The German word “Hochtour” literally translates to “high tour” and the term is used to describe a trek through the Alps that passes through snow or over a glacier. As it’s been in Europe where I’ve become involved in mountaineering, I don’t know if there’s a single English word for this concept. I also don’t know how trekking through the Alps compares to multi-day trekking in North America, where I’m from. But I do know that my first Hochtour, accompanied by my partner and two girlfriends, left me hungry for more.

Based on available time and building in a buffer for the weather (summer is thunderstorm season in the Alps), we decided on a four-day trek along the Berliner Höhenweg, a famous nine-day route in the Zillertal Alps in Austria. Based on a weather report from friends who were in the area at the beginning of June, we changed some of our packing to include essentials for snow, which had come late and heavy. We added an ice axe, crampons, trekking poles, climbing harnesses, carabiners, and a rope; all of these items are needed to cross a glacier (stay tuned for a blog post!) and all could be helpful in snow. In the best case, we wouldn’t need anything but the crampons and trekking poles, but preparation is key.

Day 1: Breitlahner to Berliner Hütte

Our Hochtour began with a warm-up hike from the long-term parking lot at the Breitlahner restaurant and guesthouse to the Berliner Hütte, the first of the guesthouses (“Hütte” means “hut” but that has a different connotation in English) to be built in the Zillertal Alps. We ascended 780 meters in just over 9 kilometers, arriving shortly before the rain.

As we would quickly learn, we moved rather more slowly than the posted time estimates. This was likely due to inexperience within our group, but we also suspected that the estimated times described perfect conditions without backpacks. (Or so we told ourselves.)

The way led us past rivers and waterfalls . . .

. . . through fields of flowers, including our only wild edelweiss right at the Berliner Hütte . . .

. . . and alongside grazing cattle, whose gently tinkling bells accompanied us long before and after the cattle themselves were in view . . .

We were, of course, surrounded the whole time by mountains . . .

. . . and passed a World War I memorial on the way dedicated to the alpine club members who had died in the war.

This was the first of many memorials that we passed along our route, constant reminders that the mountains are not a playground.

Ready for a celebratory radler, a mixture of beer and lemonade known in the UK as a shandy, and a shot of Zirbe, a liquor made from a type of pine found in the Alps region, we reached the Berliner Hütte at 2,042 meters.

From here we could see where we’d be going next. We turned in early after a hearty dinner and a few rounds of cards; the following day would be a big one.

Day 2: Berliner Hütte – Furtschaglhaus

We woke to rain that came in waves over the course of the day, during which we would ascend 1,060 meters, descend 810 meters, and cover close to 9 kilometers.

For a variety of reasons, the way took us much too long. We were lucky that the original forecast calling for thunderstorms had changed, but the rain that blew in instead was nasty enough, and it was there that I realized I needed a new rain coat.

We began following the trail markers over sheets of rock that gave way to a trail that wound through scrubby trees and bushes marking the end of the tree line. The tiny alpine flowers provided pops of colour through the fog.

It wasn’t long before we needed to cross a river, one that is not always as high as it was when we were there. We looked for the most accessible points in the direction of the bridge that we very much needed.

Shortly thereafter, the rain cleared and we were greeted first by waterfalls, mystical as the clouds pulled away to reveal mountains . . .

. . . and then by goats sharing our path.

The mountains grew even more imposing . . .

. . . and we soon encountered the conditions that would be with us for the coming hours. We continued over rocks and boulders as the clouds came and went . . .

. . . and reached the first of the patches of snow that we would cross, all of which were larger and deeper than usual at this time of year. As we continued and the conditions became more technically challenging, crampons and trekking poles would prove their worth many times over. The winter child in me was delighted.

It started to rain again when we exited the largest of the snow fields so far and began the scramble in the direction of our planned summit. Unable to see or feel my fingers as I scrambled alone over jagged and unpredictable rock, voices of my friends somewhere below me, I had a moment of panic unlike anything I’d experienced before. It was neither graceful nor collected, but I continued to move until I reached a point where I didn’t know how to go further. A friend reached me and, feeling immediately better for not being alone, we pressed on together. This experience stayed with me for the rest of our trip and I handled myself much better on a different mountain later on (stay tuned!). There is a first time for everything and I know why I got scared. I also know why, in retrospect, I didn’t need to be. The key, at least for me, is working with the mountain rather than fighting against it. And this is something I had to learn.

The rain was kind enough to stop for a while as we reached the summit of Schönbichler Horn at 3,133 meters. Exhausted from the efforts of the previous hours, which had us well behind schedule but clearly past the threat of thunderstorms, we did not linger long, aware of how much farther we had to go.

We would find ourselves in snow multiple times over the next several hours, using crampons only when absolutely required in an effort to save time. We were cold and tired, the rain became relentless, and the difficulties within the group became more apparent.

Descending to Furtschaglhaus at 2,295 meters took much longer than it should have and I have never been more grateful for a hot shower. Those three glorious minutes were our longest shower of the trip and worth every cent.

Day 3: Furtschaglhaus to Olpererhütte

In comparison to the previous day, our path to the Olpererhütte was far less physically demanding. At over 10.5 kilometers, this was our longest day yet, but with only a 510 meter descent and 610 meter ascent. The five flat kilometers in the middle of the route followed the Schlegeis Reservoir, and we were looking forward to a little break.

Although we hadn’t had the energy to notice, the landscape had changed during our descent the day before. We were out of fields of snow and jagged stone and back to grass, gentle rocks, flowers, and waterfalls.

As when we first began, we passed grazing cattle as we made our way down to the Schlegeis Reservoir.

The route is beloved for day hikes as well as being part of the Berliner Höhenweg, and I can understand why. The bright flowers and the reservoir in bright blue with the mountains all around are rather photogenic.

However, the change of landscape came in stark contrast to the challenging solitude of being deep in the mountains. After some time on a gravel path with a heavy backpack, passing day hikers in sneakers and sandals, I was looking forward to being back “up there” with people who understood what we were doing and why we were doing it.

The ascent to the Olpererhütte, while full of pretty views . . .

. . . comprised of a clear path that zig-zagged along the side of the mountain. There was no way-finding using markers, no need to stop and think before putting one foot in front of the other. And because of its straightforwardness, it was busy and crowded. While not a path that I’d recommend doing in sandals, there were plenty of hikers doing just that. Choosing strategic points to get by them was about as challenging as it got, and we reached the Olpererhütte rather uninspired.

But being greeted by the resident animals was charming and it was comfortable to sit outside bundled up after the steep walk up to 2,389 meters.

The atmosphere of the hut changed after the day hikers left and the rest of us settled down to dinner, drinks, and cards. Feeling refreshed after our easy day, we spent our last night in the mountains in laughter.

Day 4: Olpererhütte to Breitlahner

We had planned our route so that we could walk back down to where we’d parked without the need for buses or trains. At slightly over 10.5 kilometers, this meant a 270 meter ascent and then a huge descent of 1,390 meters. Once again, we were very grateful for the trekking poles. We would pass another hut, Friesenberghaus, on the way.

The day started scrambling over boulders and small snow fields, aspects of a Hochtour to which we had become accustomed and that I really enjoyed. There’s an element of playfulness amidst the need to be sure-footed and deliberate.

As usual, we were greeted by cows. This time, though, they seemed to enjoy the sweeping vistas as much as we did. Perhaps it is not only humans who feel tiny and inconsequential when finding themselves in so much mighty, majestic nature.

After a round of steep snow fields, the landscape began to change yet again and alpine flowers appeared.

We saw Friesenberghaus before we reached it, picking our way down through particularly steep sections of snow, several of which had us first ascending, which was rather easier.

We stopped for a bowl of soup to get out of the rain that had picked up. It was interesting to note the bit of history on the wall, thanking the members of the Berlin section of the alpine club for their resistance against the exclusion of Jewish members from the German and Austrian alpine clubs. There is little place for exclusion in the mountains.

I also appreciated the sense of humour at Frisenberghaus in which a stuffed animal was employed as a weather station.

Checking our watches, we left before the rain stopped. We weren’t the quickest and had a ways to go.

The way continued to grow grassier as it wandered over rocks and streams. Flowers continued to appear and then scrubby bushes and trees. The air grew more humid and the clouds floated upward.

The final descent was long and we knew we were nearly there when our way headed directly through the trees. The mountains were above us again and we were too far from where we’d started to see where we’d been. Our trekking poles showed good signs of wear by now.

---

We spent one more night together to recover. We cooked a carbohydrate-heavy meal, drank wine, showered for free without looking at the time. We laughed and shared photos and congratulated one another.

We had been in the mountains, had experienced the rhythms of weather, the physical and emotional cycles of a body under strain, the atmosphere of a guesthouse filled with people who love mountaineering. We had been in the mountains, swept away, taken in, and in awe. Mountains are truly the most beautiful place.

And as glad as I was for a real bed in a room shared with only one person, I missed it immediately.

“The mountains are calling and I must go.” -John Muir