Colours of Autumn

I am of the popular and growing opinion that mountains are at their finest in autumn. Colour erupts in the forests flanking the mountainsides as the leaves turn golden shades of orange, yellow, and red; meanwhile the highest peaks gain their first snows. The air is crisp and energised with the sense of change, and cooler temperatures are more welcoming for activity. It’s good to be back in the Bernese Oberland – a place I consider to be an outdoor playground and scenic wonder.

This time, John and I are exploring the off-season, finding the slopes quieter as the summer crowds depart, but still well ahead of the winter snowfall. It’s on the cusp of shorts weather. Not too hot, not yet cold.

But first: cheese. The most important thing you need to know about the Bern Region, and Switzerland in general, is that they are serious about their cheese, and it’s extremely good. We arrive in the Holiday region Gstaad, where the enticingly named Cheese Grotto stores thousands of wheels of ‘Alpine Gold’ (it’s cheese) 8m underground. Yes, the smell does hit you when you descend the wooden ladder into the depths of the cylindrical storage unit, but as your eyes adjust to the dark, so does your nose to the temple of cheese wheels around you.

While looking at cheese was way more interesting than I had expected, I’m still mostly here for tastings, and outside the grotto is something uniquely and adorably Swiss: the XXL Fondue-Caquelon is part of the Fondueland experience within Gstaad. This is where our crew and hosts gather around large, wooden, fondue-shaped picnic tables to enjoy an outdoor fondue (pre-prepared and rented from local dairies), the sun setting behind the tall mountains around us. It’s a wonderful start to the trip.

I check the weather forecast before going to bed, and confirm that there will be a good chance of a sunrise in the morning. We set early alarms, eager to see the dawn over the Bernese Alps from up high. That’s another good thing about this time of year; for those who want to enjoy it, sunrise is at a slightly more reasonable time.

It’s still dark as we hike in, lighting the way with our small head lamps, breath condensing in the chilled air. Eventually we reach the summit of Hornfluh. And then we wait. The first rays of sunlight reach out from behind the Alps towering all around us, stretching downwards and bringing the day to the valleys below. This is a mountain moment I live for: we sit in silence while the sun heaves himself up into the sky, the stars fading away and the snow on the surrounding mountain peaks glittering in the new dawn. Well, I sit in silence. The photographers are at their busiest, as the colours and light are changing rapidly. Eventually, I drag them away and we head to the nearby Bergrestaurant Hornfluh for a delicious farmers breakfast and much-needed coffee.

Once the day is in full swing under a clear blue sky, it’s time to play. We don harnesses and helmets and head to the start of one of Hornfluh’s via ferrata courses. This one is called the Indiana Jones Trail, and it’s soon clear why: it’s a fast-paced mix of steep pitches, quick scrambles, a zipline, and an abseil, all doable in a brief morning adventure. It’s incredibly fun and fulfilling to climb on rock and leap from cliff edges, all under the ease and safety of a fully bolted route. It’s Type-One Fun combined with a nice little full-body workout, and a tint of height exposure in places. The sunshine warms our skin but it’s still cool in the shade.

After adrenaline highs, we seek serenity. As a Canadian, canoeing on a lake is perhaps as close to the Comfort Zone as I can get, and as we dip our paddles in the turquoise waters of Arnensee, I feel all tension leave my body. Accompanied by the Alpinzentrum team, we drift across the beautiful lake, and my eyes follow the transitions of colour in my skyscape: from the deep waters to the bright autumn leaves of the forest, to the grey and white mountains, to the luminous blue sky. It’s like a painting, but it’s real. John, my canoe skipper and photographer, finally puts his camera down and hefts his paddle – he’s motivated. On the far side of Arnensee is a campfire area, open for all to use, and we have some local sausages (made in Gstaad village by Buure Metzg) in the coolbox that we are going to barbecue. We make quick work of lighting the fire, then lower the grill plate to the flames when it’s finally hot enough to cook. I’m feeling optimistic about the number of meals I’m having outside on this trip already.

I wake up the following morning in a new region – the beautiful Adelboden-Lenk-Kandersteg – and it’s time for my favourite of all things: trail running. We meet our guide Marcel Jungen – a local trail runner and paralympic coach – at the Sunnbüel gondola which takes many trail users to the top station. But there is also a trail, the Fortuna, which snakes up through the dense forest of Gasterntal with an elevation gain of 900m.

The path climbs steadily on soft earth and roots, weaving between tall pines and occasional clearings where the valley briefly reveals itself below. It’s the kind of trail that invites rhythm – not too technical, but just enough variation to keep you engaged, shifting from gentle switchbacks to steeper, more direct bursts uphill.

With the cooler temperatures that autumn brings, it’s a delight to run up the dry trails, breathing in the crisp air as fallen leaves crunch underfoot. As I gain height, the forest begins to thin and the landscape opens out, the views revealing themselves with each step. Eventually the trail breaks above the treeline, giving way to wide alpine terrain, warm sunshine and huge skies. We head to the gondola station restaurant for coffees and cake. Yes, I’m definitely going to have another meal outside.

From comfort zones to the next extreme: Kandersteg begs to be seen from a bird’s eye view. I meet my paragliding guide, Ruedi from Paragliding Kandertal at the base of the adorable red Allmenalp gondola, where we receive one-way tickets to the top. The gondola car only fits four of us (John is also going, with his guide Daniel) and the large duffel bags holding what I hope are very robust canopies. As we rise above the valley, the landscape unfolds beneath us – steep cliffs, scattered chalets, and winding trails that suddenly feel very small from above.

A short hike to the take-off spot, some instructions from Ruedi, and soon I’m airborne. I’ve tried paragliding only a handful of times, and I still lurch at the sensation of my feet leaving the ground as the wing catches and we rise skywards. The initial rush settles into something slower and more fluid, the air holding us as we glide out over the valley. After a few delicate, swooping turns, I settle in. There really is no view like an eagle’s view. Ruedi names the peaks and lakes we can see around us, even pointing out some climbing routes etched into the steep rock faces above Kandersteg.

It’s serene. The air feels still up here, and with the sun just that bit lower in the sky, the light on the mountains softens, pulling out the autumn tones in the forests below. We drift quietly, following invisible currents, suspended between effort and ease.

We make a precise landing – sadly, I can’t say the same for John and Daniel – in a cow field, impressively close to where we parked the car.

On our last night in Bernese Oberland, we’re treated to a very special dinner inside the Blausee Nature Park. The park contains a beautiful network of trails around a small (and impossibly clear) blue lake. I walk along the water’s edge, where I can watch the black trout swimming lazily in their exclusive habitat. It’s mesmerising to watch them dive all the way to the bottom, although I’m not sure I could order the fish for dinner after spending so long watching them. We wander the trails as it grows dark, eager to enjoy one last sunset on this perfect Bernese adventure.

I am now convinced. The hill I will die on is that autumn is absolutely the best time to explore the Swiss Alps.