Jo and I decided to stop being so lazy and to get our bums out of the house, to enjoy the beginnings of autumn and to get up a mountain before the snow makes it into all to much of an effort. We chose the Niederhorn, which we’ve often photographed from our lofty nest across the lake, and chose to get over there via ice-cream shop and ship; the latter of which connecting to the funicular from Beatenbucht and only taking a little longer than the long way around, by train and bus via Interlaken. It was a glorious day; positively hordes of tourists and families trekking up to the top of the mountain, to hike, bike down on trotinettes, or watch mentalist paragliders running with windmilling legs down a short planked runway before they flung themselves into the adjoining abyss.
I always find it really strange that I’m not queasy or nervous when sitting on rocky outcrops high above fatal drops, but always feel slightly sick when climbing even moderate man-made structures. Jo and I perched on the cliff-edge pictured for a while and looked down into the valley below, which I have since looked up online and estimated as being 2,500 feet deep.
Weather and time don’t make regular safety checks or build according to regulations, so why I shouldn’t be bothered by such vertiginous madness, I have no idea.
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