As night drew in, more walkers arrived, driven to abandon their camping and walking by the bad weather. The air steamed with the drying of damp clothes, and faces were ruddy from the fire’s heat and the friendly conversations. It felt great to be in the thick of the dramatic mountain weather but at the same time sheltered from it. Retiring to the dorm that night, Naggi looked out of the window and muttered to himself, while I snuggled under my fleecy blanket and hoped the summer would return.
And the schnaps began to flow… “Ten centimetres,” said Naggi as I peered outside the next morning and found my guide looking at the swirling snowstorm. Next to him a man stood red-faced and shaking. He had set off early to try to attempt the route we were supposed to tackle and had to retreat due to avalanche risk. Summer, it seemed, had never been further away.
We sat within the comfort of the four walls a little longer, our cosy refuge amid the storm, and unfolded the map on the table. “What if we go down to the village, then pick up another path to take us to our next hut more directly?” I suggested. Naggi smiled. And so, determined to continue with our hut-to-hut mission, we took one of the escape routes and descended into the valley; the grass became green once more and the pinks of the alpine roses waved in the wind. We walked out into the pretty town of Pettneu and caught a bus to Flirsch, for the start of a path up to our final hut of Ansbacher.
The track was slick with rain and the musty, damp scent of the forest rose from the ground as we began to climb away from houses. Alpine salamanders – curious little black amphibians -dotted the path, all seemingly heading up. “Damn,” said Naggi as he watched them, “heading uphill means more rain.” We emerged from the trees and paused to catch our breath. An eagle swooped and dived like a corkscrew, descending to the forest. Somewhere behind me I heard the whistle of a marmot and turned to see its furry behind disappear into its labyrinth underground.
As the rain turned to snow once more we made a final push for the hut. Sheep surrounded us as we topped out above a gouged valley edged by more pointy hills; they sniffed the ground and looked unconcerned by the ice. “They have a good life up here,” said Naggi. As I looked out at the serrated surrounds, wild and seemingly never-ending, I couldn’t help but agree. We climbed up along the nose of a smaller peak, and finally reached the brown-roofed Ansbacher Hutte, tired from the ski-lift free ascent but happy to have made it.
The hut was being tended by a young family, the three children running around excitedly as we cleaned our boots. Inside I clutched a hot chocolate and leafed through an Alpine Club book, settling on the photograph of a woman who had been a member for 81 years. There was a picture of her climbing in 1905; one of her later, in this very hut; then a final one of her at the age of 100, still walking. Soon someone had the guitar down from the wall and the schnaps began to flow, while tales of walking escapades past, present and still to come were told. Outside the snow continued to fall.
Up with the crazies – The final morning started in a white cloud, flakes still drifting and the mercury struggling to rise above zero. It was time for our mountain adventure to head back down to the valley. We were bound for the town of Schnann, by way of a breakfast stop at the lower Fritz Hutte, to catch the bus back to St Anton. As we began to descend, the powder soft at my feet and wet on my face, Naggi stopped dead in his tracks.
He gestured at the mountain slopes to my right, the rocks just visible through a break in the cloud. “Look,” he whispered. Chamois. Two of them, standing tall and proud on the rocky ledge as the snow flurried around them. They may be called crazy but, as I watched them climb higher into the mist, I reasoned that being like them was no bad thing. Because following their bellies uphill took them into the beautiful and unpredictable beauty of the mountains and that, I reckoned, made them the most sensible creatures in the world.
