The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
A heroic trekking overture to William Tell
Hiking the new Tell-Trail in Switzerland reveals a side of the Alps that few see – and a few llamas to boot, says Mike MacEacheran
How do you outrun a llama? It’s a serious question. I was hiking along a high, lonely Alpine ridge line, above swooping Swiss valleys and frigid glacial lakes, and was being unexpectedly pursued by the frosty-eyed camelid. Was that another one? I caught my breath as a second appeared and in a moment they had both bolted past and blocked the trail ahead. One urinated in the path while the other lay down, emitting an odd hum while fixing me with a glare. The sort of look that seemed to say: “Where d’you think you’re going, pal?” And I suddenly had another question: what is the best thing to do in a stand-off with two indignant llamas?
Central Switzerland isn’t Peru or Patagonia, of course, but there is something surreal about this often overlooked part of the country. The Lake Lucerne region comes without the fanfare or hype of Switzerland’s other flashier destinations and its hidden villages rarely – if ever – feature on tourist itineraries. Heard of Stoos, Brunnen, Vitznau or Stans? Didn’t think so.
But that looks set to change, as Lucerne is now home to Switzerland’s latest outdoor adventure: the Tell-Trail, a snakes-and-ladders hiking route across nearly 100 flawless mountain miles. Seen on a map, the multi-day footpath is effectively a loop around the lake with a dogleg finish below the Brienzer Rothorn in the Emmental Alps. In reality, though, it’s been engineered out of the William Tell story, even if no evidence exists that the Swiss Robin Hood ever set foot on any of its paths.
More’s the pity for him, because it’s astonishing from the get-go. From
Altdorf, where the trail starts at a memorial to the Swiss folk hero, the path burrows deep into the evergreen Muota valley, before climbing north to the mountain eyrie of Stoos, where I picked up the trail on my first morning. Here, the barbed Klingenstock to Fronalpstock ridge appears as ragged as the grooves on a bread knife, and I walked higher than an eagle, relishing the panorama. Possibly no place delivers more authentic Swiss thrills. Possibly no place delivers more jigsawed mountain and lake views, full stop.
Any misgivings I had about travelling during the pandemic, when most Swiss were also holidaying at home, were quickly swept aside. Along the trail, I encountered only the faces of sun-wizened farmers and goatherds, and the very intimate nature of the trail made me feel like a pioneer. The sinewy path, the casual signage, the muted Swiss nonchalance to it all does nothing to prepare you for the amplified views. Elsewhere, there would have been throngs of hikers of all abilities, queues for summit photos, perhaps roads right to the top. This is not that kind of trail. Paths are narrow, drops are sheer, and you’ll need a head for heights, as well as sturdy footwear and goatlike toes.
Walking here is also to meet the myths that hang heavy over central Switzerland. The first stages overlook the Rütli meadow, known as the cradle of the country and where the Swiss Confederation was established in 1291 as an alliance between the cantons of Uri, Schwyz and Unterwalden. Nearby, on Lake Lucerne’s opposite bank, stands the Tellskapelle, a witch’s hat-topped chapel dedicated to William Tell, and where, according to legend, he escaped from the clutches of the tyrant bailiff Albrecht Gessler – the Sheriff of Nottingham to Tell’s Hood. There was an apple and a crossbow, then a revolution.
I’m sure you know the gist of the story.
If there’s another thing the trail doesn’t lack, it’s ambition. It’s a demanding trek. I dragged my boots over three 10- to 12-mile sections, from Lake Lucerne, where Tell made his name, to the heights of the Stanserhorn and Titlis, photogenic if perilous mountains to put the fear of God into you. Then, to make things easier if you want, there are funiculars, rack railways and cable cars, bearing the titles of the world’s steepest, world’s oldest and world’s first double-decker Cabrio cable car. Grandiosity aside, it’s hard not to be captivated by them. This is a hiking route equally powered by the brawn of the mountains and the brashness of Swiss efficiency and design.
From Stoos, the next stage passes Mount Rigi and its historic cogwheel railway, which turns 150 this year. The train climbs from Vitznau up a massif sheened with sandstone and shale, leading into a textured world of Swiss pine and rock. From above, Lake Lucerne’s turquoise water looks as though it has been Photoshopped.
Between the chestnut trees, I spied tumbling villages, wooden boathouses and sunlit chalets, all with balcony views of the grandest lake in the Alps. In 1897, Mark Twain lived on the lakeside in nearby Weggis for several months, describing it emphatically: “This is the charmingest place we have ever lived in, for repose, and restfulness, and superb scenery whose beauty undergoes a perpetual processional change from one miracle to another, yet never runs short of fresh surprises and new inventions.” What I’d give to live in a house here. Truly, the lake’s magical properties do feel like some sort of miracle.
The newest section of the trail, from the Stanserhorn to the historic ski town of Engelberg, helps unlock a part of this wildly exhilarating landscape for the first time. More specifically, it concertinas up and over the Schluchberg, and it had only just been connected by the via ferrata-style ropes and metal rungs in the weeks before I hauled myself across it. It is almost a ghost land, unpopulated except by a handful of hard-nosed farming families, one of which includes the fourth-generation Niederbergers. Since July, they’ve been letting hikers bivouac and camp at Alp Laucheren, their rudimentary summer farmstead perched on the brink halfway along the ridge.
That night, I was the sole guest of Melk and his extended family, including 120 sheep, 50 cows, eight chickens, a rooster and two free-roaming llamas called Anton and Bandalero. Melk and I couldn’t really understand each other, but I did know what älplermagronen was, and that creamy pasta dish made me very happy indeed. As did the seemingly self-replenishing tumblers of schnapps that appeared as we played Hosenabe, a drinking card game translated as “pants down”.
Reluctantly, I left the next morning for my final destination: Engelberg, with its 12th-century Benedictine abbey and the big white hump of Titlis. From the Storegg Pass, a tight frame of tilted summits came into view, and for a good few hours I walked towards the arcing sun, passing over a ridge. This has to be the best way to get to know Switzerland, for the time-travel it offers as much as the workout. Just walking it, you’ll get a sense of its strata and how much history lies right at your feet.