So Saturday had to work like this: wake up, shower, eat, go find a new bike, stop at the grocery store for hiking foodstuffs, go home, pack, and arrive at the train station--all of that by 10;39, 11;39 at the absolute latest. I did find a bike, a blue Cilo racing bike that was 160 chf, a price that seemed the norm for the kind of bike Lester had. I rode it home and stored it safely in my room with no time to enjoy or even further examine the purchase. This weekend was to be about hiking. I went to Pilatus the previous weekend, but I only did about three hours of actual hiking, and it was pretty tame, mostly gradual incline. I really wanted to take it to the next level this time around, so I chose an ambitious two day route through the Alpstein region, which is east of Zurich by about 2.5 hours.
Stefan had helped me plan my trip, which was based around the middle point of the hike at the Alpine hut where I would stay on Saturday night (more on that to come). So, after the hectic preparations and stressful packing, as I had never really packed for a hiking trip before, I arrived at the train station for my trip to Bralisau, the town at the base of Hoher Kasten, the first peak I would climb on the trip. The train ride was marked by ominous clouds that seemed to be following the route I was taking from Zurich to the mountains. Right when I arrived in Weissbad the rain had become strong enough to keep the dozen or so fellow hikers huddled under the protection of the platform. It was in that 5 minutes of downpour and hesitation that I missed the hourly connecting bus to Bralisau, which left me about an hour walk from the trail head. It was already 2 pm, and I had no idea how long my hike would actually take despite the rough estimate of about 4.5 hours, which did not include the missed bus, so I was anxious, especially with the iffy weather. So instead of waiting around for the bus, I trekked off through a riverside trail to Bralisau, arriving about 2 minutes before the bus that I could have waited for. I felt fine then and was still getting used to the added weight of the pack, but about half way up Hoher Kasten I wondered whether or not adding an extra 3 km of walking before the climb was a good idea.
Up to Hoher KastenThe weather seemed to change every ten minutes, with bright sunlight fading quickly to dark, ominous shade. The hike began with a gentle climb along a well marked trail and soon narrowed and became much steeper, winding up the face of the Hoher Kasten. It wasn't too challenging terrain wise, but it was tiring. I still had not gotten used to carrying the pack, so with the added incline it was a tough beginning. It took about 2 hours to get up the summit at 1780 m, about 1000 m above where I began. I had a quick lunch while enjoying the view before consulting a chef at the summit cafe about the rest of my route. He suggested a slightly altered plan for my original because it was already 5 pm, and I had a long way to go before arrival at the mountain hut. It was drizzling at that point and the weather looked to worsen, so I reluctantly decided to go with the more conservative route not wanting to do anything to jeopardize Sunday, which I knew would hold the best part of the trip.
Right as I began the hike down to the base of the valley, the drizzle changed to serious rain. Not even 5 minutes after finishing my break at the top, I had to break again to change gear for the weather. I hiked down the difficult trail and by the time the trail started to level out, the rain subsided. The remainder of the hike to Bollenwees, the location of the mountain hut, was through a valley in between two ridgelines. The trail varied in steepness and was peppered with cows all along the way that I assume belonged to the handful of farmhouses that called this massive landscape home. At one point, I had to really go out of my way through some thick forest to get around a group of about 7 of the guys who looked to be enjoying the thin but flat trail as a spot to relax. From the moment I left Hoher Kasten to about 10 minutes before Bollenwees I was completely alone for that 3 hour stretch. It was eerie but a lot of fun at the same time. Its exhilarating to not know exactly where your destination is, not know how long it will take to get there, and not know if the weather or the light will stay favorable for the rest of the hike. Luckily, the Swiss hiking trails are marked better than Italian roads, so I knew I'd get there at some point, even if it was late. Shockingly, I had even remembered first to pack a headlamp when I left Philadelphia and more impressively had remembered again to bring it along for the hike, so at least I had that.
The trail leveled out and after two farms I finally arrived at Berggasthaus Bollenwees around 7.45. The hut/inn was bustling with hikers, most of whom already enjoying a traditional Swiss mountain dinner with an Alpine brewed beer. I walked in and somehow from my appearance they knew my name before I even uttered a word. In hiking gear I don’t really know how one looks American, because honestly hiking attire is pretty universal, so I’m hoping it was because I was alone and from the looks of things most parties came in larger groups. I had reserved one bed the night before. They took me first to the Trailroom where there were about 75 pairs of boots and various hiking clothes hanging to dry. I followed suit, leaving my boots, socks, and first layer to dry. They then took me up to the bunks, which were exactly what you want after a long day’s hiking; dry, comfortable, and cheap.
Alpine fuel
I went downstairs to the restaurant area and ended up enjoying a fantastic and hearty Swiss traditional meal alongside three Germans who were doing a similar trip to mine. We talked about the trails and a little bit about life in general before they retired and I sat with some tea and recorded the day’s events in my notes. Two strong beers and a day of hiking was plenty to send me to bed at 10.30. I got an alright night’s sleep and woke up kind of tired but ready to go on Sunday.
The view from breakfast
The quads burned like never before on Sunday morning, so I was forced to stretch everything out before even brushing my teeth. I knew that the meat of the hiking was yet to come, but at that point had no idea that it would make Saturday look like a walk in a Central Park. I scarfed down the nasty free breakfast that came with the room and then made myself three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from packed in supplies before setting off for the second leg.
Looking back after the first 90 minutes on Sunday;I began on the opposite side of the lake at the waterside mountain hut
Panoramic 1: on the scree during the 3 hour alone time after Bollenwees
[You can click on all the pictures, but be sure to click on the ones that say panoramic, as they are wide pics spliced together from 4-5. Much easier to see zoomed in]
Sunday turned out to be just one of those epic days that you know you’ll never be able to truly explain to anyone, ever. Pictures will fail to grasp the perspective, depth, and vastness of it all, and words are don’t speak mountain. So rather than try to explain the landscape, I’ll go with the excitement, fear, and unease that was almost paralyzing. I won’t go as far to say that I did anything special by Swiss standards or by hiking standards for that matter; there were other people along the trail—old, young, weak, strong—but you could tell that this was their backyard. I had basically 2 days of “hiking” experience to that point, one of those days being the previous day, and I was completely out of my element.
Leaving Bollenwees began by walking around the adjacent lake at the end of which began a slow climb to the first of a few short rolling hills. The trail was already steeper than Hoher Kasten, and I wasn’t even doing anything yet .Sucking wind after an hour, I carried on, climbing constantly with every step. By 10.00 am, I was completely alone, hiking along the scree (small rocks leading up to mountain) of one of the ridge lines in the valley. The trail became obscured by high grass that interrupted the rocks every few meters, and was becoming extremely steep. I spent plenty of time climbing on all fours up what felt like completely vertical sections, with little foot holes bored into the trail by years of hikers. I hadn’t really been scared of anything up until that point. I don’t know if I’m scared of heights; I don’ think so, but it was on that approaching climb that fear entered the picture. A slip or a misguided step resulting in any kind of fall could be very dangerous. The gap between my location and level ground was widening rapidly. To one side was the face of the ridge and to the other a fall that would certainly be unstoppable down rocky, dreadful terrain. There was a trail but it was at most 2 ft wide, enough to manage walking but insufficient to support any blunder of step.
Actual doom
Little did I know that I had not seen anything yet even worthy of “scary”. I was still surrounded 360 degrees by mountains at eye level, and only on one side was there a fatal slide to be had. The first omen of actual fright came about along in the form of a crevice about 3 ft wide and 15 ft long, a gaping black hole hiding amidst the grass and rocks. I stopped to look down, hunched on all fours barely sticking my nose over the edge. Endless darkness. I was alone and had been for about 2 hours at that point, and nothingness was everywhere. Granted, you would have to really want to fall in the hole to do so, but if for any reason you did, game over. I had no idea how deep it was, but if you survived the fall you’d be in for an even worse fate.
On a tiny flat section en route to Altmann, with Santis, my final destination, in the background
Panoramic 2: view from tiny flat section
The hike continued and as I got higher the view got even more impressive. My uneasiness was balanced by an urge to get higher because I knew the whole Alpstein area would open up to view with more altitude. My goal was to climb two mountains that day: Altmanns* (2412 m) and Santis (2520). As I finished the climb out of the valley, I had already reached about 2000 m, and both peaks came into view. I got to a grassy patch on the ridge line that marked the top point of that trail, from which you could reach altmanns. As I looked up and followed the trail, I actually thought that it would be unwise to proceed. It was the only way to Santis and my route home, but I considered returning back the other way and completely changing plans because the next leg looked too dangerous to me. Luckily, at that point, a Swiss guy was on his way up and I stopped and asked him for some suggestions. He assured me that it would be alright pending careful steps and close attention, and he agreed to lead the way. My apprehension was not unwarranted. The scariest part by far was the 5 meter stretch across a patch of snow that was at about a 45 degree angle. I did slip once but luckily did not lose balance. A slide would have resulted in serious injury at best. Once we reached the saddle, I was really proud to have finished that section. I can’t think of the last time I’ve felt proud of myself in the moment; usually that feeling comes in retrospect, but it was with me live on the saddle. Again, by normal hiking standards, maybe it was nothing special, but holy hell was it special for me.
On the saddle by Altmann. The guy gives it some scale; he was about 15 feet away from me.
Panoramic 3; view from the saddle
At that point I had reached one of the mountain summits of the two I wanted to complete that day. It was about 1 pm and my plan was to eat lunch at a post in between the two peaks at a place called Rotsteinpass. In order to get there, I had to descend back to 2100 m, which felt like a straight drop from the saddle as I looked down. The truth wasn’t far from that. The hike down was aided by permanent ropes attached along the rock face, without which it would not be possible without rock climbing equipment. The trail was narrow frightening, but with careful attention to each step it was doable. Its bad enough that you’re basically going straight down.
Descent to Rotsteinpass: Straight Down Part 1
Descent to Rotsteinpass (hut): Straight Down Part 2
It’s the fact that you’re doing this at 2200 m that’s the real issue. So, when that was over, lunch at Rotsteinpass was much deserved. I knew that I had gotten through the most difficult part of the day; the approach to Santis, the highest peak in the region, would be physically tiring, but I doubted would rival the snow and fear of the Altmann approach and descent.
After recharging with more cheese, bread, peanut butter and jelly, I rested in the combination the warm sun and cool breeze. The combination was perfect for a short nap, a chance to stretch out and enjoy the scenery without worrying about the stability of my next step. At 2, I left Rotsteinpass for Santis, which was just a fantastic 1.5 hour hike. It actually had its fair share of unexpected scary moments, but ultimately offered some of the best views of the weekend.
En route to Santis. I stopped to say hi to that guy. I guess he took it to the next level by chilling there, but he was sitting on the trail, so thats where everyone goes.
On the tiny ledge leading to Santis. You can't see it here, but my back is against a the side of the trail for a reason
When I finally reached the summit of Santis, which regrettably has a tourist center there complete with restaurant and hotel, I was exhausted but stoked about what I had done. From there, I could trace parts of my hike from afar, and it was incredible to see how far I had come. I also had a great view of the entire Swiss Alps to the south, including the mountain that I skied a year and a half ago. Granted, I needed the help of a map, but it was there. I sat at the café and enjoyed a much deserved Appenzell beer, basking in my immediate surroundings and the fact that I was in one piece with an amazing mountain experience under my belt.
Panoramic 5; view from the last stop
The beer at the end of the beast
On Saturday I started at 700 m in Weissbad, hiked up to 1780 m at Hoher Kasten, then back down to 1400 m to the Bollenwees hut. On Sunday I began at that 1400 m, hiked up to 2400 m, back down to 2100, and finished at 2500 m. All in all, a total of about 2500 m of ascent and 700 m of descent over the course of 22 km.
Switzerland does mountains.
No comments:
Post a Comment