Friday 18 July 1980 - diarist: Ruaridh - Wurttemberger Hutte to Memminger Hutte
As the only part of my anatomy protruding from my sleeping bag, my nose detected that it was cold this morning. A good sign as it suggested a cloudless sky. This was confirmed as Nick whipped open the tent door and bright sunlight dazzled my eyes. The light was reflected off the mountains opposite, however it would be another couple of hours before the sun started warming the tent. (Now 6 am.) The mountains looked just as they should, stark and clear, shining white against a brilliant blue sky.
Breakfast as
usual - even the Primula cheese tube split as usual - with one of our three
different types of muesli. The powdered milk refused to mix properly at the ambient
temperature and had to be heated. Nick and Dave had ice on their flysheet.
At about 7:30 Rudolf wished us good morning as he set off for the Memminger Hutte.
We covered ourselves with Nivea, glacier cream, floppy hats, sunglasses, goggles, etc, etc. Martin said he felt silly putting suntan lotion on, with his cold soggy feet!
A cheery
farewell from the warden and we hit the trail. The snow came as a surprise -
frozen hard and crunchy, a distinct contrast to yesterday's soft wet variety.
Soon after reaching the sun, however, it was back to the soft sort.
Up to the Grossberg,
the path left the snow and went up over rock, rather than taking the lower
point of the ridge. We stalked a ptarmigan (with camera) but failed to find a
nest.
The views from the ridge were marvellous, the first decent views we have had. The path continued along the ridge - very interesting, with fixed ropes and tracks across the very top snow, a 6-inch wide ridge.
Following the guidebook,
we took the path to 500 metres beyond the point where it left the ridge, and
after a pause we went up the snow to the Kleinbergspitze. (Why is it that the Kleinberg
is 300 metres higher than the Grosberg?)
We were grateful for the snow, since even in its very soft state it was preferable to the scree. The views were superb, and we picked out all the main peaks near and far - Parseier Sp, Hoher Riffler, Freispitze, Rote Wand, Muttekopf, Dremel Sp, Bergwerkkopf and Wildspitze (Ostal).
To judge from
the scrap of paper in the tin at the top, the summit is visited only every
other year on average, and we added our names on the back of a chocolate
wrapper.
We decided that the routes near the Parseier Spitze were impassable and it seemed extremely unlikely that we would be going to the Augsburger Hutte.
The view of
ridge after ridge of grey, green, blue and white peaks stretching for mile
after mile, and the still air (hardly a breath of wind) could have kept us
there all day, but we finally stirred ourselves and plunged back down to where
we had left our packs. The next kilometre or so to the Seescharte was along the
level in snow - not hard but the concentration had to be on putting feet in the
right place, with little chance to admire the view.
Along the path, Dave suddenly disappeared from view. Martin found him grinning broadly in a snow trough, having slid down and bounced over a large rock.
Coming down the far side of the 'scharte' we discovered how tired we were as we had to contour ourselves with walking and sliding down the snow rather than running as we could have done at the beginning of the day. (Speak for yourself - this does not apply to Dave, who as is usual is far fitter at the end of the day than at the start - he arrived at the hut ten minutes ahead of the others - with sore knees - Dave.)
Approaching the
hut, we met a young fellow collecting stuff from the goods seilbahn. Our
suspicions that the route to the Augsburger Hutte was out were confirmed, so it
looks like the Ansbacher Hutte tomorrow.
Vast numbers of people at the hut - of course, it's Friday evening. The tourists are very impressed with where we have been - Nick enjoys an ego trip. Any ideas of camping rapidly evaporated when we discovered that the only flat patches of grass not covered with snow were extremely exposed, with no water to hand.
We booked into the hut, and when Nick followed Martin's rather ambiguous directions to the matratzenlager he ended up in the warden's daughter's room. He thought, in present tired condition, that Durchgang verboten probably meant 'Smoking forbidden' or something similar. He soon woke up though when he decided to wash his hair and stuck his head under the tap before testing the temperature. Colin and I confirmed our masochism by washing in the icy water.
We tried ordering a litre of Teewasser and made our own tea and coffee. A much better idea than just ordering a litre of tea - although next time we must remember to ask for fresh milk rather than using our own milk powder.
Ordering of meals
was slightly unusual in that we had to wait until 6 pm, but when the food came
it was appetising and filling. Martin has still not learnt how to pour beer
without it frothing over. Dave and Nick each managed to order drinks themselves
this time! Mind you, Nick had it done for him - the barman told him what he
wanted - he must have heard us discussing the order.
(The entry concludes with incomprehensive scribble from Dave, seemingly connecting Ruaridh with the barmaid's large protruberances.)
At some point today or tomorrow, we lost Rudolf, who got fed up with the deep snow and lack of path markings, so he went home.
2 comments:
Clearly an exhausting day!
Yes Nick, and thanks for all your comments. The diary entries don't mention kit - apart from food and tents. Weight and breathability were clearly not a big deal in those days, though I do remember taking heed of Showell Styles advice in his 'Backpacking in Alps and Pyrenees' book.
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