Published in „Nature“ 12/20
From the author Markus Wanzeck
Our author drives to Berchtesgaden with great anticipation. And finds herself in a fairytale alpine world where witches slumber, wondrous things happen, and a stone king reigns above it all.
The trip to the Alps begins in Altona. Here, at the Hamburg starting and ending station, the IC 2083, known as „IC Königssee,“ starts its journey daily. Its duration? It could have come from an Indian timetable: around ten hours, with no changes. 29 stops. The final one: the town of Berchtesgaden, at the foot of two of the last resting places of „eternal ice“ on German soil. Watzmann Glacier. Blaueis Glacier. Once lengthwise across the country, from the shores of the Elbe, that extended arm of the North Sea with its tides, to the very deepest southeastern tip of the Republic, which juts out like a peninsula into Austria.
Out in the morning dew, climbing the mountain! At 7:10 AM, the IC Königssee rolls in, chugging through a dim brick landscape. A few cranes on the horizon of houses – the harbor. The speed is reminiscent of an S-Bahn ride, as are the first stops: Hamburg-Dammtor, Hamburg-Hauptbahnhof, Hamburg-Harburg. The train fills up. Behind Harburg, the S-Bahn trip turns into a railway journey. Lüneburg, Göttingen, Fulda…
More than nine hours after its departure in the high, flat north, the IC Königssee begins its ascent on a 7.4-kilometer stretch that ranks among the steepest railway lines in Europe: 7.4 kilometers, over 230 meters of elevation gain, with gradients of up to 40 per mille. It feels like a mountain railway. The train chugs along, now at S-Bahn speed again, through forests, past meadows, between rock faces, climbing, climbing, always higher, into a mountain world that seems soulful and alive, where witches slumber, an enchanted forest grows, and above it all, a stone king watches.
„King,“ they call the Watzmann here, whose summit towers 2713 meters high – surpassed in this country only by the Zugspitze. Shortly before the end of the day's train journey, it thrones in the sky above Bischofswiesen in the late afternoon sun. King Watzmann looks out over a landscape like a painting, a world like in a fairy tale. Once upon a time: a realm of majestically towering rock faces and idyllic alpine pastures, enchanted corners and deep valleys, where legends have survived for centuries and wondrous natural phenomena occur to this day.
where in some places the temperature drops as if by magic within a few meters – ten degrees, 20 degrees.
Where streams dry up before they reach the lake – and yet flow into it.
Where snowfields, as if detached from the course of the seasons, survive the summer – 2000 meters below the snow line.
What if it were truly a fairytale world? What if the golden eagle, circling high above the peaks of Halskopf and Teufelskopf on a late summer October morning, could speak? Would it joyfully tell us about the bright sunshine and the great thermals that invited it to hunt after two gray rainy days? Or would it complain about the miserable year in which the 15 eagle pairs observed by the Berchtesgaden National Park could only successfully raise a single young bird?
Would he be surprised by the group of hikers down in the Klausbach valley, who excitedly raise their arms skyward again and again whenever he glides over the ridge and the little humans down there spot his silhouette?
And again. He: sails over into the valley. She: throws her arms up. „I can't work like this,“ grumbles a man from the group with shoulder-length hair and a ten-day beard, „when I'm always interrupted during my presentation by this beast!’ Of course, Klaus Melde, a ranger in the national park, doesn't mean it seriously. He's happy when the subject of his presentation actually shows itself to the participants of the eagle hike. It doesn't happen at all, but today Melde had made himself reasonably hopeful. Because of the two rainy days before. “The eagle probably just sat around then. It's not stupid.„ Today, hunger has driven him into the sky.
Ranger Melde is one of about 100 employees of Berchtesgaden National Park, founded in 1978, covering 210 square kilometers, it is Germany's second-oldest and only alpine national park. Characterized by three valleys that nestle together, stretching north-south: Klausbachtal to the west, where eagles circle overhead. In the middle is Wimbachtal, flanked by Hochkalter and Watzmann, whose peaks already wear winter white in early October. And at the foot of the Watzmann East Face is the valley flooded by Königssee – steep, narrow, like an alpine fjord.
That 2020 was a terrible year for eagles, the worst it's been in over 25 years of monitoring, is due to the coldest, wettest June in decades, explains Melde: „Wetness or a cold snap can kill a young eagle.“ All in all, however, the population is stable. The conditions in the national park are ideal for the rare golden eagle. The updrafts. The steep cliffs, perfect for rock eyries. The abundant food supply. „Here you can swoop down on rabbits, marmots, and young chamois to your heart's content,“ the eagle would whisper contentedly from the sky, if it could speak.
Perhaps, while he's at it, he'll also express his astonishment at that impressive, even rarer occasional visitor that occasionally drifts into the Klausbachtal and, with its wingspan of a good two and a half meters, even outshines him, the king of the skies. For some time now, the bearded vulture has been successfully resettled in the Alps. As of 2021, the national park will also participate, says Klaus Melde. He points high up a steep wall. „That's where we want to release two to three young birds in the spring.“ As passionate, highly specialized scavengers, they won't interfere with the native golden eagles. Adult bearded vultures primarily feed on bones, which they can digest thanks to their extremely acidic stomach acid.
Once again, Melde points upwards, this time at the opposite mountain. In the blinding sunlight flooding the valley over the Hochkalter, the spot the ranger is looking for can barely be seen. „Up there,“ he says, „an avalanche came down in 1999.“ 20 hectares of spruce forest – snapped in moments. Now, more than a dozen different tree species are growing there. „And this is what it would look like everywhere without humans.“ The fast-growing spruces were once reforested after the Klausbachtal was cleared to fuel the saltworks of the Berchtesgaden salt mine.
Down below, at the exit of the Klausbachtal valley, the consequences of a much larger, older avalanche are visible: the Hintersee lake, dammed up by a gigantic rockslide more than 3000 years ago – and the Zauberwald forest, where the gnarled roots of moss-covered trees twine around the imposing remnants of that rock avalanche. Another such fairytale spot.
Following the Ramsauer Ache downstream out of the Magic Forest, always downstream and eastward, you reach a spot after a few kilometers where a murky gray stream flows into the Ache. Here, by the Wimbach Bridge, is a popular starting and ending point for the Watzmann Traverse, one of the most beautiful and difficult ridge hikes in the Alps, demanding a head for heights and sure-footedness – and stamina for 14 hours, 23 kilometers, and 2400 meters of elevation gain and loss.
Three and a half hours after setting off, situated at an altitude of 1930 meters, the Watzmannhaus awaits – an Alpine Club hut with a guest lounge and 200 sleeping places. „Most people who cross the Watzmann stay overnight here,“ says Herbert Wendlinger, a hiking guide and ski school owner. „And that's the most sensible thing to do.“
Wendlinger attaches great importance to common sense. In the valley, he always hands out hiking poles to the participants on his tours. And if he comes across a descender on the ascent who has turned back before the summit because of fresh snow, he gives him a word of comfort: „I always say: there are brave mountaineers. And old mountaineers. But not old, courageous mountaineers.“
For sensible hikers with not too much time or stamina, the Watzmannhaus offers itself as the turning point and highlight of a day trip with 1200 meters of altitude gain, more or less steep, but entirely free of scrambling. Wendlinger repeatedly leads „Pulse Fitness Tours“ up to the hut. Conceived 28 years ago by a cardiac specialist at a local clinic as a „Cardiovascular Hike“ for spa guests, such a tour ensures that the hiker strives uphill within the optimal pulse range. „Rule of thumb: 180 minus age plus ten percent,“ says Wendlinger. „Or simpler: As long as you can still talk on the mountain, everything is fine.“
For decades, Wendlinger accumulated 60,000 vertical meters per year – „at least,“ he says. Now, at 65, he's taking it a bit easier, but he's still very much on his feet. This becomes clear on the last Watzmann pulse hike before the winter break, even in the first steeper section. Wendlinger just keeps talking.
After all these years in the mountains, stories and anecdotes lie by the wayside for him like silver thistles and gentians. When the Wimbach Valley appears between the treetops, Wendlinger explains the grayness of the Wimbach water: „That's the scree being washed away.“ The „scree“ in turn is a rockfall that, in places hundreds of meters thick, pushes its way down the valley; around 4,500 tons, it has been calculated, are washed out of the valley each year. When a wide view opens to the north, Wendlinger begins an anatomical description of a mountain silhouette: „Toes, nose, breasts in between.“ And indeed, guided in this way, you see her lying on her back on the horizon, the legendary „sleeping witch.“.
At the top of the Watzmannhaus: take a breather. Take your pulse. Change the sweaty shirt. No sooner have the hikers„ rucksacks been opened than Wendlinger spots a second species of vulture in the national park that cannot be found as such in any ornithology book: “Ah, the snack vulture!" he calls out. A jet-black alpine chough is already approaching, fearless and cheeky, with its eyes on the hikers' provisions.
After a snack and a summit schnapps, the descent follows. It leads via the Kührointalm, where a memorial chapel for mountaineers reminds us how suddenly a life can end. In the Watzmann East Face alone, the third highest rock face in the Alps at 1,800 meters, more than 100 overly courageous climbers have lost their lives. It is not considered to be superhumanly steep, but it is miserably long and confusing. The last helicopter rescue flight was less than a week before Wendlinger's hike. „Make the most of the time,“ is written on the chapel, „for the days are short.“
To be back in the valley before sunset on this short October day, Herbert Wendlinger and his hiking group are making brisk progress with their descent from the alp. The soundtrack of the hike, from early morning until dusk, is a multi-voice „Servus!“ and „Grias di!“, almost at minute intervals at times, whenever groups meet or overtake each other. A lot going on on the mountain – and right in the middle of the national park.
Is the nature reserve suffering from „overtourism“? Everyone here has an opinion on that.
More yes, finds ranger Klaus Melde. „They just call me the lifeguard now!“ he groans. He has never experienced such a rush to Königssee in his 17 years in the national park. „I sincerely hope that Corona will be over soon. Then those who actually want to vacation at Ballermann can do so again.“
„No,“ says Brigitte Berreiter, on the other hand. She gives tours at the „Haus der Berge,“ the nature park's environmental education and information center. „We need even more interested tourists. Because distance from nature creates problems.“ For nature. Because you're less considerate of what you haven't learned to love. But also for people: „Even sitting on a bench in nature for ten minutes does you good. Hormones are released.“
And Herbert Wendlinger knows that mass tourism was essentially an enabler of the national park. The „crazy idea of a cable car up the Watzmann“ couldn't be killed off for decades. „With the national park, it was finally possible to prevent that.“
Roland Baier, the park director, keeps an eye not only on the Watzmann from his office on Doktorberg, a hill in the old town of Berchtesgaden, but also on visitor numbers: „The last official figure is from 2015. 1.6 million. That was a 40 percent increase compared to 2005.“ In the Corona year 2020, he says, it was „felt to be even more.“.
Baier, however, does not see an overtourism problem, „as long as visitors stay on the hiking trails.“ With well-maintained paths, 260 kilometers in total, and accurate signage, the national park attempts to manage tourist flows. This works in most cases. But not all. „As more people come, the proportion of those who misbehave increases as well,“ says Baier. „It's like a Gaussian distribution.“ And that does become a problem. Litter, noise, illegal campers.
Currently, the biggest problem area in the park is the Königsbach Waterfall. From its upper pools, before the water plunges into the depths, you have a picture-perfect view of Königssee. Ideal for social media self-portraits. Consequently, the waterfall went viral in recent years, becoming a cool backdrop for more and more Facebook and Instagram selfies. Even the deaths of two men, who were swallowed by the white-bubbling, low-buoyancy water of the stream in 2019, did little to change that.
„Around the waterfall, three kilometers of footpaths have been created,“ says Baier. Damage to vegetation, erosion damage. The area will be broadly cordoned off next spring, Baier announces. „Signs and barriers will be put up. And then we'll have to monitor it.“
Watzmann and Königssee as hyped, touristy nature clichés - this may get on some people's nerves, but it is not an invention of the 21st century. There was already a hype two centuries earlier, sparked by the influencers of the time: „Caspar David Friedrich and the other landscape painters,“ says Brigitte Berreiter from Haus der Berge, „were just as bled as the Instagrammers today.“
On the other hand, hand on heart: Who could you blame for being enchanted by this Alpine scenery? Again and again, day after day, you can watch tourists with their mouths agape.
When you hike through the Wimbachklamm, between moss-covered rock walls, intoxicated by the thundering roar of the stream, by the peaceful glittering of the water spray in the backlight.
When you sail across Königssee and the boatman stops to play a melody on his flugelhorn – in duet with the Brentenwand, which plays back a crystal-clear echo.
When the boat finally set them down on the Hirschau peninsula, next to the pilgrimage chapel of St. Bartholomä with its little red onion domes, and they look up at the east face of the Watzmann.
When avalanches come down the wall in winter, national park ranger Monika Lenz, who regularly guides visitor groups on the peninsula, always has to marvel. „It echoes between the walls and you can hear it for miles – as if it were right next door.“
Strictly speaking, the entire Hirschau peninsula is avalanche land, formed from the scree of the east face. A good hour's hike from the shore of Königssee, you'll find the Ice Chapel, a curious natural structure, with your mouth open! It's a kind of mini-glacier. At only 930 meters above sea level, it shouldn't really exist. But the Watzmann deposits so much snow on it that even a long, warm summer can't wear it down.
From the railroad tunnel-sized vaulted gateway of the snowfield, which gave the „Ice Chapel“ its name, the Eisbach (Ice Stream) gushes forth. During heavy rain or snowmelt, it washes debris from the wall to the shore of the lake. On other days, it dries up in its streambed – and reaches the Königssee underground. „Sometimes,“ says park ranger Monika Lenz, "an edelweiss even blooms by the stream." This flower, too, shouldn't really exist down here. Like the Ice Chapel, it was commanded down from its high-alpine climate comfort zone by King Watzmann.
Those seeking the harshest high-alpine climate zone that the Berchtesgaden mountains have to offer will find it four (partially steep) hours up and south of St. Bartholomä, up at the Funtensee. There, at 1601 meters, it is sometimes 20 degrees colder in winter than at the Kärlingerhaus, which is only about 30 meters higher. Sounds unlikely. It has to do with the extraordinary topography. The lake lies in a basin into which cold air flows down from the surrounding mountain slopes. At Christmas 2001, Germany's lowest temperature was measured here: minus 45.9 degrees Celsius.
There is also a small distillery hut at the Funtensee. Approximately every seven years, root diggers from the Enzianbrennerei Grassl come up to hack up the roots of Yellow Gentian and purple Pannonian Gentian from the surrounding slopes, up to 30 kilograms per person per day. In the hut, they are chopped, mashed, and distilled twice by the mountain distiller. „If you wonder why the Grassl is fumbling around there...,“ says National Park Ranger Lenz: „He's allowed to.“
Why is Grassl allowed to do that? The gentian distillery has a mobile distilling license. „That,“ explains Karsten Brust, who has been with Grassl for 32 years, „was granted to us by the Princely Abbey of Berchtesgaden in 1692. That's how long the gentian distillery has existed. The National Park has only been around for about 40 years.“ Three Grassl stills are located within the national park boundaries. They have found a way to coexist, partly because the gentians have years to recover.
When you do business with time horizons like the gentian distillery, you can't help but notice when things change in the mountains within just a decade. „Around 2010, our gentians were still at 1000 meters,“ says Brust. „Today, we have to dig at altitudes between 1200 and 2000 meters.“
The era of the Berchtesgaden fairytale mountain world, as it presents itself to us today, is coming to an end. Roland Baier knows this too. „The temperature increase due to climate change is twice as high in the Alps as in the lowlands,“ explains the national park director. „The species communities are shifting. And our glaciers, the Watzmann Glacier, the Blaueis Glacier...“ Baier trails off.
This leaves room for a concluding sentence worthy of a fairy tale: If they haven't melted, then they are still alive today.