Austria is a land of high mountains. No, it’s true. And at this time of year, those high mountains tend to be covered with snow. That is also totally true, I am not making it up.
In the summer, ordinary people like you and me can drive our cars up to high parking lots and go for lovely walks in the upper meadows — the alm as it’s called here. But in the winter, the alm is taken over by a whole other species of human. Padded and heavy with gear, skiers and snowboarders swarm the alm. Some places accommodate cross country skiers, but its tough terrain up there. The high altitude and hilly ground make these places a perfect training location for Austria’s cadre of competition cross country skiers. There are also a handful of back-country types that head up there, but because I travel solo, the back country is not for me. I’m not in to alpine skiing or snowboarding, and the terrain is too difficult for me as a XC skier. In general, I’ve avoided the alm in the winter. Until today.
It costs just under 10 euros to drive up the Tauplitzalmstrasse. At the toll both, it was a finger-numbing minus 15 degrees. From there, the road starts up through a dense pine forest. The forest thins as you climb and with each hairpin turn — there are eight — the vistas get more spectacular. It takes about half an hour to make the climb to the parking lot, which sits at an altitude of just over 6000 feet. (Washingtonians, Camp Muir, the base camp for Mt. Rainier on the Paradise side, is at 5000 feet.) Up at that altitude, due to some trick of the weather, it was a balmy minus 4.
Snowshoeing is just not a popular sport here in Austria. There is no explaining it. Austrians are avid hikers, from little kids to the seniorest of citizens. The mountains are crisscrossed with well marked trails. In spite of the excellent infrastructure, during winter time, most people take their sport down low in the valleys, walking the cleared riverside paths and skiing the groomed meadows. But the alm is perfect for snowshoeing and there’s plenty of room up there.
After I parked the car, I asked the gal at the little cafe/information stand where I should go for my walk. She pointed me up the hill and said to use the through-way that the snowcats — the slope grooming equipment — use. That looked a bit dull to me, and besides, it looked like one of those XC ski teams was training and I needed to get a closer look at them. I chose a route parallel to the advanced groomed track and headed up. And up. And up. It was exhausting, but quiet and very, very pretty. Every now and then an XC skier would whoosh by and sometimes, one would stop to ask me about my snowshoes. (Interested parties, pay attention. If you would like to meet a Lycra wrapped super fit ski machine, I can offer you no better advice than to get a pair of snowshoes and head up to the alm.)
I had a pretty nice walk. I chose to follow a fairly difficult route, but it was a gorgeous day and I wasn’t in a hurry. I stomped a path parallel to the advanced XC track until I’d reached the other side of the ridge. There, I sat on a stump in the middle of a meadow covered with deep, flawless powder, and ate my lunch. Then I headed back again.
A lot of people stared at me. I always smiled at them, as big as I could manage in the cold, and said hello. I feel sorry for them, all weighted down in those heavy boots, standing in line, only able to traverse the groomed parts of the mountain. Me, I can go anywhere! And now, I’m going to. I’m starting a one woman mission to get up as high as I can and to cross as many of those high alpine ridges as I can safely conquer on my own. Next stop, Dachstein!