All posts by Rebecca Michelle

Educator, traveler, reader, blogger. Loves learning, black coffee, and friendly people.
Travel Guide

In the Alps: Ötztal

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The German word “Hochtour” literally translates to “high tour” and the term is used to describe a mountaineering trek through the Alps that passes through snow or over a glacier. Last summer was my introduction to the Hochtour along the Berliner Höhenweg and climbing the Zugspitze, Germany’s tallest mountain. This summer’s adventure took me, my partner, and a friend into the Ötztal, home of Austria’s tallest mountains. This year, rather than the glacier being part of the adventure, the glacier was the adventure.

Day 1: Vent to Martin-Busch-Hütte

We began in the tiny town of Vent, following a trail that was steep immediately.

We walked toward glaciers in the distance, following the river that cut through the rock, witness to millions of years of time.

We passed an old shepherd’s hut, and we didn’t know it at the time, but we’d meet the shepherd and his dogs another day. The much more modern house we had passed earlier was his.

After a few hours, eight kilometers, and 600 meters of elevation, we reached the end of civilization and the beginning of our adventure. We would spend two nights at the Martin-Busch-Hütte, allowing us the luxury of leaving many of our belongings behind for our summit tour the following day. As the sign said, we were in the last spot for cell service.

The hut is located at 2,501 meters and after a snack and a shower, we went for a little walk to look around at the world we had entered.

Day 2: Similaun

Summer mountaineering requires an early start because summer in the Alps is thunderstorm season. You cannot be on a peak when lightening strikes, and this means being down low enough to avoid being the highest point anywhere. We check weather forecasts, watch the clouds, and rely on the hut personnel, locals with experience, to give us the best tips on how to time the path ahead. The rule of thumb is to start early.

The way ahead was rocky and climbed steadily. We passed a sign showing the way to the archeological site where 5,300-year-old Ötzi the Iceman was found in 1991, which I’d love to go back to visit someday. On this day, there was a mountain to climb.

To reach the summit of the Similaun at 3,606m, we would gain almost 1,100 meters of elevation. The effect this has on the body is not be underestimated, and we were all grateful for having included jogging in our training. Although I can’t say I felt it, it must have helped! We paused when we reached the Similaun Hütte just over the border in Italy and gazed at what awaited us.

At the edge of the glacier, we prepared: Harness and helmet on; pre-organized carabiners, slings, rescue gear, ice screw attached to harness; crampons on; ice axe in hand; butterfly knots in the rope and figure-eights clipped to us. As the most experienced, my partner went last to perform any needed rescue manoeuvres should one of us fall into a crevasse. Based on negotiation, I went first to follow tracks and find the way.

Breathing was difficult. The thighs burned. I couldn’t always find the way leading us away from crevasses and up the glacier, and we took a slight deviation from the proper way when fear of the unknown got to me. Our friend in the middle of our rope said that she was using a mantra to put one foot in front of the other, but my mind had gone in the opposite direction. As we climbed, I was already in a mindset of not wanting to be there, which is the primary reason that I don’t know if I will do this type of mountaineering again.

As the clouds rolled in, we reached the end of the glacier and the rock scramble along the mountain ridge began. This is the part I enjoyed because this is where I could feel my body again – I am a climber, after all. We reached summit and looked down into Austria on one side and Italy on the other.

We heard a clap of thunder after we had already begun our descent. The sky darkened as we returned to our gear on the glacier and we ran. This is is the part where, like my friends, I should have thought, “Wow, now we’re really mountaineers!” But the negative mindset from before set in. As the hail began, which turned to rain as we descended, that’s not where my mind was.

The weather changes quickly in the Alps and the rain had let up by the time we reached the Similaun Hütte and stepped inside to take stock of ourselves. Not having had time to put raincovers over our backpacks, everything was soaked. As the sun began to shine, we heard another clap of thunder from above, but this time we knew – it was one weather front meeting another rather than the sign of a coming thunderstorm.

Later on, I reflected that had the weather held during our descent, I probably wouldn’t have fallen apart. The negative film running through my head would have faded and been replaced by the accomplishment of reaching 3,606 meters. But I know how the brain works, and we remember the peak and the end of experiences. I’ve dreamt every night since of being on that mountain, and my dream self has reacted differently, more bravely, more calmly. The sun shines in my dream. My actual self was mentally crushed.

It was a relief to reach the Martin-Busch-Hütte and lay our things out to dry. We talked over weather, the day, and conditions with the men sharing our room and marvelled at the weather cells in the Alps. Just on the other side of the valley, they hadn’t had rain at all.

Day 3: Martin-Busch-Hütte to Breslauer Hütte

The purpose of the next day was to reach our second and final hut of this trip, the Breslauer Hütte located at the foot of Austria’s second-tallest mountain, the Wildspitze. From the beginning, the Wildspitze at 3,768 meters had been the goal. However, because of my experience the day before and the not-so-promising weather forecast, we decided a change of plans was in order.

We left the Martin-Busch-Hütte in the rain, which is no problem when you’re prepared for it. The landscape was dreamy as we descended, kissed by clouds.

The sun had come out by the time our ascent began with over 900 meters in elevation gain comprising the last few kilometers. We passed gazing cattle . . .

. . . stopped to rest on a plateau surrounded by peaks . . .

. . . and made our way along steep ridges, past more peaceful cattle, through rocky terrain that told of mountains from long ago, and across a river. Some of this had been glacier once.

It was a long way up to the Breslauer Hütte, and hard going. We covered 12 kilometers that day, and, upon reaching 2,844 meters, we certainly felt it.

That evening, we watched the sunset.

Day 4: Breslauer Hütte to Vent

The following morning began with a strange feeling. The clientele of the Breslauer Hütte could be easily divided into two groups – mountaineers and hikers. As we decided not to attempt the Wildspitze this time (my friends have now bookmarked it for the future), we were clearly in the hiking group, despite having the gear and experience of the mountaineers. We had come to this place with a purpose and were leaving it behind.

It wasn’t only because of me but it also wasn’t not because of me that we changed the plan. I’m grateful that my friends made the decision that they did, and I will be cheering for them when they head back there next time. But that didn’t prevent me from feeling, as they were, a sense of loss.

Nevertheless, we enjoyed the easy scramble up to Wildes Mannle, a 3,023 meter peak nearby.

We crossed the river we’d seen the following day . . .

. . . and climbed the ridge to the summit, looking over into the distance where we knew the Wildspitze was.

From there, we began our descent, again past the cows . . .

. . . and into a green oasis, welcome after the rocky terrain a thousand meters above.

With the challenges of ascending behind us, I took the opportunity to photograph the alpine flowers that guided us along the way.

Upon reaching civilization, we crossed a bridge over the river . . .

. . . walked past one last herd of grazing horses . . .

. . . and looked in the direction of the Wildspitze again, invisible now.

This was not my mountain to climb, but I have no doubt that my friends will climb it one day. If I’ve learned any lesson, it is this: If one cannot go calmly and steadily, one need not go at all. The purpose is to be there, not to get there.

And if I can focus on the being rather than the doing , then I have learned something indeed.

On My Mind

Once a Runner

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I gave up running a number of years ago while managing an illness, and because I realized something important. While my relationship with running had always been love/hate, I had discovered sports that I really loved, which proved to me that I didn’t have to settle for love/hate. So I gave up running after a final bad run, and have rarely looked back since.

This month, in preparation for a higher, more technical alpine tour than last summer’s Berliner Höhenweg or climbing the Zugspitze, I started to run again. Casually. Slowly. Work on a little endurance and don’t make a challenge out of it. Just do it. That kind of running.

And this time, I liked it.

This time, I felt like there was a reason for the running rather than just to run, and this allowed me to let go and enjoy the air, the quiet path, the trees. The weather was the very beginning of summer rather than the depths of the tropics; the water source a river rather than the ocean; the vegetation oaks and larches rather than palms and frangipani. After so much time away, my body felt different, reinvigorated by the new challenge rather than worn down by the habit. The knee that had so often twinged made itself known once, a “welcome back” greeting, and went quiet.

Interestingly, over the same time, I realized that I had stopped looking forward to going to the climbing hall. After a few days out on real rocks, the thought of plastic grips and footholds lost its appeal, and I was happier spending my time outside than indoors. So I traded two nights a week in the climbing hall for two nights a week going for a run, just a little one.

I find myself beginning to miss the climbing hall, so I’ll be heading back there soon after some time in the mountains. Hopefully the body will make use of the endurance that comes from running. And even if it doesn’t, it’s a comfort to the mind to know that ten years as a runner are still in there somewhere.

New York City – October 2016
On My Mind

Choosing the 4+

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The weather has been unfortunately uncooperative for outdoor climbing this spring. Our nearest climbing area is in a forest and it really needs to be dry the day before an outing in order to get on the rocks safely. You can’t grip clammy stone. So we were delighted last weekend to have the opportunity to spend two days climbing outdoors, only our second time out this year.

It was quickly apparent, and completely expected, that we’re unused to the endurance and challenge of outdoor climbing. It was also very hot, which softens the hands, presenting an additional challenge. Outdoor climbing is part sport and part meditation, in that one tries to feel the rock, to understand it, to work with its nuances and quirks. There’s no bright colours telling you where the next move is; rather, you need to be attentive, responsive, creative, and flexible. You need to look for texture in the rock, which is often not there at first glance, and figure out what to do with it. It takes a few days outdoors each year to return to that feeling and to grow comfortable doing outside what we so easily do inside.

In the middle of the afternoon, we set a top rope on a route far too hard for any of us to lead, but one that looked possible when one remained secure the whole time, removing the fear and potential hazard of numerous expected falls. And fall I did, until I decided it wasn’t worth it anymore. My hands hurt, I swung out of the line and had to repeat each sequence to make any progress, and my belay partner was doing at least half the work by pulling me up past tricky areas that I couldn’t manage. And the route wasn’t even fun. After yet one more try, I called down to my belay partner to lower me. There’s no role for heroism in climbing.

Rather, climbing is about being part of nature, not fighting against it. Climbing is about listening to oneself, knowing when to push and when to back off. Climbing is about a healthy respect for fear, knowing the difference between fear that is manageable and fear that will overpower. The joy of of climbing is to reach beyond oneself and follow the rock.

We climbed long and hard that day, and I felt it in my fingers, hands, and throughout my body the following morning. A friend who is a much more skilled climber led a hard route as a warm-up and I fought my way up it, again on top rope, just for the experience.

And then the body had had it. I looked up at a route that was within my capacity but not easy, and then at another that was as close to a stroll as I would get that day. And then I ignored the difficulty grading in the guidebook and took the easy route. There’s no role for heroism in climbing.

As climbers, we celebrate falls. A fall means you’ve tried, you’ve taken a deep breath, you’ve pushed beyond the survival instinct that tells you not to fall. Amateur climbers often fear falling (it’s how the human species has survived) and that’s why we sometimes decide to practice. Falling happens so fast that you often don’t feel it at all. It’s the fear of falling, or the thought of falling, that can be debilitating if you let it. But then there are other circumstances where a climber would rather not fall, situations where the fall line could hurt. Risk-taking is part of climbing, but in a way that is managed. Things can, after all, go devastatingly wrong.

And so I listened to my body and climbed what I knew I could. We were on rocks that were brittle, rocks that were a little bit creakier than we would have liked. Sometimes, climbing can just be a lot of fun. It doesn’t always have to hurt.

Zugspitze, Germany – July 2024