Day 27 SW Pontarlier to Lignerolle

Crossing into Switzerland: From Pontarlier to Lignerolle through the Jura

I was up by 6 a.m., sitting quietly downstairs with a chicken sandwich and my map spread across the table. The sky was clear—a beautiful, promising morning—but thunderstorms were in the forecast. I was determined to get an early start and, with luck, outrun the worst of it.

Just outside Pontarlier, I had my eye on a local landmark: Fort de Joux. That promise gave me the motivation I needed for what came next—a brutal climb out of the city. For nearly a mile and a half, the trail surged uphill without mercy. It was a punishing start, but the reward came quickly: a sweeping view of the fort perched dramatically on a rocky hilltop, surrounded by the soft, rolling folds of the Jura.

Originally built as a wooden castle in the 11th century, Fort de Joux was gradually transformed into a stone fortress by the 17th century. It played key defensive roles during the reign of Louis XIV and the Napoleonic wars. It’s also known as the prison where Toussaint Louverture, leader of the Haitian Revolution, died in 1803.

The morning hike through the Jura was nothing short of majestic—green pastures, crisp mountain air, and the distant clang of cowbells created a soundtrack so perfectly Alpine it felt almost staged. The trail wound through thick forests and into storybook villages that looked plucked from the pages of a fairy tale.

But the Jura isn’t all meadows and hamlets. After Jougne came one of the steepest climbs I’ve ever faced: a nearly vertical wall of trail with no switchbacks and no relief. For almost 40 minutes, it was just up. It tested everything—legs, lungs, balance, and resolve. It wasn’t pretty, but it was unforgettable.

Later, as the day wore on, jagged peaks emerged in the distance like ancient sentinels. The landscape opened up—the valley sprawling before me, the scale immense. I felt like a speck on the mountainside, inching toward a border I had long anticipated.

By afternoon, thunder rolled across the sky. I made it to a mountain hut just in time. Rain came first, then thunder, then hail—sheets of it, hammering the earth. Watching the storm tear through the valley from the safety of that little hut was surreal.

When the worst had passed, I pushed on. Eventually, I crested the final ridge and crossed into Switzerland. What a moment. It felt symbolic—not just a border, but a turning point. I had spent weeks in France—along its coasts, through vineyards and ancient villages—and now I was stepping into something new, with fresh energy and curiosity.

My destination for the night was Lignerolle, and what a welcome awaited me: a joyful, lively family, one of them an opera-singing chef! It was the perfect ending to a hard, extraordinary day.

France had been everything I hoped for—challenging, beautiful, and rich with history (and yes, a touch of drama—especially at the abbey!). But now, with the mountains ahead, I felt a renewed sense of wonder. I was finally on their doorstep—and ready to answer their call.