The Grand Méan Glacier via Plan des Evettes

In the hills above Bonneval-sur-Arc, this high-altitude hike winds through alpine pastures and scree fields and will take you to the glacial lake of Grand Méan, an exceptional site that is unique in France.

Starting point: The walk begins at the parking lot in the hamlet of L’Ecot.

In the summer, it is accessible by bus and served by the S53 line to Bonneval (from Modane or Val Cenis-Lanslebourg) and then to L’Ecot via Line 4.

If you're coming by car, parking is for a fee in the summer.

On this July morning, the air is already warm, though tempered by the altitude. As I slip on my hiking boots, I’m already looking forward with excitement to the natural beauty that awaits me on this day of hiking with my friend Dylan.

As we set off, we leave the hamlet of L’Ecot behind us and follow the left bank of the Arc along a wide, flat, grassy path that gives no hint of the rugged nature of the route ahead. A little further on, the alpine heath gives way to a green alder grove along the banks of the Reculaz stream, while the imposing pyramidal silhouette of Mount Séti rises before us, resembling—from this angle—a miniature Matterhorn of the Maurienne.

Upon reaching the foot of the Reculaz Gorge, the landscape changes and the terrain becomes more enclosed, rising like the high walls of a fortress. A strange vista unfolds before us, resembling a sort of colossal rocky staircase, its steps carpeted with grass and fringed with promontories overlooking the canyon, at the bottom of which the torrent flows impetuously—an alabaster serpent with scales of foam that the early morning sun struggles to draw out of the shadows and warm. Standing on one of these cliffs above the abyss, I contemplate this wild landscape like Caspar David Friedrich’s “The Wanderer.”

Further up, the climb continues across increasingly steep terrain. In some places, a few steep sections require the use of a handrail that has been strategically installed in the rock crevices. There are no particular dangers, but a bit of concentration is needed to choose the best footholds and pull yourself up using your feet and arms.

After this somewhat “technical” stretch, a wide, flat area comes into view as we emerge from the gorges, and the vast, desolate expanse of the Plan des Evettes unfolds before our eyes. What a sight! Flowing directly from the surrounding glaciers, the many streams converge and crisscross the grassy plain—which my imagination compares to the Mongolian steppes—dominated by the Evettes Glacier and the Albaron Massif. In the high-altitude breeze, the air is noticeably cooler.

After a short break at the top of a hill, we reach the river with its crystal-clear waters and cross the Roman bridge, a semicircular arch of astonishing architectural simplicity. Nearby, a small overlook offers a bird’s-eye view of the Reculaz waterfall and its turbulent waters plunging to the bottom of the gorge. It’s time to continue our hike along an unmarked trail that climbs above Le Plan, on the foothills of Mount Séti.

As we climb, the high-altitude alpine meadows give way to a rougher, more rocky landscape, though brightened by numerous species of flowers in shades of yellow, blue, purple, and pink, including a few clumps of houseleeks just beginning to bloom. After a final climb through scree fields, the view of the Grand Méan Glacier is just as spectacular as the one of the Plan des Evettes an hour earlier. The Grand Méan Lake comes into full view, majestic at the foot of the glacier. Its opaline waters, partially freed by the recent ice break-up, are still covered with large white patches all the way to the edge of the glacier, whose striated and crevassed wall rises from the bottom of the lake. These remote corners of the Maurienne, with their high-mountain atmosphere, are certainly every bit as impressive as Patagonia.

We walk along the edge of the lake to get closer to the glacier’s edge. In the distance, a herd of ibex crosses the scree. To recharge our energy while further soaking in the scenery, Dylan and I have a picnic at the water’s edge, where the lake’s surface is rippled by a cool, gentle breeze. Barely sated by the beauty of this place, we retrace our steps as a few clouds begin to veil the mountain ridges along the border.

I look back one last time at the Grand Méan Glacier before beginning our descent toward the grassy plain, in the middle of which lies a lake with an almost greenish sheen. In the early afternoon, the light—brighter and harsher—has changed and envelops the landscape in a sort of imperceptible mist. Once we’ve crossed the scree slope, we’re back on grass in no time, and we can make out the Evettes shelter below us on a small hill, where we plan to make a short detour. We cross the Roman bridge a second time and make our way up through the undulating terrain toward the refuge, perched at an altitude of nearly 2,600 meters. During a well-deserved break to quench our thirst, we enjoy the unobstructed view of the Plan des Evettes and the surrounding mountain ranges and glaciers.

On the other side of the Col des Evettes, the trail first descends gently through the alpine pastures, then drops down toward the Arc Valley. In the distance to the left, we catch a glimpse of the village of Bonneval-sur-Arc, nestled at the foot of the winding road up the Col de l’Iseran, and far below, the hamlet of l’Ecot, whose unassuming stone and slate-roofed houses blend seamlessly into their surroundings. The descent is rapid, and the vegetation takes over again, contrasting with the rocky landscape of the high plateaus we’ve left behind. The trail, crisscrossed by small streams, winds through groves of alder trees, emerges at the bottom onto a wide trail, and finally reaches the L’Ecot parking lot.

This isn’t just a hike coming to an end—it’s almost a journey to the ends of the earth, an expedition to distant polar regions, an immersion in a unique world of surprising and unexpected beauty. What an adventure!