Hiking in Valais: a pleasant autumn hike to the Ochsenhorn

Bathed in golden light – we didn’t expect that. The grey afternoon clouds had foretold a dull evening, but a gap in the west made way for the setting sun to cast its beams over the landscape as if a current was running through it.

Every cell in our bodies absorbs the golden sunlight and we begin to glow as well. We are completely alone up here, just six kilometres as the crow flies from busy Visp, which makes it all seem even more unreal. We clear mouse droppings from the abandoned tipi we unexpectedly find up here and lay out our sleeping bags and mats on a wooden platform.

Recap: early morning in Visp. It was great to be able to head off straight from the railway station, not only for our conscience and a reduced carbon footprint. We threaded our way through the narrow streets feeling carefree and relaxed. You would never grasp the charm of Visp from a car. Stunning mountainsides soar into the sky over the foaming River Vispa. The glittering Balfrin glaciers high above give you a first impression of the deepest valley in Switzerland. While those who prefer more illustrious company rush to Zermatt and Saas-Fee at the head of the valley, Dieter and I wanted to climb to the top of a mountain with the unpretentious name Ochsenhorn (2,912 m) alone, the mighty peaks our only companions.

To the heavens and beyond

We enjoyed our walk through the medieval old town on the hill. Signs attached to the façades reveal the nobles who have stayed in the magnificent houses, the history behind the Blue Stone and the warehouse built in 1352, an important goods trading facility. We almost didn’t notice the fresco on the Schuhmacherhaus, a former wine bar, featuring two grape carriers heavily laden with Gwäss grapes. It was a first indication of the liquid gold from Visperterminen. Our hike would lead us through the highest vineyard in Europe abutting the old town. Gwäss has the oldest known name of any grape variety and was the most widespread white table wine in the 16th century. Many ‘Üsserschwiizers’ – people from other parts of Switzerland – have never heard of other grape varieties such as Lafetschna, Himbertscha, Cornalin, Resi, Eyholzer or Humagne. Some of these autochthonous grape varieties, which are rarely found elsewhere, are carefully nurtured and cared for in the Visperterminen vineyard.

It stretches up from the banks of the Vispa at 650 metres to 1,125 metres above sea level. A wine trail leads through the steep vineyard terraces, the highest plot of which is called ‘Himmelreich’ or ‘Heavenly Kingdom’. It smells of the south, with wild herbs growing between the vines. Figs and kiwis, lizards and praying mantises also love the heat on the sunny slopes. The largest cultivated area is occupied by the Heida vine – a magical word for every wine lover. It’s a rare ancient grape variety celebrated as the ‘pearl of Alpine wines’. More specifically, it is the white Savagnin grape (not to be confused with Sauvignon), which is known in South Tyrol as Traminer. But nothing comes close to the Heida, say the experts. The blazing sun, which accumulates in the dry stone walls during the day and gives off its heat at night, causes the sugar content in the grapes to rise to heavenly levels.

A view from 4,000 metres and a blue oval

From Visperterminen we skip over a wooded section of the trail with the chairlift and climb from the Giw mountain station through the last larch groves into a stunning panorama. The Fletschhorn (3,985 m), the Mischabelgruppe and the Weisshorn (4,506 m) in the north of the Bernese Alpine ridge are very close, with the Bietschhorn as an eye-catcher. You can even see the Aletsch glacier.

The inconspicuous trail shows how few people hike over the ridge. Starting as a wide mountain ridge, it narrows to a rocky track that sometimes requires use of the hands. A blue oval flashes from beneath the south-eastern flanks of the Ochsenhorn: it’s the Blausee lake, already in the shade when we pass by and descend into the Nanztal valley. As if drawn with a ruler, the Heido bisse runs like an arrow through the sides of the valley. From the time of the pagans before the arrival of Christianity, this water channel brought the precious water from the Gamsa glacier at the foot of the Fletschhorn to the thirsty vines. Valais has always had little precipitation because the high mountains keep away the rain clouds. In ancient times, the people therefore had to come up with creative ways to manage the water. It’s ingenious, with only a slight slope to keep the force of the water low and in the channels, often through wild terrain. Some sections of the Heido bisse had to be cut into the rock.

Marching along comfortably to the lulling babble of the stream, the walk back along the bisse towards the Gibidum Pass and Giw was like meditation. At Lake Gibidum we come across the orphaned tipi.

Guardian of the water

Our first impression when we squinted out of the tent in the morning, blinded by a white wall, was of a mountain rising straight out of the lake – the Weisshorn. The clear autumn air gives the illusion of proximity. Heinz Stoffel also enjoys coming here. The Tärbiner (as the locals call themselves) works for Lonza, but also as a hiking guide. Without him we would never have noticed the secret path over the Chrizerhorlini (2,297 m). And we wouldn’t have descended into Äntschi via the Wyssi Flue.

From the dreamy clearing you can see the Nanztal valley and get to know two almost forgotten bisses: the upper and lower Niwa. ‘Maintaining them on the steep slopes was a laborious, life-threatening job,’ says Heinz. Storms, avalanches and mudslides would often destroy entire sections. A tunnel brought the turning point. Its construction at the end of the 19th century was a huge undertaking. It was drilled into the rock largely by hand – 2,647 metres long, two metres high and 1.3 metres wide – which increased the planned four-year construction time fivefold. When it opened in 1916, continuity came to the irrigation of the valuable fields and meadows on the Tärbinerberg. Severe periods of drought had previously forced entire clans to emigrate, many to Argentina or the USA. With the tunnel came electric light, and Lonza bought the right to use the water to generate electricity in winter and at night.

We hiked along the Niwa to the water attendant’s shack. At some points the trail threads its way along a wooden walkway on vertical rock outcrops. You get an impression of the dangers the water attendant was exposed to. ‘The water attendants preferred to employ single people,’ says Heinz, ‘because people kept getting killed.’ The community had the shack from 1764 restored as an important contemporary witness, but no water attendant has lived there for many years. Today this task is the responsibility of factory manager Eligius Stoffel and his team. The three of them hike the village’s 13 bisses every three weeks. In autumn, for example, the needles of the larch trees can clog the water pipes. Heinz digs a handful of wooden tags out of his backpack, so-called Wassertessel. The complicated water rights and obligations used to be recorded not in writing, but rather with notches. ‘Because of the illiteracy and because there was no paper yet,’ says Heinz. Who gets the water to their plot and when has long been computer-controlled.

It’s getting hotter and hotter

Soon after the cultural monument we reach the Bodmeri, the youngest bisse on the Tärbinerberg which transports the tunnel water. There is still plenty of flow because the glaciers are melting. But the land is thirsty. In the past, temperatures of 32 degrees were worth a note in the local paper, according to Heinz. Today it is normal: the heat starts in April and lasts until autumn. The Bodmeri gurgles cheerfully and guides us through the enchanted forest into the open countryside, the water glittering in the sun like liquid gold.