Like many travellers, I’ve always known Martigny as a train stop – that place where you swap the sleek Swiss express for a chugging mountain train that climbs through narrow gorges towards France. A spectacular ride, with gradients up to twenty percent. This time, though, I hop off halfway, chasing a different kind of thrill: a ski touring adventure.
But first, a taste of eau de vie. Martigny is a charming town once used by the Romans as a crossroads of alpine routes. You can still feel the southern flair here – elegant façades, café terraces flooding the Place Centrale as soon as the sun appears. And gastronomy? It’s written into the DNA, thanks to an abundance of local produce: wine, fruit, honey, mushrooms, cheese, and charcuterie.
Before I set off for my base in the tiny mountain village of Les Marécottes, I visit Morand Distillery – a true institution, founded in 1889 and still family-run. ‘It started with syrup,’ says Julien Morand, the fourth generation. ‘My ancestors took it to Chamonix in summer, diluted it with water and sold it to tourists.’
Naturally, we taste. Various eaux de vie, the classic pear brandy Williamine©, and also gin, liqueurs and syrups made from local fruit. ‘You must honour the past,’ Julien smiles, ‘but move with the times. People want softer flavours now, less sugar, less alcohol.’
With a bottle of apricot syrup – a regional specialty – tucked into my bag, I continue on to Les Marécottes. My boutique hotel sits right next to a small alpine zoo, founded in 1955. While wandering the snowy paths, I meet a grandfather who brings his grandchild here every week to see marmots, foxes, deer, chamois, bears and wolves. I suppress my doubts about zoos and look forward to tomorrow’s tour. Perhaps, out there in the wild, we’ll meet the same animals – free.
Les Marécottes was one of the first ski areas in the region, dating back to 1953. It has stayed modest – about twenty kilometres of pistes, surrounded by cliffs and sweeping views. Beloved by ski tourers, it’s a gateway to pristine off-piste terrain. Today, together with locals Raoul and Carmen, I’m tackling a classic: up and over the Col de la Golettaz to Lac de Salanfe, then back through the hidden Vallon de Van.
Coffee stop in La Creusaz, a tiny hamlet of wooden chalets at 1,700 metres. The panorama is magnificent – from the Rhône Valley in the east to the Mont Blanc massif in the southwest. A moment to take it all in. Although… I’ve seen the route we’ll soon climb towards the Col de la Golettaz. It’s steep. Very steep.
One last espresso, then we fix skins to our skis and set off. The first stretch runs alongside the ski area — no snow cannons here, just whatever nature provides. Their absence reminds me how used we’ve become to those machines along the slopes. This is how it used to be everywhere: pure, silent, natural. Bliss.
Above the chalets, the landscape changes. It gets serious now. Steeper, step by step. At first we chat, but soon every breath is needed for climbing. Finding rhythm, focusing on technique, saving energy. The higher we go, the more the world below fades away.
Ski touring has boomed in recent years. Once a niche for hardcore mountaineers, it’s now embraced by a much wider audience. One in three skis sold in the Alps is now a touring setup. The reasons are obvious: lighter gear, better performance, and a collective yearning for silence, solitude and snow.
It’s too steep now to go straight up, so we zigzag – left, turn, right, turn, left again – until the gradient becomes too much even for that. Time for the spitzenkehre, a tight kick-turn where one ski pivots nearly 180 degrees before the other follows. Raoul demonstrates with ease; Carmen and I copy his rhythm.
Near the col, the world shrinks to a white bowl framed by dark rock walls. It’s both humbling and immense. The slope ahead is too steep even for kick-turns, so we unclip our skis and strap them to our packs. Twenty, thirty more metres of climbing, breath burning in the thin air. Then – we’re there. Voilà. Merci.
We shake hands and find a sunny rock for tea and energy bars. The view takes my breath away: craggy cliffs, endless snowfields, the peaks of Les Dents du Midi etched on the horizon. Best of all, almost no ski tracks in sight. That means fresh turns await.
And oh, what turns they are. Knee-deep powder exploding in soft clouds. Raoul leads the way, tracing the perfect line; Carmen and I follow through rolling terrain, down steep faces, between trees, across untouched ridges. Every so often we pause to admire our signature in the snow – a perfect serpentine of joy.
Eventually, the slope flattens and we reach the frozen expanse of Lac de Salanfe. The wild ride is over, replaced by a gentle descent through the Vallon de Van – hard snow, narrow paths, frozen bridges, yet utterly beautiful. We pass a tiny chapel, the hamlet of Van d’en Haut, an auberge closed for the season, and a tunnel dripping with metre-long icicles. Far below, Martigny glimmers in the valley.
That night I stay in Saillon-les-Bains, soaking my weary legs in its thermal waters. Once revived, I wander through old Saillon – a postcard-perfect village clinging to a hillside beneath the ruins of a medieval tower. In a local inn, I read the tale of Joseph-Samuel Farinet, the 19th-century Robin Hood of Valais.
A counterfeiter turned folk hero, Farinet forged coins and shared them with the poor. For ten years he outwitted the authorities before being caught and condemned. He died during an escape attempt, though the details remain shrouded in mystery.
Farinet once walked these same cobbled streets. From the top of the village, I gaze out over the Rhône Valley and the distant peaks. On the horizon, a tiny train crawls uphill — just as it always has.
Immerse yourself in the good life of the Martigny Region. Winter here means unspoiled alpine landscapes, fascinating museums, superb wines, healing waters, and charming villages — with or without skis.
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