Despite spending most of my working life in the mountains, it's surprisingly rare that I get the chance to head out purely for my own adventure. Between guiding, planning trips and long days on the trails, moments of real solitude can be hard to find.

So, in the middle of a busy summer season, Dan suggested we escape to one of the quieter corners of the Alps. The plan was simple: hike high into the mountains, watch the sun set, sleep beneath the stars and, if we were lucky, catch a glimpse of the Milky Way.

The Route

Our route climbed around 1,400 metres over 10 kilometres, weaving through a steep-sided valley close to the Swiss border. The forecast couldn't have looked much better — settled skies, no storms and a warm summer night. At nearly 2,700 metres, those details matter. After our previous bivvy, spent digging into a snow hole in temperatures of -25°C, we were both looking forward to something considerably more comfortable.

One of my favourite parts of any mountain adventure is the preparation. Packing a rucksack becomes almost meditative — carefully weighing every item against its usefulness. Every gram counts, but so does making the right decision. The mountains are wonderfully rewarding, but they're also unforgiving. Weather can change in moments, and years of working in alpine environments have taught me never to take shortcuts with equipment. That applies as much to what's on your feet as what's in your pack.

Through the Valley

As the trail climbed alongside a glacial river, the valley came alive with wildflowers in every colour imaginable. Butterflies drifted between the blooms while meltwater streams tumbled down from higher slopes, offering the perfect opportunity to refill our bottles before the afternoon heat began to fade.

After an hour or so, the terrain changed dramatically. The path steepened into a rocky section protected by chains and fixed handrails, demanding secure footing and complete confidence in every step. It's in terrain like this that good equipment quietly proves its worth. Long days on ground like this put socks to the test in ways easy trails never do — constant angle changes, sustained pressure through the forefoot on the climbs, and sharp descents that push your foot forward into the toe box with every step.

I hiked the whole route in Bridgedale's Trail Run range — built for exactly this kind of terrain, with cushioning mapped to the areas that take the most impact and a snug, supportive fit that holds through technical sections without needing constant adjustment. Reliable trail shoes paired with socks that manage moisture and stay put meant I could focus entirely on the mountain ahead, rather than my feet. On long days, when every climb, descent and rocky traverse adds up, comfort isn't a luxury — it's part of the experience.

Beyond the steep section, the valley opened into peaceful alpine pastures where a herd of ibex grazed undisturbed among lush grass and fresh mountain streams. It felt as though we'd left the rest of the world behind.

The Final Climb

The final push was a relentless 600-metre climb over rocky switchbacks. Legs were tiring, but thoughts of dinner, the sunset and finding the perfect place to spend the night kept us moving upwards.

Bivvying in the Alps comes with responsibilities. In many areas it's only permitted in specific locations and typically from dusk until dawn. More importantly, it relies on a Leave No Trace approach. These landscapes are incredibly fragile, and spending a night in them is a privilege rather than a right. The goal is simple: arrive quietly, leave no evidence you were ever there, and allow others to experience the same sense of wilderness.

The Summit Ridge

Reaching the summit ridge made every step worthwhile.

To the east, the unmistakable pyramid of the Matterhorn stood against the evening sky. To the west, the Mont Blanc Massif glowed in the fading light. A young ibex wandered onto the skyline and paused long enough for us to simply stand and admire the moment.

We found a sheltered spot, unpacked dinner and watched the changing colours of alpenglow slowly fade into twilight.

A Night Beneath the Stars

As darkness settled, we laid out our bivvy gear and made our home for the night. One by one, the first stars appeared before the sky filled with thousands more. In the distance, the lights of the Aiguille du Midi cable car stations shimmered faintly across the valley, while the only sound around us was the breeze moving across the ridge.

In a world that's increasingly busy and connected, there's something restorative about stripping life back to the essentials. A small rucksack, trusted kit, good company and a night beneath the stars were all we needed. Sometimes the greatest luxury isn't reaching a summit at all — it's finding a place quiet enough to simply stop, breathe and reconnect with the mountains.