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1 Rooms with a view

Amid the rude elements of nature, rock, snow and ice, the hut is a life-giving oasis.

(Herbert Maeder, The Mountains of Switzerland)

All morning the trail had gained and lost so much height that I seemed to be getting nowhere in a hurry, when at the foot of yet another steep descent the way divided, offering an escape route into the valley. Having been on the go for 5 hours and with at least another 2½ hours ahead of me (if the guardian at last night’s hut at the head of Val de Bagnes was to be believed), I was almost tempted to take it – especially as close study of the map showed there were several kilometres still to cover, and more than 700m to climb in order to gain the pass whose crossing was to be the crux of the route. I felt unaccountably old and out of touch. My knees hurt and I was running short of puff. Yet 10 minutes’ rest, an over-ripe banana and half a bar of chocolate put a bit of fuel in my engine, and I set off again with optimism and energy restored.

The spectacle of alpenglow on the Combin massif is one of the rewards for a night spent at the Panossière hut

Two hours later I kicked my way up a snowfield, crossed two false tops and emerged at last on the sun-dazzling crest of the Col des Otanes. The view directly ahead revealed a wonderland of ice and snow, with Combin de Corbassière rising above its glaciers, the great dome of the Grand Combin to the south, and the Dents du Midi, around which I’d trekked only a few days before, juggling wispy clouds to the north. It was a view that would have taken my breath away, if I’d had any to spare, and it made all the effort to get there worthwhile.

In no hurry now, I sat on my rucksack in the snow to savour the moment, squinting in the sunlight and soaking in the view before descending at snail’s pace, content with the knowledge that before long I’d be able to relax with a cold beer in hand, the promise of a refreshing shower, a bed for the night, a three-course meal, and maybe a carafe of red wine to celebrate – not in some fancy resort hotel, but in a mountain hut set beside a glacier.

A couple of hundred metres below the col, the hut was even better than I’d hoped. Sturdy, spacious and welcoming, Cabane de Panossière stands on the right-hand lateral moraine of the Corbassière glacier in a world of its own. It has no neighbours, other than the rock, snow and ice of the mountains that drew me and the other visitors to it, and in the warmth of that bright summer’s day it had everything I could possibly want or need.

Given a mattress in a room overlooking the glacier, and after satisfying a long day’s mountain thirst with more overpriced cans of beer than were good for me, at 7pm that evening, along with 20 or so other climbers and walkers, I was working my way through a large plate of tender meat and spaghetti when suddenly all conversation ceased. In its place came the clatter of cutlery on china as everyone grabbed their cameras and rushed outside.

There at the head of a vast glacial highway, the Grand Combin was turning scarlet before our very eyes, its summit snows reflecting the dying sun in a riot of alpenglow, while a 1200m cascade of ice disappeared into a rising cauldron of shadow. It was one of those sights that none of us who saw it will ever forget, yet it was just one of many that the hut provided at no extra cost.

‘the Grand Combin was turning scarlet before our very eyes’

Night fell not long after, leaving each one of us marooned in a world of our own – a world centred on a solitary building astride a wall of moraine among alpine giants. Peace settled; there were no alien sounds, just the occasional clunk and slither of a rock falling onto ice. It was no more threatening than the pulse beat of mountains at rest.

At 2am I slid off my bunk, tiptoed to the window and counted the stars, some of which settled on creamy summits more than 1500m above me. In the darkness, the great peaks watched over Cabane de Panossière and its guests, all of whom – except for me – were sleeping, unaware of the beauty of the scene beyond the window.

As for me, there was nowhere else I’d rather be, for my simple dormitory was the ultimate room with a view.

Huts for all

Like thousands of others scattered across the alpine chain, the Panossière Hut (www.cabane-fxb-panossiere.ch/en) provides overnight accommodation for walkers, trekkers, climbers and ski mountaineers, and, in common with the vast majority, is located amid magnificent scenery. This one, at 2645m in the Pennine Alps of canton Valais in Switzerland, belongs to the Bourgeoisie de Bagnes, while its predecessor, destroyed by avalanche in 1988, was owned by the Swiss Alpine Club (Schweizer Alpen-Club, SAC). It can sleep 100 in its dormitories, and is manned by a guardian (or warden) during the spring ski-touring season and for about three months in the summer, when meals, drinks and snacks are available.

That, in a nutshell, sums up a modern mountain hut. It’s a bit like a youth hostel, offering simple, reasonably priced accommodation and meals in a magical setting for visitors taking part in mountain activities. A ‘hut’ in the conventional sense it is not. There is no resemblance to a garden shed, as the word might suggest, although one of its predecessors, a simple wooden cabin built nearby in 1893, may well have been, for there were very few luxuries available in those far-off days.

Trekking group on the trail leading to the Schesaplana Hut

A few of those early mountain refuges that gave little more than rudimentary shelter still exist today, but the majority have evolved, thank goodness, into much more comfortable buildings (the most recent claiming eco-friendly credentials, with solar generators and innovative means of water purification) that provide overnight lodging with all, or most, mod cons, three- or four-course meals and an experience to remember. Every year, thousands of mountain enthusiasts from all over the world have reason to be thankful for their existence, for they’re much more than a simple home-from-home in what can sometimes be a wild and uncompromising environment. Up there, you can make contact with others who share your interests, build friendships, exchange stories and gather valuable up-to-date information about route conditions and weather forecasts from the guardians, a number of whom are also experienced mountain guides. Up there, you’re in another world, divorced from everyday concerns. Up there, mountain huts become a means of escape from one reality to another, a halfway house in which to relax during adventures ‘out there’.

OK, maybe I’m nudging towards a romantic view, for it must be admitted there are those who think less favourably of the hutting experience than I. In his introduction to 100 Hikes in the Alps, American author Harvey Edwards sets out his objections. ‘They are wonderful protection in a storm,’ he says, ‘but I’ve yet to catch up on all the nights’ sleep I’ve lost. Someone is always snoring, sneezing, singing, smoking, or getting up at 1:00am to start a climb. In season, the huts are overcrowded and often unbearable. Still, a trip to the Alps isn’t worth a schnitzel if you haven’t tried a hut at least once.’ He then goes on to recommend using a tent.

Now I like wild camping too, and bivvying alone in remote places lost above the clouds. But there’s something very special about huts, their welcome shelter and the camaraderie they inspire – especially in the Stube (common room/dining room) after a hard day in the hills, or (as Harvey Edwards implies) when a storm explodes outside. Any old port in a storm, you might think. Well, yes, but that’s only a part of it. Having had a role to play in the history of mountaineering, they’ve since become an important, you might say an essential, part of the whole alpine experience – and when I say alpine, I don’t just mean the European Alps (although that’s the focus of this book), but any high mountain region where simple lodgings have been provided for those of us who are active in the great ‘out there’ and who, like me, look forward to spending a few nights of a holiday resting somewhere up there between heaven and earth. It’s true that your sleep might be disturbed for a spell by someone snoring, but I reckon that’s a small price to pay for all the rewards on offer. And you can always use earplugs.

I’m with Chris Bonington when he says (in Mountaineer): ‘There is an anticipatory excitement in a crowded hut, in its babel of different languages, chance encounters with old acquaintances swilling wine and coffee, the packed communal bunks and the intensity of the early morning start.’

So where are these huts? Well, they can be found in just about every district of the 1200km alpine chain, stretching from the Maritime Alps above Nice, through France, Italy, Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Germany and Austria, to the lovely Julian and Karavanke mountains of Slovenia, and there are now so many of them that, given sufficient time, energy and ready cash, it would be possible to trek from one end of the range to the other and stay in a different hut each night. Some are grouped just an hour or so apart (there are in excess of two dozen in the Mont Blanc massif alone, a dozen on the flanks of Triglav in the Julian Alps, and at least eight on or around the base of the Sassolungo massif in the Dolomites), while others may be spaced 5 or 6 hours – or almost a day’s hike – from one another, so you can remain at high altitude for a week or more without the need to descend to a valley to find a bed for the night.

After a hard day on the hill, the Stube invokes a warm sense of camaraderie as strangers who share a common enthusiasm become new-found friends

Each one will be unique – not unique in the type of sleeping accommodation on offer, since they all have some form of communal, mixed-sex dormitory, while gourmet meals with beer or wine will be served as if in a valley hotel.

There are huts clinging to summits, huts wedged among the clefts of narrow mountain passes, huts projecting from rocky spurs secured with cables. There are huts built on moraine walls, huts in gentle meadows. Long ago there was one in the Maritime Alps that looked like a railway carriage that had been airlifted into the mountains, and there’s at least one (the Rinder Hut high above

‘There are huts clinging to summits, huts wedged among the clefts of narrow mountain passes, huts projecting from rocky spurs’

many also have smaller two- and four-bedded rooms for greater privacy, but unique in respect of location, architectural style and ambience. Since no two huts are the same, a multi-day journey across the mountains could result in one night being spent in a converted dairy farm with 20 mattresses laid out in what used to be the milking parlour, and the next in a tiny unmanned metal cabin of a bivouac shelter anchored to a shelf of rock at 3000m with just four bunk beds, a first-aid box and a million-dollar view, while another day’s hike might bring you to something better described as an almost luxurious mountain inn with room for 200 guests, decent bathroom facilities, and a cosy dining room in which Leukerbad in Switzerland) that occupies the basement of a cable car station. When I stayed there I had the dormitory and washroom to myself, but at mealtimes was generously looked after by the Portuguese couple who’d signed up to run the cableway restaurant for the summer. They fed me as though I’d not eaten for a month, and sat me in what seemed like a great glass-domed conservatory that became a first-class observatory when darkness fell. Then they left me to enjoy the night sky and a view of snow-topped mountains stretching into the distance.

I love that diversity, the sheer variety of hut buildings and the surprise you get when you first catch sight of one you’ve never been to before but which is to be your home for the night. It may be a distant sighting, the flash of sunlight on a window catching your attention; or a flag on a pole beckoning from the far side of a ridge, making a useful guide in a bewildering landscape. Anticipation spurs you on. Then you top a rise, turn a corner – or the mist lifts for a moment – and there it is, journey’s end at last! Arrival at the hut invariably comes with a sense of relief, for it’s a guarantee of shelter, somewhere to relax, freshen up, slake your thirst and settle the nagging hunger that comes from a long day’s effort.

Refuge du Plan Sec is a welcome stop on the Tour of the Vanoise (Photo: Jonathan Williams)

The hut at the end of the rainbow

Cabane du Mont-Fort is one of my favourite huts. Perched high in the mountains at the western end of Switzerland’s Pennine Alps, it commands one of the great alpine views, with Mont Blanc hovering far off to mastermind some of the finest sunsets you could wish to gaze on, while Daniel, the guardian who’s run txhe place since 1983, is a cheerful host who treats all-comers as friends. It’s always good to be there, and each of my visits has been memorable; only once was it memorable for the wrong reason…

It had been a long and demanding climb of more than 1600m out of the valley, and in the late afternoon I was growing weary when at last the path eased round the steeply sloping hillside to reveal the hut above me. But the relief that I’d always experienced when I caught sight of the familiar building with its red-striped shutters turned this time to despair.

Not more than 10 minutes’ walk away, the hut looked as welcoming as ever, but the grassy slope up which my path climbed towards it was now being sprayed with liquid manure. I could smell it long before I actually saw it – the discharge from a long anaconda-like pipe that snaked across the slope and disappeared round another corner. September sunlight picked out rainbows in the pungent spray of khaki liquid that flicked in a casual arc from left to right, right to left, and back again, like some great metronome, ticking all the while as it washed across the hillside and covered the path – my path, and the only route to the hut.

I peered in horror at the trail ahead that was now stained with the yellow-brown liquid, and searched in vain for a way to avoid it. There was nothing obvious, so in desperation I looked for the farmer. He was nowhere to be seen, so I scanned the hillside for a dry, spray-free route to the hut, but the only one was too steep for me to contemplate and I had no appetite for that. It had taken almost 7 hours to get this far, and I was worn out.

What to do? I paced back and forth, trying to think of an alternative. How long, I wondered, would it take to get across the danger zone? Nervously I timed the arcing spray’s journey from one side to the other, and doubted my ability to sprint that distance wearing a rucksack and big boots. But unless I waited until the source of the spray dried up, there was only one thing to do. I’d just have to gamble on having enough energy to spare, take a deep breath and go for it.

Counting the number of spray-free seconds available, I waited for the wash to pass over, then dashed up the soggy path at an Olympic pace. It was longer and steeper than I’d feared. I was slower than I’d hoped, and much too soon a shadow crossed my path and I sensed the spray’s return. Relief was not more than a pace or two away, when what I’d feared came true. I slipped…

Fortunately, Cabane du Mont-Fort has decent showers, although most people take their clothes off first when using them.

Huts for trekkers

Manned all year round, Cabane du Mont-Fort (www.cabanemontfort.ch) is immensely popular in summer with day visitors and trekkers, while skiers flock there in winter, for access is made easy with the aid of one or more téléphériques (cable cars). Few trekkers’ huts have such means of access, but most are approached by decent, well-marked trails and are no more than a few hours’ walk apart. Facilities are usually pretty good too, enabling you to make a tour of a week or two with a backpack containing little more than a change of clothing, a sheet sleeping bag, head torch and travel towel, leaving you to enjoy the trek without being weighed down by non-essentials.

A steadily expanding network of refuges across the alpine range has enabled numerous exciting day walks and multi-day treks to be tackled by walkers of varying abilities and levels of fitness. Practically every district now claims a hut-to-hut tour that explores some of its finest scenery, encouraging newcomers to discover the mountains in all their rich variety. There are classic routes with worldwide fame, like the 10–12-day Tour of Mont Blanc (TMB) and the fortnight-long Walker’s Haute Route from Chamonix to Zermatt (C–Z), and countless other great treks that may be less well known but are just as rewarding, with often uncrowded huts in the most amazing locations among the Alps of France, Switzerland, Austria, the Italian Dolomites and Slovenia‘s Julian Alps.

Chamanna Coaz at the head of Val Roseg in the Bernina Alps

The Coaz Hut (Chamanna Coaz, (www.coaz.ch/en) in the Bernina Alps is a prime example. Originally built with climbers in mind, it is now regularly visited by walkers based in Pontresina or one of the nearby Engadine villages, and also by trekkers making the 9-day Tour of the Bernina. Standing close to the Roseg glacier at 2610m, some 500m above a glacial lake at the head of Val Roseg, an overnight there is a very special experience and one I’d wanted to make for many years. Despite having visited the hut several times since I first worked in the district back in the late 1960s, it wasn’t until I was walking the Tour of the Bernina in 2014 that I finally had the opportunity to actually sleep there. It was early in the season and the warden was still digging a pathway through the snow when I arrived. But everything was fully operational, and as that summer happened to be the hut’s 50th anniversary, anyone staying who’d been born the same year it was opened was charged at 1964 prices. Alas, I was too old for that. But at least I could claim a discount with my Alpine Club membership card.

Despite there being room for 80, I was one of only eight hikers staying (four from Sweden, two Swiss women who’d previously worked at the hut, and two of us from the UK), so there was plenty of space in the dormitories. We ate our meals together with the lights of Pontresina twinkling in the distance, to the sound of last winter’s snow sliding off the roof.

On some of the more popular multi-day routes, something approaching a family atmosphere builds among trekkers, for after a few nights spent in huts and gîtes d’étape (walkers’ hostels) along the way, you come to recognise one another, look out for a familiar face during

‘long-lasting friendships have been created from a night shared in a mountain hut’

the day, and in the evening swap stories around the dining room table. That sociability can be one of the most rewarding aspects of the hutting and trekking experience, and a number of long-lasting friendships have been created from a night shared in a mountain hut.

Take Rifugio Bonatti (www.rifugiobonatti.it) on the Tour of Mont Blanc. Named after the great Italian mountaineer Walter Bonatti, it stands on a sloping pasture on the south side of the Italian Val Ferret, with a direct view of Mont Blanc in the west and the Grandes Jorasses almost within spitting distance across the valley. Built in 1998 and privately owned, it can sleep 85 in dormitories and family-sized rooms decorated with Bonatti’s photographs, and is known for the excellent facilities that make it one of the most popular huts on the tour. What’s more, one of the best routes of approach (via the Mont de la Saxe option) is downhill – something of a rarity in the Alps.

The dining room is light and spacious, with big windows that exploit a wonderful panoramic view taking in much that you’ll have gazed on during your hike to get there. A few years ago, my wife Min and I spent a night at the rifugio, as we often do, when checking the route and accommodation facilities for a new edition of my Tour of Mont Blanc guidebook. When the guardian sat us down for dinner that evening, we found ourselves at a table with trekkers from Australia, New Zealand, Canada, the US, South Africa and the UK, most of whom we’d been leap-frogging along the trail over the previous 5–6 days, egging each other on with cheerful comments. Now I noticed that several of them had copies of my book held open, and were discussing both the day’s route and my descriptions of it. They had no idea that the author, who preferred to remain anonymous, was sitting among them, but we enjoyed the light-hearted banter that crossed international boundaries, and shared a common experience not only of the route, but of our communal home for the night. Years later, we still have regular contact with one of those trekkers from the States, exchanging trail tales via letter and email, after he’d discovered my name by accident a few days after we’d left Bonatti.

Overlooking a tiny lake, the shingle-walled Bremer Hut belongs to the Bremen Section of the German Alpine Club

On another occasion we were working our way round Austria‘s lovely Stubai Alps when we spent a night at the Bremer Hut (www.bremerhuette.at). Midway through our meal, the hut warden relayed a message he’d just received by telephone from Wales, to say that one of our fellow trekkers had that very day become a grandfather for the first time. A bottle of schnapps appeared at the table, and we all drank a toast to ‘granddad’! After that it was party time.

What to pack for hutting

I once led a two-centre walking holiday in the Alps, staying in hotels in each centre, but linking them with a short hut-to-hut trek. On every walk, one of the clients carried a huge backpack as though he was on a three-month Himalayan expedition. Nine-tenths of his load was included just in case. And nine-tenths of his load returned home with him unused. On a fortnight’s trek in the Alps, staying in manned huts overnight, anything more than essentials will be unnecessary overload. A small, lightweight pack leaves the trekker free to enjoy the experience without stress or strain.

Manned huts

Here’s a suggestion of what to take when using manned huts in summer:

 trekking poles

 lightweight waterproof jacket and overtrousers

 fleece jacket/sweater

 complete change of clothes

 sheet sleeping bag

 head torch

 lightweight towel

 minimum toiletries

 sunscreen

 water bottle

 map and compass

 first-aid kit

 mobile phone

Unmanned huts

In more remote districts, where huts may not be manned, all the above will be needed, plus:

 sleeping bag

 camping stove, fuel and lighter

 spork (all-in-one knife, fork and spoon)

 mug

 food

 candles

 toilet paper

A number of unmanned alpine huts have cooking facilities, crockery and cutlery – but by no means all of them. Expect nothing but shelter and a few bunk beds in remote bivvy huts. If you plan to use unmanned huts in winter, you’re in a different ball game.

Huts for climbers

Huts used almost exclusively by climbers are often more spartan and less comfortable than those on major trekking routes, and some of their approaches can be long, extremely steep and sometimes hazardous. Burdened with rucksacks full of equipment, it’s no wonder that climbers often consider getting to their chosen overnight base as a necessary grind to be suffered rather than enjoyed.

This is particularly true of older huts erected for the alpine pioneers, especially some of those placed in remote and seemingly inaccessible locations. For example, in 1884, in a lofty position on the graceful and isolated Monte Disgrazia in the Bregaglia Alps, Italian cartographers erected a small hut, Capanna Maria, which they presented to the Italian Alpine Club (Club Alpino Italiano, CAI). Two years later, it was visited by the Engadine guide Christian Klucker, who described it in his autobiography Adventures of an Alpine Guide as ‘a simple wooden shed measuring about ten feet in length, and a little more than six feet in width. A small bench, capable of seating four persons, had been fixed at the side towards the mountain. The inventory consisted of: 4 blankets, 1 small spirit-cooker with saucepan, 4 cups, and a few soup-spoons.’ Of the four blankets, two were dry and fit for use, while the others were frozen to the bench. Speculating how long it would last, he was not surprised to find that by 1888 wind and storm had reduced the hut to ruins.

That was an extreme case, but access was the key. Huts built in the valleys or on lower slopes that were accessible to walkers and mountaineers of modest ambition were understandably of a much higher standard than those lodged in more challenging locations. Up there, far from roads or tracks, until comparatively recently, huts provided by the Alpine Clubs were still little more than basic lodgings, patronised by men and women with cracked and blistered skin who carried ropes, slept on communal mattresses, and rose long before dawn.

One of those women was Dorothy Pilley, who came to the Mont Blanc range in 1920 and had her first experience of a real mountain hut when she arrived at the Couvercle (https://refugeducouvercle.jimdo.com), which she found to be crowded in every corner. ‘I had never seen so many tramp-like figures of all nationalities – ragged, dirty and unshaven – as were lolling about the platform, smoking and gossiping, when we trudged up the wooden steps towards them.’

Describing what she found there in her classic memoir, Climbing Days, she wrote: ‘Through the crowd I penetrated into the dark interior of what was evidently an eating- and sleeping-room in one…A partition split off a space at one end the size of a small bathroom. This was the hut gardien’s sanctum, but so great was the crowd that, for a consideration, he had turned it over to the only two other women there, and suggested that I should arrange with them to share it…Seeing that the men were sleeping that night on their sides on the floor of the main room, and even some had to sleep outside in great cold, I thought myself very lucky.’

Despite this unpromising introduction, the Couvercle experience did nothing to put her off, and she came to develop a taste for hut life, describing it as ‘that queer existence in between the luxuries of low, well-found camping and the high bivouacs of the pioneers.’ She went on to explain to the uninitiated that there would be a pail with which to collect water from a spring or, one drop at a time, from the recesses of a crevasse. And she described eating by the light of a candle off a bare table stained with use; and sleeping side by side on mattresses stuffed with straw. Lest such privation should put her readers off, she conjured up the romance of those ‘golden hours when, thousands of feet above the rest of the world, you can look out at evening from your nest upon mountains that then seem peculiarly your own.’ It was for moments like these that men and women were prepared to accept the privations of a night or two marooned above the clouds.

The modern Gleckstein Hut (www.gleckstein.ch) is a far cry from the short-lived Capanna Maria on the Disgrazia, or the old Couvercle refuge with its magnificent views in the heart of the Mont Blanc range. Serving climbers tackling the Wetterhorn above Grindelwald, the Gleckstein Hut not only claims a spectacular location high above a glacier gorge at 2317m, but is surprisingly roomy and with decent facilities that include showers and four-course evening meals. Despite its location and the exposed nature of its approach, it is a large building with 80 places, originally built in 1904 as a hotel. At the time, there were ambitious plans to create a four-stage passenger cableway to the summit of the Wetterhorn, and one of the intermediate stations was to have been built close to where the hut stands today. But with the outbreak of World War I, the enterprise was abandoned and with few visitors the hotel closed in 1916. Four years later it was taken over by the Burgdorf section of the SAC to serve as the Gleckstein Hut.

Originally built as a hotel, the Gleckstein Hut in Switzerland has a fine view of the Schreckhorn

Although its original aim was to provide accommodation for climbers, like so many other alpine huts the Gleckstein has become a popular destination for adventurous walkers and is suggested as an optional there-and-back stage for trekkers tackling the Tour of the Jungfrau Region. One of the reasons for this popularity – apart from the attraction of the hut itself – is the comparatively short (3-hour) but spectacular approach walk, which cuts along the precipitous wall of the Upper Grindelwald glacier’s gorge. Narrow and exposed in places, it is safeguarded by fixed cables, at one point passes beneath a waterfall, and has exciting views throughout. On one of my visits, I sat on a rock halfway along the gorge wall and listened to the sounds of an alpenhorn echoing from one side of the valley to the other. The following morning, I opened the hut door to find half a dozen ibex licking salt from the balcony wall.

Huts for watching wildlife

A tough 5-hour climb to reach a remote hut for a sighting of a solitary ibex (see ‘Where ibex roam’) may be a bit extreme, but I’ve also studied from close quarters a dozen or more of these stocky yet incredibly agile creatures in the autumn rut just below the summit of Piz Languard. This walkers’ mountain high above Pontresina is served by the simple 24-bed Georgy Hut (www.georgy-huette.ch), lodged near the top at 3202m, with an extensive panoramic view dominated by the snowy giants of Piz Palü and Piz Bernina across the valley.

Despite having a reasonable path right to the summit, Piz Languard still involves a steep ascent of over 1450m, so it’s good to know that not far from here a comparatively easy 3½-hour walk goes from the Engadine village of Zernez to the log-cab-

‘Gleckstein has become a popular destination for adventurous walkers’

in-like Chamanna Cluozza (www.nationalpark.ch) in the heart of the Swiss National Park, with virtually guaranteed views of red and roe deer, chamois, marmot and ibex along the way. A walk of similar length from Cogne – some of it on an old mule track in Italy’s Gran Paradiso National Park – leads to Rifugio Vittorio Sella (www.rifugiosella.com), one of the best places in all the Alps from which to study wildlife in comfort. Of an evening, scores of ibex and chamois may be seen grazing near the converted stables that make up this 150-bed hut, used by trekkers following the Gran Paradiso Alta Via 2 (not to be confused with the Dolomites Alta Via 2). Meanwhile, across the border in the Vanoise National Park in France, ibex, chamois and marmots can often be spied around the Col de la Vanoise and from several of the refuges that border the Doron gorge above Termignon – especially Refuge de l’Arpont (www.refuges-vanoise.com), a national-park-owned building renovated in 2013, which looks towards a series of waterfalls pouring over cliffs below the Vanoise glaciers.

The warden at the Gleckstein Hut spreads salt on the terrace wall to attract ibex in the early morning

At the head of the gorge on the eastern side of the valley, and nestling on rough pasture below the 3855m Grande Casse, the privately owned Refuge Entre Deux Eaux (www.refugeentredeuxeaux.com) is another old farm used as a refuge by trekkers following the ultra-long distance GR5, and by others straying from the splendid Tour of the Vanoise. Although not as promising for watching wildlife as Arpont, Entre Deux Eaux would be hard to beat so far as atmosphere is concerned. It is a charming, 100-year-old building, comfortably quirky and with an aura of peace that makes it a perfect haven in which to relax for a day or two.

Where ibex roam

Ibex (bouquetin in French, Steinbock in German) can often be seen grazing near huts. The wonderful Rottal Hut is one such hut, but being set 1800m above the Lauterbrunnen Valley, it’s quite a haul simply to watch wildlife, although the hut and its literally breathtaking location make all the effort to get there worthwhile.

I was in the area one summer on a writing assignment with a small group making a tour of the Bernese Alps. Although a day’s rest was on the itinerary when we arrived in the Lauterbrunnen Valley, I knew that a route to the Rottal Hut began not far from Stechelberg. With a reputation for having a spectacular location, the hut was, until then, one I’d only read about but longed to visit. I figured that if I could get an early lift to the roadhead, there was the possibility of making a quick there-and-back visit. Well, with more than 1800m of height to gain, the ascent might not be all that quick, but I’d give it a go, and I’d be travelling light with only the bare necessities in a small rucksack. I was also considerably younger than I am now, and fit and agile as an ibex.

So shortly after dawn next morning, I and two others left the campsite while everyone else was sleeping, and headed upvalley to the roadhead. From there, a riverside path teased us away from the village, but the gentle nature of the trail didn’t last long, and within minutes of setting out, we were racing one another up a steep grassy slope before making a rising traverse to reach an alpine farmer’s stone hut some 600m above the river. That left 1200m still to climb, but the views were growing with every step.

Now we cut left to enter a broad gully rising wedge-like at its head, which eventually took us to a band of abrupt, near-vertical crags split by a much tighter gully. This we climbed with the aid of fixed ropes and chains, and emerged to find a clear path winding up an old moraine rib. It continued along the crest of the moraine that flanked the Rottal glacier, then up a steep snow slope headed by a small cliff. Another fixed rope aided the ascent of these rocks, and less than 5 hours after leaving Stechelberg, we arrived at the Rottal Hut, where the first of several huge flasks of tea was soon placed before us by the part-time warden who was there just for the weekend.

At an altitude of 2755m, the Rottal Hut is very much a climbers’ hut used for tackling routes on the Jungfrau, Ebnefluh and Gletscherhorn. With 34 places, it’s only manned at weekends in summer, although with self-catering facilities and a wood-burning stove it’s open for use at other times.

But on this occasion we were not there to climb, to stay the night or even to prepare a meal. Just being there to soak in its atmosphere was reward enough. Beyond that, we had no need to consider anything except a long knee-wrecking descent back to the valley, and a weary return to the campsite. But not yet. That would have to wait until we’d allowed time to appreciate the hut’s extraordinary position under the south-west flank of the Jungfrau, and its outlook towards the head of the valley where the Lauterbrunnen Breithorn, Tschingelhorn, Blümlisalp and Gspaltenhorn rose above cascades of ice. It was a fabulous view, and I deeply regretted not being able to spend the rest of the day and a night there to soak it all in.

As if to add to the hut’s appeal, as we sat outside without need for words, an ibex came clambering over rocks bordering the glacier to inspect the new arrivals.

Huts for walkers

Hundreds – perhaps thousands – of alpine huts exist that would meet the needs of mountain walkers looking for somewhere to stop for refreshment on a day’s hike. And for those who’ve never spent a night in one, a day visit provides an ideal opportunity to sense what it would be like to stay there.

Austria‘s Alps are particularly rewarding for this. Consider the Rätikon Alps in Vorarlberg in the far west of the country. Relatively easy to get to, Brand is a small but popular resort on a bus route from the railway station at Bludenz, and from it you can either walk across meadows and through woodland to a cable car station, or take a bus to the roadhead and ride the cableway, eventually to be deposited on a dam wall overlooking the Lünersee reservoir. The large un-hut-like Douglass Hut (www.douglasshuette.at) stands next door, its restaurant brimming with visitors by day, and with walkers and trekkers when the last cable car has descended to the valley. It has excellent facilities for those who stay the night, but a day visit restricted to the restaurant won’t give you much of an idea of a ‘real’ mountain hut. A much better plan would be to walk alongside the reservoir, then take a signed path climbing steadily to the timber-built Totalp Hut (www.totalp.at), set in a wild, almost barren landscape at 2385m (just 1¼ hours from the cable car station).

Only a few metres above the Burg Hut in the Bernese Alps a memorable view rewards the walker

The immediate surroundings of the Totalp Hut may be as barren as suggested by its name (literally ‘dead alp’), but it has exciting views onto the Lünersee 400m below and south-east along the mountain ridge that forms the border with Switzerland. Refreshments and lunchtime meals are served at tables outside, or indoors if you prefer, while above the hut rises the 2964m Schesaplana, highest of the Rätikon peaks, whose summit may be reached by a non-technical route in a little under 2 hours. With its atmospheric Stube and 85 places in creaky-floored dormitories, the Totalp Hut would be a great place to spend a first night in a hut, and it’s so easy to get to.

Another refuge accessible by a very fine morning’s walk from the Douglass Hut cable car station is the Heinrich Hueter Hut (www.hueterhuette.at), a delightful building clad with larch shingles at the foot of the Matterhorn-like Zimba. Its balcony provides a distant view of the Drei Türme of the Drusenfluh, while its location above an alp farm adds to

‘it is justifiably famous for the chandeliers in its panelled dining room, the lovely hallway and wide staircase more in keeping with some baronial schloss’

its charm. The hut itself can sleep 110 in bedrooms and dormitories, has good showers and even an indoor climbing wall, and the bright and comfortable dining room provides a clear hint of the hut’s atmosphere.

Further east, the Zillertal Alps, with Mayrhofen as the main valley base, are another great area for walking, trekking, skiing and mountaineering, with a number of huts within the reach of most active walkers. None would be better suited for a there-and-back visit than the historic Berliner Hut (www.berlinerhuette.at). Owned by the Berlin section of the German Alpine Club (Deutscher Alpenverein, DAV), it’s the largest in the district, and every group I’ve taken there has been wowed by the hut and its outlook. Built in 1879, it is justifiably famous for the chandeliers in its panelled dining room, the lovely hallway and wide staircase more in keeping with some baronial schloss. It stands near the head of the Zemmgrund, some 3 hours’ walk from Gasthof Breitlahner on the road from Mayrhofen. Not only is the hut a striking building in its own right, but its location looks out on snow-draped mountains and rushing streams, and the 8km walk to reach it from the Breitlahner bus stop is both obstacle-free and full of interest.

Totalp Hut in the Rätikon Alps is extremely popular with visiting walkers

While still in the Zillertal Alps, there’s another fine hut to visit, standing just across the Italian border at the head of the Zamsergrund – the upper reaches of the long Zillertal where buses from Mayrhofen terminate at the Schlegeis reservoir. The 2-hour walk through the Zamsergrund begins here – a delightful walk through pastures bright with alpenrose and dwarf pine, with views of waterfalls crashing down the right-hand slope. At the head of the valley, the 2246m Pfitscher Joch carries the Austrian–Italian border below the Hohe Wand and Hochfeiler. There’s an old abandoned customs house standing there, and shortly after, when you’ve walked between two small lakes on the Italian side, you come to the privately owned, 30-bed Pfitscherjoch-Haus, also known as Rifugio Passo di Vizze (www.pfitscherjochhaus.com), which looks down the length of Val di Vizze.

Although Austria has numerous first-class huts and hut walks, the Italian Dolomites can challenge any alpine region for dramatic landscapes. They also have some wonderful multi-day treks, exciting via ferratas and a rich selection of rifugi (huts) to visit on a day’s walk, a number of which are large inn-like buildings with excellent facilities. At least one boasts a sauna, but at an altitude of 2752m Rifugio Lagazuoi (www.rifugiolagazuoi.com) is more like a high-altitude hotel than a conventional mountain hut, and while it’s on the route of Alta Via 1, it can also be reached by cable car from the Falzarego Pass. With stunning views of the Tofana and Cinque Torri, it has 18 beds in small rooms and 56 dorm places, and has been cared for by the same family ever since it was opened in 1965. If you’ve never stayed in a mountain hut before, try this one for size. But remember, not all rifugi will provide quite the same experience.

Without question, the best-known and most popular of Dolomite mountains is the three-turreted cluster of the Tre Cime di Lavaredo in the Dolomiti di Sesto, with Cortina the main centre and several understandably busy huts nearby, all accessible by good paths or tracks. For sheer spectacle, there’s nothing quite like it. A toll road climbs up from Misurina to end in a massive car park at around 2330m by Rifugio Auronzo (www.rifugioauronzo.it), with the towering cliffs of the Tre Cime above and the Cadini pinnacles drawing attention to the south. From here, it’s just a 20-minute walk to Rifugio Lavaredo (www.rifugiolavaredo.com), beyond which a bare saddle at 2457m gives an amazing view of the Tre Cime in profile.

Three hours’ walk from the nearest road, the Berliner Hut in the Zillertal Alps boasts a chandelierlit dining room

When the crowds have departed Refuge du Lac Blanc is a magical place in which to spend the night

Ahead, and some distance away, Rifugio Locatelli can be seen, with a tiny white chapel nearby. Also known as the Drei Zinnen Hut (www.dreizinnenhuette.com), as a reminder that before World War I all these mountains were Austrian, it has a direct view of the Tre Cime from its windows. Easily reached from the Auronzo car park, and with an impressive menu and generous portions served in the dining room, it is no surprise that during the summer months Locatelli makes a very popular excursion for day visitors, and is a great place to spend the night. For accommodation, it has 100 dormitory places and 40 beds in smaller rooms, and a good many visitors make it their first overnight stay in an alpine hut.

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