Shit. I take a deep breath. I can no longer see the trail, the fog embraces me. Markings are few and far between and the trail descends steeply beside my feet. Where do we go from here? This was just one of the many situations…
Hadn’t the wind just blown from behind? And were those just small stones flying into my face? The forecast was actually for blue skies and the best hiking weather, I thought, as I felt my way alone through the dense fog from marker to marker at over 3,000 metres.
Small stones slide away under the soles of my feet and roll down the steep cliff into the valley. With my hands I look for the next grip on the rock to pull myself up a little further. Furrowed and jagged, the glacier rises before my eyes – next to it crouches…
“What have I gotten myself into?” I asked myself as I pulled myself over the last ledge and suddenly found myself in front of a steep, exposed rock face. At the top, between the clouds of mist, I saw the next blue and white marker shining…
Plop. Plop. The first raindrops fall on my face as I descend from last night’s campsite. Then the slow rhythm quickly turns into a staccato and the rain rushes down on me. I whip out my little secret weapon – my rain skirt. Erm, what? A skirt?
“With these shoes you can not possibly descend that next rocky stretch – THAT (points to hiking boots of my friend) are proper shoes for it!” says-scolds the older man indignantly, which we meet on the Prättigauer Höhenweg. And I understand him somehow, because…
The Engadine was calling – and I went. More precisely, hiked – on the Via Engadiana and up Piz Languard, between wild flower meadows, rugged mountain peaks and through fragrant larch forests. Follow me on a little journey…