In the Alps, hunting for Hannibal's trail

Ed Boenig Patrick Hunt and his team of Stanford students

Patrick Hunt and his team of Stanford students hiked in 2006 along the Clapier route in the French Alps.

Ed Boenig Patrick Hunt and Brian Head

Patrick Hunt, left, and former Cardinal football player Brian Head at the Clapier Pass in France in 2006.

When Hannibal led his army across the Alps, he sought to conquer the Roman Empire and define the path of Western civilization.

He failed.

But the Carthaginian general achieved everlasting fame in another way, by spurring a question that has fascinated historians for over two millennia: How did he and his army, including dozens of war elephants, cross that formidable mountain range?





"Putting all this together is like detective work," Hunt says. "For me, it's as much science as ancient history."

Before analyzing the Alps, however, Hunt hiked. Over the past 10 years he has traversed 25 passes. He has broken 30 bones along the way. During the summer, he brings groups of a dozen students along with him. "I'm the only one in the picture," he said, pointing to a photograph of himself backed by towering peaks, "because everybody else is way ahead of me."

Years of getting to know the mountains and comparing them to ancient texts—primarily those of Polybius and Livy, contemporary and post-contemporary historians of Hannibal—has led Hunt to conclude that Hannibal's pass was the Col de Clapier. Situated in the western central Alps at 8,000 feet above sea level, this relatively high route is the only one that has made it past Hunt's decade of scrutiny.

The pass must fulfill 11 criteria, as delineated by the ancient books, Hunt explains.

To begin, distances, landmarks and encounters with barbarian tribes in the ancient texts give indicators of where Hannibal's army could have begun and ended its trek. The army must have encountered the Allobroges tribe, for instance, whose territory was found only to the north. The endpoint must be a three-day's march from the city of Turin in Italy, so the path could not stray too far south. Furthermore, the summit, where the army reportedly camped for two days, must be large enough to hold at least 25,000 men and a few dozen elephants, as well as many pack animals. It also has to be high enough, and thus cold enough, for the previous winter's snow to have remained. The ascent must be gradual, but the descent deadly. Moreover, a "white rock place" must be found exactly one day's march from the top where the army sheltered itself against the last of the seemingly endless innumerable attacks by hostile tribes hampering their passage.

"Calculate the compounded probabilities of any one pass fulfilling all these criteria," Hunt says. "It's pretty slim."

The Col de Clapier fulfills all of these obligations, rising 1,000 feet higher than most of the other Alpine passes and exhibiting all the landmarks that the army reportedly saw. Cows graze on the sprawling plain at the summit, and a magnificent view of Italy reveals itself where the soldiers purportedly stood when Hannibal, by Polybius' account, "directed his men's gaze toward the plains of the Po … and in this way he did something to restore their confidence."

Hunt's theory is compelling but not without challengers. The favorite alternative was championed by historian John Prevas a few years ago as the Col de la Traversette. At almost 10,000 feet, the pass is one of the highest in the Alps and would certainly be cold enough to retain a former winter's snows.

But ironically, Hunt thinks it would be too high, and the terrain too treacherous. "This pass has the most dramatic view," he said. "But it's killer. In fact, I almost died on it last year." He describes both the ascent and descent near the summit as "very difficult," which runs counter to Polybius' descriptions of an easier ascent than descent. Glaciers might have made it more feasible, he admits, but he thinks their presence 2,000 years ago was unlikely because it was a warmer period than today. Other problems also weigh against the Traversette, he says—for example, its distance from Turin and its avoidance of a more obvious, direct neighboring route across the Montgenevre Pass.

Hunt's scientific tools have become of great use in his most recent analyses. Pollen records hint that the tree line may have been higher in Hannibal's time, indicating a warmer climate that would make it less likely that year-round snow would have been lower than at the Col de Clapier. Closely studying the geology at the Traversette further lends evidence that the pass may not even have been passable in Hannibal's time, Hunt says.




Beyond the how, Hunt also believes he may have insight into why Hannibal crossed the Alps. Hannibal's father, a leading Carthaginian military general, brought his son as a boy of 9 to the altar of the god Baal, placed his hand on a living sacrifice and made him swear eternal enmity to the Roman Empire. It was the Second Punic War, and Carthage and Rome were battling for empire over the Mediterranean. Years later, Hannibal made one of the boldest moves in military history as he sought to attack the Romans from where they least expected it. With Baal being the god of mountains and storms, Hannibal meaning "Baal's grace" and his clan name of Barca meaning "lightning," his childhood experience could have ingrained in his young mind a sense of privilege with the god, Hunt says.

"If Baal is a god of storms and mountains, Hannibal could be saying, 'This is my god's turf. I'm safe here.' He might be predisposed to go that route where others would not."

Hunt is offering two classes this quarter related to his work; one on Hannibal and the other on alpine archaeology.

Annie Jia is an intern at the Stanford News Service.