BursinsSwitzerland 46° N · 6° E Verified Aug 2026
A 20,000-year-old glacial sandstone block riddled with natural weathering holes hides in the forest between Bursins and Burtigny, on a trail of named erratics.
Some boulders get carved into cathedrals; others get left in the woods to be named for giants. The Pierre à Mille Trous outside Bursins, Switzerland, is the second kind — a glacier-carried sandstone erratic pocked with holes that local legend says were clawed by a dying Goliath. You come for the geology, the folklore, and the unresolved question of whether human hands ever touched its surface.
Officially, the boulder sits in the commune of Burtigny, a five-minute drive from Bursins; the two names blur easily on old maps and newer trail signs. What matters is the geology: this is a sandstone erratic, carried from the Rhône valley by a glacier that, glaciologists estimate, reached about 1,000 metres here 20,000 years ago. At 807 metres, the stone now rests in beech and pine duff, far from any parent rock.
The block is roughly the size of a small delivery van, its upper surface pitted with cavities that run from coin-sized dimples to hollows the size of soup bowls. Some visitors count them; others trace them with a palm and whisper about giants. Geologists call them Auswitterungslöcher — weathering pits — and they are entirely natural.
Come for the geological puzzle: a multi-ton rock with no cliff, quarry, or outcrop for miles. Stay for the reflex every culture shares, the need to fill an ancient silence with a story. When you leave, glance back; in the shifting forest light, the holes appear to move, as if the stone were still breathing.
History
The geological facts are not in dispute. Around 20,000 years ago, the Rhône glacier reached its Würm maximum and carried this block of sandstone into the Jura foothills, dropping it at 807 metres. The thousand holes are Auswitterungslöcher — weathering pits — produced by millennia of water etching weaker mineral seams. No ancient drill, no chisel.
Human history here is thinner on the ground but no less dramatic. The nearest village of consequence, Bursins, appears in written record for the first time in 1011, when the last king of Burgundy signed it over to the monastery of Romainmôtier, a daughter house of Cluny. That act pulled this corner of Canton Vaud into a spiritual and political network whose architecture still stands at the Church of Saint-Martin, Bursins.
The turning point
Long before the Stone of a Thousand Holes got its Goliath legend, the forest around it belonged to a failing crown. Rudolph III, last king of Burgundy, spent his reign losing battles to his own barons. He had no son, no military advantage, and no way to hold his realm together through force.
In 1011, Rudolph fixed his hopes on heaven. According to later transcriptions, he donated the village of Bursins — then called Brucins — to the monastery of Romainmôtier, under the authority of the powerful Abbot Odilo of Cluny. The gift was a spiritual insurance policy: land in exchange for prayers and a permanent foothold for the monks in this contested borderland. For Bursins, the charter is the oldest surviving document that names the place.
The turning point came with the seal. Rudolph’s name, Rodulfi regis, was pressed into the deed beside Odilo’s. When Rudolph died heirless in 1032, Burgundy was absorbed into the Holy Roman Empire, and the Cluniac lands around Bursins became an instrument of a new political order. The boulder in the forest had been waiting there for roughly 20,000 years, indifferent to every name and signature.
Yes, if you like the idea of touching a piece of the Rhône glacier's journey — a multi-ton sandstone block that traveled here on ice 20,000 years ago. It's not a Stonehenge-style monument; it's a natural erratic with a honeycombed surface that looks almost lunar. Pair it with the Sentier des Pierres loop and the sudden Lake Geneva panorama, and it becomes a genuinely memorable half-day walk.
Fifteen to thirty minutes at the stone itself is plenty — enough to circle it, run your fingers through the deeper holes, and read the interpretive panel. But the stone is a waypoint, not a destination. The full Sentier des Pierres loop takes about 1 hour 15 minutes to 1 hour 30 minutes, and that's the experience worth planning for.
You walk — there's no road to the stone itself. The standard approach is the Sentier des Pierres loop from Burtigny, a 4.5 km marked trail rated easy. You can also start from Gimel (at the La Fringale bakery) or approach from Bursins via the 'En Folliausa' path; the stone sits in the forest roughly on the boundary between Burtigny and Bursins.
Late spring to early autumn gives you the most comfortable walking conditions, with wildflowers in spring and natural shade in summer. Autumn is arguably the most atmospheric — dry leaves crunch underfoot and the dark, pitted stone is framed by gold and red foliage. Winter is quietest, and frost or light snow collects in the holes in white circles against the dark sandstone.
Yes, completely free. It's an open-air natural site in a forest with no tickets, no gates, and no opening hours — accessible 24/7, year-round. The only costs are getting there and whatever you spend at the bakery in Gimel beforehand.
The holes are natural weathering features called Auswitterungslöcher — differential erosion where softer minerals in the sandstone wore away faster than the surrounding harder material over millennia. Local legend offers a better story: Goliath was standing on the stone when David's sling struck him, and the holes are the marks of his fingers as he fell.
The stone itself is natural — a glacial erratic deposited by the Rhône glacier — and the holes are natural weathering, not human carving. But the question of whether prehistoric people partially shaped or modified the stone remains genuinely unresolved. Some researchers argue it was selected and possibly worked for ritual purposes; no systematic archaeological excavation has ever been conducted to settle it.
Crouch down and look at the stone from ground level — the holes become a negative landscape, like craters on a miniature moon. Then run your fingers inside the deepest cavities; the interiors are smooth and almost polished, a tactile contrast with the rough, granular exterior. And don't skip the viewpoint at Le Pichounet just before the stone, where the forest suddenly opens toward Lake Geneva.
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