Luckily, the mountains are ancient and when we’re long gone they will still continue to be. And that, dear readers, is my philosophical lame excuse as to why more than half a year has passed since our mouther-daughter hiking trip. A giant leap for mankind but a significant fraction of a second for the Alps! After our somewhat casual hike to warm up – read up here – our second tour brought us much closer to the sky. After an early Birchermusli breakfast (and some strawberries, milk and cornflakes for the holiday spa feeling), we packed our backpacks, put on our sturdy Meindl hiking boots and set off – to the bus stop! It is crucial, upon a trip to a Swiss village, to take at least once the famous Postbus; little buses that asker you safely through the serpentines up to a better starting altitude. And unlike the Italians, you neither feel like throwing up nor see your life threatened because the Swiss drive as accurately as a Swiss clock. While they still indeed bring mail up the mountains, the post busses have become quite characteristic and have accomodated to hikers’ and bikers’ and skiers’ needs. Our Postbus takes as from Davos Dorf up to Flüela Ospiz and XYZ HöMe. The weather is cloudy with a 50-50 chance of getting wet or sunny – we’re living on the edge 😎 [as you noticed, I switched to historical present, to add some live action drama feels ** which I forgot halfway through as there was a long gap between starting and finishing this and honestly, right now I’m too lazy to change that]!
On a steep rocky path, we ascend quickly and leave the road behind. Whenever we look ahead, the impressive mountain range looks back down to us and I keep asking my Mum in proper impatient kid’s voice “Which one is ours? Which one is ours?”, eying the one that looks like straight out of a trigonometry textbook.
Spoiler alert: it wasn’t that one. Our designated summit was further on the right from the photo above, hidden behind the hiking signs. But you can see the long-stretched flank leading us up to the famous Schwarzhorn. A telling name. After the first altitude boost, our path leads us through the valley, we pass trickling waterfalls and screes, the sun is as decisive as a cat as to whether to come out or not, the air is refreshingly cold and our spirits are high. In steep serpentines on vast stone fields we ascend the ridge between two summits (the middle one, s. above). The higher we get, the more snow patches. And needless to say, I gallop towards and into the first one, shouting SNOOOOOW!!!, taking selfies, leaving prints.
On the ridge
It might look like a straight line uphill but looks can deceive. The snow is slippery, a nasty wind hauls and for the first time, I debate putting on long pants. Eventually, I would. A lot of “Gruezi” to the descending hikers make it difficult to catch our breaths and each plateau looks like its gotta be the last one for sure – until we reach it, and realize there’s yet another level coming. However, each plateau offers a chance to look back and allows us to see the ascend we’ve made. How tiny and significant the once so impressive mountain range looks like from high above!
On Top of the World
At least in this very confined space and Alpine area. Baby, it’s cold up there but here we are – above 3.000hm and a 360 degree panoramic view. I wish you could have seen it. It was magnificent. Thanks to modern technology I got a text message welcoming me to Italy and, more importantly, I was able to take this video for you, my dear fans and followers, and had to take off my gloves doing so, lost all feeling in my fingers, so appreciate my sacrifice and be jealous.
Funnily enough, on the summit your phone welcomes you to Italy so apparently, we travelled further than we though. Since the temperatures got nastier by the minute, we said our ciao, bella cima, ciao, ciao, ciao and started our descent. Our path took as along the previously mentioned mountain range that, back down from garden gnome perspective, grew back to its overwhelming size and massiveness. Along our hike, we passed through vast gravel fields
along crystal clear mountain lakes
we traversed quarries on nearly invisible paths and confirm once more that what might look like a short distance from above, can easily be a 4-hour-struggle. After literal ups and downs we arrived on the real ridge and started our proper descent back into the valley. Dark clouds hovered above us, strong cold winds teared at us and we were very keen on getting down. Warning! Now if you ever find yourself up there, at this very ridge, and turn to the right to follow the marks, be aware that there is a shortcut that requires climbing skills but is not labelled as such. Unlike in medieval German folk tales, don’t take the right path but the one on the left leading down. Otherwise, you either have to turn around eventually or break a leg. Literally. Hals- und Beinbruch, everyone!
Our descent would have been nothing but lovely, green pastures and slopes, and an extraordinary panorama – which it still was
– if it hadn’t been for the weather turning quite nasty, windy, rainy, cold and too uncomfortable for our liking. In the end, we just hurried along; had to stop here and there because my Mum’s hiking boots fell apart, and my cold fingers had to sos – save our soles – by tying them to the shoes with anything that remotely resembled a rope. MacGyver would have been proud. Note: 1.) Saving soles is much easier than saving souls. 2.) It is a lot easier to prevent shoes from falling apart than me. 3.) That went off-topic fast. Sorry about that.
A hot Swiss chocolate awaited us at the Berghütte, wo wir einkehrten, a word, that encompasses the whole experience of being on any sort of outdoor excursion by foot or bike or whatnot and visiting a chalet or inn upon sight, because it looks cosy and promises (ful)filling food for fatigue folks. It’s that little Schlenker you make on your way down, that little detour for the leibliche Wohl. Einkehren, for the literal translators amongst you, does not mean the same as turning (yourself) in. Einkehren means Gemütlichkeit, means a well deserved rest for your sore muscles , and an increased appetite from the fresh and pure alpine air. If you’ve ever had a Rivella or an Ovolmaltine made with fresh cow milk above 1,500m altitude, you know what I’m talking about. Funny how none of these expressions have an English equivalent. At least none that sounds as cosy. Think Boxing Day cosy. But in the outdoors.