GR5 - Day 28 - Hello Vosges

12.05
In the morning fog I pack up the table-tent and shiver for a while, delaying the walk. Just one more chapter; just one more nut-butter-and-apple-and-kiwi tortilla. I know I'll warm up if I start hiking, though. At some point boredom kicks in, and it's 8 already which is shamefully late, and I'm out.

It's a gentle uphill to Col de l'Engin; on my right, to the West, I catch glimpses of hills through the rising clouds. The sun peaks out and I can see the tendrils of mist spiralling away from the heat. I finally meet up with the GR53 - which means I'm finally on the official maps for the Vosgian itinerary of the GR5. The inn tenant in Landange told me (leaning forward with a conspiratorial tone) that the official hiking federation wouldn't publish a guide for the ten-day Lorraine part I just crossed, because of an ongoing feud with the 'Vosgian Club' based in Alsace. The latter insist that the GR5 guide start all the way north-east, in Wissembourg (thus unconnected to the pan-european E2 official trail). They're also in charge of the markings, and so from now on (until when?), I'll be following red rectangles instead of the official white-and-red stripes. I'm not such a fan.

Anyway, I'm back on the map (hello detailled topographical background and km+hours indications ! You're very welcome.) and after about ten minutes I reach the hut at 'Entre les deux Donons', litterally 'between both Donons', which are the 'big' and the 'little' peaks through which passes the old road over the Vosgian spine. 

My am I glad I didn't sleep there, as initially planned! Half a dozen vans, about ten huskies, people staring at me as I pass, not a greeting. I hurry up towards the summit. It's a fun route : gently graded switchbacks on a narrow trail through rocks and trees. The sun is really out, now, the clouds are either down or pushed back below into the valley. Up up up, until we're higher than the Little Donon accross the pass, up up up and it's my first 1000m on this trip. 

The horizon opens up.

A flat ground, up there, like a platform cut from East to West. There's a fake roman temple built of very real stone through which the west winds whistle; military caves and steel and insigna (from both wars, but especially WWI); and views for days, over forested hills that go on, and on, and on.

I chuck my parka off, put the backpack down and bounce around the top, free as a bird, running from one end to the other to see all the mountains. It's still freezing up there, though, so I'm back at the bench with my parka and an extra down layer, to sit a while, soak in the sun and have a snack. People start to show up - I was alone for a while up there, lucky and early, but it fills up quickly. Families and groups on a Sunday morning hike. When the husky dog pack and owners show up I'm off again.

The popular trail heads down the other side of the Donon. Dozens of walkers wander up from what I suppose is a parking lot somewhere at the foot of the hill. Almost noone says hi, which : why? I give up on greetings and fly down the trail on my wonderful hiking poles. The path is so popular that the woods have been trampled on both sides, and the eroded ground shows water damage everywhere. It's not as wild, nor fun, as the steeper side I climbed up. I give yet more thanks that I slept where I did, cosy in my tabletent in that solid, quiet hut.

Then it's about 7K of forest walk, downhills over valleys to Schirmeck. 

It's early afternoon but I feel tired already : cold night? first summit, even though it was a tiny one? For once I'll sleep in the campside south of Schirmeck, in Rothau. 

I'm nearly out of food if I want to ration the nuts and nut butter. It's Sunday, but a few things are open. Bread at a bakery; coffee and a beer in a tiny cafe; then about a hour's walk to the campsite. There are four or five hours of sunlight, still, to lounge outside on the grass and read and feel like I'm on holiday; I'll walk for longer tomorrow.

It was the first real Vosgian day. Harder than I thought. (Though the slopes are still much softer than those in the hills of Luxemburg).