Austria, Italy, Slovenia, Switzerland and France all have numerous huts worth visiting, but if you are limited to spending just a single night in one, and find yourself on a walking holiday based in or near Chamonix, then Refuge du Lac Blanc it must be (www.refugedulacblanc.fr). Overlooking the small mountain tarn after which it is named, and built on the slopes of the Aiguilles Rouges some 1200m above Chamonix, the refuge can be reached via several exciting trails, as well as by a combination of the Flégère cable car, Index chairlift and a well-marked high-level path. It is a privately
‘a hole appeared in the clouds to reveal the huge face of the Grandes Jorasses’
owned hut with just 40 dormitory places in two buildings; it has hot showers, and a dining room that looks directly across the valley to the Chamonix Aiguilles and along the glacial highway of the Mer de Glace.
One night when I was there, a great storm erupted over the mountains. The refuge shook, lightning forked onto distant fingers of rock, and hailstones hammered on the hut roof. Then suddenly there was a lull, and a hole appeared in the clouds to reveal the huge face of the Grandes Jorasses, aloof amid the maelstrom. It was one of life’s magical moments and the memory of it lives on.
Ten of the best-for huts
For a day visit: Totalp Hut (Rätikon Alps, Austria)
For a first hut overnight: Refuge du Lac Blanc (Mont Blanc range, France)
For an overnight on trek: Rifugio Bonatti (Tour of Mont Blanc, Italy)
For climbers: Gleckstein Hut (Bernese Alps, Switzerland)
For outstanding location: Cabane d’Arpittetaz (Pennine Alps, Switzerland)
For views: Rifugio Locatelli (Dolomites, Italy)
For sunsets: Cabane du Mont Fort (Pennine Alps, Switzerland)
For starry skies: Starkenburger Hut (Stubai Alps, Austria)
For solitude: Burg Hut (Bernese Alps, Switzerland)
For watching wildlife: Rifugio Vittorio Sella (Gran Paradiso National Park, Italy)
Used by trekkers on the Tour of Mont Blanc, Refuge des Mottets was converted from a dairy farm. Some of the beds are in what was once the milking parlour
Reflections in the Alpenglow
I’m never quite sure which is the most rewarding: anticipation of a day’s climbing, the climbing itself, or the aftermath when you savour the memories.
Anticipation is the game that allows you to imagine perfect conditions, just the right amount of challenge, the ability to overcome all obstacles – and the view from an uncluttered summit. Reality of course rarely lives up to those expectations, while memory can be as selective as conscience allows.
But if you’ve had a good day out and survived to tell the tale, those moments of quiet contemplation take a lot of beating when you’ve dumped your rucksack, pulled off your boots, splashed your body with fresh water and slaked a well-earned thirst, knowing there’s a mattress with your name on it for the night ahead. Contentment is one word for it.
So it was one glorious summer’s evening at the Lindauer Hut, as the big limestone walls nearby softened in the lingering dusk. Seated on the terrace, I was served my meal to the sound of finches chittering in a grove of pine and larch trees. One flew to an upper cone, where it perched, threw back its head and called to the dying sun. I ached from days of wandering alone over meadow, ridge and summit in an orgy of pleasure, and the finch’s song gave voice to the way I felt.
Meal over, shadows were swallowing screes when I went for a stroll to ease muscles still taut from a long day over rough ground. Heading across a neighbouring alp, then along a path under turrets catching the alpenglow, I turned a corner and came face to face with a tanned octogenarian in cord breeches with red braces, checked shirt and Tyrolean felt hat, who looked as though he’d emerged from a 19th-century painting by ET Compton. His pale, watery eyes shone, his leathery skin folded into innumerable creases, and a day’s white stubble bristled his chin.
‘Is this not the most wonderful of evenings?’ he demanded, in a breathless German dialect.
I agreed that it was, and for 10 minutes or so we shared a common delight in the slumbering mountains and their gullies, the valley, the chaos of boulders at the foot of the screes, the alpenroses, streams, a small green pool, and the rim of dwarf pines that outlined a nearby moraine. He had known 60 or more Alpine summers in his 80-plus years, yet his enthusiasm was as fresh as that of a 16-year-old. It lit his features and bubbled from every pore, and I noticed, when we parted, a surprising spring to his step, as though by sharing his love of life he’d been rejuvenated.
When is a hut not a hut
With so many European languages, it’s hardly surprising that there’s a variety of different words to describe a mountain hut in the Alps:
cabane – French-speaking Alps (see also refuge)
capanna – Lepontine Alps of Switzerland (Ticino)
chamanna – Romansch-speaking Switzerland
dom – Alps of Slovenia (see also koca)
Hütte – Alps of Austria, Bavaria, Liechtenstein and German-speaking Switzerland
koca – Alps of Slovenia
refuge – French-speaking Alps
rifugio – Italian Alps and Lepontine Alps of Switzerland
Seen from the Stripsenjochhaus in Austria, Ellmauer Halt turns to bronze with the setting sun
2 Hut life
An overcrowded hut often means a poor night’s rest… On the other hand some huts are absolute havens of stillness and calm…
(John Barry, Alpine Climbing)
You don’t have to be a member of an Alpine Club to stay in a mountain hut, for the vast majority are open to all-comers, whether privately owned or belonging to one of the national mountaineering organisations. Most are staffed during the main summer season, which usually extends from late June until the end of September – opening dates depend on location, altitude and, in some cases, the depth of the previous winter’s snow – while some are also open for a few weeks in the late winter/spring ski-touring season. A growing number in the most popular districts are occupied all year round. When manned, meals and drinks will be on offer; but off-season, when there’s no warden in residence, there will often be a ‘winter room’ available, containing little more than a few basic necessities like bunks, blankets and perhaps a wood-burning stove and a supply of fuel. At such times, the water supply may be a long way off, leading to a search for a spring or stream, or, when the ground is blanketed in snow, may involve having to melt snow or ice.
At the beginning of the season, the Coaz Hut in the Bernina Alps may be half hidden by a wall of snow
There are also those simple unguarded refuges, usually located in a remote district, where facilities are minimal and you need to carry practically everything with you, including stove, fuel and food. A friend and I once arrived at a very basic bivvy hut lodged high in the mountains, to find the door blocked by avalanche debris. It took an hour to dig a way in, only to find it contained nothing more than a few candle stubs and a box of damp matches. It was late spring, and