This is my first week in Austria. Everything is so much more beautiful than I ever expected. After arriving at Salzburg Airport last Wednesday the landscape became more and more beautiful with every kilometre we drove towards the Dachstein and Tennen mountain range. I'm staying in a lodge in a valley that looks like a scenery out of a 1950's technicolor movie, almost too idyllic to be true. The houses are built in the traditional austrian style, lots of dark wood and carvings and large balconies decorated with jardinières, overflowing with geranium and petunias. I have an attic room with a small balcony just for myself, overlooking large meadows and hills and a fantastic view of the Dachstein and Bischofsmütze. There is a mountain stream flowing beside the alley, it's riverbed almost dry now but you can tell by the size and depth of it and by the velocity and strength of even this little rivulet, how enormous it must be when the snow melts in spring. The babbling and brawling of this brook is a neverending noise, so constant that I do not really notice it anymore, lulling me to sleep at night and waking me in the early hours of the morning. Yet it's the most calming of sounds when I sit by the riverbed, listening consciously. The valley is full of horses, cattle and sheep, grazing wherever they want, loose and free of any fences. More often than not the cows will decide to go for a short rest and settle down right in the middle of the small alley, causing cars and everybody else to either wait patiently or get out and shoo them away. They are wearing bells around their necks and their ringing is another constant in this landscape, together with the wind and the crickets. Apart from that there is an all-embracing silence, rarely broken by the sound of an odd agricultural vehicle or a human voice. Going up into the mountains it's even more quiet, but noises differ nonetheless. I heard the marmots whistle, surprisingly loud, the sound – as every noise – being echoed and amplified by the scarps. Climbing even higher you're in complete silence except for the wind and the occasional hissing noise of debris sliding down the scree fields, often indicating a small herd of chamois, which are simply astonishing to look at, climbing the steepest crags without any visible sign of effort.
We decided to climb a crest called 'Kamplbrunn' today, with a summit height of about 2,200 metres (7,200 ft.). It's name derives from a natural spring, that is – according to an old celtic legend – a 'fountain of youth', rejuvenating anybody who drinks from it's water. Unfortunately though, we never found this mystic spring, so I can neither negate nor affirm it's fabulous virtues ..! What I found instead – to my immense surprise – were Nepalese prayer flags, tied to the cross on the summit. I found this rather amazing until a local woman told me that there are Nepali mountaineers at a nearby alpine hut, placing their prayer flags on certain summits. I must say that I rather like the way they attach them to the traditional summit crosses, creating an unusual blend of christian and buddhist symbols.
After several days of merely hiking from hut to hut on marked trails, 'Kamplbrunn' was to become my first real 'mountaineering' tour, although we hadn't really planned that way. We were starting out with a group of six people modestly aiming for a snack at an alpine hut, but getting there in less than two hours most of us wanted to continue. After talking to our guide we split up, two women walked on to another hut, planning to wait for the rest of us to join them after descending from 'Kamplbrunn'. When the trail became steeper and steeper the two guys also decided to revert to the lodge, so that it was just me and the guide going on up. The trail became really steep and I couldn't make out any kind of footpath anymore, pulling me up with my hands while searching for some kind of hold with my feet. I could feel my heart pounding like mad and my legs getting weak. There was a moment when I thought I wouldn't make it until the guide told me we were almost there and that I would soon be rewarded for my effort. And so I was!
The view from Kamplbrunn was breathtaking, overlooking a huge part of the Northern Limestone Alps and Central Eastern Alps with their higher peaks going up to 4,000 metres (13,000 ft). For as far as I could see, there were mountains, mountains and more mountains, what a sight, what a feeling! It was pretty windy, narrow and slippery up there and I didn't trust myself in having really overcome my usual fear of heights, so I preferred to sit down beneath the prayer flags, cross-legged and silent, absorbing the beauty of everything around me. As if reading my thoughts the guide took off and sat quietly on a rock in the background without ever disturbing my silent dialogue with life and nature, the earth … the universe … It was such an overwhelming moment, all alone under that enormous sky, surrounded by nothing but mountains and stillness. Right behind me I could see the 'Bischofsmütze' (which means 'Bishop's mitre' – and that's what it looks like), to my left was a glacier, reflecting the sunlight and the blue of the sky while another snow-covered mountain was gleaming red with some kind of minerals. In front of me there was a deep crevice in the rock, making me feel kind of giddy looking down … and quite happy to to be seated firmly on the ground!
In the end I had to stand up and face the fact that I couldn't stay there forever. Preparing for the descend I was a bit worried, having been told before that it's easier to go up than down a steep slope. I didn't like the idea of having to face the depth but the guide told me to concentrate on what was right in front of me, concentrating on the path in front of my foot only, avoiding to look anywhere else. What can I say, I made it … with slightly strained knees maybe, but surprisingly sure of step and light of heart! Quite happy that I neither slipped nor stumbled I reached the others at the lodge, welcoming me in disbelief, never expecting I would actually make it all the way to the top …
Despite my usual discomfort at being praised by anybody, I must admit that I felt rather proud when the guide told me it was hard to believe I was the most inexperienced of the group, telling me I seem to have 'a natural feeling' for the mountains, moving skilfully and prudent like a 'mountain goat'. He also said that he didn't get the impression I was suffering from any kind of acrophobia, but that it's probably all in my head, that it's quite natural to feel a certain giddyness looking up or down extreme heights if I am not used to them and that it will get better with experience. He always tells people NOT to look down when crossing a narrow ridge or trail because most people only start to feel a fear of height once they start thinking about it, causing them to be inattentive or become insecure, prone to stumble or loose their balance. As long as one concentrates on the way only, thinking of nothing but what is ahead and necessary, everything would be fine. Well, so much to that. We'll see in how far he's right on one of our next ventures I guess …
Oh, what a day! Coming back here to the lodge, into my room, I felt physically exhausted but mentally quite alert, excited and peaceful, all at the same time. I guess any experienced mountain hiker or climber will read all this with either an amused or a condescending smile … but to me it's all new and exciting, so please – be indulgent to my childlike enthusiasm …!
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