In 2023, I was lucky enough to complete two of the finest walks I’ve ever set foot on. The first was in Britain’s wildest place, bar none – the west coast of Jura (featured in The Great Outdoors in May 2024, should you want a back issue). The second was the Grand Tour des Écrins, aka the GR54 – a two-week circuit of the Écrins National Park in the Hautes-Alpes in Southern France.

Main image: One of the many singular moments on the trail as we rounded the corner into a high, hanging coire under le Sirac, in the southern part of the GR54 | Credit: David Lintern

The Écrins National Park was founded quite late in the scheme of these things (1973) and is one of France’s largest. Unlike Jura, it’s not defined by edge status – it’s not untamed space in the margins. And it’s not bullied by landed interests or mass tourism like some of our own National Parks, post-pandemic. It feels more like a modest, respectful statement of intent.

The Tour des Écrins starts like many long walks, in that the most complicated bit is finding a straightforward way out of town! Laden with our first haul of baguette and cheese, we soon left the faff of extinct footpaths and noisy road switchbacks behind. After mixed woodland climb of 1000m or more, we came to a series of hamlets; each with their own font and chapel. Then we crested a ridge, dropped into deep beech forest… and the game was on! Credit: David Lintern
The Tour des Écrins starts like many long walks, in that the most complicated bit is finding a straightforward way out of town! Laden with our first haul of baguette and cheese, we soon left the faff of extinct footpaths and noisy road switchbacks behind. After mixed woodland climb of 1000m or more, we came to a series of hamlets; each with their own font and chapel. Then we crested a ridge, dropped into deep beech forest… and the game was on! Credit: David Lintern

Jargon busting

My interest was initially piqued by a protected reserve within the park near Lac du Lauvitel. This so-called ‘wilderness area’ is off limits to all except scientists, who use it to study climate change and to ‘monitor the natural dynamics of ecosystems’ without human influence. Established in 1995, it was one of the first of these areas in Europe.

We got as close as the rank and file are able on our twelfth and final day, only to find our fellow humans congregated in their droves. Whether drawn by the vivid glacial waters or the mystery of a forbidden zone it was impossible to tell, and by that point we smelt too bad to approach anyone to ask.

By way of context and comparison, it might be useful to digress into policy jargon a little. The International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) uses a category system to classify levels of protection for wildlife and nature within a particular area.

Evening on the Altiplano Our second night out, high on Plateau d’Emparis, each of us camped on different rises. The scale of the mountains and of the walk were just beginning to make themselves felt. Eagles rode the thermals on the stiff climb to the plateau, and sheep grazed the grasslands. It felt odd to see a farm truck at this altitude the following morning, the shepherds doing their rounds at over 2000m. It made me think of both of the Lake District and the Mongolian steppe.
Our second night out, high on Plateau d’Emparis, each of us camped on different rises. The scale of the mountains and of the walk were just beginning to make themselves felt. Eagles rode the thermals on the stiff climb to the plateau, and sheep grazed the grasslands. It felt odd to see a farm truck at this altitude the following morning, the shepherds doing their rounds at over 2000m. It made me think of both of the Lake District and the Mongolian steppe. Credit: David Lintern

Its interests are eco-scientific, but its work is used in advocacy – as an example, a recent report is being used to petition the Albanian government, who are currently diverting water from within the Vjosa National Park to serve the package holiday industry on the coast.

The IUCN categories range from 1a – a ‘strict nature reserve’ (like Lauvitel) – to Category 6; ‘protected area with sustainable use of natural resources’. These categories are used as measures of wildness, with Category 2 being a ‘national park’. Écrins is regarded as Category 2, but none of the national parks in Britain currently qualify. Most are Category 5 – ‘protected landscape or seascape’. Only 0.01% of our landmass might qualify for the ‘strict reserve’ status.

It is easy to be negative about our nature deficit close to home, but this isn’t a black and white case for Wilderness with a capital ‘W’ and to hell with the consequences. I think the middle ground is more hopeful and more interesting.

Glacier de Mont-de lans and Pic de la Grave from the edge of the Plateau d’Emparis, surrounded by grazing cattle and overlooking a heart-stopping 1500m vertical drop. I loved the contrast between the sharp peaks and the steep, wooded slopes in the Écrins. The Tour is so much more than just an Alpine trek.
Glacier de Mont-de lans and Pic de la Grave from the edge of the Plateau d’Emparis, surrounded by grazing cattle and overlooking a heart-stopping 1500m vertical drop. I loved the contrast between the sharp peaks and the steep, wooded slopes in the Écrins. The Tour is so much more than just an Alpine trek. Credit: David Lintern

Nature and culture

In the first few days, our walk was a waltz under canopies of birch, beech, alder and shimmering aspen, between sleepy village and alpine pass. I’d expected the latter but not the former – the ubiquity and variety of woodland we passed through was a genuine surprise.

The woodlands were old and stuffed full of pine as well as deciduous trees, the paths almost equally ancient and deeply embedded in the landscape. It really added to the rhythm of the walk as a whole. The GR54 is far more than just an Alpine trek.

In Britain, we have about 12% forest cover, while in France it’s more than double that. But those statistics mask more interesting detail – cover in the southeast of France is about 45% and that is majority broadleaf. At the other end of a spectrum, Scottish native woodland cover is around 4%. Latitude makes a difference, no doubt. So does attitude.

A slightly sunstruck and woozy descent from Col d’Arsine towards our riverside camp near le Casset. We’d had our first close encounter of the Marmot kind earlier, as we padded into the high mountains under Pic de Neige Cordier. There we met with this stunning aquamarine river and followed it all the way back down to the valley. The variety of landscapes in a single afternoon was genuinely staggering. The following morning, it was sharp black coffee at the tabac and filling our boots at the boulangerie… such is the joy of this walk. Credit: David Lintern
A slightly sunstruck and woozy descent from Col d’Arsine towards our riverside camp near le Casset. We’d had our first close encounter of the Marmot kind earlier, as we padded into the high mountains under Pic de Neige Cordier. There we met with this stunning aquamarine river and followed it all the way back down to the valley. The variety of landscapes in a single afternoon was genuinely staggering. The following morning, it was sharp black coffee at the tabac and filling our boots at the boulangerie… such is the joy of this walk. Credit: David Lintern

The other striking thing in those early days on the trail was the entirely ‘lived in’ nature of the landscape. Seasonal grazing and transhumance are still a huge part of the culture and way of life in the Hautes-Alpes. Sheep’s cheese is still on sale, allotments line the tracks in and out of each hamlet, cows graze in the pasture woods on the edge of town.

Ski infrastructure is present but kept in check. Unlike Scotland, most of the old buildings are not ruins – they are still occupied.

This living landscape extends into the welcome visitors receive. Every two to four days, we descended hungrily on the next village en route. Everywhere had excellent coffee. Local escargot and viande de cheval were both on the menu (though not for me). Le Monêtier-les-Bains was fantastic, with two bakers, a butcher and two minimarkets.

To avoid the ski infrastructure on the main GR54 between Le Monêtier-les-Bains and Vallouise, we opted for a variant over the most technical ground of the trip. The very airy Col de Grangettes is crumbly as hell, but threaded with via ferrata cable. It dropped us here, at the foot of Glacier de Séguret Foran, which gently wept into the milky lake we swam in. This is an existentially beautiful place; and, late at night, I wept too. Whatever questions we pack on these quests, the answer is always gratitude.
To avoid the ski infrastructure on the main GR54 between Le Monêtier-les-Bains and Vallouise, we opted for a variant over the most technical ground of the trip. The very airy Col de Grangettes is crumbly as hell, but threaded with via ferrata cable. It dropped us here, at the foot of Glacier de Séguret Foran, which gently wept into the milky lake we swam in. This is an existentially beautiful place; and, late at night, I wept too. Whatever questions we pack on these quests, the answer is always gratitude. Credit: David Lintern

At La Chapelle-en-Valgaudémar, we were treated to gratin, brûlée and local wine – then génépi, thrust into our hands in the bar as we attempted to leave. French mountain panache! The food was local, whole and fresh wherever we stopped, and most shops were independently owned. Hospitality is a measure of a place understood and looked after by its people.

On the third morning, I watched the predawn light grow in the Sarenne group. The shepherd was out early with his kids, corralling their flock in the distance at over 2000 metres. Bells and the cries of children echoed across the grasslands as the day took its first breath.

I thought about how easy it is to exoticize scenes like this when we are away from home, how our own farming communities feel under pressure from an equally pressurised environmental movement (with some British nature defenders now imprisoned for non-violent acts of conscience), and how attitudes on all sides harden when people are cornered.

Another photo from the coire under Le Sirac, used as seasonal grazing and patrolled by patou. There’s much to be said about grazing in the mountains, and the to-and-fro in Britain can feel very polarising. What is significant in the Écrins National Park is that fences at high altitude are temporary, with the grazing moved around frequently, and that access is zoned. Both of these things help mediate some of the impacts. Ultimately, I think these issues are about scale, density; and, of course, community.
Another photo from the coire under Le Sirac, used as seasonal grazing and patrolled by patou. There’s much to be said about grazing in the mountains, and the to-and-fro in Britain can feel very polarising. What is significant in the Écrins National Park is that fences at high altitude are temporary, with the grazing moved around frequently, and that access is zoned. Both of these things help mediate some of the impacts. Ultimately, I think these issues are about scale, density; and, of course, community. Credit: David Lintern

Hanging in the balance

How are nature and culture, trees and grazing reconciled? With leadership, and compromise. Park access in the Écrins is tiered, with grazing, fires, pets and pushbikes prohibited in some areas. Grazing on the higher ground is seasonal, and fences are mobile and electrified, not permanent, meaning that the flocks are moved on frequently and the fencing with them.

Before we judge ourselves too harshly, these ideas are now being considered afresh in protected areas of Britain. In Abernethy Forest, the RSPB are using temporary fencing with Highland cattle for selective grazing and disturbance of the understorey.

Also in the Cairngorms National Park, ecologists have suggested zoning the interior. In Écrins, zoning has helped wildlife to find sanctuary. Ibex have been successfully reintroduced, while otters, beavers and bearded vultures are returning.

A brief moment in time caught as we moved in flowy tandem towards coffee and cake at Refuge de Vallonpierre. The walking had been good that morning – we had crossed our col early as the sun cut laser beams through the teeth of La Sirac. The hut warden there had enjoyed a whole summer in the mountains, but her season was drawing to an end and she was apprehensive about leaving and joining a busier kitchen in a city.
A brief moment in time caught as we moved in flowy tandem towards coffee and cake at Refuge de Vallonpierre. The walking had been good that morning – we had crossed our col early as the sun cut laser beams through the teeth of La Sirac. The hut warden there had enjoyed a whole summer in the mountains, but her season was drawing to an end and she was apprehensive about leaving and joining a busier kitchen in a city. Credit: David Lintern

The GR54 led us through woodland and wildflower-decked glades fizzing with insect life, then on into a diverse and vibrant montane belt and to the crumbling peaks and weeping glaciers beyond. That variety felt almost absurdly luxurious.

Of course, the 30-strong wolf population does eat sheep and that’s a source of friction – but the French government have a ‘wolf plan’, compensate for losses and offer bursaries for sheepdogs (patou), fences, food and cabane accommodation.

Shepherdess Justine Carpentier lost 150 sheep in 2020, and told me, “The wolf is not good or bad – it is just like the weather. Like rain, we don’t always like it but we need it, and we must learn to live with it.” Others we met were equally philosophical about the challenges. It just seemed to be part of the deal.

On the last big climb to the final col, I hung back to chat to Aline Robert, who asked me almost as many questions as I did her. Along with her husband, she cared for a flock of 500 between June and October each year – “He is usually around”, she joked, “except when it rains, like this morning!” We talked about seasonal grazing, the love of her work, and our global predicament. “We want to save nature, but we want to live in nature. Everyone wants to look after nature, but then we have technology (pointing to my phone), so there is a conflict there, no?”
On the last big climb to the final col, I hung back to chat to Aline Robert, who asked me almost as many questions as I did her. Along with her husband, she cared for a flock of 500 between June and October each year – “He is usually around”, she joked, “except when it rains, like this morning!” We talked about seasonal grazing, the love of her work, and our global predicament. “We want to save nature, but we want to live in nature. Everyone wants to look after nature, but then we have technology (pointing to my phone), so there is a conflict there, no?” Credit: David Lintern

The word Anthropocene has become fashionable in recent years, as if human intervention was a new invention. But humans have been changing their environment for tens of thousands of years. What is new is density and efficiency – the scale, speed and impact of our terraforming.

And we already have a word for this: capitalism. British conservation still mirrors that ‘harder, faster’ worldview; and, in the absence of government leadership and investment, leans on legacy donors, carbon credit traders and tax avoiders. Little wonder there is conflict and culture war in our countryside.

By contrast, the Écrins feels like wildness at walking pace – slower and with care. French government protection of regional produce and mountain ways of life reflects a general sensibility and the political will to do something about it. Nothing is perfect and there are real-life tensions everywhere, but the Écrins shows another way is possible.

GR54 Écrins National Park - I took a while to line this image up on that final mega inversion morning, getting the rocks in the way in exactly the right way! And, as I did, the clouds draped themselves in ever-more elegant fashion over those velvet folds behind. Mick noticed a marmot on a nearby outcrop watching the same scene unfold, head held up, every bit as transfixed as us. Another existential, magical moment – what was it thinking?! “Just us lil’ guys all here together, trying to figure out this crazy world!”
I took a while to line this image up on that final mega inversion morning, getting the rocks in the way in exactly the right way! And, as I did, the clouds draped themselves in ever-more elegant fashion over those velvet folds behind. Mick noticed a marmot on a nearby outcrop watching the same scene unfold, head held up, every bit as transfixed as us. Another existential, magical moment – what was it thinking?! “Just us lil’ guys all here together, trying to figure out this crazy world!” Credit: David Lintern

Take the Grand Tour de Écrins

What: It is reckoned the GR54 is the second most challenging GR in Europe after Corsica’s GR20 – but it’s far less busy.

Where: French Haute Alps

When: The high cols are generally passable between late June and early October. July and August are hot. June has the best flowers, and September calmer weather.

Distance: 180-193km/ 111-119 miles

Ascent: 12,000-12,800m/ 39370-41994ft

GR54 Écrins National Park - Walk the Tour clockwise and your last day is a belter. This shows Mick on the eroded and vertiginous balcony path high above Le Lauvitel, which marks the entrance to a ‘wilderness area’ in the National Park and was the original prompt for my own fascination with the region. The only humans allowed beyond the lake are scientists. That means all the tourists end up on the other side, the same bit us stinky hikers end up at. It’s a breathtaking if slightly dissonant way to finish an amazing journey, before a cartilage-bothering 1800m of rough downhill to your beer and pizza reward in Le Bourg d’Oisans. Credit: David Lintern
Walk the Tour clockwise and your last day is a belter. This shows Mick on the eroded and vertiginous balcony path high above Le Lauvitel, which marks the entrance to a ‘wilderness area’ in the National Park and was the original prompt for my own fascination with the region. The only humans allowed beyond the lake are scientists. That means all the tourists end up on the other side, the same bit us stinky hikers end up at. It’s a breathtaking if slightly dissonant way to finish an amazing journey, before a cartilage-bothering 1800m of rough downhill to your beer and pizza reward in Le Bourg d’Oisans. Credit: David Lintern

Maps: David used IGN 05 Écrins Massif – Grandes Rousses, Cerces, Clarée. At 1:60K, it covers the entire area. When necessary, he cross referenced using digital mapping, although route finding was generally straight forward.

Book: Knife Edge Outdoors publish a guide useful for planning that is slim enough to carry: Tour of the Écrins National Park (2nd ed, 18.99). This contains maps, but the size and reproduction meant having a full map was preferred for route planning each evening at camp.

Time: Between nine and 13 days. David took 12, with a half day of rest at Vallouise. Allow 2+ days for travel.

Start and finish: It’s a circular route, often attempted clockwise from Le Bourg d’Oisan to allow for gentler days at the start. Alternatively, try Vallouise and head ACW.

GR54 Écrins National Park - Taken just after the heat of the afternoon when heads were spinning slightly from exertion and dehydration at 2500m; an addictive and slightly psychoactive mix. We lost the trail for a while, moving in and out of scrambling terrain before picking it up again. All the while we kept an eye on the skyline, our next col, with the promise of water over the col after that, and this prehistoric, threatening mess on our flank. Movement and mountains – there is nothing to touch it.
Taken just after the heat of the afternoon when heads were spinning slightly from exertion and dehydration at 2500m; an addictive and slightly psychoactive mix. We lost the trail for a while, moving in and out of scrambling terrain before picking it up again. All the while we kept an eye on the skyline, our next col, with the promise of water over the col after that, and this prehistoric, threatening mess on our flank. Movement and mountains – there is nothing to touch it. Credit: David Lintern

Getting there: Trains from Paris serve Grenoble, where you can hop on a bus to Le Bourg d’Oisan. Flights run from UK to Lyon, or Geneva (out of high season) connecting to Grenoble. For Vallouise, you can connect from Marseille or Nice. With good planning, you can avoid flying. David met a family of three who had taken the train from Perth in Scotland to Grenoble in a single day, overnighted and caught the first bus to Le Bourg d’Oisan. Their journey time was less than his (by air), and the cost was the about the same because they did not overnight in Geneva!

Accommodation: David stayed at Bo Lodge hotel (bo-lodge.com) and Hotel de Milan (oisans.com) in Le Bourg d’Oisan at the start and end of the walk, and in Hotel 05 (hotel-05.fr) halfway in Vallouise. He used the campsite at La Chapelle and ‘bivouacked’ for the remaining days. It is possible to use refuges and hotels for the entire route, but most need to be prebooked, making for a strict itinerary.

Supplies: Approached as a backpack, it’s straightforward to resupply en route every two-to-four days. There are shops at Le Bourg d’Oisan, La Grave, Le Monêtier-les-Bains, Vallouise and La-Chapelle-en-Valgaudemar, but watch for seasonal and Sunday/ Monday closing. Meals and drinks can also be bought from refuges and villages en route.

GR54 Écrins National Park -- This is the view northeast from the highest point of the Tour des Écrins. It looks right along the Crête de l’Aup Martin to Point de Clausis, which is surrounded by broken shale palaces turned on their sides, as if Dali had served Vienetta ice cream for dessert. What a line! The Tour is a world-class long-distance route in its own right, of course, but we had a secondary reason to be there. There is a huge amount of easier-grade mountaineering ground in the Haute Alps, so this was also a recce of sorts for a return trip.
This is the view northeast from the highest point of the Tour des Écrins. It looks right along the Crête de l’Aup Martin to Point de Clausis, which is surrounded by broken shale palaces turned on their sides, as if Dali had served Vienetta ice cream for dessert. What a line! The Tour is a world-class long-distance route in its own right, of course, but we had a secondary reason to be there. There is a huge amount of easier-grade mountaineering ground in the Haute Alps, so this was also a recce of sorts for a return trip. Credit: David Lintern

Getting the balance right – clothing and kit for the GR54

Looking at the Alps from afar and seeing altitudes of 1400-2700m on the map, it’s easy to overpack (and I did), but keep in mind both ascent and latitude. The climbs are even tougher with a heavier bag, and temperatures in early September in the southern French Alps are still warm: 34°C-at-1800m-in-the-shade warm!

At night, it stays mild, and so 2-3 season hiking kit is more than sufficient. In short, ‘cotton kills’ unless you are in the Écrins, in which case it’s probably fine. A long-sleeved summer shirt, lots of sun protection (hat, cream, glasses, keffiyeh) and running shorts were my everyday wear. A windshirt helped over windy cols.

GR54 Écrins National Park - Photo for Box 2 if needed - Camp 4, 7am in shorts
Camp 4, 7am in shorts. Credit: David LIntern

Trail shoes were perfect, with ankle gaiters to keep out the grit – my feet would have melted in boots. I didn’t need the waterproof socks I took. It was so warm in the evening that my trail shoes dried quickly and I didn’t bother with sleep socks.

Take a light down or synthetic puffy layer for evening over your usual camp sleepwear. A simple fleece as a mid-layer is fine. Spare socks were handy but spare underwear was more dead weight – instead, take safety pins, wash in rivers and dry kit on your pack as you walk.

I carried a full 3-season tent and 0’deg sleeping bag but a light, single skin shelter and a summer sleeping quilt would have been ample. I also took the Trail Designs Ti Tri stove, which was perfect – the ability to occasionally and carefully use wood as stove fuel meant a saving on meths weight. Your mileage may vary, but our waterproofs stayed in the pack until the final two days – lighter is better.

Trekking poles were indispensable, more for the steep descents than the ascents.

This feature was first published in the May 2025 issue of The Great Outdoors.