Stage 12: Wandering Sheep and Vegetable Soup

Gruben to St. Nicolas

Thursday, July 18

Our day of rest yesterday, was well needed, because today's climb would bring a set of unique challenges.  The Hotel Schwarzhorn had welcomed many guests the day before, however, after an early typical Swiss breakfast, we headed up the mountain before most of the others.

The morning was cool, the incline steep, leading us through wet pastures and green forests.  Then, the climate and terrain changed to a harsh rocky valley, leading up to what looked like a snowy Col (mountain pass).  A few groups of French, 2 Americans and 2 Australians, we ha seen at the Hotel passed us.  We had spoken to the young American man, whose name was Adam.  Towards the pass, the Maltese passed us and I tried to keep up.

We passed a herd of cow, then the wind started to quicken and chilled us.  We changed into our rain gear (water proof parka, w.p. chaps, ad pack cover), which became extra hot, but protected us from the increasing rain as we continued to climb towards the col.  

After a shaggy herd of wandering sheep, a rocky switchback, led to a few snow drifts and more rocks. I  arrived at the Col, right after the Maltese couple, Andrew and Mariella.  However, my dad was still far down below with about 45 minutes to catch up. 

The top of the Col was like a wind tunnel, pushing wind and rain through you at an almost horizontal angle.  It was freezing!  And right over the pass, a steep snow bank that stretches down the valley.  I realized that waiting in the stinging rain for my dad was not the brightest idea, so in the cover of a pile of rocks and a trail marker, I stretched out a note to my dad: 

"Dad, I didn't want to wait in the rain, so I will see you at Jungen or St. Nicolas.  Be safe, Hans."

I sealed the note in a ziplock bag to protect it from the rain, placed in under a small rock in the center if the path, so he couldn't possibly miss it.  However, my dad never found the note...

In the tracks right begun the Maltese, I studied how they moved quickly from snow to rock to rock with stealth and ease.  I tried to mimic their method and gained a lot of ground in a short time.  The trail took us down the valley, through snow, streams, and eventually, a seemly endless mountainside of squarish boulders of all sizes, separated only by steep snow drifts and cliffs looking down gorges hundreds of feet deep.  

The rain had lessened by this time and I had moved ahead of the Maltese.  The trail now morphed into exposed rocky mountain step paths, where one wrong move could send a traveler down rocky falls without a bottom in sight.  However, with much risk, comes the epic panoramas which few people in the world get to experience.  I count myself blessed to view such exceptional displays of God's glory.  The trail had passed a bend, which revealed the Zermatt valley, shrouded in peaks higher than any skyscraper I had ever seen.  Small villages, appeared as miniatures, were scattered on the sides of the green mammoths looking down into the populous below.

As I increased in distance and time, I knew my dad was far behind me, in rain and steep paths.  Had he gotten my note?  Would he know where I would be waiting?  Was he ok? 

The path flattened out over looking the spectacular views, and I came across an American couple taking shelter under a rock-like cave.  We chatted for awhile, talking about their past hikes in the alps and the next village in my path, Jungen, and I asked them if they came across my dad, TJ please tell him I would be waiting in Jungen in a restaurant.  

I went in my way, descending past the rocky terrain, down winding, but sheer switchbacks, in mayo pastures occupied by the local inhabitants, namely, cows.  The way, entered a forest of pines, passing a lunching group of French, who passed us previously, down into the small hamlet of Jungen.  I must have taken an alternate route into town, because I was following the cattle steps and went into a cow farm, mud generously included.  As I approached the edge of the hamlet of Jungen, an unusual appearance of the Zermatt helicopter came in for a landing.  I had never seen a helicopter land so close before.  

The first house, I learned later was a cheese making home.  I wandered through the town, asking two small children, " Wo ist der restaurant?", to which the responded with such eloquent Swiss German, I had no idea what they were saying, so like with many children, I just smiled and nodded.

The author of our guide book, "Chamonix to Zermatt", Kev Renolds, claimed that this was, "the loveliest alp hamlet between Chamonix and Zermatt" and I found out later that he was right.   

The path through Jungen, marked with signposts, led to a small family-owned restaurant on a slope overlooking the valley far below.  I entered and was welcomed by an older woman and her granddaughter in quant serving room.  I ordered a coffee, not knowing how long I would wait for my father.  The warm liquid felt so good to my rain-chilled body, I ordered a vegetable soup as well. And waited.  I started the stopwatch on my cell phone to track how long I was waiting for my dad to get I the town.  30 minutes, and no sign of him.  I was really far ahead of him and have a faster pace, so I should be waiting awhile. 1 hour.  Had the Anerican couple delivered my message?  Had they seen my dad?  Had he gotten hurt?  

There was a group of Swiss walkers in the tiny restaurant and they asked if I would move to another side, so they could eat together, and I did.  One of the gentleman bought me another coffee for my trouble.  2 hours.

I went outside in the lawn if picnic tables, overlooking the the scenic valley beyond.  Still no sign of Bob.  I had told the owner and a few of the locals I was looking for him.  Had he hurt himself?  Did he get lost?  I was contemplating going up to look for him cater 2.5 hours, but then he rounded the corner of the restaurant.  I was relieved to see him.  He had wandered off the path, but found his way.  He had gotten the message from the American couple, but had missed my note in the bag.  

After buying him a cup of coffee, we headed down the long trail for about an hour, before arriving in St. Nicolas at the trains station.  I asked a bar tender where the cheapest place to sleep was, and recognized the name from our book, Pension Walliserkeller.  

I waited for my dad to descend the trail in front of the station, and after he arrived, we walked downtown and found the refuge.  We discovered that this establishment was already full a d the owner called some other places to see if there was room.  He didn't have any luck.  He did have a 1 bed bedroom, for which we supplied another mattress for the already cramped room.  He gave us a discounted rate for the room and we were thankful for a place to stay.  After a very needed shower, we came downstairs to find the young American couple, Adam and Heather, with an older couple from Australia.  They were also finishing the Haute Route.  

We talked with them awhile, then Dad and I went across the street to a restaurant and ordered beer and fondue-- it was very good, but not enough, so she brought a 2nd bowl.  After saying good night to the young couple, we went to bed.