Two girls, one runde - The Peter Habler Runde
- GeographySurf
- Oct 24, 2023
- 9 min read
It was July. I had just broken up for summer and had started to allow myself to feel glad for it. I walked into Cotswolds Outdoor shop and gazed up and down the rails at the plethora of technical gear. I had absolutely no idea what I was searching for, only that the price tags were looking rather daunting.
'Excuse me?' I approached a ginger bearded man dressed head to toe in Patagonia. 'I'm doing an alpine trek in the Alps and I need to purchase the right stuff. I have no clue where to start, could I ask a few questions?'
The guy nodded enthusiastically. 'Oh absolutely! Have you done much hiking at altitude before? How high are you going? Must be at least 3000m. Have you checked the avalanche reports? You will probably encounter some snow so let's start with jackets....'
Snow?! Wasn't I going in late august? 3000m? Sh** yes, I guess so. I really hadn't thought this through. Mr Ginger handed me a fleece, a puffy number which I now know as an 'insulator jacket' and a waterproof - posh name being 'hard shell'. The total cost was well over £400. Okay, I needed to rethink this, I mused. Turns out I needed the technical stuff. Turns out I was doing a big boy hike.
Laura and I wanted an adventure. We wanted to walk away from the holiday feeling accomplished and proud and impressed. Sitting at the kitchen table in Tooting, we studied a few options - Albania, Croatia, Greece. However, it was bookatrekking's Peter Habler Runde that caught our attention.
Peter is a well known Austrian mountaineer, famous for being the first man to summit Mount Everest without taking any oxygen with him. He had recently (2019) created the 55km, high alpine, circular route through the Zillertal Alps, crossing the Austrian Italian border. The photographs showed emerald blue lakes, glaciers and pine trees. Yes, this was the one, we agreed. We didn't question our inexperience, fitness levels or lack of mountain knowledge. We just clicked the big, bright 'book' button and our fates were sealed.
In the lead up to the trip, I was growing increasingly uneasy. The weather apps suggested thunderstorms all week. I had downloaded komoot to study the trails in detail and panicked when I saw several T6 paths. I panicked more when I saw we were going to be ascending to well over 3000m. I'm an anxious being, perhaps this was too much? Yet, the growing pile of technical equipment in the corner of my room reminded me that I'd just spent hundreds on this. There was no going back (well...there was, but I'm tight).
The flight into Innsbruck itself was enough to make the trip worth it. The mountains were simply staggering; I truly haven't seen anything like it. Towers of grey, ominous rock flanked our descending plane and pierced through swirls of mist. Ice and snow clung to the dark, carved grooves. It was a monstrous sea of mountains where sky blended into rock. My uneasiness was quickly hurled into beautiful fear.
Innsbruck is as impressive as its backdrop. An ice blue river cuts through the centre with a roaring confidence. Sunset coloured buildings protect the silhouetted mountains behind. We listened to violinists under the golden roof, slurped pots of vanilla ice cream from the infamous diary stores and tasted Austrian dumplings and zillertal beer as the sun retreated. The hostel was simple and safe with a very friendly receptionist who happily answered the ringing bell at 5am the next day as we set off for the train station.
The hike began in the foothills of St Jodok, Vals. After an easy train and bus journey from Innsbruck, we were dropped off at what can only be described as a dishevelled shack with a wobbly bus stop sign. The sun had yet to peak its head over the surrounding mountains; the fields were littered with shadows. Silence encased us, apart from our heavy breathing and the distant jingling of cow bells.
From the bus stop to our first hut, Geraerhutte, we followed a well maintained, snaking footpath. I now recognise the curving trail as a 'switchback'. In one day, we ascended 2500m through alpine meadows and dwindling pine trees. I remember the feeling of utter freedom. The vegetation was so alive with colour and the chirping of indistinct insects. We passed a few people meandering their way upwards but otherwise we were left to admire the abundant foliage and revel in our own excitement. It took us 2-3 hours to reach the first refuge. Sitting in the sun on the wooden balcony overlooking the Alps was the first time our reality finally hit me. Hard. There wasn't anything to do except drink in the view. Dinner wasn't for another 4 hours. The solitude and silence rested heavily on my shoulders and I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared. The size and expanse of the mountains made me feel insignificant and vulnerable. 2 hours and the altitude began to creep its hands around my head too. The pounding continued no matter how much I drank or rested. I felt nauseous and struggled to eat our pouches of raisins, seeds and Percy pigs. The three course dinner was so delightful but I couldn't enjoy it. When we slipped into our sleeping bags under the timber archways of the hut, I hallucinated about ghosts tumbling through the open bedroom window. That first night I found really difficult in terms of acclimatisation and feeling secure in the mountain environment.
We set off at 8am the next day, heading towards Tuxerjochaus. Nausea hung over me like a fog but I had managed to eat a good breakfast and the sun was shining. I'm so glad I continued. The next stretch of the trek was 7.9km with 3 descents and 4 ascents - the map resembled a panicked ECG in other words. It was utterly stunning. To one side, the valley of Kaserer Scharte fell away beneath us, showing us the sloping sides of the almighty Zillertal Alps. To the other, grey rocks playing host to patches of snow and ice reached up to the shining blue sky. We summitted several mountains that day. I felt completely empowered. There was a sketchy section where we had to grip a metal rope as we twisted around the top of an ascent, the pathway just wide enough for one foot in front of the other and a sheer drop on the other side. My heavy red rucksack swayed unnervingly and I'm pretty sure I made the pass talking to myself the entire way - you got this gal.
And we did have it. Until we were faced with an army of goats. Then we very much did not have it. The sound of bells rang in the distance, bouncing off the large boulders protruding from the mountain face. One by one, as we approached, sets of ears and horns peered out from above. There was 1, then 3, then 6...until there were 25 heads staring down at us. We halted in our steps. It was a stand off like no other and the goats undeniably had the upper hand. As each second passed, one more goat would shuffle towards us.
'What do we do?'
'Do we go back?'
'No, go forward'
'I don't want to, you do it'
'No, I can't. Lets go back'
We turned around to make our way back down the mountain, feeling like reclimbing 1000m was more enticing than facing the wild looking pack of goats. The goats gained confidence as we turned our backs and decided to hurtle towards us, pushing each other out the way with their curved horns, sending loose stones tumbling over the edge. We halted again. We were surrounded by a semi circle of goats, wide eyed and eager to get into our Percy pig and raisin stash.
'Right, come on, lets do this' I said, grabbing Laura's hand and taking a step towards the herd. The goats didn't move. I stepped again, feigning confidence. One wrong move and we'd be pushed off the edge of the mountain. One or two shuffled back. I breathed a sigh of relief and stepped again. And again. Until the herd parted like the Red Sea. We practically ran up the rest of the mountain, desperately hoping to put the ringing bells far behind us. We chuckled to ourselves at our absolute stupidity, thinking how hilarious it would be if someone had watched the whole 'cowboy showdown' unfold from below.
When we arrived at Tuxerjochhaus ready for a cold one, a couple from Germany stopped us in the doorway.
'Do you guys have red rucksacks?' She asked. We nodded, pleased to know our expensive gear had been rightfully noticed. The girl laughed and pulled her boyfriend into the conversation.
'Hey, do you remember the goats on the mountain? Yeah, these were the girls!'
Oh dear. Slightly embarrassing. Very hilarious.
The weather took a turn for the worst the following day. The hut was cloaked in ashen clouds; the mountains, then the path, then the flag pole disappeared into the grey. With our inexperience, we decided to take the cable car down into the valley. Although the thunderstorms had yet to surface, we still had to be wary. From Mayrhofen, we took a bus to Zillertal National Park and followed the yellow signposts to the Olpererhutte. This was not on our original itinerary but oh my goodness am I grateful for the weather change that day. It led us to the most beautiful place on planet earth.
The climb to the hut opened out to an unforgettable vista - a 360 panoramic view of the Shlegeis Stausee. The turquoise reservoir nestled itself between snow capped peaks and tall pine trees. The path was busy with Austrians and Germans and the hut was a hive of activity; a stark contrast to the solitude we were now used to. We sat, rather happily, sipping beer overlooking the blue lake and sharing stories with a middle aged man from Hawaii who was hiking from Germany to Venice. Whilst we explored his journey thus far, a husky, a lamb and a young toddler zoomed past us in characterful play. Yes you read that right - a lamb.
The hut is a family owned endeavour and the two young children had grown up in the mountains alongside their pet lamb and husky. The husky, ageing and slow, crept around the guests with barely a lifting of the eyes. Yet when the little girl bounced out of the doorway, the husky pounded after her with a new found energy. It was such a heartwarming existence. We really did enjoy that hut. The dinner was delicious, the busyness offered a change of pace and the games cupboard provided all night entertainment.
Looking around at the people enjoying their food, I realised for the first time how male dominated the mountains were. In a room of 40, there were 6 women including myself and Laura. I didn't feel unsafe or uncomfortable, but I felt a bit sad. This stunning environment with its vibrant wildlife and insane views, where I had already learnt and grown so much, was perceived as perhaps too difficult, too unsafe or too challenging for women. Especially so, there was an astounding lack of young females.
On our final leg down from Pfitjochhaus, under a curtain of torrential rain and dark skies, we met two ladies hiking the Berlin trail. We had made contact with Italian soil and we needed to cross back into Austria but were having trouble finding the bus stop. The women exclaimed how rare it was to see two women hiking together and how the majority of guests at the refuges were male. They asked us if we had enjoyed ourselves, to which we responded with resounding enthusiasm. They encouraged us to walk the Berlin trail in the future and kindly took us to the bus stop using their language skills.
In a nutshell..
We had no mountaineering experience whatsoever. In fact, I had never done a multi day hike before in my life, let alone climbed a mountain at 3000m, followed a 55km high alpine trail and slept amongst the peaks. The route was suggested for those with previous experience, but it didn't stop us. It was one of the most challenging things I've done. I struggled with the solitude and the altitude, we overpacked slightly and some of my gear wasn't entirely waterproof.
Having said that, we put measures in place to make sure we were safe. We had 3 sets of maps - 2 digital and 1 paper. We updated family on our location and estimated time of arrival to the next hut. We invested in a good layering system to ward off the cooler temperatures. We took back up battery chargers and emergency food supplies. We stopped to fill our water when we passed streams and rivers. We asked the locals about the weather and routes before setting off. We made sure to eat enough at the huts and sleep for 7 hours every night. We made decisions to alter the route when we felt unsure. We stopped and rested frequently. Small things made a big difference in mitigating against disasters.
What I'm trying to say is that a trekking holiday in the Alps, or wherever, is very accessible. It's as accessible for young people and women as it is for middle aged men. Don't get me wrong, you need to be prepared, but once you have the right equipment and are ready for the challenge, it is an incredible experience and one I sure as heck don't take for granted.
We need to do more to encourage women up into the hills. The mountain community is warm and welcoming, the views are indescribable and the challenge empowers the individual. I will forever be grateful for what hiking in the Alps taught me.
Comments