International Treitagewanderung Knittelfeld (2012)
Enjoying unknown corners of Austria

Traveling all day. From Zwolle to Schiphol Airport to Frankfurt to Graz. Still two more hours in a train along the river Mur to Knittelfeld. En who is the first person I meet there? Hiking buddy Koen from Zwolle! He joined a Group of Dutch hikers who traveled to Austria by train and it took them just as long as me with two planes and a train. I am well rested though and that counts for something. Because judging by the mountains surrounding us, we are in for a treat.

Day 1: 40 km

The start is early enough to see the sun rise. We hike through the village and head towards a misty valley. We cross the Mur and duck underneath the railroad tracks. The mountains are getting closer. There is no eternal snow and no merciless, rocky peaks, but the sight of the wooded mountain flanks is enough to make my muscles strain. Soon enough we are climbing. First across tarmac, later on gravel and grass. Steeply upwards, through woods and pastures. Looking back I have a mightily pretty view of Knittelfeld, which is much larger than I thought. After a sip of water at a rest stop I continue the hike. I follow the markers ‘4’, as is listed on the note I received when I asked for the longest distance. Somewhere in the back of my mind I feel a tingle that something is amiss and when the route bends towards the valley, while the 2 and 3 are going upwards, my unease grows. A Dutch hikers who has been here before confirms the mistake, the 4 means 14 km, not 40. Bummer! The 40 veered off in the village itself and I don’t feel like backtracking that far. The 2 then, which should bring my Total distance at 37 km. I don’t want to contemplate the beautiful views I have already missed. After 30 minutes I reach the second rest stop and meet Tilly and Harry there. Together we press on and meander upwards across the mountain. We pass by a farm, cows grazing on the steep hills, a bell dangling on their neck. I wonder what it’s like living here, so far from everything. Just getting to the village takes an hour by my estimate. And then in wintertime, when the roads are unpassable due to snow and ice. It would be so isolated. No. I’d rather be in a city where all amenities are close by, both shops and people.

While chatting we follow a man from the Dutch Limburg provence, until we run out of way markers. Although you have to closely pay attention which direction you are headed sometimes, the painted yellow dots and arrows have been applied to rocks, trees and boulders with regular intervals. We backtrack for a bit and realize we overlooked a yellow marker when we turned our eyes from the bright sunlight. We take a stile into a pasture and from the mountainside clear water runs into a trough. It’s cold and tastes delicious. Another climb , so steep that I have to stop occasionally to catch my breath. It takes us to a hut at 1.670 meters where I down to bottles of coca cola at once. A bit higher still there’s a painting on the rock face to commemorate the 50^th anniversary of Knittelfeld.
It’s almost tropical and my back is soaking wet from sweating. I follow the example of some men and take of my shirt, so it might dry in the sun. For an hour I chat with Tilly and Harry, their friend Jan and Koen, who has a girlfriend. I enjoy seeing Koen, a widower, with someone who makes him happy. Hikers approach from several directions and take several paths downwards. Tilly knows a nice shortcut that sounds much more exciting than the dirt road back to habitation. All dried up we hike along the side of the hut and steeply downwards. It’s amazing, jumping from rock to rock water next to and over the path. We cross the official route and continue downwards, while other hikers approach. Mostly Czechs and Polish hikers are busier gathering mushrooms than hiking and are carrying bags and baskets full of mushrooms. We no longer encounter yellow markers, not even where Jan expects them. Getting lost in the mountains is not that easy, fortunately, all you have to do is go down and that’s what we do. A grassy path alongside a farm turns into a gravel road and eventually the route appears again. Thus we reach Knittelfeld after all. Just shy of the school where we started this morning we pass by a house with a beautiful statue of a Roman soldier putting out a fire in a burning house. It’s Saint Floriaan, the patron saint against fire. This man, who actually existed, was killed around 303 ad during the last persecution of the Christians by Roman emperor Diokletianus. Why Saint Florianus of all people is seen as protection against fire the story doesn’t say unfortunately.

Day 2: 43 km

On a distant mountain top a small speck can be seen. It is the church on Hochalm, a 1.860 meter mountain. That’s where we are going today. But first there’s a long hike to a neighboring valley. I am enjoying the false flat and chat with a Dutch lorry-driver. He hikes a bit slower than me though and soon I take off again. As long as it’s flat, I want to keep up a decent pace. We reach a village, hike right trough a wood mill and across a property to a pasture, where the grass has been flattened by the hikers ahead. After a stretch of wood and at the start of a hill we reach a little chapel. Suddenly it gets crowded. Numerous Czechs only hike the most scenic part of this route  and have been dropped off just ahead of the chapel. They have indeed opted for the most beautiful part of the route, because from here on out, there’s fun to be had. Climbing! Next to the trail a stream throws itself downwards enthusiastically. And although we pass many side streams on our way to the source, the volume does not diminish and the water continues to flow as loudly. This water too is nice and cool and although it’s less warm than yesterday I can use a shower again.
We reach an area of clear cutting, that looked plowed. Tree trunks and branches lie on the earth as broken bones. We climb towards a hut. Already? Fortunately Tilly had warned me. We are not there yet. After a brief respite I continue. Upwards. A small trail, where roots and rocks form a natural stairway. I adjust my pace to prevent panting like a draft horse and keep a relaxed pace. Via a stile we reach a pasture, well above the treeline. In the distance we can spot the church. To the right a simple iron cross on a hill. Across a small trail we hike single file towards the church. Now and again there are mud pools, or at least, that’s what I tell myself when my foot slides out from under me and I take a tumble. Fortunately some time later there is again a trough where I can freshen up a bit. A bit below the church there is a rest stop at a small hut, but I pass it by. This is why we made all this effort, after all. The church is open and I light a candle for the safety of all hikers. There are less hikers here than at the hut and I enjoy the view, which slowly disappears in the approaching clouds. I notice how completely quiet it is. Of course I don’t expect the clouds to roll by with the thundering of an express train, but they glide by so quietly it’s almost eerie. It’s not cold, but a bit of sunshine would have been nice. The cross on the nearby hill appears and disappears in fragments, just like the hikers who approach the church. Although this is the highlight of my day, I am also a bit sad. It’s all downhill from here. I have not had nearly enough and could climb four such mountains. Still, eventually I give in and follow the yellow markers downwards. First across a rocky path, between trees which are cuddled to death by grey-green moss. Then long grass and pine trees. I reach a village and stop for a drink at a pond, just when the first rain drops fall. When I hike into the village of Seckau, the rain starts in earnest and I don my poncho. I no longer see anyone else, it looks like I am on my own here. There’s a Way of the Cross with square pillars and beautiful, colorful paintings. At the crucifixion I turn right into the forest. Just when you thinks you have hiked the whole route and are headed towards the finish, there’s another climb. It’s the Tremmel Mountain, known among hikers as Trouble Mountain. It’s not that bad however. It’s steep, yes, but I always feel at home in the woods and it’s not that high really. At the top there’s another church, this one closed. The last stretch on tarmac back to the village. I don’t recognize my surroundings and reach the finish totally unexpectedly because of it.   

Day 3: 37 km

Beforehand I was warned: this day is the least of the three. Compared to the previous two days this route is ordinary, boring almost. Of course, boring in Austria is still enjoyable for someone from the flat Dutch lands, but still. The route is an easy, wide gravel road winding up a mountain. Finally there’s a grassy path upwards. We walk into the clouds and I have a metallic taste in my mouth. There’s no view to speak of. When we reach the top, I expect a hut and jollyness. Not this time. I follow the trail straight through nature, an alpine meadow and then downwards. A village is the most distant point on the route, but there too no café. Apparently there are only rest stops today. Just past the Red Bull Race Course I head into the woods to take a leak. There I find a neglected chapel with an amazing painted ceiling, intact only because vandals could not reach it. The last stretch I hike with Jan and we make our own hike jolly. Is it over already? How fast three days went by. Fortunately I will stay a day longer and fly home the day after tomorrow. It gives me the opportunity to hike day 1 again, but then the whole 40 km. Because you can never have enough mountains.