Switzerland: An autumn trek to the summit of Mount Rigi

First a French train strike and then the arrival of the Covid pandemic put paid to my desire to bring a good-quality camera to my new home in Switzerland. Covid stopped many things, so the SLR had to wait. This is where I began to make a virtue out of lighter gear.

I am no mountaineer, but one of my rules when climbing hills or (small) mountains is to keep things light. Probably this has something to do with my lack of fitness, but since all I had with me in Switzerland was my Motorola G5 mobile phone, then that worked well. Purists among you may abhor my choice, so please feel free to advise me (maybe it should be a lightweight Leica or Ricoh?), so that perhaps on my next trip I might improve the gallery for the day.

In the colder months, the northern valleys of the Alps are often coated in a gloomy fog. On the plus side, by heading to the mountains, a sunny day is often guaranteed.

So it was that one autumn Sunday I took the train from Zurich to the station of Arth-Goldau—which actually serves two towns whose names are conjoined for the station name. My walk started at Goldau, following the Schwyzer Höhenweg Nr.63 (Swiss hiking route 63). Goldau is a name that many Swiss know well after the town suffered a terrible catastrophe in the early 19th century.

On the afternoon of 2 September 1806, after a period of heavy rain, a landslide engulfed the town, leading to the deaths of 450 people. Previously, this might have been judged as an act of god and little thought given to the explanation of why it happened. However, in this instance, Goldau was one of the first cases where natural philosophers tried to understand the causes with the view to preventing any such similar occurrence.

Landslides have, of course, occurred again in Switzerland, but never with such loss of life. One can still see boulders littered around Goldau reminding the visitor of that fateful day. A visit to the Bergsturz museum is worthwhile for those interested to know more.

I chose to climb Mount Rigi as it is close to Zurich and easily ascended in a day. It is also known as the “Queen of Mountains”. The name seems to have arisen due to an etymological mixup between “Rigi” and “Regina” in mediaeval times, but the epithet has stuck.

The mountain is on the opposite side of Goldau to the location of the Burgsturz (landslide) and my route started close to the railway leading to the summit.

In fact, there are two railways to take you to up the mountain. One starts at Goldau, the other at Vitznau on the shore of Lake Lucerne (known locally as Vierwaldstättersee or, literally, lake of the four forest settlements or cantons).

The Vitznau-Rigi line was completed in 1871 and was the first mountain railway in Europe. The Goldau-Rigi line opened four years later. Both were built to pander to the growing hordes of (usually British) tourists. Switzerland is where Thomas Cook first had success in a foreign country with his organised tours. Trips up Rigi were an integral part of such tours. Lucerne could be reached by train in 1856. Vitznau could (and, of course, still can) be reached by a lake steamer from Lucerne.

Taking the train (either one) is still the most popular way to reach the top. However, I prefer the challenge of walking to the top and, besides, I am in good company. Mark Twain stayed in the village of Weggis (a short distance along the lakeside from Vitznau) during the summer of 1897, calling it “the charmingiest place he had ever lived in…”.

The creator of Huckleberry Finn chose to walk to the top of Mount Rigi (but not by the route that I took) rather than take the train. Frequent plaques along the way are a constant reminder of this fame. Evidently, Twain had some pleasant memories of Switzerland, although he was not so keen on yodelling. Initially upon encountering a yodelling shepherd boy he gave a franc after the boy had finished. Meeting another a little while later, he paid half a franc, and then less and less with each new yodeller.

Eventually, so he said, he resorted to paying them not to yodel! On a notice board by the Radio Tower, I learnt that Mark Twain (actual name Samuel Langhorne Clemens) was at one time a river boat pilot. The expression “Mark Twain” was called out by a sailor measuring the depth to signify two fathoms (twelve feet).

Although Mount Rigi is by no means one of the highest mountains in Switzerland, it is famous for its marvellous views of the alps, the fact that it can be seen from many faraway places, and for its accessibility. The new visitor to the area can usually recognise it by the large (and rather ugly) radio tower placed on its summit.

The walk started in the gloom, my efforts were soon rewarded with clearing skies and opening vistas.

The tower proved useful in blocking out the sun for some views of the alps. The first snow had dusted the top a few days earlier, but the paths were still easily passable. There were crowds surging from the trains, so I didn’t stay long. Besides, I figured, I could still get back down to Goldau in the light.

As I walked down, the mist covering the lakes started to roll back towards the land. The village of Arth was soon to be engulfed again.

A little further down, and Goldau comes back into view—the mountain of Grosser Mythen lit up by the setting sun. That’s another mountain worth visiting, but for another day.

Notes

Diccon Bewes, “Slow train to Switzerland”, Nicholas Brealey Publishing, ISBN 978-1-85788-625-2 was used as a reference.

I used the Swiss Mobility app to help guide my way (although there are plenty of signposts) and the Peak Finder app to identify the names of the distant peaks when I reached the top of Mt. Rigi.

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