route for what it is, to immerse myself entirely in the experience and for it to feel authentic, I would have been successful. As mountaineers, hikers, climbers, ramblers – however we choose to define ourselves – we are athletes at the end of the day. As such, it’s easy for the temptations of competition to muddy the purity of the experience in the mountains. The TMB itself isn’t too challenging. There were few instances where I found myself challenged with the physicality of the route. This in itself is something that made me feel somewhat insecure. Is it essential to struggle in order to find growth? I enjoyed the trail, I learnt about myself and the world, I grew, and I undertook what is a pretty substantial physical achievement – yet I still found myself haunted by feelings of inadequacy. Should I have undertaken a harder challenge? Should I have pushed myself further? But why? What more would I gain? I think now, when it is so easy to compare your achievements with those of others, it is far too easy to undermine your own achievements. Through setting an ambition that didn’t revolve around the stopwatch, it was possible to focus on the beauty of the route; to enjoy the scenery, but also the absurdity of hiking in the first place; to sit amongst the cows and listen to their bells reverberate around the meadows; to drink a coffee at every hut in Italy; to stay up later to meet new people.

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