FABULOUS KLAUSEN PASS

VIA ALPINA DAY 42 –  SUNDAY 2 AUGUST 2026
NUSSBÜEL –> ALTDORF

DISTANCE HIKED: 38.00 km
ELEVATION GAIN: 1,295  m

TOTAL DISTANCE HIKED:  1,075.80 km
TOTAL ELEVATION GAIN: 54,840 m

It rained until about midnight when we were briefly woken by the sound of a passing vehicle. No need to panic—it barely slowed down. Our campsite sat just off a gravel road that doubled as both the hiking trail and access for the local farms. We were forced to stop here as the  rain showed no signs of easing and it was getting late.  We’re calling  it an emergency bivouac.

We’d camped near Nussbüel farm, and when we walked past at 6 a.m. the farmer was already making his way to the barn to milk the cows. Something that’s changed little over the generations.

I know I’ve probably gone on enough about cows, cowbell symphonies and the ever-present cow poo, but the more we walk through these mountains, the more I realise how inseparable they are from the landscape. Without centuries of high alpine grazing, many of the villages we’ve passed through simply wouldn’t exist. The mountains are spectacular, but it’s generations of farming that have shaped them into the landscapes we see today.

Beyond the farm we finally left the Linthal Valley behind, catching fleeting glimpses of the glaciers clinging high above the valley walls. The trail climbed steadily through a dense forest where the first rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, turning every shade of green luminous. The leaves sparkled with the night’s rain, and the whole forest felt washed clean.  Everything felt fresh and new.

The forest gave way to open meadows and another tiny village, where jagged alpine peaks caught the morning sun. Every turn seemed to reveal another postcard view. After a gentle descent through rolling pasture we entered the broad Urnerboden Valley, one of those places that makes you stop walking just to take it all in. Towering rock walls rose abruptly from the valley floor while ribbons of lingering snow clung to the highest slopes.

The morning light lit up the mountains in warm gold, leaving the valley itself illuminated beneath them. It was breathtaking.

We followed the fast-flowing, glacial-milky blue Fätschbach River towards the tiny village of Urnerboden, quietly hoping the Gasthof would still be serving breakfast. Thankfully it was. We devoured sandwiches, coffee and what may have been the best apple strudel either of us has ever eaten. We were very happy hikers.

Our waitress spoke excellent English and told us she’d spent a year in Australia, working odd jobs before travelling around the country with friends. It was lovely hearing her stories— adventure works both ways.

Refuelled, we continued upstream towards Klausen Pass. Although the trail wound through forest, the sound of car horns drifted up from the road below as drivers negotiated the endless switchbacks climbing towards the pass.

Eventually we emerged above the treeline. At first I thought we’d reached the summit, but the old pass road we were now on continued climbing. Every step higher revealed an even grander view—the valley stretched out behind us while wave after wave of rugged mountains disappeared into the distance. The scale of it all was hard to comprehend.

Klausenpass itself was buzzing. Cyclists, motorbikes and cars crowded the summit, everyone drawn by the same extraordinary panorama. Hammer was craving a cold drink, so we stopped at one of the cafés. My shirt was soaked through with sweat, but among dozens of equally exhausted cyclists I didn’t feel out of place.

From the pass the trail began a long, relentless descent through a string of villages. Our original plan had been to camp somewhere above the treeline before Altdorf and finish the final kilometres the following day. It quickly became obvious that wasn’t going to happen. It was way too early in the day to camp above the treeline. As we continued to descend the entire mountainside was dotted with farms, villages and houses, leaving virtually nowhere suitable or legal to pitch a tent.

As we lost altitude, the crisp mountain air gave way to warmth and humidity. Yet despite the heat, there were moments when everything became incredibly still. There was no  sounds of distant cowbells or rushing streams, just the emerald-green hillsides scattered with weathered timber houses. It was a landscape that felt timeless—peaceful, deeply lived in, and impossibly beautiful.

With dark clouds building behind us, we took a shortcut off the trail, through the outskirts of Altdorf, hoping to reach the private campground before the rain arrived.

By the time we pitched the tent, we were completely spent. The rain arrived an hour later. It was the briefest of showers, just enough to cool the air.