There are no Bears in the French Alps

I approached my hiking trip to France wildly differently than I had previous ones. The others were largely impromptu, I was usually already abroad when the plans to find the nearest and coolest-looking mountain range and spend some time trekking were rustled up, and I was always with friends. Yet, I found myself alone on the Hexatrek at the start of August with a plan to walk 1000km and return in one piece.  

My last big hiking trip before this had been through a portion of the Romanian Carpathians in 2021 and can hold my hands up and say it may have defined my personality since. The standout matter of this visit turned out to be bears; it felt unexpected but, honestly, shouldn’t have been. There are over 6000 brown bears in Romania (compared to less than 100 in France, solely in the Pyrenees according to Google) and they were the sole occupants of our thoughts and fears.  

Though we never saw one, evidence of their presence was everywhere, whether in scratches in trees or being woken up to the sound of one stomping in the vicinity of your tent at dawn. The awareness of my own mortality that their impermeable presence instilled in me, especially when I was alone, persisted.  

In my preparation for this hike, I double and triple-checked the population of bears throughout the Alps, and I was eventually satisfied that it was simply impossible for me to see a single bear outside of the Pyrenees. 

The trek stretches from Wissembourg, Alsace, to Hendaye in the Basque Country, spanning a cool 3,034km. The first sections follow the iconic GR5 through the Vosges, Jura and Lake Geneva before climbing steeply up deep into the Northern Alps, making its way through the Haute-Savoie, Savoie and Isère.  

The trail changes dramatically from rolling hills to wide open pistes, with rivers and alpine lakes alongside being its constant companion. The reason I had to face this daunting crossing alone was mainly due to the walk’s length and the fact that none of my friends wanted to spend six weeks sweating through the late summer months.  

Still, the idea of having the mountains to myself was very tempting after spending the past three years caught up in the constant rush of social life at university.  The uncertainty of the Alps was exactly what I was looking for, a push not just beyond my comfort zone, but back into the version of myself I happily rediscover on long-haul treks. 

A big part of this was the connections I made with people along the way. It genuinely made my day to stop and talk to as many people as I could. I loved the chance to practise and improve my French, picking up on the subtleties of pronunciation and collecting especially useful words, fromagerie being an obvious favourite for more than one reason. Beyond that, the warmth and openness I encountered everywhere really shaped my impression of France, with several encounters leaving a lasting mark. 

One such meeting was with Vera, a recent retiree outside of Refuge de Chésery just over the border into Switzerland. We had sat on the picnic style bench just under the sloping overbite of the refuge’s roof and discussed the standard set of hiking questions: ‘Where did you start, how long have you been walking, how heavy is your bag’ etc. Although, I was distracted throughout the conversation by the feeling of miniature lakes in my shoes, having been soaked the day before in constant rain and again that morning as I hopped through the long grass from my bivouac spot back to the refuge. 

Vera then began describing how the thick fog that stuck to the mountains in weather like this dramatically reduced any visibility beyond roughly five meters, which terrified her. I enthusiastically agreed, and we began giggling and discussing everything we didn’t like about trekking. At the end of our conversation, both of us grinning, she said: “We understand each other” and I felt very pleased. 

 I managed to bump into her several more times: crouched on a ridgeline eating boiled eggs, and again in the sanitaires of the most delicious campsite in Landry. The scarcity of women on these trails made every interaction immensely valuable, and the distinct lack of a ‘who’s the toughest’ competition that can sometimes happens when outdoorsy people interact, was refreshing. 

A week or so later, I set off early, planning to reach Refuge de Rosuel about 45km down the trail that evening. I also knew the last 15km was some of the steepest hiking in the whole route. By the early afternoon, I had just left Landry and was making my way along a gorgeous section of walking under the shade of a dense forest canopy.  

Suddenly, the paranoia of Romania returned to me, and my bear senses were tingling. I saw movement to my left, halfway up a Conifer tree, and less than a second later, a tiny bear-shaped ball of fur had scampered down the tree and into the brush leading away from the path. I felt nothing; I simply didn’t believe it to be true. I did, however, have the sense to turn straight on my heel and returnback the way I came. Because I know that where there are cubs, there is a mother, and where there is a mother, I am toast. 

I warned every hiker I came across on the way down about the bear, and not even one believed me, suggesting marmots and ferrets as alternatives. They were also all middle-aged men, but I’m sure that is a coincidence. I pondered the reception of my claim of a bear for a while afterwards. Did those men not believe me because they saw a girl telling them something which they deemed a bit unlikely or was it because there actually are no bears in the French Alps? 

The only hiker to verify my claim was the helpful Canadian from the day before, whom I met again on the way down, and after asking more specific questions about what exactly the animal was doing, confirmed that, as it was up a tree and given the shape, it most likely was indeed a brown bear. Immensely happy that my claim had been verified, I was able to go on my merry way to enjoy a sociable couple of days in a campsite before continuing and eventually finishing the hike. 

Perhaps the clearest lesson from the trek was that, bear sightings aside, the wildlife is far from the most remarkable aspect of the mountains. The fear of the unknown, and what might be lurking in it, is unavoidable, and even more acute when travelling alone as a woman. But looking back, any time spent worrying about bears would have been far better spent absorbing the breathtaking valleys, glaciers, and the unforgettable people I encountered along the way.