“Collect moments, not things”, or so the saying goes. And after two months of hiking in the alps, I have collected A LOT of moments. Moments that spanned four countries, six hiking trails and almost 500 kilometres of walking. I returned home a few weeks ago but to be honest, I have found the pages and pages of handwritten notes and thousands of photos documenting my trip completely overwhelming and I’m not sure where to start.
I managed to write up the first hike of the trip, the Gosaukamm Circuit in Austria, but writing up subsequent hikes proved too tedious on an tiny iPhone and too time consuming for precious rest days between hikes, which were quickly filled with washing and drying grubby hiking clothes, airing tents and sleeping bags, shopping for food supplies and fine-tuning logistics for the next hike.
So it would be fair to say that while I got into the habit of hiking, I fell out of the habit of writing. While I’m sorting though all my material so that I can once again put pen to paper (or finger to keys, rather), I’ll start with my top five favourite moments in the mountains.
Camping amongst a sea of wildflowers under the Eiger, Switzerland
The Swiss Alpine Pass Route (which has now been incorporated in the the Via Alpina Green Trail) is a three week hike that traverses the Bernese Alps and passes through many famous and picturesque Swiss towns such as Grindelwald, Murren and Lauterbrunnen. Unfortunately, Elise and I only had enough time to undertake a five day, 60 kilometre section of the route, from Grindelwald to Kandersteg.
Day One saw us set off from Grindelwald bound for Lauterbrunnen, a distance of 23 kilometres and involving an ascent of 1,150 metres, followed by a descent of 1,360 metres (this was rated “easy” according to one website). After passing through Kleine Scheidegg, a rather unappealing assemblage of hotels, restaurants, a railway station, ski lifts and footpaths crawling with tourists, we quickly made our way down the trail that led us away from the throngs of people and into a wildflower wonderland.
A carpet of purple, pink, white, blue, orange, red and yellow wildflowers stretched across the grassy slopes in every direction we looked. The sun was out and the sky was a deep blue; it was a truly spectacular day in the Swiss alps. We could have pushed on to Lauterbrunnen as planned, but we were so enamoured by the scene in front of us that we decided we should make camp right here, amongst the wildflowers and at the foot of the awe-inspiring Eiger (3,970 metres), Mönch (4,099 metres) and Jungfrau (4,158 metres).
Given it was only mid-afternoon, we whiled away the afternoon reading, exploring and photographing our surrounds, until the last of the day walkers disappeared from the nearby walking trail. We quickly set up the tent and prepared dinner, and then spent a glorious evening watching the sunset while listening to glaciers high above us crack and rumble. The next morning we were graced with brilliantly clear skies and a specular vista of the mountains.
Scattered clouds obscured the Eiger and Monch most of the afternoon as we set up camp amongst the ridiculously abundant wildflowers
Dawn breaks and the Eiger and Monch are revealed in all their glory
Awakening to a winter wonderland (in summer) in the Stubai Alps, Austria
On a summer morning in late June, Elise and I awoke in Innsbrucker Hut, high in the Stubai alps, to the most incredible sight: beautiful falling snow, flakes fluttering against the hut windows, and quickly building up on the ground outside. Living on the desert continent that is Australia, my snow encounters can be counted on one hand (with a few fingers left over), so I was enthralled, and like a child at Christmas, quickly threw on my jacket to race outside and crunch my way through the snow. Visibility had dropped to between ten to fifteen metres but it was such a magical morning: no wind, just the silent and steady fall of snow.
The previous day, we had emerged from our tent, not too far below Innsbrucker Hut, to an overcast sky and drizzling rain. We only made it as far as the hut before the weather rapidly deteriorated. We were planning on pushing on to Bremer Hut that day, so seeking refuge in the warm and cozy hut (which luckily for us was only opening for business that very day), was intended to be a temporary measure. But two coffees and several hours later, the bad weather didn’t look like it was going anywhere. So, we settled in for a lazy day of reading, playing cards, chatting to fellow walkers, and making a good dent in our food supplies. Occasionally during the afternoon, the swirling clouds would part, and for a fleeting moment, we would catch a glimpse of the blue sky beyond. And tauntingly, just before the clouds could roll over and reclaim the sky, of the stunning Stubai alps.
We took full advantage of hut hospitality that night and opted for a rather gourmet dinner, complete with carafe of red wine, before retiring to our comfortable beds in one of the several dormitories (private rooms were also on offer for those with greater budgets). I now understand why “hut-to-hut” hiking is so popular.
We could only catch glimpses of the mountains that towered over the hut due to the heavy cloud cover
Waking to snow falling on Innsbrucker Hut
Snow quickly building up on the Innsbrucker Hut terrace
A day of rest and relaxation in the Pyrenees, France
The GR10 was a trail I chose to hike alone at the end of my trip, challenging myself to be totally self-sufficient, independent and push myself beyond my comfort zone. And I did that, and I loved it. But more on that later.
This particular day on the GR10 trail had been a bit of a mixed bag. It had started well: I had set up my tent a fair distance from the trail, in a lush forest and by a gorgeous stream below Lac de Gaube. I awoke to a beautiful sunny day, so took my time having breakfast, made two coffees and then very leisurely packed up my tent and gear. But by the time I set off, the day walkers from Pont d’Espagne were out in force and were so numerous that they were practically forming a conga line along the trail. When I reached Lac de Gaube not long after that, I was confronted by hordes of people that were picnicking, fishing and walking around the lake in every which direction. After my glorious night of solitude in the forest, it was a little overwhelming, to say the least. Unfortunately, the trail beyond the lake and towards the foot of Vignemale wasn’t any less crowded, as Refuge des Gaube Oulettes at the head of the valley is a popular destination for those walkers wanting to spend a night in the mountains.
I had a late lunch amongst (but also trying to mostly avoid) the crowds of people on the terrace of the refuge, before deciding that I wouldn’t camp shoulder to shoulder with everyone else by the refuge, but would instead push on up towards Horquette d’Ossoue, a 3,032 metre high mountain pass. It would be a steep climb and it was getting a little late in the afternoon to be setting off on such a climb, but I was hoping that perhaps halfway up, I would find a patch of ground just big enough (and more importantly, flat enough) to pitch my tent on.
My gamble paid off. About an hour into the climb, a perfectly flat ridge caught my eye. Sure, it was well off the track. Sure, it would require a long scramble down some boulders, and then a steep hand-over-hand climb up loose scree and tussock grass, but it looked ideal. And when I finally (breathlessly) reached the ridge after aforementioned scramble and climb, it was even better than I hoped, for not only did it offer perfectly flat ground for my tent, but also two small alpine tarns: no good for drinking, but just right for bathing in! And of course, front row seats for admiring Vignemale, which at 3,298 metres, is the highest peak in the French Pyrenees.
And so I washed off the day’s grime, cooked dinner, made coffee, ate chocolate and read, right through the gorgeous sunset and well into the clear evening. And it was such a gratifying experience, that when dawn broke the next day and promised another dazzling day in the mountains, I decided to stay put. After all, I had no schedule to keep, and nowhere particular to be. And so followed a day of reading, eating chocolate, drinking coffee and snoozing under the deliciously warm sun, culminating in yet another picture-perfect sunset.
The approach the Vignemale is northing short of breathtaking, albeit crowded. Refuge des Gaubes Oulettes can be seen on the left, as can the many people wandering around the head of the valley
Having staked out a campsite off the beaten track, I felt I had the entire mountain to myself
A stunning day in the Pyrenees
Four-legged friends pay a visit at Lacs des Chéserys, France
Unbeknownst to us, we had set off on the two week, 180 kilometre Walkers Haute Route from Chamonix (France) to Zermatt (Switzerland) in the midst of a European heat wave. Temperatures were soaring across the entire continent, and Chamonix was no exception. It was still only mid-morning and the temperature was well over 30 degrees and climbing; we were all sweating profusely before we even reached the starting point of the track. And it was in this hot and bothered state that we faced a serious dilemma: whether we should toil our way up a vertical kilometre of mountain for hours under the baking sun, or let ourselves be whisked up via cable car in just a few cool minutes.
We couldn’t part with our €16.50 quickly enough, and a few minutes later we found ourselves stepping out at Plan Praz at 1,999 metres elevation. You may think that taking a cable car is cheating, but consider this. Faced with this very same choice at the start of the Stubai Hohenweg, we chose integrity over practicality and slogged our way up the mountain instead of taking the cable car. And learnt the hard way that we made the wrong choice, because a) at lower altitudes, walking tracks are usually within the treeline, thereby obscuring any view of the valley you are climbing out of, and b) such tracks often zigzag right under the cable car, destroying any sense of serenity while also constantly rubbing your poor choice in your face as the cable cars glide up the mountain above you. That day, it took us 2.5 hours to trudge up the mountain, and by the time we got to the top, the weather was starting to turn. If we had taken the cable car, we could have been at the top in five minutes, and would have had 2.5 hours of good weather to enjoy once we got there. So I think we made a fair call in Chamonix.
From Plan Praz, we made our way to Lac Blanc, all the while mesmerised by the view across the Chamonix valley to the Mont Blanc massif. We reached Lac Blanc late in the afternoon, a beautiful azure lake popular with hikers and photographers alike, hoping to capture the reflection of Mont Blanc on its surface on still mornings. Lac Blanc Refuge, on the eastern shore of the lake, was crowded with walkers, most undertaking either the Walkers Haute Route or Tour du Mont Blanc.
To escape the crowds, we pushed on a little further to Lacs des Chéserys and were delighted to discover a small group of lakes on a large rocky terrace, with panoramic views of the Mont Blanc massif. Directly across the valley from us lay the impressive Aiguille Verte (4,122 metres) and Aiguille du Dru (3,754 metres). And just in case the scene in front of us wasn’t perfect enough, an inquisitive chamois came to investigate our camp as we set up our tents. Chamois are found in the Pyrenees, the mountains of south and central Europe, Turkey, and the Caucasus in Asia and so are not uncommon, however it is not common that one would appear so close to people. We stood still in awe, and watched as he surveyed the scene in front of him (i.e. us), just metres away, before he ambled off.
Not more than ten minutes later, a male ibex suddenly appeared. A male ibex, with his large curved horns, is quite a noble sight, and I was hypnotised by his self-assured saunter. He was less interested in us than the chamois, but was no quicker to leave us. It was turning out to be the most surreal evening; to top it off, a full moon would rise over the alps that night. So we sat under a starry sky, hot cup of tea in hand, and waited for the moon to inch its way above Aiguille Verte.
An inquisitive chamois pays a visit
Waiting for the full moon to rise above Aiguille Verte and Aiguille du Dru
Spectacular sunrise over Lacs des Chéserys
Hiking high above the Mattertal Valley, Switzerland
The Mattertal Valley is considered to be the most-visited valley in the Pennine Alps, if not all of Switzerland, given that at its head lies the Matterhorn, supposedly the “most photographed mountain in the world”. And on Day 12 of the Walkers Haute Route, the Mattertal Valley was abruptly and stunningly revealed to us.
Earlier that week, Elise and I had both been struck down by a mystery illness that had left us vomiting, dehydrated, weak and lethargic (amongst other unmentionable symptoms). It was hard to pinpoint a cause: possibly some questionable water we drank, perhaps the too-warm salami we ate. Maybe from all the fraternising with farm animals we encountered along the way (and then being a little lax with our hand-washing). Regardless of cause, it had knocked us for six and recovery was slow; my usual enthusiastic (note that “enthusiastic” in my case isn’t synonymous with “fast”) pace had slowed to a miserable plod.
And Day 12 indeed started out with such a plod. The night before we had set up camp at an elevation of 2,488 metres, high above the village of Gruben, so this morning should have been an easy descent into the village, which was just four kilometres away. But by the time I trudged into Gruben, I felt like I was running on empty, and in desperation (I’m ashamed to admit this now), I made enquiries into catching the bus to St. Niklaus. I couldn’t see how I could muster the energy to push over another high pass, involving an height gain of 1,000 metres and a loss of 1,700 metres. Elise, perceptive to my misery and despair, very wisely called for a time out and we ordered a coffee at Hotel Schweizhorn to mull over our choices.
The choices were basically this: a) pathetically wait in Gruben for three hours for the bus, then transfer to a train and another bus, before finally reaching St. Niklaus, or b) suck it up and realise that we’re here to hike, so just get on with it and look forward to the spectacular view rumoured to be waiting for us beyond Augstbordpass.
There was no choice but Choice B. And once that decision had been made, a lot of things miraculously worked in our favour to make the 16 kilometre hike to St. Niklaus easier than expected. The first win was that the climb out of Gruben towards Augstbordpass was not as half as steep and punishing as most climbs out of valleys on this trip had been. The second win was that it remained overcast for most of the climb, making for cooler and much more pleasant walking. The third win was that after we climbed up and over Augstbordpass, we continued across rocks and boulders around the mountainside until suddenly, we sighted the grand Mattertal Valley.
It really was one of the most incredible views afforded to us on the Walkers Haute Route. The valley is flanked by some of the highest peaks in Switzerland: Dom (4,545 metres), Weisshorn (4,506 metres), Zinalrothorn (4,221 metres), Alphubel (4,206 metres) and Bishorn (4,153 metres), just to name a few. And out of sight for the moment, but our eventual destination: the Matterhorn. It was such a special moment: we were nearing the end of our (highly successful) trip, the sun was shining, the Swiss alps were beautiful and we wanted for nothing more.
The trail rounds a bend and the Mattertal Valley is revealed
The stunning Mattertal Valley: the Matterhorn lies at the head of the valley
One of the most beautiful afternoons we spent in the Swiss alps
habitualhiker 