On closer look - you have plenty of time for philosophical reflections on the way - hiking is a most simple thing.
There is nothing superfluous, nothing complicated. You put one foot in front of the other, always straight ahead or along curves and slopes, until you reach your destination. And the next day you continue the same manner.
That's at least part of its fascination. You don't have to practice it (unless you're fifty kilos overweight and prefer using the elevator or the car, in which case things are a bit different), you can just get going. Following the sun, following the shade, following your own delight.
And the most beautiful thing about it - when you have arrived at the destination, maybe tired or exhausted, maybe every muscle aching, then you are captured by a feeling that can't be compared to anything. You have conquered the path, the mountains, the climbs, everything. For a short time, you are convinced that you can accomplish anything.
But why not start with something easy? For example, with a ride with the cable car from the Rossweide down to Sörenberg?
That's exactly what I am going to do.
After all, the original route starts in Sörenberg.
Joel Wicki Hangover
The baker, where I replenish my supplies in Sörenberg, looks more than deranged.
His eyes are small and a bit red. When I ask him about yesterday's celebration in honor of the Schwingerkönig Joel Wicki, he answers with a faint sigh. It must have been quite a party. After all, as a small mountain village, you cannot enjoy the honor of a Schwingerkönig every year.
And yes, after the elimination of my personal favorite Samuel Giger, Joel Wicki was my second choice. This guy has such strengths that one can only be amazed. And I am still convinced that at the last Schwingfest the decision was made to his disadvantage. With his victory this year, the world has been set right again.
Wicki measures 183 cm and weighs 110 kg. He particularly impresses in the sawdust with his explosive Kurzzug, but has become quite versatile. He also wins with Übersprung, inside hook and with strong work on the ground. In addition, he is very strong in defense.
Well, I leave the Hangover village and set off to the long stage to Giswil.
Rewarding tour over the Glauben-Bielen pass with great views of the Sarnersee and the Titlis summit. From time to time you come across the pass road, but there are always quiet sections near Almoglen or the Pörterwald.
Length 19 km; rise | descent 700 m | 1350m; Hiking time 5 hours
And my values: length 19 km; rise | descent 995 m | 1665m; Hiking time 8 hours 02 minutes
Once again, I ask myself which values are correct. I have to take a closer look at the GPS settings of my heart rate monitor.
A flock of white sheep
The higher I climb, the thicker the blanket of fog seems to become lying at the foot of the Schrattenfluh. It billows and wheezes, wisps of fog gallop like a flock of white sheep.
A passage from a novel describing a similar situation immediately comes to mind.
The fog was everywhere. Through the white waves, like a round powerless spot, the sun was shimmering. Just a few rock towers were glowing on the horizon, and in the distance the mountain massif was towering, shining bright and mighty in the morning sun.
There was nothing to be seen of the city; it seemed to have disappeared, perhaps it had never existed, and that might have been better. A breeze ruffled the white and gray, incessantly moving and dissipating swaths, driving them ahead like a flock of white sheep.
The outlines of the uppermost houses protruded from the fog, like sunken galleys, and between them, bright and pointed, the church tower, and next to it the cemetery clinging to the church walls. [Excerpt from "A Snake in the Dark".]
The strange short lives of cows
Did I mention that I love cows?
Oh yeah. Every time I cross paths with them, I vow never to eat meat again (which, of course, is futile). But when I look at those gorgeous faces, those hipster hairstyles, that good-natured look as if there's no evil, I'm moved and wonder for the thousandth time how we are doing so much evildoing to these wonderful creatures.
They live a short (mostly), peculiar, simple life, they eat, chew the cud, shit, piss, sleep, give birth to calves, are slaughtered. That's all.
Just nature
Having been on the road for a while, you automatically learn to read nature. Not exactly like a farmer who is able to recognize the coming winter by many different indicators. Of course, I am not a Muotatal weather reader, but even a layman can tell by certain colorings of the sky that something is in the air.
Sometimes the grass seems wetter than the day before, even though it hasn't been raining. And aren't those birds gathering above the group of spruce trees the first harbingers of the coming autumn? I'm probably imagining things.
In any case, the mountain panorama surrounding me has once again put on its Sunday clothes. Of course, I expect nothing less than that.
The view of the Brienzer Rothorn and the Schrattenfluh, one of the largest contiguous karst fields in Switzerland, is magnificent. The approximately 6 km long mountain range is clearly distinguished from the lovely Emmental and the Napf area. The mostly vegetation-free barrows (gullies) of the Schratten limestone have numerous, widely branched caves. Through the patchy surface, the water seeps directly into the depths.
Is there anything more typical of our area than a few cows grazing under a blue and white striped sky? Or the wooden hut, indeed installed for tired hiking legs, just at the right moment and in the right place? I'm thrilled and don't miss the fun of having my lunch in suitably covered surroundings.
There are those moments that can't be described. This is one of them. You just sit there, without thoughts, only perception of the world unfolding in full splendor.
If you still need proof of the beauty of the Swiss mountains, here they are.
Unexpectedly, a small pond appears reflecting the mountain ranges, not far from it a chapel inviting to worship.
It's a mystery as to why there's a chapel up here, but on the other hand it's clear that I've now landed in Catholic Central Switzerland. In a few weeks there will be thick snow up here, the lake will be covered with a layer of ice. It's hard to imagine in this warm weather.
The weather is catching up with me
In the mountains, the weather can change as if out of nowhere. Every hiker, especially the rookies, ought to take this to heart. Anything else is dangerous. This is exactly what is happening today.
I didn't know there are volcanoes in Switzerland. Apparently there are, because what is looming before my eyes must be the cousin of the Eyjafjallajokull .
Or are these the first harbingers of the weather change I was just talking about?
Apparently so, because within minutes the sky gets overcast, a damp cold broth gives me the shivers, the summer feelings disappear, but a warm jacket helps.
The path descends, but then suddenly takes a turn, and now it climbs towards the top of the pass. At the top, the eye looks for clues and finds none.
Somewhere bells tinkle, but the associated cows remain invisible.
The formerly proud Brienzer Rothorn has disappeared, one believes that it is still there, but one cannot be sure. A kind of Schrödinger's cat?
The last descent - an impertinence
Giswil can be seen in the valley, far ahead Lake Sarnen is blinking, it's not far.
Just this slope, this meadow, this forest, then the day's destination beckons, a beer on this special day, because today is half-time. Half the distance done, hurray, triple hurray.
But then, quite unexpectedly, the path starts rising again. For God's sake, that can't be. But even the map reveals no alternative, unless you follow the asphalt road.
Pretty grumbling and cursing I surrender to fate, gasping wearily upwards. After half an hour, one of the longest so far, a signpost points down into the forest, there you go. However, what is awaiting me is anything but a relaxing last section of this stage.
It's a living hell, a single, miserable imposition. I have never cursed the designers of the trail in such a way.
The path is not only very steep, it is also slippery, the planks are damp and partly rotten, steel bars to secure the steps are protruding dangerously from the ground. One wrong step, one slip would mean the end of the tour. One wouldn't have the possibility to cling anywhere, one would simply fall down the path.
And the path seems endless.
Eventually, however, I breathe a sigh of relief, the worst is past, the path becomes flat, the forest thins out. Only a few kilometers separate me from my destination, the Hotel Bahnhof in Giswil.
There, a first-class room is awaiting me, an equally opulent dinner, and the longed-for beer, which, although I don't have as last year a drink in the glow of the setting sun, but nevertheless manages to evoke some proud feelings.
Matching song: Earl Scruggs and Friends - Foggy Mountain Breakdown
And here the trail continues ... to Flüehli-Ranft
