Rando au Pic des Neiges: we tried this board game with fellow travel bloggers at the foot of Mont Aiguille

At Grand Angle, a travel agency specialising in hiking and touring holidays since 1983, we like trying things with a mountain theme, especially when the setting is just right. Günther Lehmann and François Jourjon, from the Randonner Malin blog, gave us a copy of their game Rando au Pic des Neiges and free rein to try it out. Here is the story of an evening with fellow travel bloggers, and what stayed with us the following morning.

Opening the box at the foot of Mont Aiguille

First, the setting. Eight of us were in the lounge of the hotel Le Gai Soleil in Chichilianne, at the foot of Mont Aiguille, on the eve of a day’s walk on the Hauts-Plateaux du Vercors. An evening among people who love exploring on foot was the perfect opportunity to open a box inspired by our favourite playground.

I played with Catherine (Voyage Passions), Magali (Ma Globe Trotteuse), Marine and Clément (Marine et Clem), Caroline (Les Petits Plaisirs de la Vie), Léa and Mickaël (Le Monde des Mirons) and Robin (mountain walking guide). Eight players aged between 20 and 60, with very different levels of hiking experience, from beginners to seasoned walkers.

A few practical details: Rando au Pic des Neiges was designed by Günther Lehmann and François Jourjon (the founder of Randonner Malin), supported by FFRandonnée and several national parks, crowdfunded and made in France. The components are well made, the board is beautifully illustrated and the visual design feels cohesive. The game has a soul.

What I realised as we played

After half an hour, something clicked, changing how I saw the evening. Rando au Pic des Neiges is less a game than an excuse to share mountain stories with friends. The mechanics themselves (questions and answers, scenario cards, moving around the board) play a fairly minor role; what really matters is what each card brings to the surface around the table. Once you accept that premise, the game makes perfect sense.

Four cards that evening sparked conversations that alone made it worthwhile.

The mazot, or memories of the hamlets of old

One card asked what a mazot was and what it was used for. Magali knew the answer: a small wooden chalet built separately from the farmhouse to keep grain, seeds and Sunday best clothes safe in the event of a fire. Catherine picked up the thread with fruitières, the dairy cooperatives that grew out of facilities on the high mountain pastures. We talked about those hamlets where every building told the story of its purpose, and a time when people built with the fear of fire and food shortages in mind. Twenty minutes of shared digression, away from the board. That, I think, is precisely where the game serves its purpose best.

Water from the mountain stream

“Can you drink water straight from a mountain stream in the valley?” The game’s answer is no, because livestock may contaminate the water upstream. True enough down in the valley. But at high altitude, above all alpine pastures, many hikers (myself included) drink from the source without a filter. The table came alive: where do you draw the line? At what altitude? In which season? With what flow rate? A closed educational question turned into an open discussion about how to assess a water source in practice. The game was richer for it, even if it had not planned for that broader discussion.

Mount Elbrus, or where does Europe end?

“What is the highest peak in Europe?” The game’s answer is Mount Elbrus, 5 641 m, in the Russian Caucasus. Marine and Clément looked up: depending on where you draw the geographical boundary between Europe and Asia, there is a perfectly reasonable case for Mont Blanc. This opened up a debate about cartographic conventions and what the International Geographical Union places on either side. Once again, the game sparked a discussion it had not anticipated, and that is a very good thing.

To cut or not to cut the switchbacks

A scenario card penalises a hiker for cutting across the switchbacks on a downhill trail. In principle, that is fair: erosion, damage to plant life, disturbance to wildlife. But on some very busy trails, repeated shortcuts have themselves become paths, sometimes waymarked. Robin described an example he had seen in the Mercantour; Léa followed up with what she had observed in the Drôme. We ended up talking about leaving the trail, which is exactly what we did the following morning, on suitable terrain, to discover a patch of edelweiss in bloom. A lovely moment, precisely because it was a deliberate, considered choice.

What moved me about the project

There is real generosity in this box. The care taken in its production, the time spent working on it (years), the leap of faith involved in crowdfunding, the support of respected institutions (FFRandonnée, national parks). You can sense a team whose aim is to pass on an understanding of the mountain environment, beyond simply selling entertainment—the same understanding we try to share on our trips.

The heritage and culture side is particularly successful: fruitières, traditional cooperative cheesemaking dairies; the mazot, a small alpine storage hut; the term “harde” for a herd of chamois; “éterlou” for a young male over a year old. Lovely little vocabulary gems that stay with you and that you want to share with others while walking the next day. On the wildlife side, there is the yellow-billed chough, the spotted nutcracker that unwittingly plants Swiss stone pines, and the non-slip “sole” on an ibex’s heel: little stories that make you smile and inspire you to look more closely.

And what about the game mechanics?

To be completely honest: with eight adults from very different backgrounds, the game mechanics have their limits. The questions range from the obvious (the hibernating marmot) to the highly specialised (the Pyrenean desman, which none of us had heard of), without always offering anything in between. The wait between turns gets a little long around a large table. And some questions with fixed answers would have worked better as cards marked “up for debate”, like the ones I have just described, but with the game itself explicitly inviting discussion.

None of this was a deal-breaker: we stopped at the top of the glacier without finishing the descent, more because we had an early start planned than because we were bored. To my mind, these points suggest natural avenues for a second edition: questions graded by difficulty, “controversy” cards that invite judgement rather than applying a rule, and perhaps a shorter mode designed for evenings in mountain huts. Three editorial adjustments that would broaden its appeal considerably.

Who would appreciate it as a gift

With my travel adviser hat on, I have already made a mental note of who I would give it to:

• Parents who want to share their love of the mountains with their children aged 8 to 12.
• Nature educators, mountain hut wardens and walking guides looking for an engaging teaching resource.
• Families who do some hiking and want to keep exploring the subject at home.
• Friends heading to a holiday cottage with a mixed group and looking for an activity that appeals to everyone.

For an evening among seasoned mountain enthusiasts, I would bring it out later on, when everyone is in the mood for a game that naturally sparks memories and anecdotes. That is when it comes into its own.

The next morning

When we closed the box that evening, what stayed with us was not a score. It was snippets of local dialect (mazot, éterlou, fruitière), a discussion about Europe’s borders, an exchange about trails and how they are used, and a shared desire to go and see the edelweiss the next day. For a game that presents itself as an introduction to the mountains, I think that is quite a lovely tribute.

Thank you to Günther and François for their trust, and to everyone around the table for that evening at the foot of Mont Aiguille.

Lorène, Grand Angle

This evening took place during a weekend exploring the Vercors, organised with several travel bloggers.