This morning began gently, beside the quiet flow of the Rhône River. I woke to sunshine and warmth — a welcome contrast to the biting cold of previous days. It was already 20°C when I stepped out into the light, and it felt like stepping into a new season. Me and my friend took it slow, soaking in the morning rays, letting our bodies thaw and spirits lift.

After a lazy breakfast and some sun-induced cheerfulness, we decided to head to the Via Ferrata of Nax — a short and supposedly easy route perched above the valley. The drive up took barely 10 minutes, but we found ourselves on the edge of a cliff with a stunning view, the whole mountain bathed in morning light.

The Ferrata was rated C to D in difficulty. Some sections were more technical than expected, but the real challenge was my shoes. They didn’t have the grip I needed for the rock, and I was constantly reminded of that with each cautious step. Thankfully, it wasn’t a long climb. We made it to the top without issue and stood for a while, taking in the view over the valley — sun, stone, and silence.

Back at the car, we parted ways. My friend returned to Lake Moiry, but I didn’t want to go back to cold mountain nights, even if the forecast promised better weather. I felt like continuing my own path — seeking sun and warmth. So I drove down to Sion to restock on food and essentials.

Parking at the supermarket was limited to one hour, and as soon as I loaded up the van, I had to move. I had no plan. But every time I’d looked across the valley from the mountains in recent days, I’d seen the sun pouring over the opposite side — and I’d felt a little jealous. So I followed it.

I aimed for a spot higher in the mountains where Freja could run freely. After 40 minutes of winding road, I found a place to park — though it was under construction and didn’t feel very welcoming. I made coffee and debated my next move: return to the valley or continue climbing up into the unknown?

With no cell reception and no way to check the map, I chose to go up.

The road became narrow, twisting through rough-hewn tunnels that felt more like caves than modern passes. It was one of those drives that makes you feel like you’re entering a different world. Each bend revealed new views, more peaks, more sky.

Eventually, I reached Col du Sanetsch, a pass at 2,300 meters. The valley opened up into a wide plateau, ringed by towering 3,000-meter peaks. It was exactly the kind of place that makes your soul expand. The lake was there — calm and blue — and from the moment I stepped out, I felt pulled toward the trails.

We hiked a nearby ridge and climbed toward Arpelistock. The path was mostly easy but gave us incredible elevation and views in return. At the top, the Alps stretched endlessly in every direction. We walked through patches of snow, tossed snowballs, laughed and played. Freja was ecstatic. Even as dark clouds crept in behind us, we stayed a little longer, dancing between seasons.

The descent brought wind and falling temperatures. By the time we returned to the van, the sky had darkened and the air dropped fast — from sunshine to a biting chill in less than an hour. By nightfall, it was 0°C, and my windshield had started to freeze. I bundled up inside the van with Freja, our breath visible in the dim interior. We warmed each other through the night. It never got above 6°C.

Still, I have no regrets. The few hours of warmth and brightness this morning were enough to carry me. The hiking possibilities around Sanetsch feel endless. Just standing here, surrounded by peaks and silence, gives meaning to every liter of fuel it took to reach this place.

The forecast says sunshine ahead, though the wind up here cuts through you like a blade. Still — I’ll stay. I want to give this place time, explore the area, and feel what unfolds.

It was a day of opposites — heat and cold, light and shadow, city and solitude — and I savored every part of it.