HOHTÜRLI PASS, CROWDS AND A LITTLE HELP FROM THE UNIVERSE
VIA ALPINA DAY 49 – SUNDAY 9 AUGUST 2026
BELOW HOHTÜRLI PASS – ADELBODEN
DISTANCE HIKED: 31.60 km
ELEVATION GAIN: 2,051 m
TOTAL DISTANCE HIKED: 1,254.50 km
TOTAL ELEVATION GAIN: 66,433 m
A crescent moon hung in the clear sky as we broke camp. I was awake for a while during the night, looking up at the stars, and noticed something strange. The night sky seemed noticeably dimmer than the one I’m used to seeing. It looked washed out, with far fewer stars visible. Hammer thought the same thing when we talked about it later in the day. Perhaps even the mountains aren’t far enough from light pollution to escape its effects.
We were on our way by 6am, heading straight up—700 metres of elevation gain in just 2 kilometres to reach Hohtürli Pass at 2,770 metres. The estimated hiking time was two hours.
The trail was beautifully made but steep and unrelenting. Less than half an hour after leaving camp, we were passed by a French couple. We could hear them talking long before they reached us, and could still hear them chatting as they disappeared into the distance.
Slowly, we plugged away until we reached a series of steps and cables for the final pitch to the pass. We made it in 1 hour and 45 minutes, and were very happy with the effort.
From the pass, the Blüemlisalp Glacier was almost at eye level. It looked precariously perched on the mountainside, as though it might simply slide off. It was cold on top, so we didn’t linger.
We began the descent with a steady stream of hikers leaving the very popular nearby hut. The descent was far more enjoyable than the ascent—steep, but with good grip, so there wasn’t much sliding. We passed and were passed by groups of hikers who talked almost non-stop. I’m baffled by how people can find so much to talk about for so long. Hammer and I don’t seem to have much to say to each other when we’re hiking, so we usually walk in silence.
It was interesting, though, to keep swapping places with one or two groups as we stopped to take photographs or simply to stand and marvel at the landscape in front of us. There was something lovely about that rhythm—walk, stop, admire, walk again.
Hiking downhill felt easy, although Hammer’s right knee was finding it hard today. He has had problems with it since being sideswiped by a Great Dane last year. It has been behaving itself remarkably well on this hike, but today really put it to the test.
We continued down towards magnificent Oeschinen Lake, described as one of the finest lakes in the Alps. Closer to the lake, the trail was carved into the side of a cliff. Then suddenly we were surrounded by people. The numbers around Oeschinen Lake were phenomenal, and as we moved away towards Kandersteg, we passed staggering numbers of people heading in the opposite direction.
I know it was Sunday and summertime, but the numbers heading up would have equalled Bondi Beach on a nice summers day.
Getting to the lake involved either a cable car ride or a steep 4-kilometre uphill walk from Kandersteg. We passed literally thousands of people making their way up, many of whom didn’t look like they were in particularly great shape. It was hot, and the trail was exposed to the sun.
Hammer had initially thought it would be nice to stop at the lake for a swim, but faced with the crowds, that idea quickly lost its appeal.
We reached Kandersteg around lunchtime. Originally, this had been our destination for the day. But it still felt far too early to stop, so we took a long lunch break and decided to keep going over the next pass and try to camp on the other side.
Walking through the small town centre felt chaotic. Impatient drivers were being held up by hordes of tourists crossing the roads. We picked up some food at a Coop store and headed out of town.
Leaving Kandersteg, the trail was initially flat, following a rushing creek. We passed a huge Scout centre with hundreds of kids milling around outside. It was nice to leave the crowds behind and begin climbing into the silence of a dense pine forest.
The forest itself was fairly unremarkable, which made it especially nice to eventually emerge into a wide-open valley.
Crossing the high valley was a highlight. We had wonderful views back towards the mountainside we had just descended, and as we climbed higher from the valley floor, we could see Hohtürli Pass, the glaciers and, eventually, the lake far below.
Clouds had rolled in and a light rain began as we climbed towards Bundechindre Pass at 2,385 metres. From below, it was hard to see how we were going to get over the pass. It appeared to be set in the middle of a huge scree field.
But, as we’ve learnt over the years, trust the trail makers.
The trail through the scree was mostly well formed—narrow in places and sloping away in others, but generally manageable. There were enough switchbacks to make the ascent feel easier, and eventually we reached the summit. Almost immediately, we felt a rush of warm air.
Below us was Adelboden, and we could see some promising potential campsites once we descended from the scree. The descent was just as slow as the ascent, though. It was steep in places and really slippery.
Reaching the grassy slopes below brought the inevitable tinkle of cowbells.
Wanting to avoid another unpleasant interaction with cows and their owners, we decided to continue all the way to Adelboden.
We had already booked a room there for the following night, so our plan was simply to ask if we could stay an extra night.
I rang the hotel.
Answering machine.
Adelboden is built on the slope of the valley, which meant a long road descent to the river, followed by a longish climb back up into town. By now we were tired, wet and very ready to stop.
We finally reached the hotel, only to discover it was a self-check-in place with nobody around.
Feeling deflated, Hammer said, “Try calling again.”
What’s the point? I thought. We’ll just get the answering machine again.
But, persuaded, I called. Someone answered.
And yes—we got the room.
Feeling very lucky, we headed inside. As Hammer likes to say:
“The universe provides.”
