A peak at marmots

In the breathtaking mountainscape of the Swiss Alps, stark peaks give way to a lush natural habitat, home to the Alpine marmot

We had taken a wrong turn on our descent from Rothorn, a 10,000ft alpine mountain lying in the shadow of the Matterhorn. But my wife, Lynda, and I soon found the narrow path again and our spirits were quickly lifted by the clear mountain air. There was not a bird or animal to be glimpsed at this height in the Swiss Alps, only lichens and a few specialised dwarf grasses and sedges.

Many of the rocks were shattered into shards by the action of freeze and thaw. It was a moonscape; such a strange and unfamiliar environment, with our every breath tugging at the thin air.

As we descended, the grass grew lusher and the flora more diverse. A cricket buzzed from the side of the path. We were now entering a more vibrant zone, so full of life compared to the starkness of the high peaks.

Ahead of us, an animal about the size of a small badger scampered across the track. Then another appeared and soon one more. We had stumbled upon the territory of an alpine marmot family.

They are one of the Alps’ most specialised animals and a creature I was keen to see on this hiking holiday. So, we settled ourselves down on a flat rock and watched these large rodents go about their business.

One of the marmots stood tall on its hind feet to scan for danger, but all was well and it went down again without a murmur. In marmot-speak, a loud whistling single cry means “great danger”; a series of cries means “watch out, danger is approaching”.

The following day we saw for ourselves the effectiveness of this alarm system when a piercing cry echoed across the valley. I was puzzled because I could see the calling marmot but we were much too far away to cause it any concern. However, at that very same moment, the black shadow of a lammergeier vulture flashed past us.

The lammergeier is one of Europe’s rarest birds, a huge vulture that specialises in scavenging and feeding upon bones. As such, this bird probably posed little threat, but the marmot wasn’t to know that, for its brain is automatically wired to be on the alert for any large bird of prey.

Marmots are such engaging animals. In autumn, they disappear below ground for several months to hibernate, sealing their burrows with earth and stones before snuggling up to each other in a nest of hay. At the height of winter, these hibernating dens can be covered by several feet of snow.

It is then that the Alps becomes a truly sleeping world; so much life lying dormant beneath the ice and snow — marmots, insect larvae and flower seeds — all biding their time until the spring sunshine sparks this spectacular landscape back into life, which for me, is as close to a natural paradise as one can imagine.