My Tour du Mont Blanc journey

Opening the curtains of my hotel room this morning this is the scene which greeted me.

I guess it is to be expected, when you’re staying in a hotel at the top of a chair lift, 1900 metres above sea level, that you might get some low cloud. But it wasn’t something I’d thought about last night, when the threatened storms had finally hit in the early evening. As a result I hadn’t been out to get my bearings, and when it came to looking first for the top of the chair lift (to deposit my luggage, for onward transport), and then the actual start of the walk, I realised that, with viability down to only about 10 or 15 metres, this was not going to be easy.

The trouble was I knew there was a collection of three or four buildings at the top, but I couldn’t remember where there were in relation to each other or what each of them were. All I could see were vague shapes when I was right on top of them. The chair lift was discernible from the sound of the engine. But then I must have wandered round about ten minutes just to get back to the hotel. Having done that , luckily I had remembered that the AAT information point- the start of today’s walk- was just below the hotel’s restaurant terrace. Then I saw a path and – as it seemed to be heading NNE which was what was advised in the guidebook- I took it.

Within about five minutes I’d missed a turn off, and had to go back, but then I descended a road and the visibility started to improve a bit. It was slow progress though, and it wasn’t until I was down to about 1750 metres that I could properly see ahead where I was going, and even then the forest remained eerily surrounded by cloud.

I turned off the road and passed a strange set of art installations alongside the path, including a ‘philosophical door’ and ‘Yin and Yang’. The path descended gently , with green moss abundant, mushrooms and once more, the dominant smell of pine.

It was a lovely part of the walk, and I wish it could have carried on like this for longer.

After a while I came to more evidence of recent storm damage, a closed path and a footpath diversion. The revised route was fine, but it probably added another two km to the route, and after crossing a few small streams the path started to descend steeply and the route became more difficult.

There were some flimsy looking ropes alongside the path providing little protection if had fallen. There was a tricky high stile to cross, which wobbled as tried to get over it, and had quite a drop the other side of it to contend with. Unfortunately this part of the walk seemed to go on for ever, and by the time I finally emerged from the forest, to see the sun for the first time that day, my blistered little toe was also starting to feel quite painful.

According to the guide book, I should have reached this point after two and half hours, but it took me a four and half, so clearly I was even slower than usual going down. Yesterday, going up, I had actually ‘beaten’ the guide book time), but today’s walk was supposed to be shorter. Not for me.

Exiting the forest I had my first sight of the lake down below, Ossiacher See. The gradient eased a little, but this simply meant it took longer than ever, by a series of long switchbacks in the road, to actually get down to the village of Golk, cross the railway line, and emerge by the banks of the lake.

At this point it chose to suddenly rain heavily, and looking like it was going to last, I reluctantly donned my waterproof top and trousers, only to have to take them off 15 minutes later as it stopped and the temperature rose.

The next part of the walk was a lovely, flat interlude, between Ossiacher See on my right, and a wetland nature reserve, Bleistatter Moor on my left. But by this time I was flagging, and had realised I still had an hour’s walk round to Ossiach, which was on the opposite side of the lake.

There was a short walk along the main road, and then a last climb back into a forest, which this time, unlike the end to yesterdays walk, did seem to have a purpose, although by this time I was very tired. Finally the trail took me across farmland, edging closer to the lake, before emerging at the grand buildings of Ossiach Abbey and then the lakeside at Ossiach, close to a small jetty.

Today’s walk had taken me nearly eight hours but here I am in Ossiach at last, and now around half way along my six week trip along the trail. It’s been a amazing experience so far, but a tiring one. When planning a trip like this you never really can imagine what it is going to be like, and how difficult it will be. But I’ve been really impressed by the scenery along the way and the variety I have encountered already, and I still have two more countries yet to go. Hopefully, the next couple of days will be a little easier and I can sort out my blister problem.

With rain and then severe thunderstorms threatened for today, I was anxious to make an early start again, especially as I was heading for Gerlitzen Alpe, at the top of a chair lift, nearly 2000 metres up, and likely to be just a little exposed. As it turned out, the thunderstorms didn’t materialise where I was, but then again mountain weather is always very localised – it can be totally different on two sides of the same mountain range, as I have often found.

As I left Arriach behind, I could see why they hadn’t been able to take my luggage there overnight. The main road was still closed and the damage wrought by last Thursday’s storm was still being cleared up.

I turned off up a minor road hill and started what I knew would be another 1300 metre climb (another ‘Ben Nevis’ if you like). It had already rained overnight bringing a freshness to the air, the sky was grey and it was a good ten degrees cooler than yesterday making a fast uphill both possible and, with storms expected by midday, advisable. So I went for it, and started ascending at quite a pace. I am definitely finding these sorts of ascents easier as time goes on, particularly if it is not too hot, so I must be getting a bit fitter I guess.

As the road became a wide track you could see where storm water had forced its way across and along the path, so I hoped today’s weather wouldn’t see a repeat of last week and I wouldn’t find myself walking in a fast moving mud stream. I reached a group of houses at a place called Hinterbuchholzer by about 11 am – getting there was meant to take about half the suggested five hours of walking time, so this was a sign of good progress.

After this point the path became more interesting and for the next couple of hours I enjoyed a lovely walk, through the top of forest, then across a level plain with views for the first time of the Karavanke range, the part of the Alps that separates Austria from Slovenia. These mountains looked much more rugged and craggy than the smoother more rounded neighbours to the north where I had been walking for the last week or so and it won’t be long before I am headed that way.

My lunch stop was at a convenient stone table and near here I saw signs suggesting Gerlitzen Alpe was only an hour and half away. By this time though the need for rushing had passed, as the sky was largely blue, it was warming up a little and I even had to put sun screen and a sun hat on again. Plus, after my exertions of the morning, having climbed about 900 metres already, I couldn’t move especially fast if I tried.

As I passed a group of holiday homes I made the mistake of following the Alpe Adria signs literally. Instead of a short 40 minute walk up the road, which I could have taken, as it was signed to Gerlitzen Alpe, but was not as part of the AAT, I opted to follow the official route back into the forest, and then to a ski run, and down. There seemed no point to this other than to lead me to a restaurant and bar, and a rather unappealing small lake, which looked rather sorry for itself- like a gravel pit reservoir without enough water in it. The real killer was then the climb back up, crossing back to the ski run, which seemed never ending. All in all this added about 2 km and 300 metres of ascent for no real benefit, as well as a little descent I could have done without. Finally, I reached my destination at the summit, 1911 metres above sea level.

Gerlitzen Alpe is one of those places with all round views, but it is rather marred by the ski lift paraphernalia everywhere- chair lifts going in both directions. It’s quite evidently geared towards winter sports above all else. Nevertheless the room I have in the little guest house above the restaurant here, overlooking the chair lift, has an incredible view with two lakes down below and the mountains of the Karavanke and Slovenia behind.

Tomorrow I should finally reach about the half way point of the hike, so how am I coping so far? Well, I think the successive ascents and descents have certainly taken some getting used to and are much more tiring than the distances alone would suggest. I have developed small blisters on both little toes which are currently annoying, at times sore, and which I hope I can keep under control. My back plays up from time to time, but mainly when I’m tired and have been carrying a heavier rucksack (when the baggage had not been delivered). And I seem to have had a bit of minor hip pain after long descents, but so far this has always cleared up by the next day. So not bad really, physically.

Mentally, I have found being on my own fine, helped by friends and family keeping in touch, whether by email, phone or what’s app. Please do stay in contact – it’s lovely to hear from you. And the donations to the pangolin fund have been overwhelming , over £700. You can still donate at https://justgiving.com/fundraising/larry-honeysett

Writing the blog itself keeps me occupied and I have books and tv to keep me entertained. Meeting some lovely people along the trail has really added to the experience too, and I hope that has come across on the blog.

What can get a bit laborious is the process of packing and unpacking, washing clothes, adjusting to different hotels, and finding places to buy lunch. But I really can’t complain. Some of the hotels have been pretty luxurious, some basic, many in-between, but I think all have been fine, and mostly the staff very friendly. The staff at Trail Angels, who have organised the Austrian part of the trip, have been really helpful too. So I think I’m set fair for the next half of the trek, but you never know what’s coming next, as I found out last week, so best to take each day as it comes.

I was in the queue for the opening of the gondola lift at 9 am this morning, so by half past nine, there I was, back at the top by Kaiserberg again ready to resume the walk where I left off yesterday.

It was a stiff but short climb to ascend to the obvious peak nearby, Woellaner Nock, marked both with a big cross, and, as it turned out when I got there, lots of little stone cairns which people had assembled. Even though I’d been amongst the first dozen on the cable car, others had already made it there before me.

But once I started descending a little the other side aiming for the next, nearby peak, Vorderer Woellaner Nock, I was on my own. The landscape here was reminiscent of the Pennine Way, particularly the Cheviot Hills, which mark the border between Scotland and England, although obviously at a far higher elevation. The views were grand, and in every direction, with nothing higher to obscure or obstruct what you could see.

Not a landscape I guess many people, including myself, normally associate with the Alps, this was not the ruggedness or grandeur of Grossglockner, of Mont Blanc or the Matterhorn. It was a softer landscape, with more grass covered, rounded mountains, despite being 2000 metres above sea level, and still much higher than any UK mountain.

From this second little peak I veered off left and could see already to my right what the guidebook told me was my destination of today, the village of Arriach, still another 10km of walking away down to the valley. The path left was very steep, probably 1 in 4 or 5, but never felt unsafe, as there were plenty of solid rocks to place your feet on, dry grass and moss, and even posts from a barbed wire fence to hang onto. But it did make it slow progress for me, and it took me a good 45 minutes to an hour to descend what, when I looked back, seemed to be hardly any distance at all. By this time others were haring past me, and I just couldn’t understand how, especially without walking poles, they felt safe to do so.

I then joined a track which continued to descend, in a series of sweeping curves, and at a more measured gradient. At one point some bullocks blocked the path, and there was a bit of a stand off, with me, and two young men approaching the other way on the other side of the animals, waiting to pass, with no obvious way of our diverting around. After a few minutes, the two guys were braver than me and decided to just walk past, horn side of the animals, and it turned out the bullocks just ran off, so I was able to pass too.

Although it was quite a long descent, at over 1000 metres, it didn’t feel anything like as tiring as the walk down to Dobriach a few days earlier. Once again I had a fuller rucksack, as there was no luggage delivery to Arriach today, and while it was getting hotter it was only in the mid 20s at this point.

I passed a strange target shaped design indicating I was now at the central point of Carinthia, and it was not long after this I came out of the forest by some little farms. As last week, once I was down lower, it was much hotter, and with no shade either, any effort , especially little inclines, took it out of you. I passed through the little village of Laastadt, and then walked alongside a river, where I could see that mud and debris had accumulated here too, presumably after last week’s storm, with workmen trying to clear some of the damage caused.

After about five hours walking, and by now in blazing heat, I arrived at the hotel in Arriach. It was only 2:30 but the rising heat, and my fatigue had vindicated my decision to split stage 17 over two days, one mainly up, and the other mainly down. Had I not done that I would have begun the new week much more exhausted.

Tomorrow promises rain and thunder all day, right from early in the morning, so I am glad I am going up again, not down, if the forecast proves accurate. I only hope that, assuming we do get rain, it’s nothing like as ferocious as the storm here last week. It’s not as if you can’t expect a day of rain if you’re spending the amount of time I am here walking in the mountains, after all, and last weeks weather was pretty exceptional I think.

Following all of the drama of Thursday night’s storms and its aftermath, I spent Friday evening at Radenthein, before being driven to Bad Kleinkirchheim yesterday. There, I said goodbye to Brunhilde and Christian, who have been so good to me the last few days, and had a quiet day at the hotel, washing clothes, relaxing and reading.

On the drive there, further evidence of the havoc wreaked by the storm on Thursday was obvious. At the western end of Bad Kleinkirchheim, mud, trees and other debris had been washed down the hill in front of a hotel by the power of the water and, now nearly two days later, the road had only just been properly cleared- workers and excavators were still trying to clear up the mess.

Nice as it is to have a little rest, with me having to abandon any hope of hiking two stages of the trail this summer (stage 15 from Erlacherhaus to Larchenhutte; and stage 16 Larchenhutte to Bad Kleinkirchheim), and extra time on my hands, I was keen to be doing something. My first thought was to take the cable car, the Bergbahnen, which was very close to my hotel, up to the summit of Kaiserberg, which I could actually see from my hotel balcony. But then I realised the climb to Kaiserberg formed the first part of Stage 17 of the Alpe Adria trail, so that would be duplicating my walk the next day.

So instead I thought why not divide stage 17 into two, and walk up to Kaiserberg today, my planned rest day, as a half day walk, catching the gondola (cable car ) back down; and take the gondola back up tomorrow to recommence the walk? That way I would have two easier walking days. Particularly as I had been told that luggage transport would not now be available for the next two days, it made sense to do the big ascent with a lighter rucksack while still based at Bad Kleinkirchheim.

So setting out early, I found the start of this stage of the trail easily enough, but annoyingly, even with my gps, it took me about 20 minutes to establish where the walk went from there. This sort of thing is not actually as unusual to me as it sounds- I’ve often found with walks locating the start and setting off in the right direction from a town can be more difficult than it appears. It’s a bit like when coming up out of an unfamiliar tube station and not being able to work out which direction you’re facing and where to go.

Eventually I found the way though, and then followed a road south east up out of town (the storm devastation had largely been to the north), soon becoming a cinder track, with hardy cyclists pedalling their way vigorously uphill. A bobsleigh run crossed over the track at one point and before long, I could see a line of gondola cabins ascending the hillside ahead of me.

When I walk past a line of gondolas what often strikes me is how quiet they are. It’s not until you are very close or underneath them that you can hear much at all, and then it’s only a hum and a rumble as a each gondola passes a pylon. They’re actually quite peaceful to watch.

After one or two switchbacks in the wide track, the Alpe Adria route started taking steep short cuts before it abandoned the track altogether, to take a steep root-covered path uphill. And it got pretty steep from then on. On average, the morning’s walk was about a 10% incline- 1000 metres or so over 10 km, but with the roads being less steep and a few flatter sections the steeper paths were probably double that. With the rain we had had here again last night, parts of the path were quite slippery so I was actually glad I was going up and not down.

I passed a ski run, and then started meeting people who had obviously caught the gondola up and decided to walk down.

For most of the time the walk today was in forest, and when you’re carefully watching your feet as I was you can’t help noticing the number of ants you see here. They’re much bigger than those you normally see in the UK, and they march in lines across the trail to and fro from their enormous mounded nests, often carrying bits of leaves and the like that are bigger than they are. It also means you have to think and look every time you stop and put anything down- to adjust a sock or get something out of your bag, especially to eat. I have once had an experience, back at home with smaller ants, when I forgot to do this and spent the next half an hour desperately trying to get rid of the swarms of ants that had colonised my rucksack. I don’t want to risk it with these bigger, more menacing-looking, species.

Eventually I came to a level, clearer grassy area. Here there was an electrified gate barrier to keep out the cattle, which helpfully had a side gate for hikers. Over the last few weeks, I’ve come across quite a few of these, and where there has not been a side gate, I have become used to having to limbo underneath them to avoid getting a shock. You never really know whether the current is on or not, but I reckon if a shock is enough to deter a big animal like a cow, it’s going to be painful if you are unlucky enough to touch it and the power is on. Better to be safe than sorry.

The last part of the walk ran alongside a mountain bikers’ route, thankfully segregated as they were rattling along at quite a pace as they passed. Ahead I could see the concrete block of the Bergbahnen top station, Kaiserberg, but the last stretch was a stiff climb before you actually got there.

Nearby there were two obvious summits- one very close by, marked by a big cross, and another which I think is probably Wollaner Nock. There was a long line of people making their way there by means of a ridge, their silhouettes visible on the horizon. Tomorrow I may be one of them as I think this is the route I’m going to be taking.

And so I took the gondola down. Actually, as is often the case with these, it was a two part ride with a middle station where you had to get out before getting another one. Unfortunately, I had made the mistake of not buying a ticket at the bottom before I left, not realising there is often nowhere to buy a ticket at the top, so I had to persuade two guys of my honesty and that I would buy a ticket when I got down. Once there, of course no one asked me, but I bought a ticket anyway. It’s a shame you can’t get a return ticket coming back on a different days, but never mind.

So, nice to get back to the hiking, and I think I’ve made the right decision to split this stage across two days as I have. Tomorrow there is more up, another 200 metres or so, but the majority will be downhill. I think I’m much more likely to enjoy the day tomorrow doing it this way, and with only 12 km or so to walk it shouldn’t take me all day either.

The last 24 hours has been pretty eventful, and not turned out at all how I had imagined. Never mind- all’s well and it’s a day I’ll never forget.

At about 5:30 last night, when I’d been in the Erlacherhaus mountain hut for about three hours, the hot weather finally broke and it started to rain. As we all ate dinner indoors, the cloud came down and the rain grew more intense. I’d just finished eating my goulash when the lights went out. There were flashes of lightening and then it started to hail outside heavily.

A further twenty minutes passed and it actually starting snowing, the wind picked up, and torrents of brown coloured water started shooting down the hillside, rain mixed with mountain rivers and streams. By the time an hour had passed the scene had entirely altered from only two hours earlier. I can honestly say I have never seen weather like it. Ever (admittedly I’ve not experienced a Caribbean hurricane or Indian monsoon).

But we didn’t really know how bad it was yet. Brunhilde and Christian, the couple from Linz I’d met a few times over the last couple of days, were at dinner with me and said they had heard that the bad weather was very localised. It was possible we might be able to walk tomorrow if we travelled together and we agreed that would be sensible.

I had nothing else to do but go to bed to read my ebook. The power came back briefly and I spoke to Jeni and messaged Rachel and some friends, but soon the power cut out again and I was unable to contact the outside world, with no 4G or wifi. One of the women running the Erlacherhaus knocked at my room’s door to tell me they would need to find out what was affected in the morning but hiking in the high mountains for the next few days didn’t look likely to be possible.

Dawn broke and after a cold shower (no power) I heard the sound of a helicopter landing close by. A police officer was dropped off. As the only non German speaking person staying there it was a bit alarming, but I am immensely grateful to Brunhilde, the lady running Erlacherhaus and a friendly German father for keeping me informed. (He was hoping his car and caravan, parked further down had survived, but couldn’t be sure.)

It turned out that the road up to the hut had been cut off, as had the trail I had taken yesterday. Huge amounts of water had burst the banks and destroyed the mills around Turkhaus I’d passed. I later saw the devastation for myself just above the hut when I took a five minute walk to where the trail I had intended to take had been severed.

People staying at Erlacherhaus and other huts in the vicinity were being evacuated by helicopter later that day. Police with a bloodhound were looking for people that might be hurt or trapped. The helicopter was surveying the damage from the air first before commencing the airlifts.

Everyone stayed remarkably calm- children were well behaved and played ludo and snowballs.

As midday approached we were told that the evacuation would start in about ten minutes with the hut lower down the river gorge. True enough it did. At 1 pm I boarded a helicopter, courtesy of the Austrian police, for the first time in my life, for an amazing five minute flight back to Radenthein, through which I has passed yesterday.

The devastation could be seen from the sky, with the river having burst its banks and blockages across the wide trail I had walked up the day before. A mother was trying to reassure her scared child who was sharing the helicopter with me. And before we knew it we had landed, a five minute ride- the reverse of the five hours it has taken me to walk up yesterday.

A vehicle was waiting to pick us up from the football field where we had landed and we were taken to the local fire station. A local tv crew was outside ready to go on air.

We had been rebooked to a hotel there (Radenthein) from where I am writing this blog entry, and we’re to be taken by taxi to Bad Kleinkircheim tomorrow. After that, from Monday my walk will resume.

So it’s a shame that I won’t be able to do the whole hike, and especially that I’m missing today’s stage. But in the circumstances I’m relieved that sensible precautions have been taken, because I have seen for myself earlier the damage rain and fallen trees can cause and I wouldn’t have wanted to take silly risks. Everyone involved has been brilliant, stoic, helpful.

I have to say the thought did cross my mind- what would have happened to anyone caught out in that weather last night? I hate to think. If they were far from shelter, I think they would have been in really severe danger and could easily have been killed. So I’ve had a remarkable escape really- by about four hours.

And 24 hours that will live with me for the rest of my life.

The morning dawned and it was another hot one. I knew today’s walk was relatively short, but also that it was almost entirely uphill.

In fact things are never exactly as you anticipate. The first two or three kilometres was a mainly level, riverside walk , with a lot of it in the shade (this became a bit of an obsession today due to the heat). Out in the sun I passed a field of sunflowers- they really did seem to have turned round to face the sun.

I then crossed the river to the town of Radentheim, which was having a market or jumble day. Or maybe every day was like this. The road twisted and turned uphill leaving the town, and any shade, behind.

I caught up with the couple from Linz that I’d chatted to briefly the day before (the lady had taken my photograph), who had also been at breakfast that morning in my hotel at Dobriach. They were doing a week’s worth of the Alpe Adria trail as far as Bad Kleinkirchheim (ie another three days).

All three of us struggled up the hill in the searing heat, which felt dry and hot, maybe 30 C, even at 10:00 am. When I was out in the sun, it was unpleasant and I was drinking so much water I was in danger of getting through it too quickly. Nor did the water seem to help, as I just needed more.

As I went a little ahead, focused on getting into a bit of shade, I suddenly heard ‘achtung’, and realised that I had been carrying on up the road when I should have turned right. The couple had been shouting out to me. I think I was so anxious just to get back in the shade somewhere I hadn’t been paying proper attention.

So we walked together for a little while until a phone call interrupted and I went on ahead once more. I was soon on a little forest path which led out to a road at an old farmhouse called Turkhaus.

Beyond Turkhaus, which is obviously a popular spot for families, with lots of benches and carved figures, it was shady, which made a huge difference. The walk passed a series of mills with waterwheels- a sort of open air museum- as a river to the right flowed downhill in a series of waterfalls- another schlut, if not quite as dramatic as the others I’d seen last week.

At some point after the busier section had ended and I had crossed the river, as a sign indicated, I went a little off track. Not disastrously and I could have just walked back when I realised. But I saw on my gps that there was an alternative, and rather than walk steeply down hill and back again, I took this, which was soon signed towards my end destination, Erlacherhaus. After about 40 minutes it led me back to the correct route, probably adding a kilometre to the day, but with no extra height gain.

I passed a series of huts in the last part of the walk. The first, like Pichlhutte a couple of days ago, was doing a roaring trade. Lots of cars, people drinking and eating outside. Another a bit later on was strangely silent, though there were still big parasols outside. This one the guidebook had harsh words for, saying visitors were often told to do their own washing up after ordering a rather underwhelming meal, so I won’t mention its name. Sounds a bit like an old fashioned British youth hostel to me ( they are not like that any more I hasten to add).

Essentially it seems many mountain huts in Austria are often just like pubs, not necessarily offering accommodation, although some do. In the higher mountains (off road) they are more likely to be more basic and youth hostel like, for serious mountain hikers and climbers, as is the case in France and elsewhere.

A further steep climb was saved to the end by which time I’d ascended over 1100 metres since my overnight hotel. A little frustrating in that I’d gone all the way down into the valley essentially just for an overnight stop. This time though,while the accommodation is more basic for the next two nights, I won’t need to go straight down again.

While I loved Millstatter Hutte I’m relieved that in Erlacherhaus I have my own room tonight, and it’s clean and modern. And there is more than one shower between 30 people, which I have already used. Bliss.

Tomorrow promises a day of high mountain walking, before I descend to Bad Kleinkircheim on Saturday, for a long awaited rest day. I’m looking forward to tomorrow, but the day after sounds a bit daunting, judging by my guidebook. Hopefully I can cope now, after two weeks experience.

I slept surprisingly well at the hut- tired I suppose- and after a hearty breakfast set off on my hike for the day, having said goodbye to my roommates of last night, Natalie and Gabby.

Today was a remarkable walk. The first half was as good as anything on the trail so far- an exceptional walk- and the second a seemingly never ending descent, getting hotter as the day progressed.

First there was a little climbing, up to above 2000 metres, and then I was up on the open ridge of the Nockberge, with marvellous panoramic views in every direction. A fellow Alpe Adria Trail walker kindly took my photograph.

And then a German couple, who had been a little ahead of me , told me they’d seen marmots. After that I was on the look out, listening for their familiar whistle, and sure enough I saw one, and then a little later, another. On both occasions they were perched on a rocky outcrop, whistling, maybe to warn their family and friends of humans, who knows?

The ridge walk was a delight- like a higher version of a Lake District walk, but with even more spectacular views. Grassy, with what looked like limestone, possibly granite, glittering quartz, little tors with marmots, cattle and numerous beautiful blue mountain tarns.

I reached a sculpted archway, the so called Garnet Gate, meant to reflect the abundance of garnet (a red gemstone) in this area. And then the descent started. At first it was quite easy. There were numerous people walking up to the ridge I had just left- I gathered they had driven to the Lammersdorfer Hutte, for which I was now aiming, rather than climbing up from the bottom like I had done the day before.

Reaching the Lammersdorfer Hutte at about lunchtime I then looked forward to a quieter descent. But first the route had a cruel trick, a forty minute climb back up to a another viewpoint, the Jufen, taking me back up to 1800 metres.

After this it was genuinely down, and down, and down, in a series of seemingly never ending switchbacks. There were amazing views of the Milstatte See below.

It took about three hours to get to the little village of Matzeldorf. And then there was still another 3 km to the town of Dobriach, my end destination. That took another hour, and by the time I arrived on the flat of the valley I was exhausted. The extra baggage I had carried the last two days had not helped, the long descent, and the hottest day so far. Also I was out later in the afternoon than I’d been for about a week in the height of the sun.

The final straw though was when I found my hotel was a further 1.5 kn beyond the stage end point. I plodded along barely able to walk by this time, arriving about 5:30 in the afternoon. I had been walking about 8.5 hours.

The next three days are also long and another mountain hut tomorrow night, although I’m not having to carry my stuff this time (phew). Let’s hope the weather cools a bit too.

I knew today would see a big change from the easy lower level walks of the last week or so, as I was heading high up into the Nockberge, a range of high, grassy mountains. Tonight I would also be staying in a proper mountain hut for the first time (apart from one experience 25 years earlier in New Zealand). My rucksack was heavier too as I needed to carry toiletries, towel and bedding, not having access to my suitcase until the night after. And again I was anxious to start early in view of the heat- it had been stifling in the hotel room overnight and Seeboden was hot and the air still, even as I left at about 8 am.

I needed plenty of water- I picked up five half litre bottles from the supermarket, as I knew there was going to be a lot of ascent today. Seeboden, surprisingly , was already at 592 metres above sea level, but Millstatter hut, where I was heading, was a whopping 1880 metres above sea level. In between the route promised to take me up to 2088 metres, before descending down a little – so around 1500 metres of climbing was expected.

In fact it didn’t quite turn out that way. Almost, but not quite.The first couple of hours was a long plod up a mainly shaded road, with little traffic apart from quite a few e-bikes. These seem popular here and it’s understandable because the uphill would be a real struggle even for the fittest cyclist.

I knew that I should arrive at my first landmark, the Pichlhutte, by about 11:30 because thoughtful signs with pictures of frothy beer by the side of the road said ‘30 minutes’ and ‘15 minutes’ – they turned out to be pretty accurate too.

Unfortunately when I arrived at Pichlhutte the path onwards had a ‘Danger walking path closed’ . After phoning my tour company, I was assured that this was an old sign from when there had been some rain damage, that it was now safe, and I should carry on. And so I did, only to find ten minutes later there was another sign, this time saying ‘ Forestry operations, danger, do not enter’ or something similar. I thought I’d heard forestry vehicles, and could certainly see piles of logs ahead and wondered how feasible it would be to continue.

Maybe the forestry workers had gone for lunch, but all I could see now was an abandoned tractor/excavator, so edging ahead, and walking round some cut down trees, I managed to get past to where the vehicle was and onto a wide logging trail. Here there were wonderful views down to Seeboden, which distracted me a little, but then I found a path heading up which seemed to match up with my gps. I was back in safety and headed for a convenient picnic table that I could see on top of the hill of Tangerner Alm. This made a perfect spot for lunch, with amazing views over the hills and forest over Millstatter See.

Resuming the walk, I found the Alpe Adria app saying one thing, and my gps, book and (sometimes) signs another. It all got a bit confusing, so I just cut my losses and followed a (non Alpe Adria Trail) sign for Millstatter hut, my final destination.

Before long I could see on my gps that this route would cut out a big loop north ( and up) of the Trail and to be honest by this time I was quite glad of that. Yes I would miss out a little of the route, and views north from the Nockberge, but when I’d last seen a sign it had said four hours and this one said only 1.5 hours. Tired from a long walk up, an hour and a half sounded appealing.

My alternative route in actual fact turned out to be lovely, and easy to walk on, with only minimal further incline. I had already walked up some 1300 metres (a Ben Nevis after all) so I wasn’t distraught about missing out on another 200! But by the time I arrived at the mountain hut at about 3pm I was still worn out.

The mountain hut, Millstatter Hutte, was in a perfect spot and I was immediately made to feel welcome by the staff. I was put in a room of four and asked whether if others arrived I would mind sharing. As I had been expecting some sort of dormitory, and the hut was so small I could hardly object.

As it turned out I did share, with two keen walkers, Gabby and Natalie, whose families also didn’t quite share their love of hiking, at least not to the same degree. They were from Graz in Austria and were old hands at mountain huts. For the last few days they had been walking the Nockberge trail and tomorrow were going to be walking to Seeboden – my journey of today in reverse. I hope I didn’t disturb them too much by getting up for the toilet in the night and waking early to have a shower. Or snoring.

After a day of rest at Gmund, I set out early on my walk to Seeboden so as to avoid the mid afternoon heat, conscious that I was lucky that temperatures in Austria were forecast in the high 20s rather than a possible record breaking 40C back in the UK.

The first few hours of the walk turned out to be very pleasant and easy forest walking, shady with the pervading smell of pine all around. Due to a landslip, I was diverted up higher than the normal route, via a couple of switchbacks, to follow a quiet road, before descending back to the path – all of which probably added a couple of km to today’s distance. But nonetheless it was easy walk, and after previous exertions felt almost effortless.

With all the news at the moment of forest fires across Europe though I thought I’d check out his things stand here in Austria. I found the map below, which shows, fortunately, that Austria is one of the safer places to be walking in forest in Europe at present, along with Ireland and Scotland. The bigger worry is for Slovenia and Italy, when I arrive there (but at least none of the areas I’m going to are coloured purple yet). Essentially once I’m there it’s about the same risk as back home in southern England. I’ll just have to pay attention to weather and news reports.

Anyway, back to today’s walk, and after a while, gaps in the trees started to appear, and I was taken on a roundabout route close to the village of Kolm, and then round the edge of another village, Treffling.

Here I resisted any temptation to visit what is apparently the world’s biggest torture museum, in Sommeregg castle. Why it should be here I’m not entirely sure. But having been to a museum of torture years ago (in Ghent in Belgium) I could do without visiting another.

Shortly after I descended through the town and resort of Seeboden, set on Millstatter See. It’s clearly a popular place, with families sunbathing and taking to the water.

Even with the added distance I was finished by around 1 pm, having started just after 8, taking about five hours, compared to the guideline four hours. But rather than 14.6 km I had walked 18.77 km. Some of this was due to the diversion, and some more to my decision to walk to the water’s edge and back, beyond the official stage end. But there’s more to it than just that, I think.

All of my distance and elevation readings are taken from my own gps, which should make them considerably more accurate than anything else in measuring what I actually walked. So what’s the explanation for the sometimes big differences form routes and book measurements? I think it is what my wife, Jeni, and I labelled the ‘Fletcher principle’ years ago after a Scottish B and B proprietor who explained why our all day walk along Loch Lomond seemed like a lot more than the official distance. He said: that’s because it was.

Essentially, any route traced on a map is an approximation. It consists of a series of straight lines. In reality we move both is a sidewards plane, curving and from side to side as the walk is often not straight; and varying in height- whether in a ‘hypotenuse’, a ‘roller coaster’ up and down effect, or a series of zigzags, for instance when there’s a steep descent. All of these add distance, and over the course of a day’s walk the amount can be quite considerable.

It’s like the question ‘how long is the coastline of Britain?’ If you measured it on small scale map you would get a very different answer to the distance measured on a large scale map – where you would measure all the little inlets. And in real life those ins and outs are even greater. There was a notable paper written over fifty years ago on this very issue, sometimes called the ‘coastline paradox’ , by a mathematician by the name of Benoit Mandelbrot. If you’re interested, check it out.

The rain of yesterday continued all evening and all night, and was heavy and noisy- I was woken by thunder and lightening during the night. By morning the rain had stopped, but the view from the balcony was still completely enveloped in cloud.

It seemed after all I hadn’t been staying at my hotel alone- there was a group of six who were rising for breakfast as I left. But with the cloud enveloping the hillside there was still an eerieness when I started walking as you couldn’t see far ahead. It was pleasantly cool, and the cloud lingered before turning into a haze which made taking photographs difficult.

Near the start of the walk I passed one of the many Catholic shrines that can be found throughout this area. I guess on a typical day I have passed at least half a dozen. Some are small roadside affairs, others quite grand, like this one in the woods which included a shelter. I’ve seen this sort of thing before in other catholic regions in Europe, but can’t remember seeing as many as this before, with the possible exception of the Black Forest in Germany. I guess, regardless of your convictions, you can appreciate a shelter being provided in the forest.

At first, there was another pleasant forest walk, before I followed lanes through farmland and villages. I passed another waterwheel, part of a preserved old mill.

Today I had a choice of two routes once I reached the village of Altersberg. I could walk uphill, via the intriguing sounding ‘Fairytale hiking mile’ to a suspension bridge over the Drachenschlut gorge. Or I could play safe and take a route downhill crossing a stone bridge. The suspension bridge, which is the longest in the Alps, at 175 metres sounded more interesting, but I was a bit concerned that I might walk all the way uphill only to find it closed, as apparently others had complained about. This would mean walking back down and then taking the alternative route, a long detour. Anyway I took the risk, and it paid off.

My holiday company had sent me some notes which pointedly referred to the ‘former’ Fairytale hiking mile, and as I started walking up I was distinctly underwhelmed. At first there were simply what looked like a few garden gnomes at intervals along the road; then some little huts started to appear with wooden figures depicting scenes and characters from fairy tales; and finally there were some large figures like this one of the dragon below.

It seemed like what had been some sort of paid attraction had probably folded, and what I was seeing were the slightly tatty remnants of what had been left behind. The bridge formerly was part of this attraction, but was now free to use (when it was open). Luckily it was.

What actually surprised me was how stable the bridge was. In Britain no doubt there would be people trying to make it wobble, but here there were just a couple of families taking selfies and walking with their children across the gorge. Yes, there was a slight wobble in the middle, and no doubt in bad weather it wouldn’t be much fun, but it didn’t seem much more wobbly than Penge West station bridge to me! A little disappointedly, because the bridge was hidden in forest there was nowhere you could take a picture to show how long the bridge was.

I then found myself on a long descent along a little lane down towards the valley. By this time the temperature was creeping up. The path led under a motorway and then into the town of Gmund, entering via the west gate. The town isn’t very big, but is instantly appealing with its well preserved town walls and gates, buildings and town square. As I write this I have already spent a pleasant hour reading, over a pint, sat in bar in the square (but if only so many Austrians didn’t smoke!)

This week has been a short and easy week’s walking. From now on I shall be walking six days and resting on Sunday, right up until towards the end when I have ambitiously planned nine walking days in a row.

On a hike such as this of course, rest days are not just that, but also a chance to wash your clothes, which hopefully I shall get better at. At least with the weather warming up they should be easier to dry.

Nest week promises temperatures possibly as high as 31C. Hopefully up high it will be cooler than that, and if I start early I shall spend at least a few hours in much cooler temperatures, better for long climbs. And the walk should be more adventurous again, with some big climbs, more forest and off road walking again, as well as stays in some mountain huts. I will also be saying farewell to the Moll valley, which I’ve been following for most of the last ten days. So some interesting walking in prospect, and I will do my best to capture some of the experience in my posts.