The helpless optimism of Spring: a compilation of solo hikes

(Suggestion: if you listen to music while reading, here is a playlist I would suggest)

It all started this year with my last trip to Frankenjura. It seemed like my climbing season came to a (very) early end. Yet, somehow, it felt like I needed this “resting break”, which seems a bit like an overstatement, because I haven’t really stopped. OK, I will explain you what I mean: last climbing trip to Frankenjura (end of April) I’ve managed somehow (and don’t ask me how) to injure my wrist.

At first, I thought I just slept wrongly on my wrist (doesn’t it happen to you? you slept in a weird position and your joints wake up feeling funny?). Until I couldn’t really move my hand without any pain. Yes, I did hear a snap during my climbing on that Saturday, but snaps and “crack” sounds are not uncommon to me. I know, I sometimes over-exceed myself, but nothing really triggered an alarm on that day and I kept climbing and typing (none of them a good thing for an injure wrist), instead of going to a doctor.

Now, to make the long story short: I was not able to really climb all May and June. Nor to sleep without pain, or in general to do anything without pain. Pain was a part of my existence. An undesirable part, but somehow a part that gave me an excuse to do something I seemed to need: stop climbing, now with a reason.

But, why? You might wonder. I don’t know if any of you knows Hazel Findlay (one of the most badass rock climbers), but she has been posting many things about grief on her Instagram account (for example). And I feel like somehow, someone, somewhere, understood me. Climbing is healing, is fun. But this year I didn’t feel it like that. Instead I’ve got attached to bouldering, to be alone in the woods and have time for myself, to heal. And despite of enjoying people’s company while climbing, I hadn’t had any willingness to go sport or multipitch climbing. Loneliness and time are sometimes the only thing we need. So, being injured has been now a reasonable excuse for me to tell people “I am not joining, sorry”. Which, in one hand awakens the FOMO in me, but on the other hand also quiets my mind.

Because it is hard to tell to people that you, from all, don’t want to climb. It is hard to explain to your climbing partners that you are not living in the present while climbing, and that you are extra scared of the heights, that you are not in flow and you are trying to recover that part inside you which feels at the moment a bit broken. It is hard that you are having panic attacks not related to climbing, but which explode faster while hanging from a rope. It is hard to explain the reasons why you are suddenly crying mid route, without people telling you that “it is going to be alright”. So, I have been seeking comfort in the boulders. But now, I found something else: really hard mountain trails.

And so it started. I’ve been packing my hiking gear: boots, poles, a tarp, my bivouac sack, my sleeping bag and pads, food and water and I go walking. Here is a short compilation of the main mountain hikes I’ve been doing the last months, solo. Only with my backpack, my mind, my emotions. Being the only supporter and the only one keeping me alive.

The Haute-Route: 200 km from Chamonix to Zermatt

Crossing the first snow fields out from Chamonix

Valais

Too heavy was an answer

My first trip started with 25 kilograms of fears and emotions in a rucksack. The directions were clear (it took me all May to plan it): I was leaving Chamonix and should arrive in Zermatt within the next 11 days. The how was more or less clear. The success was not on the table, but I saw for the first time the glance of optimism this year. I’ve planned a hike which would take me around 200 km mountain trails, with a daily elevation difference in average of 1000 m. Almost completely independent, sleeping in my tarp, carrying food and water for the day.

There were several things to consider: this year the snow level was relatively high at the end of May. The trails selected crossed passes around 3000 m high. It is not legal to sleep everywhere in the Alps. And there are different hazards, like wet avalanches, rock falls, wolves (that was a new one for me), glaciers retrieving, evening storms, among others. It was not the first time I was going to hike solo. But, it was the first time up for so long solo. I had the knowledge, the gear, the willingness. My backpack included: crampons, ice axe, ice screws, snowshoes, poles, food for at least 8 days, as well as many layers for the cold nights (just to name some things).

Sunset in Chamonix

One of my camping nights

Nature is a kind healer.

Genessis for comparison (on my rucksack size)

Despite my lack of expectations (I knew the chances of success were thin), I still ended up disappointed when I had to call my adventure off after 70 KM, due to the high risk of avalanches. I am willing to take some risks, but I am not suicidal. Still, I felt the disappointment creep into my system that evening in the mountain hut, while I discussed with the guardian about bringing my trip to a halt. I felt the relieve in her face when I told her the decision to come to an end, after two hours looking into a map, trying to find a lower altitude possible trail without adding a 100 extra km.

So, I am still thinking about pursuing my Haute Route solo this year, but let’s see how the conditions look like in the week I’ve planned it so far.

The Watzmann-Überschreitung 

Many (smaller) hikes happened in between: I visited my best friends in Annecy, I was in Turkey (and climbed and hiked), hike around my current city… Until I decided to venture once again to the mountains. I can’t climb, but why should that stop me from being in the only place where my mind is quiet: the mountains.

I did not actually cross the Watzmann ridge, as famous as it is and despite of having the “not so crowded” opportunity. I hiked up to bivouac hut, slept on the ridge and came down. The hike uphill (with almost a 20 kg backpack) was extremely hot. I can’t handle properly extreme heat, my body shuts after 30 degrees. Also another reason why to do hike which involved 2000 m elevation in one day, to get away from the heat.

The Watzmann ridge is not for everybody. It is exposed, polished limestone. Without any possible protection. So, I turned around. There are dumb ways to die, but I won’t chose this one. Which brought me to a complex moment of despair and disappointment about me, and my abilities as a climber. Oh, the one who is always hanging from a rope couldn’t handle a bit of exposure. But then I recalled, I haven’t really been exposed to heights this year (except for my multipitch climb in El Chorro in January). Which means: my brain is not used to this at the moment, and my primitive scared mind kicks in.

Random climbers on the summit

First part of the Watzmann Ridge

Starry nights

Random climbers from Watzmann Bivouac hut

Trying to be kind with myself, I hiked down determined to find my ways to get exposure: I am not loosing in one year that thing I have worked the most in the last decade: fighting against my fear of heights.

And then it hit me: easy Via Ferratas.

Vergessene Steige: Wetterstein through the Angerloch to the Frauenalpspitze

I bought a couple of books now (those of you who know me well, are probably laughing at me buying more books for climbing/hiking). One of them is called forgotten trails in the Bayern Alps (Vergessene Steige Bayerische Alpen), which fit me better than the Waltzmann (a circus with hundreds of people trying to cross a ridge).

The first 12 km of this hike are as boring as they could be. And then, something funny happens. You cross a magical imaginary portal, and you get into the Wetterstein region, where it all changes. This is one of the places I’ve found the most intriguing from all the mountain regions I’ve been. And also the one who remind me most of the times, that if the mountains wanted I could die. And I have never felt that way before. I never underestimate mountains, doesn’t matter the size. But I hardly feel threaten by them, I always feel home. But this place was different.

Starting from the moment when I stop at the first hut to get a cold drink. The hut inside was filled up with several pictures, but one that stayed in my head was one of a climber and a skeleton, the death. From then on, the mountains just seemed to be whispering in my ear: careful, dear.

I took the ferrata via the Angerloch to the Meiler-Hut. The hike is a T4 to T5 hike (a bit of scrambling), with a couple of sections protected by a cable and a ladder. After reaching the first valley, with an amazing view of the Wetterstein walls, it goes through stone debris. I’ve got lost from the path and ended up in real unstable terrain. But finally, you get out from the couloir and into the Frauenalpspitze, to a magical sunset.

Proud as I was, I set up to sleep (after 23 km hike and around 1000 m elevation). Just to be awaken by crazy wind guts and, to my horror, lightening in the horizon from a storm. But my forecast didn’t predict any. The radar didn’t show any. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t just stay there to see who was wrong or right. I knew not far away from there, there was a little viewpoint with a pavilion. But that implied walking in the darkness downhill an unknown cliff, where I already saw another memorial from someone who lost his life a couple of years ago.

Midnight, time to pack and go (I told you, the mountain just wanted to remind me I am just a tiny person). To face then a different horror: grass flies attracted by the light of my headtorch. If I had my headtorch with a decent luminosity, I was attacked by hundred of them (blinding me). So, I had to stop, turn off my lamp (which brought me into completely darkness, no idea where the floor was, neither the end of it), stay still for a couple of seconds and then turn it on and keep walking, but with the minimum luminosity possible for me. The horror was a real thing, when the path open itself to the wind guts, or was just a ghost of a cliff to each side (where the light was swallowed). “Why, do I do this to myself?”. 45 long min between my departure and my arrival onto my next sheltered stop. And finally, at 1:00 AM sleep.

Only for the foxes to wake me up with their screams at 3:00 AM. Then the birds. It was 5:00 AM and bright already. “Time to pack and go”, but I was surrounded by fog. 6:00 AM, down I went. Getting out from there was even more desperate than expected. The path is indeed forgotten and exposed. 2-3 hours later, however, I was bathing myself in a cold river water. I needed it, I needed that cold shower to get all the fears out of my body. But I didn’t seem to remember what my fears were. I was happy, proud, in peace and in one piece, back again to the boring forest.

I was really proud of myself

Approach to Angerloch ferrata

I miss climbing. But one part of me, feels like it is not the thing I will do the most this year. I actually climbed today, after 1 month rest ordered by the doctor. I am weak, and out of climbing shape. I know there is now the time to try to be kind to myself and recover slowly. But, it is hard to keep everybody’s pace around me.