Wandering in such deep snow meant there was no need to stick to the usual thoroughfares. We struck out into the forest, brushing snow-laden branches, causing mini-avalanches that dumped snow down my neck. Occasionally, we would come upon isolated and entirely snowbound chalets that were clearly inhabited, judging by the smoke billowing from the chimneys. “The Jurasiens are like bears,” explained Valérie, “shy and solitary creatures who are first and foremost self-reliant.”
Despite snowshoes, every step was exhausting as I sank up to my knees in deep, soft snow, my walking-pole often completely disappearing as I leant on it to heave myself forward. We could not have covered much ground by the time Valérie announced the lunch-stop. Our first task was to batter down the snow to create a firm base. Then we were sent out to break branches from the pine trees, which Valérie placed in a trench. On top of the pine branches, she set the dry logs that she had been carrying.
Before the fire was lit, Valérie insisted we strip off and take a jurassien shower, rubbing our exposed skin with snow before putting on fresh thermal vests and long johns. Such a shower was essential, she claimed, if we were to prevent our already-sweaty clothes from freezing while we dined. Fortunately, it was only minutes before there was a fire burning and slices of the local Morteau sausage cooking on a grill.
Once we had eaten – with the temperature hovering around -10°C – it was important to pack up quickly and get underway again. We wandered, like will-o’-the-wisps, among slow-growing pines that Valérie informed us were valued by high-quality violin-makers for their resonance. “In the autumn, when the sap is low, men spend weeks tapping trees and listening closely until they find exactly the right one.”
It was sunset before I was back in country that I recognised as being close to Lajoux. Now there was more of a crunch with each step, rather than the soft flump of earlier in the day: the snow was turning to ice. With the rapidly cooling air, a fog was forming in the valley. Even with the effort of walking and a well-insulated jacket, I was starting to feel cold. I was surrounded by snow deeper than 1 had ever known: it could be said that I had left my comfort zone. But it was what I had come looking for. Despite being less than half the height of the Alps, the Jura had brought me new challenges and experiences in harmony with the spirit of the mountains.
Take to the Grandes Traversées
The distinctively relaxing nature of the Jura Mountains means they lend themselves to yoga, watercolour painting and other gentle pursuits.
At La Chandoline, it is possible to combine walking in the summer or snowshoeing in the winter with both activities. Walk in the morning and, suitably refreshed and inspired, paint or stretch in the afternoon.
The best ways of exploring the Jura are to follow one of the many marked routes known as the Grandes Traversées du Jura. There are different routes for mountain-bikers, cyclists, horse-riders, skiers, summer walkers and snowshoers. All are carefully thought-out, with food and accommodation stops at regular intervals along the multi-day routes, which each takes around ten days to complete.
