The moment domestic travel restrictions due to COVID-19 were lifted I jumped online and booked a place to stay in Berchtesgaden, home to the first national park in Germany. Unfortunately, the week before we were set to leave the weather forecast looked grim: rain and thunderstorms for five days straight. As we piled into the rental van in Berlin we kept our fingers crossed that unpredictable alpine weather might lean in our favor, but I didn’t have high hopes.
When we pulled up to the Airbnb after 7+ hours of driving the sky was clear and the evening was warm so we went on a walk in the surrounding forest only to realize on our way back that we had accidentally wandered into Austria. There were shipping containers on the road to patrol people moving across the border but, luckily, no guards. Maybe they expected traffic to stop at sundown. We sneaked over the border and back to our Airbnb without any issues and got to bed early with hopes of getting out before the rain started.
As soon as I woke up I looked out the window and saw a snow-capped mountain glistening in the distance, bathed in morning sunlight. We rushed out the door and made our way to the trailhead for our first hike to the Putschellerhaus, a mountain hut that sits on the border between Austria and Bavaria. When we piled out of the car the sky was clear and the views were spectacular.
An hour later we were covered in clouds and couldn't see more than 20 meters in front of us. Despite the clouds, we clambered up the hill and ate and drank our fill at the hut before making our way back to the car and heading to dinner. It started to pour on our way.
The next morning we made our way to Königsee and hopped on a boat that took us to the other end of the 7.7 kilometer long lake. As we slowly motored along, rain started to dust the surface, sparing us in our electric longboat. Just about halfway across the lake our captain cut the engine, produced a trumpet, opened up a hatch, and started to play. The crisp notes projected across the water towards the sheer cliff at the edge of the lake, but then he stopped. Over the silence we heard the same notes echo back to us—a ghosty reflection of his song returned to us from the rock face. Then our captain continued to play. The notes mingled with his own from a moment before to create a duet that rang out clearly over the still water. After a few minutes, he let the final note linger over the water before putting the trumpet away, closing up the hatch, and “firing up” the engine. We continued on our way across the lake.
After alighting on damp land at the other end of the lake we began our walk to Röthbachfall, the tallest waterfall in Germany. We walked along Obersee’s crystal clear waters until we reached a hut nestled in the valley where we drank fresh milk and ate a quick snack before continuing on to the falls. Once we reached the base of Röthbachfall we gazed 470 meters up to its source and climbed as high as we could before turning back and returning to the boat.
Two days after we returned to Berlin my dad sent me pictures of flooding all around Bavaria. It turned out the unpredictable alpine weather really did lean in our favor.