On top of a nearby rock, a marmot perches, rotund from a summer of feasting. Cowbells chime in the green pasture below. The path ahead is blocked by a stubborn herd of sheep. As I approach, they scurry up the rocky cliff.
Balancing stone to stone, I cross a small stream, before zigzagging up the mountainside. The higher I go, the harder it is to breathe, the altitude and heavy backpack weighing me down. I'm now past the tree line. The ground is barren, except for some lichen clinging to the rocky ground.
A vulture circles above. Its vast wings outstretched, swooping in for a closer look, before soaring upwards on a thermal and disappearing from view into a cloud. Another looms out of the white-grey sky, then another. Soon five are overhead, eyeing up the carcass of a dead sheep lying beside the path.
Not far ahead is our destination – the Lötschepass in the
