Across the Tyrolean Plateau

 

It was during the night, that winter had returned to the Northern Alps.

What had started with icy rain, had turned into slush and then into thick, heavy flakes of snow, that started to cover the fields with a thin white blanket and burying the fragile buds of the first spring flowers with its cold embrace.

Then it just continued to snow, transforming once again the landscape in the valley, the trees in the forest and the rocky outcrops of the mountains into a canvas, fit for Gauguin’s ‘Winter Landscape’ or Monet’s ‘Magpie’.

With warmer weather and rain already forecasted, it was clear that this was to be just a short-lived interlude, yet it had replenished the downhill slopes on the mountain sides and the skiing tracks on the plains, as if quenching the thirst of a dying man and for a last time this winter, the opportunity had arisen, once again to enjoy the sensation of travelling on snow.

Following some time spent with friends in Seefeld, just a stone throw away from Innsbruck, I decided to travel North not through the Inn valley, but along the less busy roads across the Tyrolean plateau that connects Austria with Germany.

In the small town of Leutasch, comfortably 3000 ft above sea level, the temperature had remained below freezing and a well-prepared skiing track, that connected the small villages nestling at the foothills of the surrounding mountains, invited to another session of cross-country skiing.

With the back of the car stuffed with a wide selection of different skis, I picked my lightest and fastest pair of Norwegian skating skis. The moment was just right for it – wearing only a thin jacket, a cap, some light gloves and choosing a set of skis that didn’t need much more preparation than a thin layer of glide wax. Off I went, heading towards the border at the end of the plateau.

It felt so much lighter, than the alpine skiing equipment I had to wear the previous day. There was no need to queue at the lifts and today, with less speed and only a few other skiers on the track, less caution was required, when descending the few downhill sections.

While admittedly I had to make a continuous effort, I was gliding along in peace, enjoying a steady rhythm of breathing and pushing, just focusing on balancing on the skis and on the countryside around me. Occasionally I passed another skier or had to push just a little bit harder to climb a small hill, but then again I was rewarded with a gentle descend, that allowed me to let the skis just go.

Right in time, just when it was starting to snow again, I had reached the end of the plateau and the little ‘Café on the Bridge’, that offered not only shelter, but also a decent cappuccino as a just reward.

With heavy rain replacing the snowfall just a couple of hours later and continuing throughout the night, most of the tracks I had travelled on, had disappeared the following morning.