The Confident Hiker

October 2025

I think losing trust in oneself is not a rare occasion, I believe that we sometimes lose touch with ourselves and forget that we are not just one state, one moment, one feeling, one thing that defines us. We are made up of the sum of our life so far. The good and the bad moments, the challenging and the easy ones. And ultimately we know ourselves best and see ourselves clearest, when we are in a raw environment. And by raw I mean, unfiltered and – in a way – unchangable. Nature provides that for me in the most kind and honest way I can imagine. And if I walk, a backpack strapped on and following a trail, I carefully composed myself, I am as close to nature and myself as I can get.

And so I knew that this autumn, after months that I spent in poor health, which left me mentally drained, I needed to go walk on my own. To get reacquainted with myself, my strength, my wit, my capability for solving at-hand problems and my ability to deeply admire.

My ultimately very last minute decision to leave in four days payed of and I got hotel rooms at all three overnight destinations. While I was familiar with both Schwarzsee and Charmey from a previous hike, I have never before been to Wattenwil nor the mysterious Ottenleuenbad, nestled in the Gantrisch Nature Park. And that to me was the perfect combination of familiarity and uncharted waters.

And as I came to learn very soon – uncharted territory makes for challenges in many ways.

Day 1: Wattenwil to Ottenleuenbad

The first day, a foggy Tuesday started very early; I got to drive with Sam, who went to work, to Basel and boarded a train to Thun. The first half of my journey was shrouded in darkness and all I could see through the train window was my tired face in a slightly distorted reflection. The first daylight came when I arrived at the busy train station and made my way to the bus stops, sharing the bus to Wattenwil with only one other passenger. Wattenwil is a small village and already part of the Gantrisch Nature Park. Typical Bernese Chalets and barns stood tall against the grey foggy background. I was relieved to find an open Coop Supermarket and a Tea room for a coffee and some breakfast and some last minute shopping. There is always one essential thing I forget when heading out for a multiple day hike. This time it was a power bank and tissues. And candy. As I sat at my table, surrounded by regulars twice times age chatting and exchanging village gossip, a familiar feeling set in. When I go hiking on my own – especially multiple days – I am either deeply excited and full of energy or I get this sensation of a slight pull downwards. Like a hedgehog rolling itself to a tiny ball, shielded from the outside world. I can’t really tell, which feeling comes when and why. And I have learned to just take them. Always sure, that as soon as I am out on the trail all I feel is content and reassurance. After finishing my breakfast, two croissants with strawberry jam and an overly sweet and chocolatey Cappuccino, I set out. I knew that the first half of todays hike would be primarily climbing to reach the ridge and the “Gantrisch Panorama Trail” and with my backpack being particularly heavy, I approached the whole thing with respect. It has been a long time now, that I carried all the luggage on my own. My last multi-day hikes where all in the company of Sam. But while I felt exhaustion fall upon me faster than other times, I also appreciated the sensation of heaviness on my back and knowing that I carry all my weight all by myself. My first hotel didn’t have a restaurant nor were there any shops in the little village up there, so I carried dinner and breakfast with me.

The sky was a monotonous grey color and were it not for the spectacular colors of the forest ahead of me, one might have almost called this first part boring, but the promise of what was to come, once I entered the dense woods made my heart tingle; when it was not beating at super speed from all the climbing. I learned, that looking back down to where you came from, serves multiple purposes: you get to acknowledge how far you’ve already come – motivation, see a different view – change of perspective and you get to catch your breath – recovery.

One of the closest relationship I would end up forming on those four days, besides the one with myself, was with the many cows along the trails. I have always been fond of the kind looking big four legged animals, but found a new connection with them this time. Their soft long stares, their calm demeanor were truly such a reassuring element of my journey.

I reached the edge of the forest and was greeted by loud sawing sound echoing through the trees and red-white tape closing off the trail. Forestry work prohibited me from continuing and I instantly felt a wave of disheartenment. This would prevent me from reaching the Obere Gurnigel and ultimately the Gurnigelpass without making a large detour or fall back on taking the bus up to the pass. Ultimately I did decide on the latter and took an alternate route to reach the nearest bus stop. I was lucky – there were few buses driving and I would reach the last one of the day. My spirits lifted with every step while strolling on a windy path through the woods, the roaring sound of the saw and shouting of the forester fading slowly.

Along the trail stood all kinds of mushrooms, like little trail guardians pointing out the right direction for me. I have long had a fascination with them. With their big variety and their various shapes, almost like little pieces of art.

After a little lunch in the cold mist I caught the bus at Gurnigelbad. But before I could properly sit down and warm up, I, along with all the other passengers came to learn that the road ahead was closed due to a car accident. So I decided to get out at the next stop and get back on the hiking trail via an unmarked forest path. I was now fully in the thickest of fog, I couldn’t see much further than my own stretched out hand and all sounds were absorbed besides my breathing and my steps on the gravel road. As I moved ahead, the silhouettes of tall trees appeared, standing quietly on the side of the road and then disappeared again behind me as I moved further up the trail. I started to wonder, if I will at all get above the the clouds and fog; it was hard to believe at this point. And as though I had to prove anything to anyone, I began to feel disappointment in myself for this. And just as I started to fall into a state of questioning this whole journey, I felt a hint of warmth from above. As I looked up, I could make out a trace of blue and light through the fog and I knew that with just a couple more steps, I would enter a whole new world, covered in sun. Tears of joy ran down my face, as I made out the forest ahead of me, sunlight breaking through the branches, soft thin remaining wafts of mist traveling through the air.

But before I could fully take in the rewarding moment, I noticed the daunting red/white striped tape ahead of me, once again cutting me off from the trail. Another forestry work closure. And this time there was no alternate route. There was nowhere else I could go but back. And possibly accept, that I wouldn’t reach my destination. In any way since there were no more buses going to Ottenleuenbad. After an attempt to reach the foresters before they cut another tree down failed and the lady of the Gantrisch Nature Park on the phone couldn’t give me any advice, I turned around. “This is it, I am going home”, I said to myself. And this is where I learned another lesson about the kindness of strangers that is often so easily forgotten or not believed in anymore in todays day and age. As I made my way back to the trail closure, I saw a woman, calmly standing with a slight smile on her face. “Are you part of the forest work?” I asked her and she responded that she was on her way for a walk up on the Gurnigelpass for some sunlight. She has her car down at the road and couldn’t pass because of the accident she said, “But maybe the road’s back open by now”. She invited me to join her and gave me a tissue to wipe my tears and smudged mascara. And this is how I met Elisabeth, a farmer from the area with a love for mushrooms that she likes to cook the same way her late mother did, a deep bond to cows and a fear of heights, that she overcame to fulfill the livelong dream of climbing one of the big mountains recently. We sat in her car for a solid 45 minutes, before the road opened back up and she drove us to the car park at Gurnigelpass. While she went to the Selibüel, I started to walk again on the green marked Gantrisch Panorama Trail. Under a blue sky, a warm sun and next to the Gantrisch mountain range, above a sea of clouds and with a newfound energy. I was back on the Gantrisch Panorama Trail and nothing would come between me and my destination going forward. I truly felt like entering a new realm both outside as well as inside myself.

The trail very gently and steadily ascended up to the highest point, the Schüpfenflue, from where I had a view both over the Gantrisch chain with Nüneneflue, Gantrisch, Bürgle and Ochse and even the snow covered Alps further in the back as well as the Bernese Mittelland on the other side. While I got to admire the mountain peaks and alps in the south, I couldn’t see anything in the north but an ocean of white fluffy clouds. And somehow that made it all the more special.

The descent started right after reaching the Schüpfenflueh and slowly the clouds and the fogs started to surround me again until I was again fully submerged in thick gray. I reached the Schwarzenbühlpass, where I would tackle another short but steep climb to the Gäggersteg, an impressive wooden footbridge that with several zick zack direction changes leads over and allows a view over the newly growing forest, which was destroyed by the storm Lothar in December of 1999. In Switzerland ten million trees were knocked down by the storm. While the storm also created large financial damages, I am always touched, with how much nature was destroyed, homes of animals but of course also of humans. And in contrast, one can see the abilities of both human as well animals and nature to rebuild themselves, to reinvent themselves. Even if it takes a long time. My steps echoed as I walked over the loosely with wire mesh covered wooden beams. Usually one would have spectacular views over the mountain range from the Gäggersteg; today of course all I could make out, was the wooden structure itself halfway hidden in the fog.

After passing another vantage point at Pfyffe, I began my descent towards Ottenleuenbad. With the loss of sunlight under the clouds and the shorter days in the year, I started to notice the nightfall and somehow suddenly felt slightly uneasy. I picked up the pace and was relieved when I saw the place name sign ahead of me. The hotel didn’t have a reception but functioned fully with an electronic self Check In, which luckily functioned without a hitch. I felt so instantly comfortable when I entered the building and passed the rustically decorated lounge and was all the more surprised by the modern elevator, that brought me to the second floor and my room at the end of the corridor. I was at home. The room was warm and cozy and I let out a happy sigh while looking out the window into a foggy landscape. As it got dark outside, I took a hot shower and started preparing my dinner. I sat at the little table in peace, deeply grateful for having made my destination.

I fell asleep in this fogy cocoon and as I shortly woke up in the middle of the night, I drew the curtains and was blessed with a clear starry night. The mountain ridge was so distinctly visible under the light of the moon and the stars. And I was wondering, if there would ever be a better way to fall back asleep than with this view.

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Day 2: Ottenleuenbad to Schwarzsee

After a very sheltered, warm and restful night, I woke up to a clear sky and the impressive Gantrisch mountain range right outside my window. The fog and the clouds had not returned over night and the sun shone brightly into the room. The Gantrisch Nature park gives a lot of value to actual darkness in the nights. Cities and more and more also smaller villages are in constant artificial light which can have a deep impact on us and nature. In a big city the nightsky is 40 times as bright as in untouched nature; in contrast, the Gantrisch region only shows a 0.3 to a maximum of 2.5 times brightening. While this helps plants to not get seasonally confused (and withdraw their sap too late, which makes them vulnerable to cold temperatures) and leaves animals who are nocturnal (such as light-shy bat species or frogs and toads) to keep their rhythm, it also has a big influence on us humans, especially on our quality of sleep. I am convinced, that I slept better than in a long time thanks to this dark sky. And on the same time I was deeply touched to read about the impact us humans can have here – one way or another. It is such a big chain of events and consequences that are triggered and we can choose to support the natural state, which maybe sometimes means to slightly go back to how things used to be. My newfound admiration for a dark sky lingers firmly to this day.

I decided to take my time this morning, which is something I rarely do on a multi day hike. Usually I can’t wait to get back out on the trail and get moving. But this time, while I was looking forward to continue my journey, I also felt so truly happy in this hotel, that I gave myself more time. I ate my porridge, drank my coffee and even did some Yoga before packing up my things.

First things first, I had to make my way back up from Ottenleuenbad to the Gantrisch Panorama Trail up on the ridge. At the Horbüelpass I took a left turn and was so pleased with the prospects of walking across from the mountains that fast became new points of fascination and deep admiration for me. I was intrigued by the topography of this area. The deep valley next to me hidden under a bed of fog and clouds; cascading fields of grass going 700 meters down to the river Kalte Sense (translated Cold Sense). And the steep rugged rocks of the mountains on the other side agains the clearest bluest sky.

Even though I’d just started my section, I couldn’t resist a break with this panorama and getting further acquainted with the mountains across from me; the Märe, Ochse, Widdersgrind and of course the Gantrisch himself, who I’ve left behind already but still got a glimpse of, every time I looked to my left.

Sitting there I got to thinking about our desire to keep moments going forever. I make the bold assumption, that I am not alone in knowing this feeling and how much it can challenge our ability to stay in the present moment, which paradoxically might take away from our beautiful moment. I’ve always admired the people that can just go with the flow, inhale every feeling, every image, every scent and peacefully move on when the time has come.

I packed my things back up to Led Zeppelin’s “Leaving California”, strapped my noticeably lighter backpack back on and picked up my hike along the ridge. Knowing that I will ultimately end back up up in the thick fog below me frustrated me at first but at this point I was fully in the motion of “whatever comes will be amazing and adventurous”. I was here to walk. And walk I will.

I felt the trail gently starting to descend and wafts of fog swiftly moved across the path. The air started to smell musty and the warmth of the sunlight slowly disappeared. At Obere Hällstätt I stopped to put on some layers of clothing. It is fascinating how fast a little less sunlight has an effect on the temperature. And not only that, the atmosphere changes also. And this is not a matter of more or less value. Even though it naturally can feel like that when coming from a clear blue sky, a view of a mountain panorama, warmth and light to a grey foggy scenery. But today I managed to fully embrace whatever the trail – and the weather had in store for me. And my journey was so much better for it. Because not only did I see some beautiful nature art; spiderwebs covered in dew that made them look like dainty strings of pearls or houses half hidden, their silhouettes emerging from the thick grey mist and paths seemingly leading to nowhere, I also managed to let go (at least partially) of worries of the near future.

Having expected to end up and remain in the fog for the rest of my hike, I was thoroughly surprised to come back into the light and a clear view through the valley, almost reminiscent of Rivendell, the home to the elves in the Lord of the rings saga. The vibrant colors of the leaves in the trees were virtually glowing against the grey sky, rays of sunshine illuminated the meadows down in the valley and in the distance, specs of blue promised a clear view. I made out the silhouettes of the mountains Schwyberg, Chällihorn and Kaiseregg surrounding the Schwarzsee, proudly sitting enthroned yonder behind the slowly moving clouds.

Originally I had planned to still tackle a rather large detour over the Gross Schwyberg, but having arrived at Zollhaus, standing on the bridge leading over the river, I felt the pull – quite literally – to walk through the colorful forest along the riverbank. What started as a somewhat lifeless path through a barren industrial area, soon evolved into a walk under a golden roof of leaves gently dancing in the wind. The river “Sense” was named the most beautiful river by WWF and is one of the last remaining wild rivers in the Alpine region.

Sometimes when I put myself in front of two different trail options, I keep questioning, if the decision I made was the right one. Today however I found myself grateful and certain in my change in plans. I passed peacefully grazing cows, the animal that fast had become the spirit animal of those four days of hiking and I crossed the river over bridges, admiring the low standing sun who lovingly laid her light over the flowing water, making it shimmer.

The silence almost felt fragile, like a carefully presented gift of this nature, the river, the trees, the little stones that lined the way and the animals who had their home here. Everything seemed like a landscape made from thin, fine origami paper. While I had beautiful and at times almost overwhelming views over vast valleys and rugged tall mountain ranges, there was an intimacy to this trail that appeared to be just what my heart longed for towards the end of todays section.

At the end of my river journey I reached Rohrmoos, a fen and amphibian breeding ground of national importance. The straw swayed gently in the wind, and there was an occasional rustling in the thicket of marsh plants, although I never got to see who was hiding there.

The Schwarzsee was not far and soon I had arrived at the shore of the calm dark lake, which is according to legends so black since a giant washed his feet in the water. While resting my feet at the shore of the lake and observing the ducks on the water, moving like little speedboats, I started to notice my growling stomach and despite it already being three in the afternoon, I decided to have lunch at the lake restaurant. Calmly enjoying my coconut cream soup and a cold non alcoholic beer, I became aware of the different energy in the fully packed restaurant. Old couples, who seemed to come here every day for an afternoon coffee and bickering about stuff they disagreed on, families on vacation with kids, loudly demanding another ice cream and little hiking groups vigorously chatting about their next section. It took me a moment to ease in to this dynamic while also staying in my peaceful little bubble. But with the warm sun on my face and the quiet splash of small waves along the shore, I felt relaxation slowly spread through my body.

I decided to take the slightly longer route around the lake to reach my hotel. A familiar path, at least for a short while, which I took in 2021 with Sam and my cousin Joris. And it wouldn’t be the last familiar surrounding from that previous four-day adventure.

The weather slowly started to change, beginning with the ever so slightly stronger pushier wind and grey clouds wrapping themselves around the mountains. By the time I had reached the hotel, the sky turned grey. Every time I am again fascinated how fast weather changes and rings in a new chapter. For me that chapter was settling in, a warm shower, an early dinner and good nights sleep, knowing I have reached my home for tonight.

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Day 3: Schwarzsee to Charmey

For the second night in a row I woke up feeling fresh and recovered, even though it was a noticeable difference to the dark quiet night in Ottenleuenbad. At last nights dinner I still rerouted todays section a little bit or rather, gave myself various options depending on my energy levels and mostly the weather progression. This morning the sky was grey and the lake was covered with wafts of myst. I sat alone in the breakfast room overlooking the water and enjoyed my quiet breakfast. Unlike yesterday, I was very ready to set out today. And so I packed up my room, payed at the front desk, wrapped myself in all my layers and started walking.

I had planned in a little detour to the waterfall of Schwarzsee, which is only about ten minutes of extra time. According to the Fribourg regions website, the waterfall is supposed to have magical powers and lays in a little quaint forested valley. I was all alone when I reached the waterfall, falling 30 meters down a vertical wall. I was impressed by the force of the water hitting the rocks below and took a moment to take some of those magical powers and that force for my upcoming climbing ascent.

The ascent through the forest was steep but I felt still full of energy, my hiking poles swinging in an uplifting rhythm. One last look back down to the Schwarzsee and then it felt as if I am truly entering todays new hiking chapter. The landscape seemed different as did the weather. Dark blue sky made it seem as if a thunderstorm was coming any moment but I soon learned that it had nothing to do with a storm but rather with the sunny blue sky being very close above but still hidden behind a layer of fog. I made my way through the valley, passing Unter Recardets. While walking through this enchanted vale, along a small river stream, I came to appreciate the virtue of really looking around. Because had I kept my eyes solely on the trail ahead of me and on the eye-catching sun covered tree further at the end of the valley, I would have missed the little mushrooms growing in the light green moss on the tree trunks or the little birds talking to each other all the way up in the tree. And I would have missed the small golden shining deciduous trees that stood on the slope to my left. As I was holding my phone up to make a picture, my gaze wandered further upwards, where it for a moment seemed as if my imagination played tricks on me. Were they really there? These tall, curved shadows? I let out a reverent exclamation as I realized that those were the silhouettes of Les Recardets, a mountain ridge which also function as a language border. Having seen them on the map, I didn’t think much of it but standing at their feet now, it felt as if I was granted an unexpected audience with something far more important. So I took my time to soak it all in before continuing my hike upwards. It is those moments that are such an individual experiences and where one knows that it is not possible to encounter it exactly the same way again.

As I continued the climb up towards that one tree revering in the sunlight, I felt a feeling that I get to experience rarely these days: “anything is possible”, “I can do anything”. I don’t know what it was; the mountain ridge, the sky that now started to clear up, letting me enter in a realm of an abundance of light or the realization how much my body had adapted to the weight on my back and the climbing. And as if he heard me letting out sighs of content, a dog came running up to me, tail wagging joyfully, sniffing my hands and looking so deeply and directly into my eyes, that I couldn’t help but tearing up. It felt like getting a send off by a guardian of this place and a deep, honest expression of recognition. Having arrived at the junction of the various hiking trails, I knew that I wanted to appreciate this place and spend a little more time with Les Recardets. I sat down close to the tree that I had seen since entering the valley, across from the mountain ridge and had some tea and trail mix. And once again the sentiment of having to leave this magical place at some point started creeping up within me. And though I believe I understood the necessity of this already a little better than at the beginning of my hike, I was unable to not feel sadness or fear that this was the nicest part of todays section and I would feel sad or disappointed for the rest of the hike. And so I let it happen. I cried, sobbed even and allowed myself to do so trying not to judge. And as the tears stopped, I was ready to leave. I packed up my things and continued on the little narrow trail up to the ridge. For a short moment I was worried about the height and exposedness, but there was nothing scary about it. It is however in my opinion the most challenging part for the ones among us with a fear of heights.

The trail led down a steep slope towards the Alp Balista, nestled in another valley and within minutes the beautiful Recardets were out of sight. Standing at another waypoints crossroads, I had to decide for the first time, which path of my various options I want to choose; I decided to tackle the longer option, which proved to be the right decision for today. Right after passing the alpine hut, the trail started ascending and took a sharp bend around the hill. In the bend I ran into a fellow hiker who was admiring the impressive view over the tall mountains in the distance. “Amazing isn’t it?”, she said. “Yes, sometimes one doesn’t really want to leave those views”, I responded and after saying goodbye I continued on, leaving her to enjoy the view in silence. Walking along the ridge, I somewhat unexpectedly got another glimpse of my mountain ridge and a smile spread across my face. Ahead of me rolling hills, a winding path and further in the distance the Schwyberg hill range. And to my left the mountains La Patta and La Berra, the latter of which I intended to climb later. Walking on this path somehow felt as if my chest grew three sizes; I seemed to expand into all directions, becoming one with the wind, the grass below me, growing into the blue sky, flooded with the warm golden autumn sunlight and with every step I could peacefully let go of the places I’ve been before and have felt at ease and in touch with everything. I came to understand, that “letting go” is not “abandoning”; it is not “turning my back on it” and it is not “goodbye”. It is allowing myself to gratefully be ready for new beauty and new sensations. Without comparing. It is learning to understand, that continuance can show itself in different ways.

And I love how those winding trails can constantly lead you back to places you have already passed but then higher up, lower down or from a different angle. Even if you don’t pass through them again literally, they keep being with you.

I walked past an alpine fen close to La Spielmannda, a place that appears to be surrounded by mystery and the legend of a little fiddler who used to charm the locals by playing wild sounds on his bow that at times evoked the murmurs of the forest and at others the splashing of a spring, drawing nature closer through his music. The Alp, named after the little fiddler, is until this day a natural burial ground: the ashes of more than a hundred people are buried there. Including, according to the legend, the little fiddler himself, who is said to have been swallowed by the earth right there in a small, flower-filled hollow. Sadly I didn’t actually cross this mythical area, as I only learned about its existence later. But it is now one of many places I plan to visit, when I return. Sometimes simply passing close to a site with a strong energy, anchored in legends and stories older than oneself can be enough to catch a whim of its spirit and I do believe that is what I felt, as I crossed the crest next to the gentle shallow basin.

At the crossroads to La Patta I turned to the path on the left and entered a small piece of forest, crossing little shaky moss covered wooden bridges over small creeks, before arriving at the beautifully located Buvette de l’Haute Chia offering views in nearly every direction one looks, where I contemplated a coffee for a moment but decided against it due to the advanced time of the day. At around two in the afternoon, the sun seemed to already lower, even though the sky still shone in a vibrant, bright blue.

I continued on across the ridge towards the summit of La Berra. The climb was a little challenging in parts, steeply uphill in the warm afternoon sun; but not exposed in any way, letting me enjoy the majestic views. And while I was climbing further and further up, I realized – though sweating and panting – how much easier it all became with every day. I could do this for many more days to come.

But despite feeling full of energy, I decided to skip hiking all the way up to La Berra. As I arrived at another vantage point a bit before the last climb, I felt a deep sense of peace and belonging, while sitting down and enjoying a snack and some cold water. Only a few other people were scattered around me, lying contentedly in the grass, sitting next to each other quietly chatting, pointing out peaks in the distance. And in this unifying atmosphere I wanted to stay, before making my way down to La Valsainte. I ate some more of the sweet little gummy bears, took another look around me, strapped my backpack on and started my hike down into the valley. I am getting better at this “leaving part”, I thought to myself.

The trail down was very steep at times, winding over pastures and past little alpine huts and grazing cows, with the occasional farmer passing me by on his tractor. Deep, delicate wisps of fog drifted rapidly across the meadows. My toes started a slow but undeniable protest against the steady descent, by pinching with every step and my knees soon joyfully joined in. I was glad when I arrived down on even ground at the monastery complex, even though positively sliding down that slope was also somewhat exhilarating. The Carthusian monastery La Valsainte was founded in 1295 and is the last remaining active Carthusian monastery in Switzerland. The monks who live there, live their life in silence and solitude and therefore apart from a small chapel, the interior of the complex cannot be visited. But even from outside the monastery looked impressive; with the roofs of the houses behind the wall glistening in the evening light that broke through the grey clouds.

I crossed the river Javro and from here on out the trail led slightly above along the Javro Valley. The sky had changed from blue to grey, the sun had disappeared and some of the mountains slowly vanished behind the clouds and the fog. A biting wind urged me to walk faster and large flocks of starlings flew overhead, like black clouds dancing, calling to each other in a buzzing sound, moving towards Charmey, my final destination for today.

I reached Charmey and my hotel in the village center shortly before dark. Another hot shower, another nourishing dinner and some conversations with my table neighbors marked the end of an amazing day full of adventure. I fell fast asleep deeply and peacefully.

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Day 4: Charmey to Broc

I got up early and enjoyed a very varied breakfast in the cozy wooden breakfast room of the hotel. Today would be a short day along the Lac de Montsalvens to the village of Broc. The weather was grey and clouds hung low in the sky. It was a day for most of my layers I could tell; no sun to warm me up along the trail and no heavy ascents to bring some heat from the inside. It was going to be an easy section. But also a special one since I would be hiking once again in familiar territory. At least partially.

I made my way out of the village and down to the shore of the lake. One last look into the valley that I had passed yesterday and to the mist-shrouded mountains I had gotten to know and admire these last days. And then on through the forest over paths covered in thousands of wet brown and yellow leaves all the way to the suspension bridge. The very one Joris, Sam and me crossed shortly before being caught in a thunderstorm with hail falling from the sky onto our trail and into the lake below us back in 2021. Today the water lay still and the bridge wasn’t shaking in the wind. It was quiet and peaceful as I crossed, the bridge gently moved from side to side with each of my steps.

This end of my grand adventure was so intimate and gentle; it was perfectly completing days of great emotions, eagerness and epic moments with a soft calming last whisper. As if taken by the hand by nature, guided through colorful silent forests and along water so still, you could make out in every detail the leaves of the trees above in its reflection. Just so I could little by little with every step say good bye to those past days.

Walking along the shore, I came across a big black and white cow laying in the grass with its companion grazing further up the hill. She looked at me, while chewing her grass, unimpressed and yet very directly, her eyes following me as I moved past her. And as I turned back around one more time, she turned her head away from me and didn’t turn back around even though I stopped moving, hoping to get another look from her. It marked a threshold I think, I couldn’t really explain it but I had stepped over a border of sorts right then and there.

I walked down to the shore and sat down, observing the slow stream of the water, little insects flying through the air and the waves of fog wandering through the hills and trees.

Originally I had planned to hike through the Gorges de la Jogne but sadly they were closed due to weather damage. But it didn’t dampen my spirits; I had crossed the threshold already and I was now ready to slowly let go of the wild, unpredictable world I had inhabited these last days.

So I hiked up to the village of Châtel-sur-Montsalvens, crossed one last forest and one last meadow and greeted one last beautifully stubborn cow standing in the middle of my trail before entering Broc through what seemed like a backdoor. A short walk though the quiet streets of the village and I had arrived at the little trainstation with just enough time to repack my backpack, store away my poles and switch from my muddy hiking boots into my comfy slippers.

The train slowly filled with people, with my music letting me keep some sense of privacy and distance amongst all those different energies converging in this relatively small but somehow peaceful space. Was I really just gone for four days? It felt like so much longer. It almost seems impossible to have so many experiences, so many impressions and see so many places in such a short amount of time. It was only now that I realized that tears were running down my cheeks. Yes, it was surely sadness over this adventure being over but they were also comforting, warm and a proof that I truly had lived every moment of this journey.

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Even though four days is only a short period of time compared to a whole long life, or even a single year, it is still enough time to learn important new lessons and I felt as if I had grown older and wiser. The version of me I now sat in the train as had come to understand something about letting go and how it is juxtaposed against continuity. After having traveled through so many beautiful places I can’t help but acknowledge how much I would not have seen, had I not been able or allowed myself to leave. Not just physically but also mentally. In the end I think continuity is found in movement. And comfort is found in understanding that many processes that we move through in life are non-linear, flexible and unpredictable – like the flocks of starlings swirling through the air. And knowing, that while a return to an exact moment is not possible, coming back to a place that brought us happiness and peace often is. And if we let go of the expectation to repeat something already lived, there is space for more.

I had gently and maybe almost unnoticed started to trust the process, trust the feeling when it is time to leave. Peacefully, no fear, no regrets, no doubts. And in that sense it is a lot like life. We all die, we all leave at one point in time. Courageously crossing over that hill and walking around that next bend. But that is for another day.

For now I took one thing with me, one quote that I had told myself for comfort on my second hiking day: All we can do is get up at one point, strap on our backpacks and leave. And we can vow to come back again. Not just to those places but to this feeling. This feeling of peace and belonging that lingers long after we’ve set off.

Route overview

• Duration: 4 Days
• Total distance: 62.8 km
• Total ascent/descent: 3’182m/3’064m
• Highest point: 1’720m at the Schüpfeflue

Day-by-day breakdown

Day 1: Wattenwil to Ottenleuenbad	Difficulty: T1 (Hiking Trail) Length: 18.07 km Duration: 6:30 h Ascent/Descent: 1447m/628m
Day 2: Ottenleuenbad to Schwarzsee	Difficulty: T1 (Hiking Trail) Length: 16.08 km Duration: 4:47 h Ascent/Descent: 493m/868m
Day 3: Schwarzsee to Charmey	Difficulty: T1 (Hiking Trail) Length: 20.1 km Duration: 6:27 h Ascent/Descent: 1023m/1186m
Day 4: Charmey to Broc	Difficulty: T1 (Hiking Trail) Length: 7.2 km Duration: 2:00 h Ascent/Descent: 219m/382m

Some more useful facts about this hike

Best season: This hike works well for Spring, Summer and Autumn. In Winter most of the terrain will be fully covered in snow. Check out the Cross Country Skiing trails instead! In Summer it will most likely be a lot busier on the trails than off season.

Trail exposure: Minimal. Day 3 might challenge you the most but there is no real exposedness.

• The first day can be shortened and some height meters saved, if one takes the bus to Gurnigelbad. The buses do not drive very frequently, so it is important to check the timetable ahead of your hike. 
• Be aware that as of the time of writing this, there is no restaurant, no store and no café in Ottenleuenbad. There are some restaurants along the way, but most of them are open seasonally, so again worth it to check opening hours. The hotel offers some coffee and tea (and if you take a room with a kitchenette (which I’d recommend, you have all the necessary amenities in there)
• The Check In in Ottenleuenbad is technically all over your phone (including opening your room via your phone) Some people online have mentioned that the Check In didn’t work because it is all online and cell reception is not so good in the area. I had no trouble luckily but they do also send you a code for a key box in case the opening via the phone doesn’t work. And at least with Swisscom the cell reception was great. At the hotel you also have WiFi.
• In Charmey you would have the opportunity to go relax in the thermal bath “Les Bains de la Gruyère” after your hike. I didn’t have the time or energy anymore but it is supposed to be very nice and with a beautiful view over the mountains.