Westwards

One wet winter’s day Olga von Plate decided, at last, to make a long cherished dream a reality: bivouac flying, together with a friend. Three weeks through the Austrian Alps to get to know people and places – but especially herself (better): how far she would get is not at issue. This is an experiment, and something more: an adventure. Olga explains ...

In my diary I wrote: “I want to set off. Go, just leave. Put one foot in front of the other for its own sake – I need to think about the essential things in life, for me. What to eat? Where to sleep? What’s the weather going to do? Not tomorrow – this is about today; the here and now.”

Long walks clear the mind. These days everything can be copied; repeated. Backward-looking, so that everything can be reread on the internet. It’s everywhere, but not here; and even less so for me is the motto. So much has become digital: friendships, learning, remembering. It sounds strange, but I long for absolutes. To be vulnerable. To things that only occur once in the world. If the rain makes me wet I cannot press “cmd+Z”. If I get sunburnt there’s no replay button. And that makes it beautiful, so unique.

Every adventure begins in the head, and this journey had already begun in spring. I write packing lists in various editions, review the experiences of past bivouac tours, train for steep climbs and long hikes, trim the equipment. Each item, be it ever so small, is weighed again, questioned, sworn at. Ultra light trek-fanatics have a golden rule “Lighten each piece of equipment by a third.” Everything - really. So the mountain boots become running shoes, a toothbrush becomes just the brush part, a sleeping mat half a sleeping mat. An ultralight tent becomes just the tarp, instead of the tarp we get a lightweight tarp, and finally I get to myself. Down to my own requirements; exactly. I don’t want to compromise too much on safety, and settle for a 900 gm light reserve and the EASINESS 2 with its reasonable airbag.

Preparations take a lot of time. I spend the evenings committing satellite pictures and topo charts to memory, studying thermal maps and valley wind systems, researching mountain huts.

On August the 7th we’re off. A quick and last choci-croissant from the baker’s, then my friend Moni and I step out eagerly to the Königssee. We want to catch the first boat. On the climb up to the Steinernen Meer (Sea of Rock) there’s a last look back to Berchtesgaden. With all the preparations of the last several months and the good luck wishes of our friends now behind us the first metres upwards feel pretty damn good. We find a place to sleep near the Schmittenhöhe, on a flat area in a woodland clearing. After about 40 km and more than 2000 m climbing we are tired, but as happy as can be. What a terrific first day!

Next day strong south föhn prevents a flying start for the Pinzgau - Zillertal cross country. We walk the 30 km to the Bürgl hut where Moni lets me know that she’s resigning. At first I’m mightily disappointed, then decide that I’ll go it alone.

And not regret it for a second. Whenever possible I sleep in the open; when there’s storm or wind in huts, or sometimes a guesthouse. To save weight I miss out on breakfast and eat lunch in the mountain pastures. With replenished energy reserves it’s then into the air or further on the ground: over the Gerloss pass into the Zillertal. Continue in the Valser Tal to the Brenner. Via Gschnitztal, Stubaital and along the Stubai main ridge as far as the Ötztal.

The days flow past, passing neither slowly nor fast. Time is no longer significant. Instead of contemplating life’s greater questions, as expected, my head has simply become empty.

Despite my intensive preparations the long distances and steep climbs left their marks: a blister inflamed the sole of a foot, ligaments and tendons showed signs of overstress. An undesired landing on a steep rock-strewn slope in the Tuxer Alps tore two tendons in the left foot: but I continued to walk and fly.

Now, after two weeks, I am exactly in time with the daylight; usually creep into my “bivouac nest” around half past eight and wake before sunrise. First steps in the morning were often painful, but as soon as I walked into the sunlight it couldn’t have been nicer. Sometimes the midday heat drove me into the shadows, sometimes below zero temperatures and snowflakes encouraged me to go a bit faster. In time, ambitions dwindled, thoughts slowed. You only see and experience what is ahead of you.

After three weeks my time is up. Reluctantly I hitchhike towards Berchtesgaden. The first days at home I’m repeatedly aware of the feeling that something’s missing: the rucksack on my back. It had become a piece of home that I’d carried every step of the way.