The continuing adventures of the world's stupidest man
What with the end of the decent weather fast approaching, I have been doing my best to get outside and enjoy the natural beauty of Switzerland (at least when I'm not doing laundry). As the forecast for Sunday didn't look too bad, Jens (my officemate) and I decided to embark on an impromptu hike. Armed with only my (up-to-this-point) trustworthy "Walking in Switzerland" guidebook, we met at the train station Sunday morning and chose a hiking destination on the spot. As neither of us were feeling like a huge adventure, we decided on a hike in the nearby Jura mountains. A quick glance through the guide found us a 5-6 hour hike that featured both a gorge and a long crest with "splendid vistas of the main Alpine massifs." At this point, it was only 9:45 and according to the book, the last bus from the end-town left at 7 PM, so we figured that we were in good shape.
Just to start things off on the wrong foot, we made sure to get on the wrong train. Now, it should be noted that this was most decidedly not our fault. As our destination was a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, and even the largest nearby town (Bienne) was not that huge, we didn't know which train we wanted. So, like sensible people, we went to the counter and asked an agent. Apparently, as some sort of cruel joke, she told us to get on the train on track 1 headed to St. Gall. Once we were on the train, though, we realized that it did not stop in Bienne, but rather went to Bern and that not only would we lose about an hour in wasted time, but that we had the wrong train tickets and would have to bargain with the conductor not to charge us a fine.
Eventually, though, we managed to make it to beautiful St. Imier, a French speaking town in the Bernese Jura area, and we started our hike. Again, we didn't want to make things too easy so we made a wrong turn just fifteen minutes or so into the hike. Once again, to be fair, there was a great deal of confusion generated by the fact that we had already hit a road that was decidedly not on the map in the book and yet somehow managed to exist. On the positive side, during our little excursion we did walk by a pen which had some horses and cows in it and as we were walking by, the horses decided that they wanted to race us!
Fig. 1: Horse race! At first, the horses just started running straight at us. Since the "fence" between us and them was about three feet high, it was more than a little frightening. When they made the turn and started running along side us, though, we knew that we had made new friends.
Eventually, though, we got back on the right track and managed to find the gorge. It was, needless to say, awesome.
Fig. 2: Jens, the proud Wolverine, in the Combe Grède gorge.
Fig. 3: This stood a very good chance of becoming my "last known photograph."
When we hit the top of the gorge, it was already about 2:30 or 3:00. As the book indicated that we had about 3 or 3 1/2 hours left, we thought we were in pretty good shape. Unfortunately, it was at this point that the trails indicated on the map in the book and the trails that we saw (and the posted maps that we saw) began to greatly diverge. Frequently, we would reach signs that pointed us in very confusing directions along trails and even roads that seemingly shouldn't have existed. To make matters more exciting, it was a very foggy and damp day and our vision was limited in all directions and most of the ground was thick with mud.
We slogged through the mud and the fog for what seemed like forever. Nearly every sign we saw was confusing and not helpful, but eventually we hit some landmarks that we could identify with certainty. Although it was a good feeling to know where we were, our hopes quickly faded as we realized that we were quite far from where we wanted to be. In fact, going by the estimated walking times on the signs, we wouldn't reach our destination of Orvin before 7:30 or even 8:00. And, since Saturday was the end of Daylight Savings Time here, it was already getting quite dark by 5:30 or so.
So, it was dark, foggy, slightly rainy, and we were quite far from where we needed to be and most likely wouldn't make it in time to catch the last bus. Could it get worse? Of course. It was roughly at this point that the trail designers decided that they didn't have much need to make an actual trail. As we were hiking over rolling hills and meadows, the "trail" just lazily crossed over huge wide-open spaces and the only way to follow it was to look for indications of previous tracks or to find the way-too-infrequent yellow markers painted on trees. The darker it got, the more difficult this became and after not very long we realized that we had completely lost the trail.
It was pretty much pitch dark by now, with whatever moon there was totally obscured by fog, and the best we could do was just wander along the hillside in the general direction of civilization. In the grand scheme of things, we knew that if we followed the contour of the hill we would hit a town eventually, but that was hardly a comforting thought. We hadn't seen any sign of civilization in a long time and it was starting to look like we would end up spending the night huddled under a tree. This was not in our original plans.
After some very depressing stumbling in the dark, we saw what could only be a building in the distance. As we aproached, we saw something that was even more exciting: a road. But, wait! Was it actually a road? In the very pale light, all we could see was that it was very shinny and very straight. Both Jens and I had roughly the same thought, namely, that this wasn't actually our road to freedom but some stupid irrigation canal that would lead nowhere. This may be hard to imagine, but it really was so dark that we couldn't tell the difference between asphalt and water from 10 feet away. Fortunately, Jens had the brilliant idea to throw a rock at the "road" to see if it made a splash. When it bounced harmlessly off the asphalt, we knew we were ok.
Following the road took us to a farmhouse/restaurant in the countryside that was fortunately still open and staffed by a very friendly Swiss German family. All we were really hoping for was directions to the nearest town (just continue down the road for 15 minutes) and the phone book to look up a taxi company to drive us from there to the train station. Instead, obviously impressed by Jens's formal and polite German, they offered to drive us all the way down to Bienne themselves. It was easily the nicest thing a total stranger has done for me in years and Jens and I will be sure to send them something in the mail to say "thanks."
In the end, after a series of really bad breaks and stupid mistakes, the whole thing came to a very fortunate conclusion. As this is not the first time that my Walking in Switzerland book has failed me (only in the Jura, for some reason), I think I will be forced to retire it and go buy a more current guide. As for Jens, seeing as how this was his first hike with me, I think it'll be a while before I regain his trust and can talk him into another hiking adventure. I guess next week will have to be badminton.
Just to start things off on the wrong foot, we made sure to get on the wrong train. Now, it should be noted that this was most decidedly not our fault. As our destination was a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, and even the largest nearby town (Bienne) was not that huge, we didn't know which train we wanted. So, like sensible people, we went to the counter and asked an agent. Apparently, as some sort of cruel joke, she told us to get on the train on track 1 headed to St. Gall. Once we were on the train, though, we realized that it did not stop in Bienne, but rather went to Bern and that not only would we lose about an hour in wasted time, but that we had the wrong train tickets and would have to bargain with the conductor not to charge us a fine.
Eventually, though, we managed to make it to beautiful St. Imier, a French speaking town in the Bernese Jura area, and we started our hike. Again, we didn't want to make things too easy so we made a wrong turn just fifteen minutes or so into the hike. Once again, to be fair, there was a great deal of confusion generated by the fact that we had already hit a road that was decidedly not on the map in the book and yet somehow managed to exist. On the positive side, during our little excursion we did walk by a pen which had some horses and cows in it and as we were walking by, the horses decided that they wanted to race us!
Fig. 1: Horse race! At first, the horses just started running straight at us. Since the "fence" between us and them was about three feet high, it was more than a little frightening. When they made the turn and started running along side us, though, we knew that we had made new friends.Eventually, though, we got back on the right track and managed to find the gorge. It was, needless to say, awesome.
Fig. 2: Jens, the proud Wolverine, in the Combe Grède gorge.
Fig. 3: This stood a very good chance of becoming my "last known photograph."When we hit the top of the gorge, it was already about 2:30 or 3:00. As the book indicated that we had about 3 or 3 1/2 hours left, we thought we were in pretty good shape. Unfortunately, it was at this point that the trails indicated on the map in the book and the trails that we saw (and the posted maps that we saw) began to greatly diverge. Frequently, we would reach signs that pointed us in very confusing directions along trails and even roads that seemingly shouldn't have existed. To make matters more exciting, it was a very foggy and damp day and our vision was limited in all directions and most of the ground was thick with mud.
We slogged through the mud and the fog for what seemed like forever. Nearly every sign we saw was confusing and not helpful, but eventually we hit some landmarks that we could identify with certainty. Although it was a good feeling to know where we were, our hopes quickly faded as we realized that we were quite far from where we wanted to be. In fact, going by the estimated walking times on the signs, we wouldn't reach our destination of Orvin before 7:30 or even 8:00. And, since Saturday was the end of Daylight Savings Time here, it was already getting quite dark by 5:30 or so.
So, it was dark, foggy, slightly rainy, and we were quite far from where we needed to be and most likely wouldn't make it in time to catch the last bus. Could it get worse? Of course. It was roughly at this point that the trail designers decided that they didn't have much need to make an actual trail. As we were hiking over rolling hills and meadows, the "trail" just lazily crossed over huge wide-open spaces and the only way to follow it was to look for indications of previous tracks or to find the way-too-infrequent yellow markers painted on trees. The darker it got, the more difficult this became and after not very long we realized that we had completely lost the trail.
It was pretty much pitch dark by now, with whatever moon there was totally obscured by fog, and the best we could do was just wander along the hillside in the general direction of civilization. In the grand scheme of things, we knew that if we followed the contour of the hill we would hit a town eventually, but that was hardly a comforting thought. We hadn't seen any sign of civilization in a long time and it was starting to look like we would end up spending the night huddled under a tree. This was not in our original plans.
After some very depressing stumbling in the dark, we saw what could only be a building in the distance. As we aproached, we saw something that was even more exciting: a road. But, wait! Was it actually a road? In the very pale light, all we could see was that it was very shinny and very straight. Both Jens and I had roughly the same thought, namely, that this wasn't actually our road to freedom but some stupid irrigation canal that would lead nowhere. This may be hard to imagine, but it really was so dark that we couldn't tell the difference between asphalt and water from 10 feet away. Fortunately, Jens had the brilliant idea to throw a rock at the "road" to see if it made a splash. When it bounced harmlessly off the asphalt, we knew we were ok.
Following the road took us to a farmhouse/restaurant in the countryside that was fortunately still open and staffed by a very friendly Swiss German family. All we were really hoping for was directions to the nearest town (just continue down the road for 15 minutes) and the phone book to look up a taxi company to drive us from there to the train station. Instead, obviously impressed by Jens's formal and polite German, they offered to drive us all the way down to Bienne themselves. It was easily the nicest thing a total stranger has done for me in years and Jens and I will be sure to send them something in the mail to say "thanks."
In the end, after a series of really bad breaks and stupid mistakes, the whole thing came to a very fortunate conclusion. As this is not the first time that my Walking in Switzerland book has failed me (only in the Jura, for some reason), I think I will be forced to retire it and go buy a more current guide. As for Jens, seeing as how this was his first hike with me, I think it'll be a while before I regain his trust and can talk him into another hiking adventure. I guess next week will have to be badminton.
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