When I first awoke, it was sunny. However, I didn’t want to get up at 5.30am. By 7am it was overcast. By 7.30am it was grey and overcast. However, I reminded myself as I finished my coffee at my accommodation – it was not raining. The weather app told me it wouldn’t start raining until around lunchtime: dare I hope for three dry hours walking? This could take me well over halfway to my destination, Les-Hôpitaux-Neuf, within sight of the Swiss border.

I packed, locked up the flat as my host had left for work at 6.30am and dropped the keys into her postbox. I walked towards the centre of Pontarlier in search of a boulangerie. A breakfast viennoiserie and a prepared salad perhaps today, I thought. Then perhaps, a walk over to the tourist office to get a stamp for my credential… ah, my credential. A sudden panic gripped my innermost parts. I remembered taking it out of my bag to put in my pocket, to make my tourist office trip less cumbersome. However, I also strongly remember not putting it in my pocket. It now lay, inside the locked flat, with the keys safely in the locked post box. Aargh!

I messaged my host, explaining my predicament. There was nothing else I could do, except eat my breakfast and hope for an early response. Perhaps she came back home for lunch? Perhaps I would just have to go on without my beloved, bestamped pilgrim credential. Even a particularly fine pain au raisin could not lift my mood.

After eating my breakfast in the Place du Capuchins, I revisited the apartment block, in the desperate hope that the postbox might not be locked. It was locked.

So I had a look round the town and its slightly gloomy church. I’m being unfair, of course, I suspect I was projecting gloomy and despond onto this solid building. The organ was at the east end behind the high altar… I hoped that this hadn’t given generations of Pontarlier organists ideas above their station!

I thought about getting my haircut to pass the time, but Patricia, my lovely host, saved me from an embarrassing conversation with a barber, by messaging me with details of where a spare key was secreted. I was saved! I was a credented pilgrim once more.

I got my credential stamped by a very friendly lady at the tourist office and set out on my walk. I was following the Lightfoot Guide which suggested a walk predominantly along a former railway line from Pontarlier to Les-Hospitaux-Neufs. Excitingly, for part of this length this was the ConiFer Scenic Railway, operating steam locos (although not on the day I would be walking it).

Pontarlier was also the centre of the absinthe industry, and it tickled me that I was walking along the Route de l’Absinthe. I saw no green fairies during those first few kilometres, although the Green Goddess soon made an appearance!

Frustratingly, my credential crisis had cost me three hours, and as I walked firstly through parkland beside the river Doubs, and then into open countryside, it began to rain.

To begin with, it was quite light and I pressed on, with “hope in my heart” as the song goes. The river Doubs passes through a very narrow valley below Pontarlier, with my path, the river, a railway line and a highway all jostling for space. However, soon the land broadens out again and the Fort de Joux comes into the view.

This fortification, on an outcrop of rock, has played an important role in the defence of these borderlands for centuries. Sadly, I couldn’t properly appreciate it owing to the, by now heavy, rain. The route took me around this outcrop, and then onto the railway track bed on the other side.

I caught a break at the top, where there were picnic benches and ate my salad. It was very nice with the exception of a strange concoction of tinned peas, mayonnaise and tuna. The sun came out. Things were looking up. The beetroot in the salad had been pickled in vinegar – things weren’t that bad.

On picking up the railway line, I met a man in his seventies, who stopped to tell me something very earnestly. I made some agreeing noises, but despite replaying what he said over in my head several times, I had absolutely no idea what he had said. Happily, he also had a very nifty turn of speed and disappeared into the distance (see above) remarkably quickly.

This part of the walk was very pleasant, a gentle incline upwards, not too much mud, and soft leaf mould for much of the way.

The old railway tracks were in evidence in places, as were a number of workers vans. You can just see in the picture above a yellow stone track – this is crushed local stone laid on top of the embankment to make a level surface. It looked as though a roadway was being built. I expected to be stopped at some point and turned back, but pressed on in the deep hope that I could get through. The only alternative would be to go back to the fort and join the longer, hillier official Via Francigena route.

As I turned a corner, there were huge rocks strewn all over the track bed. Some as big as tables. I looked up and there were fresh tears in the stone cutting to my left. It appeared that this cutting had been widened very recently. A little further a long the hillside along the track had been cleared of trees. A dog sat quietly by a tree stump. This was all very odd.

I came upon three men, seemingly waiting for someone to tell them what to do. This was the point at which I would be turned round I thought. “Bonjour!” I said, in my most nonchalant manner, trying to convey that I was simply an Englishman out for a stroll. “Bonjour” came the slightly dubious reply. I walked on, daring not look round.

Two more men then appeared with chainsaws and whistled for the dog. I then came towards a temporary metal fencing. “Aha” I thought, “this is where my adventure comes to an end!” I could see there were warning signs tied to it. However, it was only when I got nearer, that I realised I was already in the fenced off area.

With a relieved sigh and a smile, I walked round the fencing to read what dangers I had faced. “Falling rocks”, “danger of death”, “blasting.” And none of these hazards advertised on the other end of the section. What a relief to have got through!

It was here that the ConiFer railway began. It was that end of the line where all the lame duck rolling stock are hidden away from the public. A long line of “will be useful one day”, “we were offered it and didn’t want to refuse” wagons, flat beds and carriages.

A little further along was the southern terminus, which was undergoing a station building enlargement. Carriages with commissioned graffiti art, and other unofficial graffitied trucks jostled for space.

Everything had a slightly forlorn look, however, as long as the rain held off, I had no complaints! The track alongside the railway line was strewn with large pieces of ballast which made for uncomfortable and hazardous walking at times.

The line emerged from the sheltered valley and a cold wind caught me. I could see Jounge in the distance (on tomorrow’s route) and knew that Les-Hôpitaux-Neufs was around the corner to my left. I could see too a heavy band of rain moving up the valley on my right.

I did my best, but about 2km outside Les-Hôpitaux-Neufs, the heavens opened. Rain like the proverbial stair-rods came down and met itself on the way back up. Within about 5 minutes I was completely drenched. There was nothing I could do but press on and hope to get to the accommodation before I dissolved, or my socks absorbed so much water that my feet became too heavy to lift.

Xavier met me at the door to his beautiful three-storey chalet, helped me to hang out my wet things and threw several logs on the fire to help with the drying out process. He also took my washing, introduced me to French gap-year student Remi, who I’d be sharing a room with and made me a cup of tea.

It was a good end to a tough day. However, I wasn’t sure if I could take a fourth day in a row where I was completely soaked through by the end of the walk. I looked at public transport options, I drank my tea and thanked God for people with understanding and hospitable hearts.