05.03.19
Brunnen along Vierwaldstattersee Wanderweg to Rigi then down to Vitznau and ferry to Lucerne.
~
The sun is rising just behind Uetliberg and we are rolling out of bed, shuffling around, pouring water for coffee, finding socks and putting the little piles we accumulated the evening before into our packs. Switching carabiners for cameras to hang on, trying to straighten a beard that becomes very wizardly in the night. Shoes on, down to Wiedekon banhoff with the weary morning travelers. It’s a holiday for Zurich, but many of these commuters work over in Zug about 20 kilometers away. The coffee is doled into cups and the sunlight comes in sideways through the train windows while we glide through the countryside, through tunnels, stopping here and there while people get on and off the. Then it’s a group of school kids twittering all about, trading soccer cards, laughing all the way to Brunnen where we disembark with our intention set on the general wanderweg that circles the Vierwaldstattersee…maybe we can make it as far as Kussnacht but it all depends on the terrain. It’ll be a long day either way. The idea, as usual is to go up. Into the mountainsides. Away from the tourists. Away from the concrete. Good solid dirt with roots and bramble and grass overtaking hillsides with snow-streams trickling here and there. Just last week the mountains were covered by a late April snow, but most of it has melted down, coursing through waterways edging along man-made terraces and steel inlays in the higher trails, underneath tractor paths in tunnels, down into the lake through canals etc. The day is just breaking and we’re walking along docks with dozens of boats, looking for yellow signs pointing toward the Rigi. Then, we climb through a few steep cliffside red and white blazes and walk over re-enforced bridges bolted into the sides of the mountain, grasping steel cables for balance. Here and there a wooden bench for rest. As always the angles and grades are heart-pounding in the Alps. Nothing like this in the Sierras or northern Cascades. At least on the trails we’ve done. It’s just “Straight up”. If the trail encounters something truly vertical, the Swiss (who are born engineers) have figured it out decades if not centuries ago and built some sort of basic structural aids to help you get through said section. We like to joke: If this were in the US, you’d have to sign a release for half the things we do. Although it’s basically just hiking, there’s signs posted to the effect that ‘no one’s coming if you get run over by a stray cow’. And yes, the cows and animals of all sorts are omnipresent on the steepest hillsides, though fenced off in their respective vertical fields. And this is what I really love about Switzerland. When you’re raised in these conditions you need solutions. So, the solutions are generally all in place, but what would be the point of living in Switzerland if you didn’t enjoy the mountains? Nearly half of the entire country is the Alps and when you’re in the Alps you’ve got entirely novel systems of living in them. Farmers on steep hills, high above the lakes will use gondolas, heavy-duty tractors, even helicopters to get supplies in and out. We witnessed this first-hand, finally coming through a snowy patch up to a cafe a hundred meters below the official Rigi summit (which was still too snowy for our trail-running shoes) Walking up we saw a helicopter dropping off the benches for the outdoor seating on the Alps-facing patio. One after another in great tied-up bundles they came down and were unclipped. We inquired with the owner about general conditions and decided a middle-of-the-road approach for the rest of the day. We’d gone off course, away from the lake, lured by the higher trails and bigger views but last week’s storm meant a lot of muddy slush if we stayed at our present elevation. From the cafe, the Alps stretched in front of us in a way I hadn’t seen yet. A panorama much longer than what we’d seen at the top of Interlaken. Almost 180 degrees of snow-capped peaks that stood silently in the distance…an otherworldly presence to it all. The hills are sowed with fertilizer from cows every spring and all the water pouring off the Alps makes for an explosion of flowers, trees, grass, birds, etc. Everything is in motion. The soil is dark and rich and the lakes feed the villages and cities with pure runoff that collects mineral content as it weaves through the canyons. Lakes like Vierwalstattersee, Zurichsee, Zugersee, etc aren’t just bodies of water. They’re massive ecosystems dotted with people, animals, and forests that provide a sort of perpetual balance with all the natural motion. There is of course, lots of snow and snow activities dominate the region. It’s just part of life. If we’re heading out on the trains on any given day we’re accompanied by people of all ages hauling pairs of skis here and there. If it’s a little warmer, you’ve got incredible trails more apt for full-suspension riding and the trains have cars built especially for bicycles. For all the beauty and red-wine pining I’m apt for, it’s a country that requires movement. It would be pointless to live in Switzerland without taking advantage of the outdoors. At least, it wouldn’t be half as fun. For us, that means any free day because the Alps are really accessible. An hour at most and even less for some truly stunning hikes. We shuffle down, leaning back against the inertia of the packs. Ropes and bars and improvised stairs over wet rocks covered in lichen. Under gondolas and cables, past farms and farm equipment. A few kids, maybe 4-6 years old coming screaming by on plastic toy cars, taking the short paved section we’re on like pro drifters, flying over the dirt bushwhacks between the roads, skidding to a stop at the edge of a grassy cliff. “Remember Big-Wheels?” “Yeah I think so…” “Kinda like that.” “Good to see a kid who’s not staring at an iPhone.” “Kids being kids yeah?”. And then it’s down out of the hills into the lakeside town of Vitznau with the Nidwaden side of the Burgenstock arching down into the water like a peninsula, shrouded in mist. It’s almost 30 kilometers and we’ve just been traipsing about, enchanted-ignoring the sun. I realize my eyeballs are burned from the snow field we walked through as we walk into a Migrolino for some snacks. It seems like we just walked through a dream of some kind and now we’re here in this little town, eating cheese in a small park next the water with a white castle in the distance. Ok, it’s the Park Hotel Vitzau. It’s also a castle. The Swiss are so modest with these things. To me, it’s a castle and as we wave goodbye to the shore on a ferry headed toward Lucerne with a couple glasses of merlot for the ride…I’m exhausted and sunburned and blissed-out again. At the end of every hike. Every adventure. I’ve come appreciate the ebb and flow since the PCT. It’s not about walking yourself to the brink of physical exhaustion. It’s about walking yourself toward the ‘sweet spot’. If you walk in the afternoon sun, something magical happens. If you’re in nature, then all the better. If you’re in the hills after a rainstorm and the sun is lifting the vapor back into the sky while you walk through the subtle ambrosia. The smell…that’s what always gets me. A few hikers talked about it last summer. It’s an ‘otherness’. A smell so rare and permeated with simple ideas. New Life. Over and over. Regardless of your most pithy observations. Something happens when you’re in motion because the mind turns off. It’s you and your senses. Taking in the world at the right speed. Processing moments on foot. I remember distinctly: Mica Lake and 20 minutes south of Muir Pass. Always late in the day. Always long after the mind has forfeited. It’s you and a sunset...and there’s nothing wrong with that.
~
The sun is rising just behind Uetliberg and we are rolling out of bed, shuffling around, pouring water for coffee, finding socks and putting the little piles we accumulated the evening before into our packs. Switching carabiners for cameras to hang on, trying to straighten a beard that becomes very wizardly in the night. Shoes on, down to Wiedekon banhoff with the weary morning travelers. It’s a holiday for Zurich, but many of these commuters work over in Zug about 20 kilometers away. The coffee is doled into cups and the sunlight comes in sideways through the train windows while we glide through the countryside, through tunnels, stopping here and there while people get on and off the. Then it’s a group of school kids twittering all about, trading soccer cards, laughing all the way to Brunnen where we disembark with our intention set on the general wanderweg that circles the Vierwaldstattersee…maybe we can make it as far as Kussnacht but it all depends on the terrain. It’ll be a long day either way. The idea, as usual is to go up. Into the mountainsides. Away from the tourists. Away from the concrete. Good solid dirt with roots and bramble and grass overtaking hillsides with snow-streams trickling here and there. Just last week the mountains were covered by a late April snow, but most of it has melted down, coursing through waterways edging along man-made terraces and steel inlays in the higher trails, underneath tractor paths in tunnels, down into the lake through canals etc. The day is just breaking and we’re walking along docks with dozens of boats, looking for yellow signs pointing toward the Rigi. Then, we climb through a few steep cliffside red and white blazes and walk over re-enforced bridges bolted into the sides of the mountain, grasping steel cables for balance. Here and there a wooden bench for rest. As always the angles and grades are heart-pounding in the Alps. Nothing like this in the Sierras or northern Cascades. At least on the trails we’ve done. It’s just “Straight up”. If the trail encounters something truly vertical, the Swiss (who are born engineers) have figured it out decades if not centuries ago and built some sort of basic structural aids to help you get through said section. We like to joke: If this were in the US, you’d have to sign a release for half the things we do. Although it’s basically just hiking, there’s signs posted to the effect that ‘no one’s coming if you get run over by a stray cow’. And yes, the cows and animals of all sorts are omnipresent on the steepest hillsides, though fenced off in their respective vertical fields. And this is what I really love about Switzerland. When you’re raised in these conditions you need solutions. So, the solutions are generally all in place, but what would be the point of living in Switzerland if you didn’t enjoy the mountains? Nearly half of the entire country is the Alps and when you’re in the Alps you’ve got entirely novel systems of living in them. Farmers on steep hills, high above the lakes will use gondolas, heavy-duty tractors, even helicopters to get supplies in and out. We witnessed this first-hand, finally coming through a snowy patch up to a cafe a hundred meters below the official Rigi summit (which was still too snowy for our trail-running shoes) Walking up we saw a helicopter dropping off the benches for the outdoor seating on the Alps-facing patio. One after another in great tied-up bundles they came down and were unclipped. We inquired with the owner about general conditions and decided a middle-of-the-road approach for the rest of the day. We’d gone off course, away from the lake, lured by the higher trails and bigger views but last week’s storm meant a lot of muddy slush if we stayed at our present elevation. From the cafe, the Alps stretched in front of us in a way I hadn’t seen yet. A panorama much longer than what we’d seen at the top of Interlaken. Almost 180 degrees of snow-capped peaks that stood silently in the distance…an otherworldly presence to it all. The hills are sowed with fertilizer from cows every spring and all the water pouring off the Alps makes for an explosion of flowers, trees, grass, birds, etc. Everything is in motion. The soil is dark and rich and the lakes feed the villages and cities with pure runoff that collects mineral content as it weaves through the canyons. Lakes like Vierwalstattersee, Zurichsee, Zugersee, etc aren’t just bodies of water. They’re massive ecosystems dotted with people, animals, and forests that provide a sort of perpetual balance with all the natural motion. There is of course, lots of snow and snow activities dominate the region. It’s just part of life. If we’re heading out on the trains on any given day we’re accompanied by people of all ages hauling pairs of skis here and there. If it’s a little warmer, you’ve got incredible trails more apt for full-suspension riding and the trains have cars built especially for bicycles. For all the beauty and red-wine pining I’m apt for, it’s a country that requires movement. It would be pointless to live in Switzerland without taking advantage of the outdoors. At least, it wouldn’t be half as fun. For us, that means any free day because the Alps are really accessible. An hour at most and even less for some truly stunning hikes. We shuffle down, leaning back against the inertia of the packs. Ropes and bars and improvised stairs over wet rocks covered in lichen. Under gondolas and cables, past farms and farm equipment. A few kids, maybe 4-6 years old coming screaming by on plastic toy cars, taking the short paved section we’re on like pro drifters, flying over the dirt bushwhacks between the roads, skidding to a stop at the edge of a grassy cliff. “Remember Big-Wheels?” “Yeah I think so…” “Kinda like that.” “Good to see a kid who’s not staring at an iPhone.” “Kids being kids yeah?”. And then it’s down out of the hills into the lakeside town of Vitznau with the Nidwaden side of the Burgenstock arching down into the water like a peninsula, shrouded in mist. It’s almost 30 kilometers and we’ve just been traipsing about, enchanted-ignoring the sun. I realize my eyeballs are burned from the snow field we walked through as we walk into a Migrolino for some snacks. It seems like we just walked through a dream of some kind and now we’re here in this little town, eating cheese in a small park next the water with a white castle in the distance. Ok, it’s the Park Hotel Vitzau. It’s also a castle. The Swiss are so modest with these things. To me, it’s a castle and as we wave goodbye to the shore on a ferry headed toward Lucerne with a couple glasses of merlot for the ride…I’m exhausted and sunburned and blissed-out again. At the end of every hike. Every adventure. I’ve come appreciate the ebb and flow since the PCT. It’s not about walking yourself to the brink of physical exhaustion. It’s about walking yourself toward the ‘sweet spot’. If you walk in the afternoon sun, something magical happens. If you’re in nature, then all the better. If you’re in the hills after a rainstorm and the sun is lifting the vapor back into the sky while you walk through the subtle ambrosia. The smell…that’s what always gets me. A few hikers talked about it last summer. It’s an ‘otherness’. A smell so rare and permeated with simple ideas. New Life. Over and over. Regardless of your most pithy observations. Something happens when you’re in motion because the mind turns off. It’s you and your senses. Taking in the world at the right speed. Processing moments on foot. I remember distinctly: Mica Lake and 20 minutes south of Muir Pass. Always late in the day. Always long after the mind has forfeited. It’s you and a sunset...and there’s nothing wrong with that.
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