Cheese, Chocolate & Rolexes: The Descent

We woke the next morning in the cold Faulhorn bunkroom to silence, i.e., no rain. Within ten minutes we were groomed (no shower) and packed and stepped outside for the short, slightly chilly jaunt to the dining room. We paused to admire our same panorama view but of the Alps in a different mood, a deep gray backdrop to impenetrable pools of clouds lying below and between the numerous peaks. Our simple breakfast consisted of bread, a few small packaged cheeses and various condiments with coffee and tea. We settled up with the hostel's courteous caretakers, purchasing bottled water (?!) to refill our Nalgenes (the hotel collects non-potable rainwater for its plumbing), and descended the switchbacks into the cool, damp morning.

The presumably breathtaking views from the ridge we planned to follow were unfortunately completely obscured by clouds. Within five minutes of departing a thick fog rolled over us, and I snapped the above picture of the Faulhorn's protruding summit with the hostel and its helicopter landing pad in profile. The mountain's rough, rocky, snowy northern-side terrain contrasted sharply with the prior day's southern smooth ascent. We hiked an hour through the rugged, spooky cool landscape without encountering a soul. Ever descending, we hit our next landmark, the Berghaus Männdlenen Alpine hostel tucked into the ridge's folds. Not particularly thirsty but just because we could, we stopped for a coffee, unintentionally ruffling the hostel's slightly oddball three-person crew who pretended to straighten things up in our presence despite being near no-occupancy. Um, thanks, but reallly we don't care. Our brief respite ended in more ways than one, as a fairly pelting rain greeted us upon exit. We donned our rain gear and continued walking.

Sven claims to particularly enjoy backpacking in nasty weather as a good chance to enjoy the elements and test his gear. Since we had expected rain from the beginning, I was more or less in the same mind frame and we gleaned some slight masochistic glee from finally "roughing it" a bit as the rain and wind picked up, whipping through the canyon valleys and dousing us pretty well. By late morning we finally began passing a few ascending hikers, some properly outfitted and some just ignorant or dumb, already soaked and looking chilled in cotton sweatshirts, no hats and wet running shoes instead of boots. As SwissGuy's comment on the last blog entry wisely points out, don't mess around in the mountains. These kids were already looking at catching a week-long cold or worse.

The rain lessened its sting after an hour and more or less abated completely 30 minutes after that. We were entertained by first one, then several, then eventually dozens of jet black, shiny 6-inch-long Swiss salamanders across the trail--some motionless, some skittering along, and more than one pair openly engaged in what we first thought was wrestling, but later realized was copulating (truly embarrassing for all parties). The ridge path stayed high above the now green-pastured valleys below, active farms with grazing livestock dotting the landscape as only Switzerland can provide; nearly every hike here feels like an idyllic postcard walk.

In fact, during the final quarter of our hike, the livestock became downright, hm, shall we say, in-your-face with more than a few 1,000-lb ladies flopped down right across the trail, indolently observing our approach. The scattering of bulls present--as evidenced by their short but pointy horns--was not so amused and eyed us quite steadily. I'm not sure if "American Hikers Gored By Swiss Dairy Cows" would make CNN Headline News but, opting for discretion, we carefully picked our way off the path, tromping further upward though long wet grass and mud to avoid any international incidents. As backpacking luck often has it, our move proved rewarding as through a break in the clouds we thereby caught a view completely over the ridge's back side, a sheer drop thousands of feet above the bright blue Brienzersee lake flanked by cliffs. Unbelievable. We arrived at the Schynige Platte cogway rail station amidst a renewed steady drizzle. After the morning's wet, rocky, six-mile and 2,000 foot descent, we gratefully peeled off the rain gear aboard the historic cogway train that carried us the final wooded, sharp 5,000 feet down to Interlaken.

So what was our review overall? Well what can you say? True backcountry backpacking with days of solitude it ain't. But the nonstop panoramas and vistas provide the most spectacular scenery you could hope to lay eyes on. And a thought just dawned on me. Maybe removing 20 pounds of gear and eating fried eggs and sausage with beer instead of dehydrated spaghetti sauce isn't a bad way to go after all. Those Swiss, they've thought of everything.

GPS & Google Earth representations of the hike (click to enlarge):

Day 1 - Ascent from First past Bachalp lakes to Faulhorn