Day 5: Cheylard-L’Évêque – La Bastide Puylaurent

Gloomy through the rain

131 km to go – 37,498 steps taken (29 km, including 26 km on GR 70) 

383 metres up, 488 metres down

Cheylard L’Evêque (1126 m) – La Bastide-Puylaurent (1016 m)

A dismal start

After a restless night, we were up and ready again by dawn. In fact, breakfast was served as early as 7.15am. That was actually not even a bad thing. The rain that had been predicted for several days was really going to fall from the sky today. So it was not a lousy idea to brave the wetness early. Breakfast was heartier than we had become accustomed to over the past few days. All sorts of cakes and treats were provided, including a shortbread in the shape of Modestine, Stephenson’s donkey.

Our table mates were two young women whose final destination was Cheylard. I understood their regret all too well. It was not pleasant to see your long-distance walk prematurely ended. We had done this ourselves at Offa’s Dyke, where we stopped about halfway along the total route. But here there is the added dimension that you are following a story, a writer’s account. Of course, you can always come back and pick up the thread, but it’s still nice to do it in one go, and in as many days as Stevenson himself.

The day trip to Le Bastide was a longer one anyway, and we had a choice between a diversion, via the Notre Dame des Neiges abbey, or a direct passage to La Bastide. The rain, combined with the knowledge that the next day would be a bit shorter, would settle that dilemma for us. But in some masochistic way, this kind of drizzly stage is part of it. You see the landscape in a different way and misty rain clouds give the forest landscape in the Gévaudan some more mystery. Although it would get a little too much at certain points.

But probably everyone started the hike with the same feeling. Just leaving and looking forward to the hot shower that would be provided as a reward at the end of the stage. And hoping for a good bed. You always start your hike in good spirits, but your water-repellent gear can only repel so much rain. As with warm temperatures, the forested landscape provides some respite on some stretches. But it makes the moments when you are in the full rain all the more tiring and instinctively much wetter.

Luc’s ruins

After the first stretch through the forest, you pass a small hamlet called Les Pradels, where there is not much else to do. The next reference point is the small lake Lac de Louradou, where it is probably pleasant to pass on a nicer day. Unfortunately, by then the rain was so present that the foliage seemed just a little more pleasant. The lake lies at the entrance to the Forêt Dominiale de Mercoire, and would lead us to the first real highlight of the day, Luc and its ruins.

The good cheer was sustained until that village. There, on top of a hill, stands the photogenic ruin. On the keep, for a change, they placed a statue of Mary, this time a white one measuring a good 3 metres. The keep also provided us with a shelter for a short break with some water and a small snack. The Germans from the first communal table also used this shelter. From the hill, the view of the village in the valley was gloomy. We had pinned our hopes on a creamery in the centre of the village via Google Maps, but we were not granted that either, as we had to go the other side of the railway. And so our lunch was reduced to a dry pack of Parovitas.

On the descent to the village, the downpour had also intensified and once the three-hour mark in the rain was passed, the effect on morale was considerable. There was some discussion at the table the day before that the loop around Luc would have been scrapped. Nothing was further from the truth and we did the famous loop of a good 5 kilometres as it was envisaged. As a whole, it would take us 1 kilometre further from the village, which wasn’t exactly motivating either. But either you are a walking completist or you are not. Fortunately, the mist-shrouded landscape was worth it though.

In the village of Laveyrune, we first passed the Colonie de St. Barbe, formerly a popular camp site. Laveyrune itself was not so gracious. There was a picnic bench, but unfortunately the pouring rain meant this was not an option. Like the day before, we sought solace in the church, but we couldn’t get beyond the porch. It was not the most comfortable spot, but it was dry.

Twin Peaks

Unfortunately, the rain was not the only way we were being taunted. The signage was not quite cooperating either. This stretch used to be different, causing the old and new signposts to alternate and mostly contradict each other. The same destination thus became in a few hundred metres first a nearby dream and then a distant oasis. Eventually, we found the right path. It took us to a path where electricity pylons crackled through the rain and fog. For a moment I imagined myself in Twin Peaks, expecting a Woodsman to jump out of the low bushes at any moment.

We decided to leave La Notre Dame des Neiges for the next day and start the descent to La Bastide Puylaurent, first via a dangerous path with loose stones and then via a forest path and finally entering the village via the main road. There the hotel and hot shower awaited us.

The stay

La Grande Halte was such that one was glad not to be in La Petite Halte. Although quite friendly staff, the hotel was nevertheless a bit worn-out and the interior looked like it had been plucked straight from a long term care facility. The bed was also a bit too short although I am only of average size, and the tube of the bathroom sink was regularly making ticking sounds. Fortunately, the shower made up for a lot.

Dinner

Dinner consisted of a spinach goat cheese quiche, lamb’s crown with peas and carrots and some kind of bread pudding, speciality of the region. Given the rest of the hotel, we were happy to let the house wine pass.

Day 4: Langogne – Cheylard L’Evêque

Chasing the beast of the Gévaudan

Still 157 km to go – 22,820 steps taken (18 km, including 14.6 km on the GR 70)

331 metres up, 213 metres down

Langogne (915 m) – Cheylard L’Evêque (1126 m)

The forest of the beast

This 4th day on the Chemin de Stevenson was a shorter but no less interesting stage. It was one where the necessary precautions had to be taken, though, as rain had been predicted. Fortunately, it remained just ‘some rain’. Only at our departure in Langogne and a little on our arrival in Cheylard did it really rain. At our starting point, we feasted on good bread and local sheep’s cheese, to keep our stomachs full.

Our walk would keep us mainly in the forests of the Gévaudan, where the terrible Beast was hunted in the 18th century. To this day, people are still not quite sure whether it was about a monstrously large wolf or something else. But it greatly concerned the local community, especially since there were more than a hundred casualties. Eventually, even Louis XIV would send his best hunters, but without too much success. In 1767, the would-be wolf was killed by the local Jean Chastel, though some say he may have helped mastermind the attacks.

It is not hard to imagine the shock effect that the terror of the Napoleon among wolves, as Stevenson christened him, must have caused. Today, fortunately, there are no more wolves and the cows are safe behind barbed wire. So there was no threat there either. But even without the threat of wolves and other predators, the trek through the forest was quite an experience. Before we reached that point, there was a small stretch in the same spirit as the day before.

A chatty companion

Just before Saint-Flour-de-Mercoire, we crossed paths with the man we had spotted earlier just after Saint-Martin-de-Fugères on day 2. It was the man from Bordeaux with the walking sticks and brisk walking pace. He was apparently more a man of the impro. This would later become apparent, among other things, when he arrived in Cheylard and had to note that there was nowhere to buy food and he still had to walk a good 20 kilometres to his finishing point. Indeed, his goal was to get to Florac and kayak there as soon as possible.

Although I tried my best to speak French, as is often the case, he immediately switched to English, which, by the way, he spoke very well. For much of the hike, he was our companion, or rather mine. Because with his carbon hiking poles, he achieved a rather brisk pace, and Sara, who, however, is not to be underestimated on the flat herself, occasionally walked a metre behind us, consciously or unconsciously.

She would later put this down to having to carry the backpack. It was relatively warm, but it was also raining, making my t-shirt under my jacket all clammy with sweat. To get some relief during the dry spell, she had taken over the backpack. Despite my gallant offer, up to 3 times, to take it over, but Sara in turn remained gallant. Though she did conceive the plan to create the myth that she, like Modestine, was used as a beast of burden while I happily made small talk. Her intrepidity to keep carrying the pack did earn her the honour name Victorine.

The forest itself was varied. Aided by the fairly misty and rainy day, it was even a touch mysterious, with old winding trees. The highlight was probably a passage with large moss-covered rocks. It reminded me with some nostalgia of my bachelor’s weekend, which was spent in the beautiful natural surroundings of Luxembourg’s Mullerthal, entirely in the author’s spirit. But the atmosphere here was somewhat different.

The topics of conversation were fairly diverse. It was obviously about Stevenson and his walk, with it being a constant that most did not actually know that much about our implied host. But it was also about history, about hiking experiences, about Belgium, about the diving exam the man had to take in Luxembourg and about the urge for fast information in the digital age. Time flew by on this already relatively short leg.

Stevenson lost his way

In advance, our guide had warned us about this stretch because it would be more difficult to navigate. This was perhaps due to Stevenson’s own experience, who had to search for the right path here for an unnecessarily long time. Stevenson was completely lost in the forest until he reached the small hamlet of Fouzillic. Unfortunately, he went wrong from there and ended up in Fouzillac, even further from Cheylard. In the end, he had to spend the night in the dark forest. Today, as in his time, they are still small hamlets with a house or three and some cattle. It makes you follow neither the fastest nor the most logical route.

After this passage and a small descent through a final stretch of forest, we arrived accompanied by some rain in Cheylard l’Evêque, a place normally home to 68 people and with about 30 houses. So that meant that every day in high season, the population present increased by almost 50%. Unfortunately, due to our brisk pace, our gîte was not yet open, nor was there an immediate shelter or covered picnic area.

Le Cheylard

And so we briefly sought shelter in the local church, as did our companion and some other hikers. Most of them were going to hike a bit further today. Sara had to overcome her trepidation a bit to eat in a church, but it was dry and a pleasant place to have your meal and rest. And the sheep cheese we had bought that morning tasted as well.

To kill time, we also climbed to the Notre-Dame des Tout Graces, to which a small, steep path in the middle of the village led. The chapel, again with a statue of Mary atop the building, towered over the village and the grey weather made for a gloomy but equally beautiful vista. It was and perfect place for some contemplation, about the day and about the rest of the journey.

At about half past two we were then able to make our appearance at Au Refuge du Moure, a cosy and authentic place, in the middle of the village, and for those looking at the bigger picture, in the middle of the forest. The early hour meant we had plenty of time to read, write and sample the local delights. Sara went for a hot chocolate and I chose the locally brewed artisanal beer from the brasseurs du Sornin. Afterwards, we were able to shower at leisure and laze around in bed some more. A real snooze day.

Afterwards, we were served our second table commune. The setting was better and so was the feeling. There were six of us at our table, including the couple from Provence from the first communal meal and two new faces. The conversation was cordial and my reservations after the first experience were gone. The key to having a good conversation in a language I am not so proficient in was clearly shyness, or rather dropping shyness. After a few days, this was already clearly working better. This way, you got the feeling of being part of a batch of hikers, a hiking community as it were.

Accommodation

A very cosy cottage. According to our booklet, we had to share a toilet, but we enjoyed an ‘en suite’ anyway

Food

A delicious salad including egg, a very nice toast and pieces of meat that were also tasty but we couldn’t quite identify. The main course was a pork stew with chorizo, olives and rice, the cheese platter and an almond-pear-caramel tart.