In the French Alps, luxurious Eleven Chalet Hibou caters to adventure seekers

Guests at Eleven Chalet Hibou in the French Alps can hike from hut to hut between France and Italy. Pam LeBlanc photo

I’m sitting on a boulder at the edge of a glacier-fed stream that snakes through a valley in the French Alps. A ring of mountains surrounds me and everywhere I look, golden grass ripples in the breeze. 

I peel off the fuzzy black robe I’m wearing and dip a toe in the stream. It’s chillier than Barton Springs, which serves as my barometer of all things cold. 

I’ve got goosebumps. But the four women I’m traveling with are already in the water, gleefully slathering spa-quality mud from the streambed over their arms and faces. I think warm thoughts and lower myself into the creek.

My skin turns pink, goosebumps rise on my arms like scales on a cheese grater, and in a few seconds my feet ache with the cold. I spread mud onto my shoulders and shiver. It’s deliciously invigorating, and it’s just one highlight of an adventure-filled week in the mountains along the border between France and Italy. 

Read more: In Switzerland’s Quiet Val D’anniviers, Hike from One Charming Village to the Next 

I arrived at Chalet Hibou a few days ago. It’s operated by a hospitality group called Eleven, which owns a dozen high-end adventure lodges around the world, from Iceland to New Zealand. It’s the most luxurious place I’ve ever stayed, but it doesn’t feel stuffy or formal. 

After I checked in, I pulled back the curtains in my room and gazed down on the slate-roofed houses of Le Miroir, a small village in the Tarentaise Valley. Later that night, I pulled a thick duvet around my neck in the world’s coziest bed.  

Luxurious, yes, but that’s not why I came to the French Alps. I came for adventure. 

Biking and rafting in the French Alps 

White water rafting is on the agenda at Eleven Chalet Hibou in the French Alps. Pam LeBlanc photo

The first morning, described by our guide Jean-No Gaidet as “our most gravity-fed day,” began with a bike ride. Hard-core cyclists with bulging quads come to this valley to muscle up mountain passes and whiz down steep inclines. We opted for mountain bikes with electric motors and stuck to more manageable terrain. A long downhill path led us into a nearby town, where we explored a weekend market and geared up for phase two of the day’s adventure, white water rafting. 

The Isère River runs clear and cold over rapids and into sheer-walled gorges, making it a prime destination for paddlers, rafters and people hanging onto short, buoyant boards called “hydrospeeds.” We tugged on full-length wetsuits, grabbled paddles and clambered into an inflatable raft. With a guide shouting out orders, we charged down the river, pitching into churning waves and knifing our way through the fast-moving water.  

At one point we stopped, shimmied up nearby cliffs and leaped off the edge. Another time we floated alongside our raft, bobbing like corks in the water. But the best part came when we swirled into a lush, narrow gorge, and stared up at the surrounding blue-gray canyon walls. 

I felt like I’d landed in a jungle and was taking the only road home. 

Read more: Mountains, glaciers and more on a Smithsonian Journeys trip to Patagonia 

A hut-to-hut adventure 

Guests enjoy a meal on the porch of Eleven Chalet Hibou. Pam LeBlanc photo

The next day found us back on our e-bikes. But this time we’d finish the day not at Chalet Hibou, but at a backcountry hut also owned by Eleven. After an overnight there, we’d hike to a second hut across the border in Italy. 

To begin, a van carried us to our starting point high in the mountains. Unlike the previous day, this route would cover mostly dirt roads and bumpy singletrack instead of smooth pavement.  

We pedaled past a goat farm, stopping to sample fresh cheese made on site. We feasted on blueberries and strawberries growing alongside the trail. Then we split into two small groups, with some staying on easier roads and the others diving into more rugged terrain. I steeled my nerves and joined the second group. For the next few hours, we gunned our e-bikes up and over ridges and down rocky descents.  

If anyone tells you that e-bikes are for wusses, direct them to the French Alps. Even with an electric boost, my quads were burning by the time we made it to Refuge Les Mollettes, a renovated sheepherder’s cabin in the Ruitor Valley where we’d be staying the night. The cabin has no plumbing or electricity (that’s what the candles and a composting toilet were for), but I’ve never seen a more glorious setting. 

We sipped wine and nibbled cheese, then headed down to that glacier-fed stream where I rubbed mud all over my body.  

Tonight, I’ll draw the curtains around the cubby hole built into the bunk room where we’re sleeping. It’s cozy, quiet and perfect.  

The big hike 

The next day promises to be a quad buster.  

We’ll hike nine and a half miles from our current cabin in France to another restored stone cabin in Italy. It’ll take about seven hours, and we’ll cross two mountain passes, climbing nearly 5,000 feet along the way.  

I don’t know it yet, but we’ll spot an ibex peering at us from its perch on a ridgeline, and we’ll break for a swim at Lac Noir, an alpine lake high above the tree line. We’ll see bits of rusted shrapnel and the remains of rock structures, reminders of events that took place in these mountains during World War II. And just before we finish, we’ll pass a dairy where we admire the resident cows and top off our water bottles at a trough. 

I feel victorious as we arrive at Rifugio Valgrisench, where we can see the bright white rooftop of a chapel in the green valley beneath us. 

Slip sliding away 

For our final hurrah the next day, we’ll climb back in the van and make the drive to Chalami Canyon in the Aosta Valley of Italy.  

There, we’ll don wetsuits, helmets and harnesses, and hike along a cliff at the edge of a narrow gorge.  

I’ve never been canyoneering, or canyoning, as it’s called here. To get to the start, we’ll rappel down a 60-foot drop into a turquoise-colored pool. From there, it takes about two hours to follow the river as it spills over slick rocks into pool after pool. It’s a three-dimensional puzzle, and to solve it, you have to get wet. 

It’s pure bliss. It feels like I’m part of the river, cascading over limestone overhangs and swimming through channels of clear, cold water. 

In the winter 

During the winter, the focus shifts to snow sports. Seven small ski areas, including Sainte Foy, Val d’Isère, La Rosière and Les Arcs, are located nearby. We can see one from the balcony where we’re eating our last dinner back at Chalet Hibou. 

“People who stay here can discover a new ski area every day,” says Gaidet, our guide. 

They can also arrange a helicopter trip to ski on a nearby glacier, or ski from France into Italy and back to France, all in one day. 

“We are based here, but we cover a lot of terrain in the area,” Gaidet says. “We love to play between France, Italy and sometimes Switzerland.” 

It sounds dreamy. But for now, I’m blissfully exhausted, and that cozy bed beckons.