Feeling like a condemned man, I walked to the bus stop and boarded a yellow PostBus bound for the train station in Reichenbach im Kandertal. From there it was a 20 minute train journey to Kandersteg. I'd contacted a transfer company to arrange a seat on a minibus that travels up the Gastern Valley to Selden. This single-lane road twined steeply upwards through unlit tunnels and beside a raging river. I was relieved to see that the minibus was filled with other hikers; walking alone would make me even more nervous.

 

25 minutes later we were deposited at Selden. Everyone but me walked off in the opposite direction to my trail. I checked the map again and, resigning myself to tackling this alone, set off along the path. First there was a long bridge over that river and then a twisting route through trees, ever upwards until I reached Gfellalphütte. That was a 300-metre ascent. 

 

So far, so not-too-terrifying. But I knew that, as soon as I turned that corner, I would see what fate awaited me. I stood on the edge of high plain, long grass up to my shins and no trees to protect me from a chill wind. Up ahead I saw an immense cliff with what I thought was a path chiselled into it. This was the last point where I could safely turn back and be in Kandersteg before dark. But then I'd have to pay for another night's accommodation, at great expense. Tightness overcame trepidation. I walked on.

When I eventually got to the other side of that plain I saw a small group of people at the top of that cliff. From this distance they looked tiny, but at least their presence there told me that I'd be taking a path to the top that didn't involve scaling this immense cliff. I knew that more perilous sections were ahead and so I hurried on to get at least within earshot of them should anything happen to me. At about 2,150m I came to some scree. Here the path narrowed even more and briefly sloped down at a sharp angle. 

 

I began talking to myself, out loud. "Oh great, a dangerous path with a massive drop to the side," "OK, you can do this," "Just look straight down. That's it, nearly there.". I became my own coach. I even forgot the word associated with a fear of heights and distracted myself by trying my best to remember it, not able to get past 'agoraphobia' which I knew was entirely different, but perhaps appropriate at this exact moment.

 

At last I reached that first clifftop where I'd seen the other people stand. Far below me was that large plain, hidden from the rest of the world. Now for the next challenge: walking over a glacier. I wasn't particularly worried about this section, the route over the snow was - according to the photos I'd carefully studied - well marked. When I got to the glacier, however, it was covered in rocks large and small. My colourblind eyes struggled to pick out the markers yet I made it across without incident. I now faced the scariest part of the hike.

Before I continue I should say that I took all necessary precautions for this hike. I had safety equipment, and various supplies should things take a turn for the worse. People back home and at the hut I was staying at knew I was undertaking the hike today. This was in  no way my first rodeo.

 

My self-coaching was working wonders and now I'd need it more than ever. Here was the cliff I'd been fearing the most. It involved a narrow, steep path and a steel cable on which I could cling. All I had to do was walk up that path and not cling to the cable so tightly that I wouldn't let go. 

 

Thanks to adrenaline-fuelled speed I was just below the group I'd seen way ahead. If anything happened to me (or them) I could shout out and be heard. With that firmly in mind I set my tunnel vision to 'extremely narrow' and climbed up. And up. I lost all sense of time. Eventually the steel cable ended, and so did the cliff edge. Is this the top? I thought. I can't tell you what the view was like while I was on that path, I was much too focused on the cable and the tiny bit of path ahead of me to notice.

 

The path levelled out a little bit. I was on another plain, this one lacking in greenery and strewn with large boulders. All around were massive peaks and then, just ahead, the top of a small wind turbine. I knew then that I'd made it. I was at 2,690m and I'd made it. Yes, there was the hut, below the wind turbine. Here were many more people, all except my unknown companions having walked up from the other side. 

 

After a 1,150m ascent along paths both terrifying and stupendously scenic, I was exhausted. But I was in a Swiss mountain hut. Lötschenpasshütte has 84 bunks, when I stayed only mine and two others (in a different room) were occupied. Despite this low season solitude the three of us were served a huge three-course meal of Swiss cuisine. While we ate a herd of ibex wandered by, in the background were more Alpine peaks than I could count. Now all I had to do was walk down the other side.