A love letter to Oeschinensee

I've written about Oeschinensee before, and I ran out of superlatives. I'd visited twice before, under a summer downpour and the midwinter sunshine, but never in the summer glow with time and space to explore. In August, I put that right. This is my love letter to Oeschinensee.

In 2007 the first trains ran through the Lötschberg Base Tunnel. It's a remarkable piece of engineering, running over 21 miles under the Bernese Alps. At Frutigen, most freight and long-distance passenger trains dive into the tunnel's north portal on their way south to the Valais. Once per hour though, the BLS Lötschberger service climbs out of Frutigen past the ruins of Tellenburg Castle and into the mountains on the winding, older line towards Kandersteg.

It's a gorgeous summer Wednesday as I board the train at Spiez and settle into my seat. My journey had started in Interlaken, dashing across the pristine Aare River to catch the service from Interlaken West to Spiez, along the shore of Thunersee. We roll along the valley from Spiez to Frutigen before the line rises 400m to Kandersteg at 1,200m, and we snake back twice on ourselves as we climb.

There's no road over (or under) the Lötschen pass, so the unusual sight of the car transporter train for the older Lötschberg Tunnel (opened in 1913) draws the eye on alighting at Kandersteg. It's a big station, but even when the cars are loading, it never seems busy or hurried. Standing on the forecourt, the Blüemlisalp immediately draws the eye in the distance, although without the glorious context we'll later discover.

It's a short walk through the village to the Oeschninen gondola, over the River Kander (in relatively tame flow for once, rather than furious gush), past the chalet hotels that line the main street, and across the parkland by the church. It's (fairly) early, but I'm still surprised that the village is largely still and quiet. Perhaps for the best in these times of social distancing. In the end, I spend a week trying to work out whether coronavirus has made Switzerland quieter. The most popular spots, like the Schynige Platte railway and the short hike to Bachalpsee from Grindelwald, seem as busy as ever. Everywhere else is quiet, although perhaps no more so than usual. I bag a gondola to myself for the leg-up to the top station at 1,683m. There's a cafe here, as well as the toboggan-style mountain coaster - a YouTube video of the coaster, shot less than a fortnight before my visit, has managed to rack up well over two million views.

On both my previous trips to Oeschinensee, I'd settled for the short downhill walk to the berghaus at the lakeside. I say settled, but for my winter visit, this was an adventure in itself - and in any case the only option for those of us without the benefit of skis. Today, I have grander plans - the Heuberg loop, high above the lake to the north as far as Oberbärgli before returning along the lake shore.

I'm a little nervous. Although on paper this is not a challenging walk for a hiker of my experience, lockdown has left me out of climbing practice, even before factoring in that "base camp" for today's hike is 300m higher than the highest point in Great Britain. Ben Nevis remains on my to-do list. The sum total of my British hill climbs over the past few months had been two short pulls up Eccles Pike (370m) and Chinley Churn (457m) in the Peak District - and the path up Chinley Churn doesn't even take you to the summit! On the plus side, the previous day I had found my way to the top of the Oberberghorn from Schynige Platte - at 2,069m this was a touch higher than the roof of the Heuberg loop, albeit with less distance and less ascent. Mainly, though, I'm just worried that I've created this perfect image of Oeschinensee from my previous visits that can’t possibly meet expectations. We’ll see.

There are two relatively direct paths to the lake shore from the gondola station. The higher of these two trails, past the Sennhütte restaurant, is my starting point for the Heuberg loop. Around halfway to the Sennhütte, which sits on higher ground to the west of the lake, the Heuberg path diverges at a right-angle (well, it’s a left turn, but you get the idea) and immediately pitches uphill, first through some patchy woodland before emerging onto the bare mountainside.

The Blüemlisalp stands proud above, but Oeschinensee itself is barely in view – although I catch a glimmer in the distance beyond the Sennhütte as the traverse continues. The path is not as precarious as it might initially appear, although there are a few sections where the mountainside falls away steeply. The path itself is good throughout, with no hands-on sections and only one tricky step over a stream.

A glimpse of Oeschinensee beyond the Sennhütte

Looking back along the starting section of the Heuberg loop trail. The mountain in the far background is the Bunderspitz.

There’s a spot near Derwentwater in the Lake District called “Surprise View”. I’ve always found it curious. It might have been a surprise at one point, but when it is printed on the map, how much of a surprise can it be? I also recall Dave Gorman’s fine piece on Modern Life Is Goodish about how we’re no longer surprised by surprise.

Oeschinensee shouldn’t be a surprise. I’ve been there twice before. Nonetheless, I turn the corner and I’m still blown away by the view from on high. I’d previously compared Oeschinen to a cathedral. Today, from above, I see a cauldron, or a steep-sided amphitheatre - a Shakespearian masterpiece rather than a gladiatorial battle. From that initial glimpse and on to the Heuberg viewpoint, it is mesmeric.

One thing you can’t quite convey with photography is just how dramatically the mountainside plunges towards the lake on three of the four sides. Even in person, it is easy to lose that perspective. The mountainside slants across the path, but the trail seems implausibly high considering the closeness of the lake. I continue east towards the mountain hut at Oberbärgli, where the route doubles back and descends. The path flirts with the 2,000m contour but never breaches it, and I reach Oberbärgli at 1,978m. Although I’ve spent a fair bit of time in Switzerland, it’s still an eye-opener to find refreshments on sale in such remote locations. I don’t even begrudge them the eye-popping prices, although that may be because I’ve packed enough provisions not to need to indulge. Looking back, I now see why the height of the path looked implausible – just out of sight, the slanted mountainside gives way to a sheer cliff.

Looking back from Oberbärgli. The trail is on the right, above the cliffs.

Those seeking an extra thrill can continue climbing towards the Blüemlisalphütte and over the pass to Griesalp. A little further down there’s also the Fründschnuer via ferrata, which clings impossibly to the lake’s eastern cliffs. My stomach turns just looking at it from a very safe distance. I take the sensible option and turn west and down on the main trail, initially with a steep and winding descent before it flattens out at Underbärgli where the bright blue sign for the Fründschnuer points the brave towards a sheer 500m cliff face. Maybe not.

Underbärgli. The Fründschnuer path is on the left, with the terror to follow hidden over the knoll.

The trail does not descend straight to the lake shore but perches 100m or so above the shoreline for much of the lake’s length. I look across to the Blüemlisalphorn, Oeschinenhorn, and Fründehorn, and the gashes and chasms which scar across their plunging rock faces. I can’t even begin to count the waterfalls, any of which would be considered majestic in isolation. A farmer on his quad bike sends tourist hikers scurrying as he motors past – a tight squeeze.

The weather turns. It starts to rain as I finally reach the lake shore, but that is a relief after a hot day hiking in the sun. I find a rock to dip my feet in the water and gaze across and upwards. Thank you, Oeschinensee, you have not disappointed. I’m still in love.