On Boots, New and Old

Seven and a half months doesn`t mean a heck of a lot. When it comes to hiking boots, I guess Doris Day`s Pajama Game mantra was right. I got my Vasque boots seven and a half years ago, in anticipation of my adventure in Yosemite with Mom. It was the summer I turned fifteen, The boots gave me blisters then, of course--they were new. But now?! What`s up with that? `Well, maybe if you took a few pounds out of your pack, or walked uphill a little less, I`d think about easing up.` Ok ok, I get it.

Normally, we came to an agreement about these kinds of thing--`If your`re going to scuff me up in front like that, I`m going to take a full two days to dry when you get me wet.` It didn`t make sense, really, but for us, it worked.

And oh the places we went. Like all Gross Family gear, we warmed up together at Will Rogers State Park--a dusty beginning, to be sure, but then it was on to Vogelsang and Merced Lake and Vernal Falls. We took it slow the first year--rest breaks by mountain streams, climbs up big hills with the promise of a thorough cleaning adterwards. I was proud of my boots. I took my cues from my boy scout brother--he had the same Vasques, 4 sizes bigger. If they were good enough for backpacking at Philmont scout camp, then they certainly would do for my adventures, real or imagined.

Sand in Death Valley, snow in Sequoia, mud in the Olympics--we got through it together. We had some disagreements, of course, like how to appropriately deal with slush on the trail--around it or through it? But even these discussions were nothing a big bottle of waterproofing chemicals couldn`t solve.

I had confidence in my boots. They knew me, my penchant for long rest stops, my swollen right ankle, my sloppy footwork. I didn`t think twice about taking them on this yearlong hiking adventure in the mountains. When some dinner companions at Aescher, the first hut I stayed in, looked under the table to check my shoe staus, my boots and I got the highest compliment--`Oh, you have serious shoes--you`ll make it.` That`s what we really wanted, to be taken seriously on these trails even if sometimes we felt like we didn`t deserve it.

We had almost a month of serious walking in the Alps of Switzerland before this seven and a half year -anniversary blister made me start thinking--I knew our relationship wasn`t for life, but was it time to start looking around? Was I ready to give up all we had together? All those memories? I stared to notice the little idiosyncracies I had laughed off before--the grass that got stuck under the rubber peeling off the front of the boots, the way even a little morning dew would give my smartwools a session in mopping up, the way I could feel the shape of the rocks under my soles. A few days later, just to be sure, I checked the bottom of the boots--sure enough, the biggest tread was less than a half inch deep, and many had worn away to nothing. It was time.

I hadn`t told my boots--heck I hadn`t even admitted it to myself--but I had been doing some comparison shopping while on the trail for a month. I already knew the best brands, the lacing system I wanted, how high the boot should come up on my ankle. With an hour to spare before catching a bus from Sion to Arolla in the Valais, I spotted a sports store across from the grocery.

I found a boot that met all my criteria--the back came up a full 3 inches higher on my ankle, they were gore-tex--no dew seeping through here--and I could lace them up to my heart`s content. But we were off to a rough start, the Lowas and I. Tying them tightly in the store, searching for the right fit, chaffed my hands until my pinkie bled. Besides, they were as stiff and as heavy as ski boots. And worst of all, they were navy blue--what kind of color is that for an outdoor shoe?

But these were it, my new--serious--Swiss hiking boots. The comforting light brown of my Vasques would be a thing of the past--yes I know they turned muddy when they sopped up water, but we had a history!

The first few hours out of the shop didn`t go so well either. I had to carry around these dead weights like I was on some volleyball training program. And there was no instant gratification when I got to Arolla. I had to sponge on a smelly liquid to insure the impermabilité of the Gore-tex surface. I left my smelly navy boots behind and made my day`s hike in the trusty old Vasques. Ahh the open mountain trail. No need to think about expensive equipment--just me and the `wilderness.`

But perhaps I was just a little too comfortable... At the Cabane des Aiguilles Rouges, when I got out my francs to pay for a mug of soup and a tée froid, I also got out my tape and scissors, layering the athletic tape on to protect my heels yet again from blisters. maybe the time had come, after all.

Back in the Val d`Herens, I took a pre-dinner walk in the Lowas--when I figured out how to lace them properly, they actually felt pretty good. My old Vasques, I reasoned, as comfy (and as flimsy) as old sneakers, will get to hang on for the ride a bit longer, until I`m sure my new partners and I understand eachother. Later, when I was back in my room, `organizing,` I found the tag I had cut off the new boots-- it said: Lowa trekkers, size 43, color charcoal gray-black. Suddenly, I felt much better. No, of course I wouldn`t have been silly enough to pick navy hiking shoes. Charcoal gray--that sounded sufficiently serious. Well, the Himalaya of India is the testing ground for us... I guess we`ll find out just how serious.

In the morning I headed down into the valley to catch a bus. I put on the new boots for the walk down. I forgot all about them until I started whistling the Doris Day song again--was I really ready for another seven and a half years of just getting to know my boots? I looked down at my Lowas, all innocent, with the sparkling charcoal gray leather grinning back up at me. `Well, what do you think?` `Let`s do it!`

basel

I have spent 2 days with Claire and Emma and Mattias in Basel. Tomorrow morning I am off to the Valais for a final stint in the Alps before my flight to Delhi. Emma likes art so we took some time to draw together. Normally (as most of you who know me well would imagine) I don`t like to show off, but I was particularly pleased with these two drawings. Feel free to leave comments on the blog so I know who is reading this and what people find interesting. (No, that does not mean you need to tell me your opinions about my art... I was thinking more along the lines of my written adventures and my photos.)

just to clarify

the new photo at the very top of the page is from an evening shot from Faulhorn where I stayed my 4th night in the Berner Oberland mountains. That day I had walked from Schwarzwaldalp to First to Faulhorn, from 11am to past 6pm, in complete fog. Visibility was about 20 feet at best. This did not make the path dangerous, as it was not at all exposed, but it did mean that my view of the famous surrounding mountains was completely obscured. So that day, I took photos of raindrops on little flowers and blades of grass. I walked up the switchbacks to Faulhorn, a building resting on the top of a mountain, without seeing where I was going. I was so happy to be in a warm, bustling dining room after a day of gradual getting wet despite my rain gear. It was still foggy, but I didn`t think about that much once inside, talking with other guests. After dinner, when my new friend pointed outside to a mountain peaking through the clouds I looked over, glad to finally see something in reward for the day`s climb. It was funny when, a moment later, the rest of the dining room noticed too. There was a cry of joy and almost the entire room emptied out as people rushed into the 2 degree weather outside to glimpse the mountains they had been missing all day on their respective hikes. The clouds had covered the Eiger, the Mönch, and the Jungfrau by the time I got my camera ready to take a picture, but by sunset, the fog had settled some 200 meters below us. The mountain peaks, at least, were there to stay.

The other pictures are out of order, of course, but are nevertheless a sampling of the last week. If you are wondering about the appearance of Das Hotel Sherlock Holmes, reread some Conan Doyle. Meiringen is at the base of Reichenbach Falls, where Moriarity pushed Sherlock to his supposed death. In town there were Sherlock Holmes statues and signs that said Baker St.

The second photo, of the Milch Shake and the lake behind it, is from my climb up from Engelberg past Jochpass. I had been going up for a view hours with little variation in scenery when I came to this lake halfway up to Jochpass. It is a funny thing, the Swiss wilderness. I would really call it more of a playgroud. This particular lake had a few buildings around it, the terminal or starting points of lifts, a hotel and restaurant, and a few alps. I stopped at the farm house because I saw a sign that said milch shake 3 chf. I stepped inside and asked for bananen. Here, after hours of sweating on a mountainside, I could have a cold glass of frothy milk with banana (because it was a milk shake, not an ice cream shake). I slurped it up after taking this picture then continued snaking up under the chairlift on my way to bigger--and perhaps a bit more isolated--heights.

pictures

Berner Oberland adventures

I will just copy what I wrote in my journal, with only a few edits for literary embellishment...

Walking down from Schnyge Platte towards a city where I would take the train to Lauterbrunnen, I passed an alp, a summer farm, and say an old man just standing around. The sun was shining, there was a clear view of the mountains, and I was feeling good, so I said (and Carolyn will forgive my spelling and translation) Hallo schön Tag (beautiful day). He responded by asking where I was going on my hike, but of course I did not understand because he asked it in German. With a smile I had to say I did not actually speak German, and, amazingly he switched to a broken English. It turns out this old Swiss farmer was born in Portland, though he moved with his family back to Switzerland when he was only 6 months old. He knows his English from his family that is still in America-it is broken, but I understand it.

He told me, with words and gestures, that he was waiting for the cable car to bring up hay for the animals. Ernst liked to talk. About his family. About the farm. He was the boss of the surrounding alp, he said, and in charge of 300 or more cows. He told me where there were farmers around there. I took a big breath and asked if I could sleep the night there on the farm and offered to pay. He asked me to repeat what I had just said, that he did not understand it. I did and he said yes yes I could sleep in his big farmhouse where there was plenty of space, a separate room for me, and he had plenty of food, no paying. Wow! what a chance. A night on a real Alp farm. Somehow this fit into the Watson idea of getting a real chance to see the countries you visit, even if it isn`t exactly a mountain hut system per se.

We had views out onto the Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau mountains, the big 3 of the Berner Oberland. The hay came up in the cable car... it was loaded to the brim with 30 bales. I offered to help unload but Ernst said no this is not a woman`s work, this is a man`s job. Not wanting to disrespect my new host right away, I listened and watched as the 77 year old man heaved around heavy hay bales. Finally they were out of the cable car, but in a pile outside. When Ernst started to bring them into a nearby barn, I started to carry too. I though immediately of Mckenna and Megan and Carolyn on Whidbey over winter break, when, yes, I couldn`t manage to lift a hay bale... I guess I was just more motivated this time.

The barn chores finished, we headed up to the house, me with my bag and sticks and Ernst with his big leather pack and cane. The house was a big building with a barn attached. Ernst, a builder, had constructed two newer barns so the cows no longer went inside this one. There is a long entry way with boots under a bench and heavy coats hanging on hooks and lots of windows for light. The main room had a big table, a sink, a stove, an oven, a heater and pots and lids hanging from the walls everywhere. The room next door is the bedroom of sorts... 4 beds against the wall lengthwise. I could pick any one to be my bed for the night. They all had the usual big fluffy comforters.

Ernst put water on for tea and then we went upstairs, through the barn, to see his room, and something he really wanted to show me. He was proud of the wood up there. He had restored it himself. He unlocked a cabinet with a hidden key then reached under and around things for another key to unlock another cabinet. Eventually, he found what he was looking for--the original deed to the farm dated from 1792. He showed me pictures of his American family. We went downstairs for tea. Ernst served some biscuits and cheese too, cutting the bits of mold from the old cheese first. We sat down and Ernst put on the Berner Oberland radio station--of course they were playing American music. Soon we heard a motor and Ernst jumped up. I got up in time to see a younger man in a blue work suit come through the door. He was the cheesemaker from the alp downstairs, as Ernst called it. He also was in charge of picking up the post with his motorbike. So Ernst, as I suspect most would, insisted that he have a cup of tea with us. He brought out a little cake too, a special treat for all of the guests I suppose. Ernst went out later to fix a water pipe a cow`s bell had broken, and I had a couple minutes to myself to think...Here I am, at a farmhouse in the Alps.

Ernst made a quick call to his cousin in the US, just because he loved his telephone. I talked to Maria, his cousin, for a minute or two, explaining how I came to be a guest at this farm. She told me Ernst is a great ole guy. Yes, I know.

We walked down to the cheesemaker`s alp for a pail of milk just before dinner. I saw the huge vats of hot milk with a layer of film on top to be removed, and cheese in its big round shape, covered in blankets to sit over night. Benny, who works on the farm, came for dinner. We had red wine as well as coffee with the fresh milk, potatoes fried up with noodles (yes the noodles got very crunchy) and some meat, cold, and someone preserved in a jar like a jam. We stayed up talking for a while. Benny knew some English from a trip to Jamaica and he liked world music. But it is a farm, after all, and since most rose early in the morning, we had to go to bed early. Ernst assured me I could sleep in but...

at 6.15am he came in saying COFFEE COFFEE. We had bread and cheese for breakfast, bright and early, then I was awake with not much to do. Ernst had promised me a ride down to the town where I could catch a train in the cable car, so I was waiting for the hay to come up so I could go down. When it did come, I got in and waved goodbye as the car descended. Ernst and Benny waved for a bit, then got to work with the hay. It is a working farm, after all.


Well that was the adventure on the farm, but it wasn`t all that I did in the Berner Oberland. I made it from Engelberg where I rode on a mule with Armin to Engstlenalp to Meiringen to Faulhorn before the farm at Iselten. All those days means I left the mountains pretty smelly, but feeling pretty good.

(see pictures below)

Well these are 20 photos selected from the last 2 weeks in a bit of a random order. Some of these things you have read about a bit, some stories will be new.

1. Me with Rena at Ballenberg. (Rena this is the first showing of the shirt!)

2. This is the hut I walked to today. It was a day trip with my new couchsurfing buddy Armin. We started in Engelberg in the Berner Oberland and went up up up. Click on it to see the impressive altitude (hence the fresh snow) posted above the door.

3. When we started walking, I was wearing a t-shirt and had my sunglasses on. But up here, there was probably about 7 inches of fresh snow and rain coming down too. By the end, the hike on the trail became more a trudge through sludge. Really. My boots did not get wet all the way through because they were too caked with slushy mud. 

4. Armin and I enjoyed a hearty rösti at the CAS hut. We were calculating a long and rather tiring walk down, but he actually had a friend who worked at the hut, whose parents ran it. The father had just brought a family up on two mules and was taking them down again, so we got to ride mules part of the way down from the hut. The weather cleared, so it was feeling like spring at least (still too wet for a proper summer hike). The mules were very sure-footed, much more than I was going up, but they certainly were stubborn. They insisted on eating all the plants along the trail. I suppose it would be difficult for me to stay focused on a hike too if there were rösti or melted caramel-chocolate bars lining the trail, only one foot from my mouth. Hmm.

5. Outside Scaradra hut (see last entry)

6. This is inside Scaradra... a self-help kitchen, a simple table, and stairs leading up to the loft with mattresses. I had this whole place to myself.

7. Lugano, part 1-- this is the lake, impressive colors despite the cloudy weather

8. Lugano, part 2-- it seems that there has been a large Orthodox population in every big city in Switzerland

9. Me with Jolanda at Ballenberg. We went to see what traditional architecture is like from all the regions... but we didn`t need to go to the Tessin section since I have certainly seen that. It was a great sunny day though, good conversation, and good coffees. I had a chance to try älpler noodles with cheese and potatoes and apfelmus (no, not all together)

10. Capanna Adula

11. The view out of the front door of Scaradra... no I wasn`t scared of these goats, either.

12. My name in the Scaradra book

13. couldn`t help myself

14. Scaradra again

15. Capanna Prou

16. En route to Quarnei, self timer

17. Click on this picture and scroll to the middle. Look for a small helicopter pulling a white sack. This is the food and supplies drop for Capanna Quarnei.

18. Mildly curious goats that came straight toward me.

19. Capanna Adula (UTOE)

20. Waiting for a English-speaker on the radio to ensure my safe passage up the mountain to Dagro.

pictures!