Trans Swiss Trail – Encounters

As the saying goes - pride cometh before the fall?

So it might be today. I have joined two stages - the stage from Ranflüh to Langnau, which is now shorter due to yesterday's extension, and the subsequent stage to Eggiwil. I might regret it, but I feel in top shape, so what the heck.

The travel guide describes the first section of the two-part stage as follows:

Varied riverside hike along the Emme, past gravel banks and river sills, over old wooden bridges and through floodplain forests. In Langnau, center of the Emmental, a visit to the local history museum in the "Chüechlihus" (wooden building from the 16th century) is worthwhile.

And the second part looks like this:

High-altitude hike over the Hohwacht-Girsgrat range of hills. On the way there is a historic signal post, a cheese dairy that is guaranteed to produce real Emmental, and one of the oldest tunnels in Switzerland. Typical Emmental patchwork of harrows, ditches, fields and forest.

Today, only my own data are relevant:

 

 

Along the Emme

There is hardly a river that I know so well. Maybe the Limmat and far away the Mekong, which I have accompanied for a few thousand kilometres. And not to forget the Irrawaddy, also a memory that will last forever.

But the Emme is of a different caliber than the giant rivers in Asia, small and subtle and sparkling clean. It, too, can be quite capricious, developing into a monster in a short time, just like many other gentle harmless rivers.

 

Today, the river is anything but a monster. The months of drought have turned it into a murky trickle, somewhat sad to witness. I am quite generous with it, walking slowly and admiring it despite its vanished power.

It'll be fine, little river.

 

Reuniting with an old friend

Shortly before Langnau, more precisely in Emmenmatt, I cross Alpine Panorama Trail: I am almost a bit touched, because I can still remember the hot day, the stage from the Lüdernalp to Signau.

But time flies, bizarre months have passed, this time less Corona-afflicted, but with war in Europe, we seem to be in a Perfect Storm. Is the world about to lose its mind? It looks like this has already happened. I try to suppress the sinister disturbing thoughts. Sometimes hiking is the best antidote to forget the dull thoughts for a while.

Maybe the parties responsible for all this crap should get a move on themselves, but clearly, that's as naive as it is futile.

 

Then I reach Langnau, the center of the Emmental, famous for its more or less successful hockey team, I don't know much more than that. A medium-sized city, like many others in Switzerland. After all, there is a shop not too far from the hiking trail, remember, there was nothing of the sort to be found in Ranflüh.

Shortly thereafter the ascent begins.

Near a flock of sheep leisurely devoting themselves to the amazingly lush grass, I sit down for a picnic.

Langnau gives me a somehow grim look, did I forget to appreciate its beauties? I probably would have needed more time, but the explanation is always the same.

I must confess that apart from the hockey club I know nothing about it, nothing at all. A shame, perhaps, but there is so much I don't know.

After a few minutes I realize that picnicking in the grass is indeed a wonderful thing, but not close to a flock of sheep. If any proof is needed that mosquitoes and other vermin prefer me to a flock of smelly sheep butts (I can't blame them), it's this insidious attack from all sides.

Rarely has anyone been seen to make off so quickly. With frantic defensive movements to the left and right, I hurry up the forest until the critters run out of steam.

 

Cows at resting place

So I am warned, when a herd of cows has made itself comfortable for the midday siesta on the rest area, situated beneath the trees.

Of course I love cows and I know that they love me too. Or at least they are not afraid of my presence. But I don't really want the flies and the mosquitoes and the horseflies and all the other ravenous hummers. So I just keep going, somewhere a bench is waiting for me. Without cows and without sheep.

 

I do not need the rest area, there are so many beautiful airy places from where the surroundings can be duly celebrated. Of course it's the same revelation over and over again in the form of magical surroundings. You have to see it to understand it.

 

The painting is perfect. All colors are there, all shapes, the interplay of clouds, forests, meadows and isolated houses and villages.

I try to imagine what it must have looked like a thousand years ago. Forest abounds, few patches of green, maybe none at all, only the sky and clouds above are unchanged.

 

Potato harvest

My final picknick place at the edge of the forest offers rare entertainment. I get a visit from a black-tailed dog, sniffing at me in a friendly manner and welcoming my mild gift in the form of a sausage with understandable joy.

He belongs to a group of farmers, older and younger men and women, who are about to harvest a field of potatoes.

The tractor pulls a curious vehicle, a multifunctional one one would say today, because it first digs the potatoes out of the ground, moves them upwards, where they are inspected and sorted by industrious hands.

The full sacks are placed at the edge of the meadow, there are already quite a lot. All in all, the field yields about 4 tons of potatoes. Quite a lot, if you think about the work of the many helpers.

Okay, learned something once again.

 

And there is this tree, towering like a monument towards the sky, it wants to show off something, maybe that it is better and bigger and more powerful than all the others. No idea if trees are in competition with each other or if they just grow when they have space and light.

Thus, I unexpectedly get into a philosophical mood from which I can hardly find my way out. It is a phenomenon of hiking that one drifts off again and again thinking about aspects for which one normally has no time.

And be it just a tree that is a little different from the others. A metaphor? No idea. How should I have a clue about something that escapes me? Sometimes I wonder if I have any idea about anything at all.

 

Closed doors

But let's leave that. I'm headed towards the destination of the day, Eggiwil, where the Gasthof Hirschen is expecting me.

Expected is quite exaggerated, because what awaits me is not the Hirschen but a déja vu. I've been forgotten again. At least it seems so.

This is nothing new to me. This fate has been haunting me for a long time, and I always find myself tired and confused in front of closed doors or non-existent hotels. Examples? Montevideo or Lima.

My phone call reaches a gentleman, apparently the landlord of the house. He reacts rather confused, because he is already on his way home, more precisely to Grosshöchstetten, not exactly at the front door either. Anyway, what are well-meaning neighbors for, so the landlord provides a friendly lady opening the door and gate to my hotel.

Hotel and rooms are fine, but there is no restaurant nearby. So it's a matter of walking a few additional kilometers to a neighboring hamlet (as if I didn't already have enough hours in my legs), where there is indeed a first-class restaurant managing to appease my growling stomach.

I like going home by moonlight. Itconveys a strange mixture of darkness and light at the same time. Just like tonight.

 

Matching song: Otis Spann—Moon Blues

And here the trail continues ... to Schangnau