I’m breathing hard. Putting one foot in front of the other. I can feel the effort, and I’m glad I can already see my goal. Just a few more metres separate me from the summit. I keep making my way up through the snow, concentrating on my movements. But I’m almost there. Soon I’ll be standing on Austria’s highest mountain. And in winter, at that.
Breakfast at 3:00 in the middle of the night
The alarm goes off at 3:00. I’m not tired. The moment I open my eyes, the excitement sets in. My backpack is already packed and waiting in the corner. So there’s still time for a cup of coffee before I find myself ready to set off in the car park outside the Lucknerhaus. The cold night air contrasts with the little white clouds of breath rising towards the starry sky in the beam of my headlamp. It’s been a long time since I set off this early.
Step by step through the darkness
The snow is frozen. The skis under my feet crunch with every step. And with every metre, I leave a little of my excitement behind. It’s so dark that I can’t judge either distance or speed. I slip into an almost meditative state, putting one foot in front of the other, and at sunrise I’m all the more surprised to find that I’ve already climbed the first 1.000 metres of elevation.
We’re not alone
With daylight, the first other mountaineers appear. Until now, we’ve been on our own and haven’t seen any other headlamps dancing in the darkness. Now we meet those who spent the night at the Stüdlhütte. There still aren’t many. Three other rope teams climb the final kick turns with us to the ski depot below the Adlersruhe. It’s steeper now. And icy. I’m grateful for the ski crampons under my skis. A little later, below the Adlersruhe, I say goodbye to my skis. I probably won’t need them again until the descent. We continue on foot towards the summit.
Next stop: Bahnhof!
For the final 400 metres of elevation, the crampons on our ski boots give us grip on the rock. We also rope up. Because now comes the challenging part. The part I’m not entirely sure I’m up to. We take the route towards Bahnhof. I ask the mountain guide why it’s called that. Because the glacier used to reach that far. You could climb that far on touring skis. Then mountain guides would pick up the ski tourers at Bahnhof and accompany them only on the final stretch. That wasn’t so very long ago. We had to leave our skis almost 200 metres of elevation further down.
It gets tough
We continue up through the Eisleittl. Apparently, it’s the crucial section in terms of snow conditions. I slowly look up. A steep ice slope stretches out in front of me. Above me, other mountaineers use their hands and ice axes to keep from slipping. At least there are already steps kicked into the snow for me to follow. They’re very high for me, though. So I heave my full weight up from one step to the next, noticing how each one becomes more exhausting. Phew. This is hard. A little further. And a little further. And a little further. Then it levels out. And suddenly I’m standing on the narrow snowy ridge of Kleinglockner. Incredible. It drops steeply away on either side of me. Wow. This takes a bit of courage.
The mental challenge
I walk carefully along the ridge. Stop and let my gaze wander. The view is impressive. I stand there in awe. Then I put one foot in front of the other again and concentrate. I’m not at the top yet. First, we have to descend a few metres into the Glocknerscharte and then climb up again. Oh boy. I slow down, hold on tight and have to make sure my grip is secure with every step. When it gets too steep, I sometimes struggle mentally. That’s when my fear of heights kicks in. It challenges me. But it’s also fun to push my boundaries and go a little beyond what I thought I could do.
Grinning from ear to ear at the summit
And so a huge grin spreads across my face when I finally stand at the highest point. Right beneath the summit cross. I throw my arms into the air. A rush of happiness flows through me, making me forget the effort of climbing 1.900 metres of elevation. I’m completely in tune with myself. Completely in the moment. This is the feeling I love so much. The feeling of living in the now. Everything else suddenly becomes irrelevant. Here I am: free and alive.
And the best part: I don’t have to walk down
I still have to manage the descent, though. And by the same route I took up. That means putting the happy feelings on hold for a moment. I have to concentrate again. But once I reach the skis and pack the crampons back into my backpack, it’s not far to go. That’s the good thing about ski touring: I can ski down instead of walking. The snow isn’t quite ideal, but it’s still much faster. That’s a good thing, because I can feel the strain of the day. It’s time for some rest and a meal to replenish my energy. I’ve really earned it today!