Glacier – Morteratsch

It’s really cool. (And I’m not even sorry for saying that.)

What an opportunity. What a moment. This turned from a good idea on a whim into a lifelong dream being realized. Sometimes, life gives you those rare chances to stand in awe of something greater than yourself, and this is one of them.

Glaciers have always fascinated me. Their very existence is a paradox—an ancient force of nature that moves with the patience of a disinterested slug, yet carves landscapes with a power that defies comprehension. They are slow but relentless, seemingly eternal yet heartbreakingly fragile. A glacier is a time capsule, a frozen archive of history, holding secrets from thousands of years ago, locked away in layers of ice.

And they have a voice. A deep groan as they shift, a sudden crack that echoes across valleys, a whispered drip as meltwater snakes through its veins. They sculpt entire landscapes, carving mountains and feeding rivers, providing life and nutrients to ecosystems that rely on their steady presence. But just as they give, they can take away—an avalanche, a flood, a collapse, a reminder that even the mightiest things can break.

Standing here, feeling the crisp air against my skin, hearing the distant creaks and rumbles of moving ice, I can’t help but feel small in the best way possible. This is the world at its rawest, its purest. A moment of awe, a reminder of how much there is to respect, to protect, and to appreciate.

The Morteratsch Glacier.

The length of the trail didn’t appear very arduous. At only 3km on a well-formed track, we started our trek with an easy swagger, confident in our casual approach. The air was crisp, the scenery breathtaking, and the gentle crunch of gravel underfoot added to our sense of adventure.

As we walked, other hikers passed us—some with snowshoes strapped to their packs, others carrying helmets, skis, ropes, and even full camping gear. Each group looked more prepared than the last. A small knot of doubt formed in my stomach. Hmm… where exactly is this trail taking us? I glanced down at our own supplies—one muesli bar each and a small water bottle.

For a brief moment, I considered turning back. But then, with a shrug, I grinned. Nah… we’re fully prepared. No worries. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

Trails marked with the Swiss flag

A few kilometers down the trail, we arrived at an official sign stating:

You are in mortal danger.
Melting of the snow and ice makes boulders unstable.
Boulders can crack and roll down the slopes at high speed, at any time, without any warning!!!

The words felt ominous, but at the time, we laughed it off. Surely, it was just a standard warning—something to keep nervous tourists at bay. And then we heard it. A deep, gut-churning crack. The sound echoed across the valley, followed by the unmistakable rumble of something massive shifting.

We froze.

A boulder, the size of a small car, dislodged itself from the heights above. It tumbled and crashed down the steep, jagged slopes, gaining terrifying momentum. Dust and shattered rock exploded in its wake. We barely had time to react before another broke free, then another. The mountainside was alive, and it was angry.

Right then. Things just got interesting.

Obviously, we ignored the sign and kept going.

Closer to the glacier, a conveniently built timber footbridge spanned the freezing waters of a small stream—actual glacial meltwater, its surface a swirling mix of whites and blues. I paused for a moment, watching the icy current rush beneath my boots. It occurred to me that this would be a great place to chill a six-pack for the walk ahead. But that thought was short-lived.

The trail changed its mind.

What had been a rough but manageable path quickly transformed into something else entirely—a hands-and-feet scramble over loose rock, with steep cliffs plunging into the abyss below. The sheer drop-offs made my stomach tighten. And then came the ice. Treacherous patches of slick, frozen rock turned each step into a gamble. One wrong move, and it was a long way down.

Mandy and I were way out of our depth in this refrigerated nightmare.

The wind howled through the gorge, biting through our jackets. Our Vibram-soled Teva boots clung desperately to the unforgiving terrain, offering just enough grip to keep us upright. Each step was deliberate. Every handhold, crucial.

We exchanged a glance—part thrill, part terror.

“Oh, how we wish we had our trekking poles,” I muttered.

But we didn’t.

And the mountain didn’t care.

Warnings on the Ice

The higher we climbed, the more the mountain revealed its secrets—whispers of wind howling through hidden crevices, the ominous crunch of shifting ice beneath our weight, and the unsettling realization that we were very much alone. Well, almost alone.

I soon passed two groups of mountaineers, roped together for safety. Their cautious formation sent a clear message—this was serious. If someone broke through the ice, there’d be no coming back without a rescue. And a rescue up here? That was a gamble I didn’t want to play.

Still, I needed to be sure. As I reached the second group, I turned to the guide, a weathered man who looked like he belonged to the mountain itself.

“Is it safe to go to the glacial face?” I asked.

He studied me for a moment, then nodded, his words thick with a mix of German, English, and something else entirely.
“Follow the footprints. Stay on the path. Don’t go near the crack. You should be okay.”

“Should be?” I muttered under my breath. But the pull of the glacier was stronger than my doubt.

Step by Step

I inhaled deeply, exhaled a cloud of vapor, and stepped forward. One step. Then another. Carefully, deliberately, I traced the imprints left behind by those before me. Each step felt like an eternity. Beneath the deceptive softness of the snow, the ground was a treacherous cocktail—rock, ice, water, and a slush so slippery it could make Teflon jealous.

And then—

The Fall

The world flipped.

Before I even had time to register what had happened, I was upside down, half-buried in the snow. A startled laugh burst from my lips—half amusement, half disbelief. For a moment, I just lay there, the absurdity of it all settling in.

“Alright, Les, get it together. This is serious.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw the tethered climbers ahead of me glance in my direction. I couldn’t understand their words, but their tone? That needed no translation.

With as much dignity as I could muster, I righted myself, dusted off the snow, and pressed forward. But the mountain wasn’t done with me yet.

The Ice Gives Way

Barely ten meters later, my right foothold betrayed me. Without warning, the ice crumbled beneath me, and my leg plunged into the abyss.

A heartbeat of pure, unfiltered panic.

My body reacted before my brain did. With the reflexes of a startled cat (or so I like to tell myself), I hurled myself forward, sprawling flat against the icy surface. My hands clawed into the snow, heart hammering as I waited—listening.

The deep, hollow silence beneath me told me everything I needed to know. That wasn’t just a crack in the ice. That was a doorway to somewhere I definitely didn’t want to go.

I stayed there, breath shallow, fingers dug into the frost. Slowly, carefully, I shifted my weight, testing my footing before daring to move again.

Finally, I pulled myself free, rolled onto solid ground, and let out a shaky breath.

That Was Fun… Right?

That was fun. 😊

But the glacier? It was still waiting.

Standing Before the Ancient Giant

Strong emotions overcame me when I stood at the face of the glacier. I’m not too proud to admit that a tear welled up in my eye as I reached out to touch the ancient ice. This was something I had always dreamed of experiencing—standing on a glacier, feeling its raw power beneath my fingertips. Yet, deep down, I never truly believed this moment would become a reality in my lifetime.

A Long-Awaited Dream

I had watched documentaries about glaciers, mesmerized by their sheer scale and beauty. I had camped in the carved valleys of extinct glaciers in Australia, imagining what they must have once looked like. But to actually see one in person, to hike and scramble my way towards it, was an experience that would stay with me forever.

The Journey Wasn’t Easy

Getting here wasn’t simple. The trek had been demanding, the air crisp and thin, but every step had been worth it. The moment of standing before the glacier, with its deep blues and ancient layers of ice, made every challenge along the way feel insignificant.

A Sudden Reminder

As I stood there, lost in awe, I happened to glance down—and noticed a massive crack in the ice beneath me. My heart skipped a beat.

Hmmmm… Was this the spot where the guide had warned us not to stand?

Time to move.

…Another Day…

With one last lingering look at the glacier, I carefully stepped away, my heart still racing. This was not just a journey; it was an encounter with something far greater than myself.

Suspension —– Bridge

Getting to the Trailhead

The road stretched ahead, winding through the wilderness. A coffee stop was in order, so we pulled into a small café. While waiting, I grabbed a brochure from the counter. Suspension bridge, accessible via a gondola ride and a hike. Sounded like a great idea! Another spontaneous adventure within our adventure had just begun.

The Gondola Ride – A Test of Nerves

This was an awfully massive call for Mandy. She is terrified of heights—I have the fingernail marks in my arm from the flight over to prove it (just joking… mostly). Extreme admiration is due here because she knew this trip would be full of challenges, and yet, she pushed through.

The gondola swayed slightly as we ascended. Below us, the trees shrank, the river looked less like water and more like a thin, glittering thread. Mandy’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the safety bar like it was the only thing keeping us alive.

“I hate this. I hate this,” she muttered, eyes locked on the floor.

“It’s perfectly safe,” I reassured her.

At that exact moment, the gondola gave a little jolt.

Mandy let out a noise that can only be described as a cross between a squeak and a small yelp.

The Hike – Progress Through Panic

Once on solid ground, Mandy took a deep breath. “Okay. That was the worst part, right?”

“Uh… sure,” I said, deciding not to mention the swaying suspension bridge waiting ahead.

The hike was beautiful, winding through lush forest and along cliff edges. The trail veered close to the edge, both of us instinctively grabbing onto handles, poles, rocks, each other, or even random tree branches.

The Bridge – No Turning Back Now

And then we reached it. The suspension bridge stretched before us, gently swaying in the breeze. Below it? A gut-churning drop to the rushing river far, far below.

Mandy took one look and turned to me. “Nope.”

“You got this.”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

But she did do it. Step by step, clutching the cables with a vice grip, she made her way across. I, of course, was forbidden from shaking the bridge even slightly.

The Victory Pose (Sort Of)

On the other side, she was elated. We both needed a drink. Unfortunately we only had water, so it had to do. My extreme admiration is given here. Mandy had known this was going to be challenging. It was challenging. Challenging at every step, every turn, every swaying plank.

But she did it.

Ekka ride

The exhibition chairlift was fairly exciting, I thought as a child. Views around the fairground as far as you could see. This was indeed a little different. Carved valleys, Alpine vegetation, endless Christmas trees, Swiss alps, log cabins, trails on ridiculous slopes, waterfalls… the visual photo bomb just didn’t stop.

Walking on the trail

We didn’t actually fully know where we were going. The trail was well marked until it wasn’t. Forks appeared without labels, direction makers or even hints. This is very unlike the Swiss, as everything is normally meticulously arranged and organised. Time to grab the phone, use Mapout, find the walking trails and plot our course. Ahhh… that makes more sense.

Once on tougher part of the trail, the ‘trail fairies’ had marked the path with sprayed paint every now and then. The symbol being the Swiss flag, a nice touch. It wasn’t easy, but again the views were worth every bead of perspiration. Snow drifts and water falls also cross the path, whilst the earth inclines to around 45deg. A nice touch to heighten anxiety. Here is the Ying Yang moment, the tormented emotive cyclone encapsulating the elements of ‘enormous natural beauty’ vs ‘having your pants scared off you’.

Da Bridge

We made it! The suspension bridge lay in front of our eyes. Triftbrucke (Trift bridge). Time to take a moment and time to catch our breath, prior to starting the next massive event. Spanning some 170m the bridge with 100m drop, offers views and a relatively steadyish godly route. I felt like a bird looking over the edge. The height, the colours, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Time to hold the phone, really really tightly. This is another one of ‘those’ moments.

Mandy walked over the bridge by herself. She even did some pushups at one end. I can’t explain how difficult this was for her, the walk, not the pushups. But she did it.

Good on YOU hon. 🙂

A list of the stand out aspects of each country

• Germany… cycle paths and driver respect, locally brewed beer
• Austria…grandeur of the buildings … Sound of Music, locally brewed beer
• Slovakia… duck in a red wine sauce and Napoleon’s cannonball stuck in a church wall, bad aim, locally brewed beer
• Czech… Prague wow, locally brewed beer
• Netherlands… tulips , locally brewed beer
• Belgium… sleet, squirrels, awesome park riding paths
• France… military history of Dunkirk, locally brewed beer
• Spain… the vibe, buen camino, medieval castles, aqueduct, affordability, beach life, chilled atmosphere, tapas, funiculars, Banksy museum, Gaudy, Montserrat, locally brewed beer
• Portugal… city sights of Porto, street music, locally brewed port
• Switzerland…the Alps, Alpine views, glacier, environment, ski towns, hiking, locally brewed beer
• Italy… lakes, coffee, locally brewed beer
• Liechtenstein…orderly, locally brewed beer
• Andorra…mountain views at Maccas, wifi for Mandy’s Spanish lesson.