A view of Grindelwald from Rauft.

In early February, five weeks after having Covid-19, and two and a half weeks before the threat of war in Ukraine became an ugly reality, I took a break in Grindelwald — one of Switzerland’s oldest ski resorts, which became popular in the late 19^th century. During that period, it was common practice for doctors to send patients who were recuperating from illness to the Swiss mountains as the fresh air was supposed to foster healing. I effectively gave up skiing eight years ago, but now like to do snowshoeing. (Snowshoes are solid plastic, oval-shaped frames with a metal front grip and crampons underneath — they are attached to hiking boots, and enable you to walk over deep snow without sinking into it!). When I worked in ski resorts during the 1999–2000 winter season only old people seemed to show an interest in snowshoeing, but in the past 10–15 years the sport has become much trendier. I strolled through the slick, crowded Grindelwald Terminal train station to buy a one-way ticket to the Holenstein cable car station, carrying my snowshoes effortlessly by the handle of the bag that they came in. It’s certainly possible to transport a snowshoe bag with a poise and ease that would be unthinkable in carrying skis, especially when not wearing clunky ski boots! The predominant language in the station was English — in fact, there were so many groups of British people that I could almost have believed I was in the UK if it wasn’t for the lack of condescending announcements telling passengers to be careful when alighting from the train due to slippery platforms! It amuses me how, in the UK, even the slightest sprinkling of snow induces warnings whereas in Switzerland, where trains operate in the mountains all year round (often amid heavy snow throughout winter), the health and safety culture is based on sheer common sense! I’d found the snowshoe path which I wished to take through a Google search the night before, and checked with the assistant in the ticket office that there was definitely a trail at Holenstein — he confirmed that there was, told me that it was well “sigmatised” [signposted!], and cheerfully sold me a cable car ticket with a half-fare travel card discount without even asking to see my card.

Grinning at being treated like a local and trusted over possessing a valid half-fare card (which I did indeed have), I boarded the cable car and sat on the comfortable seat in the spacious, glass cabin as it whisked me up to a height of 1619m. The scenery was beautiful, but a wave of anxiety came over me! It was morning with plenty of daylight left, the weather was favourable, I was well-equipped, my mobile phone was fully charged and the hike was an achievable distance (5.3km) so there was really no need to be apprehensive yet I was. All the clomping of ski boots and clacking of skis at Grindelwald Terminal station, and the whirring sound of the cable car as it swung lightly, made me feel uneasy. I recalled the period of May 2001 – January 2007 (nearly six years) when I regularly suffered from panic attacks, until an incredibly insightful French-American psychotherapist got rid of the shame these caused by explaining to me that fear sometimes had a positive purpose which was to protect me. Parallel to gaining this insight, I did a few sessions of sophrology (a simple self-development practice based on breathing, gentle movement and visualisation exercises) in which the muscular course leader (a retired air traffic controller), wearing a tight cotton turtleneck neck t-shirt, demonstrated breathing from his diaphragm and enabled me to finally learn how to breathe calmly in the year that I turned thirty! Mindful of the life-saving techniques that I had been taught for managing anxiety I sat up straight, loosened my arms and took some deep breaths as the cable car rattled towards Holenstein.

Now more than half way up the Männlichen mountain, I stepped onto the snow at Holenstein holding the bag containing my snowshoes and feeling momentarily dizzy when I saw Grindelwald stretched 586m below. Pausing to undertake another deep breathing exercise, I was relieved to see a signboard marking the start of the snowshoe trail and a Swiss-looking couple with snowshoes reading the information on it — it would be good to start out on the trail in the company of others who knew what they were doing! I must have been carrying my snowshoes with particular poise as, whilst I was looking at the map and diagram of the trail, the couple asked me if I knew the route — I explained that I didn’t but assured them it was well signposted and, during our conversation, it transpired that this was their first ever time using snowshoes; they even asked me if they’d fitted them correctly! The couple set off confidently at a fast pace making the trail look inviting and I put on my snowshoes reminding myself that, during the early part of the hike, if needed I could retrace my steps to the start and should be careful not to walk beyond a point at which I’d potentially feel too tired to return.

Steadily, slowly, I embarked on the snowshoe trail which soon started leading steeply downwards. As I approached the first big bend in the track, I was unable to see the next part of the path beyond the trail marker and was scared that I had overestimated the steepness of the trail! My legs started quaking, my lower arms shook as I tensely gripped the handles of my hiking poles and I felt frozen with fear. I recollected that line from the film ‘Point Break’ (which I often heard being quoted by cool surfer dudes during my teenage years in Cornwall) — ‘Fear causes hesitation, and hesitation will cause your worst fears to come true’. So, breathing deeply I tentatively looked beyond the bend (steeling myself to potentially have to climb back up to the cable car station), and was pleased to discover that the path looked manageable. Although viable, after a couple of twists the path became narrow with an almost vertical descent! I continued along it but stopped for a moment, in an appropriate spot, to allow a man and his son on snowshoes to overtake me. Shortly after that the boy launched himself headfirst into the pile of snow adjacent to the trail and slid down, joyfully, on his front for several metres! Sometimes, when trying hard to stay calm and think positively in a daunting situation (as I was), I think it can be liberating to witness someone who is utterly carefree in the same circumstances. When the trail levelled out I got chatting to the man and his son (who was 13) — the man was friendly, and informed me that he’s an anaesthesiologist at a top hospital in Switzerland. I lingered to take photos and drink some water but could see my two trail companions, in the distance, ahead of me for most of the snowshoe hike which was reassuring.

The snowshoe track turned into a wide, open traverse amid slopes covered in thick, untouched snow which was gleaming in the morning sunlight, then led me down through impenetrable forest for a couple of kilometres. I delighted in frequent glimpses of the Jungfrau mountain above the treeline and, for most of the hike, had a wonderful view of the north face of the Eiger mountain. The Eiger is 3970m high, towers over Grindelwald, is magnificently sculpted and has a haunting allure — at least 64 people have died trying to ascend its north face! It is explained in the BBC film ‘The Eiger: Wall of Death’ that the mountain is an infamously challenging one to climb and that, because it’s possible to observe dramatic exploits on it from the comfortable setting of Grindelwald, the north face is like a giant outdoor theatre! I wondered if anyone was trying to climb the north face and, whilst I enjoyed my sight of it from relative safety, hoped that anyone on it was an experienced climber and not a snowshoer who had taken a wrong turning!

Confident that I was on the right path, I relished the tranquillity of the snowy forest, pure air and impressive mountain scenery and noticed that, from the exercise, my breathing had become naturally calm and I was now feeling relaxed. Hiking is known for reducing anxiety, and it sometimes frustrates me that a certain amount of anxiety has to be overcome before I can experience an activity that will decrease feelings of anxiety! I remembered that, in her book ‘Coping Successfully with Panic Attacks’, Shirley Trickett states that asking a chronically anxious person to stop worrying is ‘like asking someone not to cough when they have bronchitis’! Trying not to judge myself for feeling fearful at the start of the hike, I was happy to be defying my angst and soaking up all the soothing benefits of being out in nature.

Listening to the musical sound of a mountain stream bubbling, I hiked up out of the Itramen forest and towards the slopes of Brandegg where I would finish the hike at an altitude of 1332m with a feeling of exhilaration. It is not the 19^th century and recent world news has been unutterably depressing, but I believe that the sublime Swiss mountains offer just as much possibility for healing as they did two centuries ago.