December 2024

Since I am an adult, I always consindered Winter a challenging period of the year. I seem to come both after my maternal and paternal grandmothers that way. Both of them would would passionately complain about the “dark and lifeless” season and celebrate December 21st – the date where the days start to get longer again.

I believe as a kid, most likely as do most kids, I enjoyed Winter. The snow, the sledging, iceskating and the Christmas of it all. But I do believe I also enjoyed nature. I remember sitting in the train with my friend Eva, driving through snow covered forests and listening to Harry Gregson Williams’ Narnia Score, imagining my very own magic wardrobe that leads me to great adventures. As I got older, started studying and working, Winter became mostly the season where I would sometimes not see daylight for a whole day. Grey, wet and slightly sad. And then it became the season where hiking suddenly was so limited. Paths were snowed in or I found myself in dreary leaveless forests and flowerless meadows.

This would become the hike, that marked a subtle but important shift in this mentality. Winter would become magical again, as Sam and me stepped though a symbolical wardrobe to end up in a world very reminiscent of Narnia (minus the evil witch).

We chose the take the bus to the little village of Grindel, a familiar place, close to home. Having previously hiked on the ridge of Stierenberg on the other side, we were curious to the opposite one that would ultimately lead us all the way to Delémont.

It was sunny but very cold when we got out of the bus – a typical Winter day. The streets through the village were partially icy and slippery. Via a very steep snowed in path we climbed steadily up the Falchriedberg towards Ober Fringeli. Topographically intriguing, this farm lays above an almost symmetrical basin right at the canton border between the Jura and Baselland. And for about the first half of the hike we would be walking right at the border of the two cantons.

We were offered a breathtaking panoramic view over the Val Terbi in the south. Our path lead us right by the farm, fluffy cows with big eyes observing our every step though the high snow. There was no sign of a trail except for the clear bright yellow hiking signs in the distance. Other than that all we saw was white snow.

I started to feel slightly nervous as to how the trail up on the ridge would look like with all the snow but my husband – ever the calming and equally optimistic presence – eagerly started to tackle the next and final ascent through the forest up to the ridge without hesitation.

While the drop was steep, especially on the southern slope, I was relieved to find the trail to be rather comfortable. More than that – the scenery was welcoming and reassuring me that we were there at exactly the right time. There was a silence that felt so soothing, and it was as if we had entered a sanctuary created by benevolent winter fairies. The dimmed winter sun shone through the barren trees. The absence of leaves on the branches allowed us a to walk in continuous golden light as well as offering us stunning views left and right all the while feeling hidden and shielded from the world “down there”.

We climbed up to the edge of the ridge to even closer enjoy the view, with Sam heroically standing as close as possible to the edge, giving me a nervous tingle shooting through my body. While he effortlessly walked back down on the trail, I decided on the less elegant but safer option of sliding back down on my behind.

I considered this a perfect learning field for my fear of heights, which had since so long become a fixture in my life, that I for a long period of time stopped thinking that it might be something that I could learn to overcome. But in the more recent past I had tackled some more exposed paths and have also written about the chance that this gave me, to newly evaluate that fear as something less set in stone. And at the same time I recognized that I may also keep a bit of fear and that I am no less courageous, if I enjoy a view close to the precipice laying down on my belly rather than standing up and leaning forward.

The snow crackled under our feet, thin tall branches of green grass fighting their way out of the white surface and a thousand little fir tree needles lining the path. The slender trees standing on the slope reaching their bare branches like arms towards the open sky.

Being surrounded by it, I started to think about the word snow and it’s many words in different languages and their various origins. In german, “Schnee” is from an old Indo-European word snēo and means among other things “to stick” or “to lie”. This is of course true in the very literal sense, but to me it translates also quite well to what snow can evoke: like taking a rest and calming down both physically and mentally. In Japanese the name Yuki, which incidentally is also the name we gave our cat, means both “snow” and “happiness”, depending on how it is written. There is no linguistic connection between the two words, they just sound the same. Nevertheless, I like to draw a symbolic relation. Happiness, bliss and serenity feel like fitting associations for the joyful bright white, crackling, glittering blanket. And that is how my inner Winter loving child, much like the green blades of grass, slowly came back to surface while – though be it carefully – strutting over a sun drenched ridge.

The shadows of the branches drew sharp pictures of curved shapes on the path below us and every once in a while we would step out of the snow onto sunlit stone surfaces as if we for a quick moment moved a couple of months ahead in time before being again fully in the white forest castle.

We soon decided to sit down in a little meadow between the high trees to have some snacks and a little warm tea, enjoying the fact that we came this far without having to turn around. The snow didn’t make this trail more difficult, it made it the precious experience it was so far. Knowing that we didn’t have the most time anymore before the sunlight would disappear, we didn’t stay too long; we brushed the snow off our trousers and strapped our backpacks back on.

The trail shifted from a narrow track over the ridge to a more broad path, leading us under roofs of snowy branches, before arriving at the pasture at Retemberg where we got to admire the Val Terbi a second time along with the hills and mountains further in the back; the Mont Raimeux, as well as the first Jura chain behind. A soft thin layer of myst, almost like a veil lay above the valley, the sky in the back already slowly changing its color, promising a colorful sunset.

Sometimes there is enough time to soak it all in. Seconds turn into minutes which turn into half an hour and then turn into timeless moments. But sadly with the sun setting soon and still a ways to go, we had to move on.

Another short climb brought us onto an evening sun soaked trail, right above the Grotte de Chaumont. The amber glow dilated over the rocks, through the tall tree trunks, over the patches of white snow, catching itself in our hair.

It seemingly took one blink of an eye for the sun to disappear behind the rolling mountains and the sky changing into a dress of pale pink, pastel yellow and light purple.

We continued on through the forest and while I did want to avoid having to walk on a ridge in the dark, there was also a certain thrill about the possibility to not make it down to Delémont within the last daylight. We didn’t bring our head torches, which is something I have since made a permanent resident in my backpack; because the chance always exists that a hike takes longer than planned. But for now we still got to enjoy the magnificent views without any artificial light. The difference between the green fields down in the valley and the white snowy landscape up here almost seemed like a glitch in natures system.

We reached the Roc de Courroux at the perfect time to allow us a moment to sit on the rugged rocks, catch our breath and admire a world so familiar and yet so new. A change of perspective is truly a fascinating thing. The Roc de Courroux has been discovered as an archaeological site by Auguste Quiquerez and seems to have been already settled in the late Bronze Age, as evident by the findings of traces of dry stone walling dating from between 1100 and 800 BC. Amongst the other relicts found were millstones, spindle whorls, animal bones, and loom weights. Some more rare bronze finds even included knives, needles, arrowheads as well as rings. In general the site is known for the quantity and excellent state of preservation of ceramics.

I always struggle with Sam sitting or standing too close to edges, because my mind goes to worst case scenarios of him falling. But today a part of me managed to let go of that feeling and I just appreciated seeing him perched on the rocks peacefully. It brought me peace too. And just like that, we almost lost track of time.

We started moving again and directly after leaving the Roc de Courroux, the trail started to descend, gently winding down the back of the ridge towards Delémont. The evening sky had shifted to a more saturated color palette; deep orange and a vibrant bursting yellow and the network of thin delicate branches framing the view over the glittering city.

Upon reaching the Pâturage du Colliard, the daylight had completely vanished and we found ourselves in the dark forest, with the rushing of the Birs river below us, we knew we couldn’t be far from the outskirts of Delémont. All we could hear were our steps in the dark over breaking twigs and the occasional “oops”, as we stumbled over stones or tree trunks in the dark. Soon we entered the city, making our way to the train, red cheeks and happy smiles on our faces.

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Winter and me became new friends this year: I saw it in a new light quite literally and at the same time it was like a familiar old face and I got to remember little Leonie more clearly. The big blue eyed girl that believes in things we can’t see or explain. Do we have to grow up? Yes. But is that a reason to let go of all our childlike qualities and abilities? No, because otherwise both me and Sam would have gotten panicky at the loss of daylight, our grown up brains would have scorned us for the irresponsibility of doing a hike like that in Winter and this late into the day. And while I am the first one (after a couple of less than comfortable experiences) to talk about the importance of responsibility while being outdoors, sometimes our gut, our childish naivety and first and foremost our curiosity as to whats in the metaphorical wardrobe is what is bringing us to new heights. Literally sometimes.

Our history is what shapes us and my history is shaped amongst many other things by seemingly suddenly developing a fear of heights, which restricted me from seeing many beautiful places. Today, I felt the little Winter loving girl gave me also back a piece of the fearless explorer I used to be. It gave me another glimmer of hope, glistening like the snow in the sun and dilating like warm amber light within me, that one day I will stand on the highest peaks. And today surely felt as if I were. So close to home and so far away like an astronaut on the moon, seeing the world from a different perspective.

Route overview

Grindel to Delémont

Difficulty: T1 (Hiking Trail) Length: 15.4 km Duration: 4:50 h Ascent/Descent: 696m/859m

Some more useful facts about this hike

Best season: All seasons. But beware, that it isn’t technically a Winter trail. So I would say that a certain surefootedness and familiarity with snow is pertinent if you tackle this in Winter.

Trail exposure: Moderate. While the trail is mostly on more broad surface, it is still a ridge and a little exposure is unavoidable. You’ll find them mostly in the first half of the tour.

• There are not really any restaurants along the way except for Pierreberg at around 8.6 km. It takes a very small detour to get there.
• Buses to Grindel drive every half hour via Laufen. From Delémont the connections are also frequent in all directions.