Waking up to sunshine—what a blessing. No wind. After so many gusty nights, just opening the van door to calm stillness felt fulfilling. My legs were sore from yesterday’s hike, but I couldn’t help thinking about it again. The landscape still pulled at me.

Yesterday had started slowly, with a peaceful walk around the lake near Sascheln. The water shimmered in the morning light, and Freja trotted happily alongside me, her nose catching every scent on the breeze.

But the stillness only refueled me.

After a short rest, I found myself turning back toward the mountains. I couldn’t stop myself—something was calling. Prarochet, a vast, rocky expanse unlike anything else I’ve seen in Switzerland. It stretched endlessly, maybe 16 to 20 square kilometers of raw stone and silence. It was otherworldly.

What struck me most was the freedom. There were no fixed trails—just faint markings here and there, not telling you how to walk, only pointing a general direction. The path was yours to find. Left, right, up, down—whatever called to you. I felt so alive there, so present. It was like the mountain whispered: “Go where your spirit wants.”

The landscape felt like another planet. Wild, wide open, untouched. And even though I meant to take it easy, we ended up walking over 20 kilometers across the rocky terrain.

By evening, we made it back to the van—but the wind had returned, cold and relentless, like most nights lately. I’d had enough. I drove just a kilometer and a half down the road, and suddenly: silence. The wind disappeared. I slept peacefully, wrapped in stillness, and woke to the sunrise pouring golden warmth into the van. It felt like the mountains were giving me a hug.

That hike wasn’t dramatic—no storms, no cliffs, no fear. Just soul-lifting beauty. Freja was free the whole time, wandering her own path across the rocks. She listened to every command like a dream. I felt so deeply connected—to her, to the land, to everything. We ended up again at Cabane de Yéti, a little hut we always seem to return to, like a quiet ritual.

Only one moment broke the calm: near the end of the walk, Freja spotted a young chamois. Instantly, something switched in her—she bolted like lightning, climbing almost 40 meters up a steep gravel slope to chase it. Nothing could stop her. I shouted, called, whistled—but she was locked in. It scares me sometimes, how powerful her instinct is. But she came back eventually, unharmed. And proud.

Funny to think I wasn’t even in the mood for a hike that morning. But the weather, the silence, the rocks—the freedom—was impossible to resist. It’s been a full month now in the Alps, and I think it’s time to reflect on it all.

Even though doubts crept in here and there, I can say this with honesty: 90% of the time, I’ve felt absolutely marvelous. In nature, there’s no space for sadness. Just awe. Just presence.

And Prarochet? That rocky wilderness gave me something rare—a landscape where freedom is real. Not just a feeling, but a pathless, boundless truth underfoot.