Jürgen is our local tour-hiking-climbing guide. He and Veronika have lived in Tristach, a village near Lienz, for their entire adult lives. Veronika’s family is from here, while Jürgen originally grew up with Ralph near Düsseldorf.
The klettersteig or via ferrata are all out for the year, so Jürgen has decided that we should “make a tour” up into the Nationalpark Hohe Tauern, across the valley, to the Lienzerhütte (Lienz Mountain Hut, or refugio).
Who are we to argue?
So the six of us met up at Veronika's house in the morning, ready to walk.
You do not “hike” in German. You can climb (klettern) or walk (gehen). “Wandern" is close, but every time we use the word “hike” it is met by confused looks. Some things just don’t translate straight across, though we have the common idea.
“Make a tour” is what everyone agrees upon, so that is what we are doing today.
But secretly, Gail and I are “going hiking.”
I like where we live, am jealous of no one’s house, but I have to say the houses along the road are drool-worthy for the views over the valley alone.
If I were to sell…
Anyway, once the road turns to gravel it is the domain of mountain bikers and logging trucks. There are stacks of trees waiting to be hauled out, all marked with spray paint signifying whose wood it is. We pass a little one person mill, but most of the stacks of wood are like a wall, up to a quarter-mile long and higher than the car.
The access road is in great shape in comparison to the dirt access roads in the Western US, mainly because few Europeans drive trucks or SUVs. Still we have a slow go of it.
But soon we are at the trailhead in a spectacular valley.
We settle our packs, tie boots, and set out across the bridge and into a meadow. We are following a nature trail with our final destination the Lienzerhütte, about 3.5 miles and 950 feet higher in elevation.
An easy “tour.”
We start out going through a meadow of buttercups (Gail wants to plant some now) and forget-me-nots, my favorite mountain flower (she already grows these). We are following a river up the valley, the Debantbach.
The walking is easy this sunny, warm morning and we hear the water flowing, the breeze in the trees, and the birds.
In fact, a sign informs us that we are in “Vogelwelt.” That means we are in “bird world.” It shows the different types we might see. Later signs show us Tierwelt (animal world) Baumwelt (tree world) and so on. Every hike, I mean “tour” is an education around here.
The trail is easy to follow, blazed blue-white-blue, with easy river crossings on sturdy bridges or giant 6x18 planks secured to rocks.
I note that it is “organic, free range beer” and everyone laughs.
We wind in and out of the woods and meadows, climbing steadily, never too steep. A big waterfall dumps into the valley on the right, another smaller one left and center, more on the left. There is maybe a cave up there on the right ridge by the kletterpark (climbing area) or is it one of the blasted out areas from the war?
The flowers change, and we pass through a wispy white cloud-plant that Jürgen calls “cotton grass” for the texture.
There are many cows and horses, and each bridge or fence line has a gate. We have noticed the Europeans are pretty cautious around cattle, and some deaths have occurred over the years. For me, walking through cows and horses is nothing, and we stop and pet the horses.
One tan horse with a blond main takes a real liking to me, and follows me to the gate. We part and she really has a sad look in her eyes. I called her “Blondie.”
I talk to the cows as we pass through.
“Die kuhe bin meine freunde.” I say, secretly thinking of steak.
We cross a cool wooden bridge built into a rock, with a zig-zag around the rock.
The view opens up as we reach the head of the valley, snowy grey mountains peaks reaching to heaven.
But how can that be?
If this little valley is not heaven itself, then what could be better?
The Lienzerhütte sits in a meadow, at the confluence of a side stream dumping via waterfall into the Debantbach. The snow-capped pointy peak, Glödis Spitze rises above us at 3206 meters (10,518 feet, a couple feet lower than Lassen Peak in NorCal.). The route up the right ridge includes a via ferrata on the exposed sections. Jürgen and I make plans for a future trip up it.
We are in the midst of the Schober Gruppe of peaks, and there would be several good days of climbing here.
The hut was built in 1890, so it is now 129 years in operation. That just kills me.
We are at 1977 meters (6486 feet) elevation.
It would be a good base for climbing trips up the local peaks.
We order lunch. It amazes me that we can walk back into the mountains and then have great beer or wine and even better food.
I order the best pork and gravy meal ever, Schweinsbraten with potatoes and salad. That and a cold Weissbier and I am in the promised land.
Gail had the dumplings filled with potato called schlipfkrapfen, along with the Weissbier, and they were excellent as well. I think Veronika had a big sausage, Ralph had huge pieces of thick bacon and bread, and I don’t remember the rest. We ended with espresso.
Seriously.
Sitting in the OstTirolian Alps, drinking an espresso.
I can really get used to this “making a tour” business.
Veronika is especially interested in the Appalachian Trail, having just read a book about it. The conversation wanders off into the Pacific Crest Trail that runs in a half-circle around our town, and the Continental Divide Trail. All of these long distance hikes I have done portions of, and they used to be goals of mine.
But now?
I try to explain how there are no huts along the way, no food, drinks or beds. They can’t quite get the concept, and I have to admit, I can’t quite believe it anymore either.
Perhaps instead of walking the Pacific Crest as Don and I had planned (maybe 2024, Don?) we should do the Alpe Adria Trail, from the highest peak in Austria to a beach town on the Mediterranean, in Italy.
No sleeping bags, tents or stoves; instead great food and beds every night.
Anyway we enjoy a good meal then head back down.
Blondie remembered me, and wandered over for a sniff and scratch.
Gail showed me the wild thyme, and so I tried it, and then the flowers. I spent a good mile just dreaming about all the ways to use the thyme flowers in recipes.
I insisted that we stop for fresh cheese, made from these very cows, at the "farm stand” slash cafe. It is called Hofalm (1824 meters), and you can tell the eating addition is much newer than the original family farm houses and barns, some of which are made of rock.
The cheese was mild, and soft, not what I would buy to take home but fun to eat there. The lady made up one plate for us and cut three types of cheese into little bites. One was plain, one had peppercorns, and the last was chili and herb. Best of all, we had a wonderful, perfectly chilled class of white wine to go with it.
It was an easy and fast hike the rest of the way out. We all agreed it was a fine tour, and it would be beautiful in the fall.