Landmark mountains in Ötztal

Autumn wafts of fog lie over the valley basin of Längenfeld. Ötztaler Ache mountain brook flows quietly out of the valley. As so often, I stop briefly to take in the wide meadows and the high mountains above. Here, at this distinctive loop of Ötztaler Ache brook, you can see Gamskogel peak, which is "only" 2813 m high, for the first time.

More than 5000 years ago, an asteroid is said to have "clipped" the then proud three thousand meter high summit to its current height - at least that's what the British researchers Mark Hempsell and Alan Bond claim. Big and mighty, Gamskogel still towers high above the valley today.

Even as children we used to walk up its steep slopes to, as the Ötztal locals say, "Grant'n zu klaub'n" (picking cranberries) and to look for "Schwämme" (mushrooms, mostly chanterelles). How many times will I have stood on its summit? Sometimes with my best friend and mountain companion Andi from Längenfeld, but often alone. Almost always with a camera, but always for me, for my soul and my heart.

When I look deep into Ötztal from the summit of Gamskogel, I also see the small Pension "Elsa" diagonally opposite the church. My early life in Ötztal began there 50 years ago. We children romped and played throughout the village. At the fountain in front of Gasthof Hirschen to spray innocent passers-by and at the raging Ache brook, on the Brand pastureland and at the mysterious plague chapel. And somehow it was already clear back then that a few of these unreachably high and wild peaks would later become my landmark mountains.

Most people associate local mountains with good memories and often with deep feelings. I too climb “my” landmark mountains again and again, which means that at some point I know every path and every meter of the ascent.

The next morning, before the first twilight, I am sitting at “my” cairn. Large, massive and visible from afar, it stands on a crest of the six kilometer long ridge that stretches from Brunnenkogel south-eastwards to Timmelsjoch. The gentle light brings the even blocks of gneiss to life.

Wrapped up in my warm down jacket, I enjoy the clear morning. Only a few hundred meters to the north-west nestles Brunnenkogelhaus in an exposed location. Shortly before sunrise, Martin steps onto the terrace and looks at me.

He and his wife Victoria have been living every summer for several months - for 15 years - already as innkeepers at Brunnenkogelhütte at 2738 m, high above Sölden, where they run a small farm and an apartment house. Far away from the hustle and bustle in the valley, spoiled by a magnificent landscape and unique lighting moods, we have grown together on our landmark mountain over the years.

Here at the cairn, the familiar feeling that only local mountains and their huts can give with the incomparable mixture of friendship, security, home, memories and passionately lived present arises in me suddenly and powerfully.

A little later I'm sitting on the terrace of the hut. My gaze wanders over Ventertal valley. Far in the background I discover "Wildes Mannle", Weißkugel and Wildspitze peaks are towering impressively above the scenery. In the last few weeks, I have climbed this small but truly fantastic three thousand meter high summit twice in a row. In mid-August I took my thirteen year old nephew Finn up there. From "Wildes Mannle" top station, a small trail led us through the meadow slopes to the first rocks. The well-marked trail meandered through steep rock-strewn flanks. The slope only flattened out in the last meters, and a summit plateau covered with stone slabs led us to the large summit cross.

When I saw Finn's eyes shining after the obligatory "Berg Heil", I felt like I was taken back to September 1977. That was when I - at the same age - stood up there for the very first time.