Swiss allmends, and a walk to see them

by F. Barham Zincke

Who could stand on this little marge of sand unmoved? It is a point of contact between the distant days—represented by the deserted channel—when the valley above you was a broad and long lake, and your own day—represented by the channel now in use—when, 800 feet below what had been, in the first period, the surface of the old lake, is now the site of the busy and thriving community of Im Hof. Here you are reminded of what was the old, and humanly unrecorded state of things; and are enabled to understand what brought about the existing state of things, and how it brought it about. The old torrent played its part by the slow but unfailing exercise of the rock-eroding power, with which running water had been invested from the beginning of things; and the existing torrent, as it rushes by before you, is, you see, playing the same part in the working of the world-organism—the part it has been playing, without failing or rest, for no one can say how many thousands of years; which, however, only began to run their course, when the thousands of years of the old channel had ended theirs. You are even carried, in the process of thought, beyond the world-organism to the world-organiser, who impressed on matter its properties, modes of action, uses, and relations. As these visions pass before you, and these thoughts form themselves, the nerves of your mind are thrilled with an emotion, that will make that little marge of sand, at the juncture of the old with the new ravine, deep down in the bowels of the mountain, ever to you a memorable spot.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE GRIMSEL—OBERGESTELN—MUNSTER—VIESCH—THE EGGISCHHORN

Mind stirs in matter, as a soul,

Not less in atoms than the mighty whole.—Virgil.

August 25.—Were off at 5 a.m. for the longest walk of our excursion, across the Grimsel, down to Obergesteln, and then along the Rhone Valley to Munster, where we were to sleep, and the next morning to go on to the Eggischhorn. The little man was mounted; my wife and myself were on foot. Our sacs, somewhat reduced, at Lucerne, from what they had been on the Surenen and the Pragel, where two porters had been required, and this morning again somewhat further lightened by the aid of the little man’s horse, were on the back of one Jean Ott, of Im Hof, a good and true man, and eke the father of ten small children. He remained in our service for five days: this enables us to speak of his merits with some confidence.

Our tramp commenced with the Kirchet. As we passed the entrance to the old deserted ravine channel, all we had seen in it yesterday came back to mind; and with the rest the recollection of a tuft of Maidenhair fern I had espied on one of its walls, with some of its fronds erect and some pendant, placed just where it might most charm the eye of the beholder with the contrast of the beautiful fragility of its black thread-stem and tender green spangle-leaflets, to the grey rock, and to the recollection of the dashing angry torrent that had, long ages gone by, excavated for it its little ledge. And I hoped that no thoughtless, unfeeling hand would tear it from the niche, that had been so prepared for it, so long ago.

Im Hof was soon reached, where we walked along the bed of the old lake. This was succeeded by a narrow ascending gorge, where the road is carried through woods, and the opposite mountains are very close. The green meadows of Güttannen came next; and so on to Handeck. I do not dwell on any of these points, for we are now on ground which was passed over in last year’s ‘Month in Switzerland.’ I only note what was not noted then. The difference, however, in the direction in which you are looking, and the difference in the position of the sun, make a great difference in what you see, and in how you see it. The Grimsel, too, is so full of beauty, grandeur, and interest, that I would gladly walk through it, backwards and forwards, day after day, for a week; and should expect to find in it every time something new.

At Handeck, for the sake of the horse, and of Jean Ott, a halt of an hour was called. It was now nearly 10 A.M.; and so far, with a few short breaks, we had carried along with us the morning shade of the eastern mountains. Some bread and cheese, and a bottle of wine which, if not good in itself, was made to appear so by a five hours’ brisk walk in the fresh morning air, and by the addition of ice-cold water from the glacier that on the west overhangs the châlet, occupied, within the châlet, the first half of our time. The remaining half was spent on the rocks and turf outside, in contemplation of the western glacier, and of the eastern mountain, with its fringe of pine along its lower zone, succeeded by a zone of stripes and patches of Pinus Pumilio, on any fissures and coins of vantage they could lay hold of: the rest to the top being naked, dark slate-coloured rock, ending in the broken summit ridge.

Time is up; and we are off again, as gaily as when we started at 5 A.M., over Hellen Platten, then across the mountain flank beyond: a grand scene of naked gneiss, right, left, before, behind, particularly in the last direction, as it presents itself when you turn round and look back while ascending the flank of the mountain, about two miles above Handeck. The form and windings of the sullen desolate ranges that form the valley are here seen to great advantage, and are very impressive. Then the flank of the mountain is rounded, with the Aare beneath you, on your left, far below; buried and bridged, as we passed it, by what still remained of two great avalanches. Then down to and across the Aare, and on to the Grimsel Hospice. Here another halt: this time half an hour.