The Joys of Hiking Alone – or How To Deal with Raging Bulls

The Joys of Hiking Alone – or How To Deal with Raging Bulls

Not that your trampess has extraordinary adventures just for your benefit, or because ordinary life doesn’t provide enough entertainment, but sometimes it just happens, and lately it seems to be happening more than enough. Your trampess has just come back from being gored by a bull (well, let me clarify, he had his head down and shoved his horns toward me several times. We did touch but I used my hands to good effect so the horns never penetrated my flesh).

Your trampess has always been quite content passing through fields of cattle in the mountains – after all they are basically domestic creatures and used to being man handled. Even my earliest encounter with a cow at close quarters, when I was about 3, my great Aunt Ethel was considerably older, and the cow was somewhere in between, was only a cause for much amusement on my Aunt Ethel’s side, the result of which is that I remember it with laughter even now (she asked me if I would like to milk a cow; being 3, happy around animals and curious, I, of course, replied in the affirmative. She showed me what to do; I grabbed the cows teats and squeezed; nothing happened; Aunt Ethel let out the most adorable peel of laughter and took over the milking; I watched in wonder).

The recent encounter that has led your trampess to committing it to paper was not of the same kind. The tramp was having a short hike to the middle station but recommended that the trampess head up to the top of Baumgarten on her own. It was such a lovely day and a pity to let it go to waste, besides after 3 weeks of decadence in London it was important to get the old hind side up a mountain for as long and as frequently as possible in order to keep evening gown fit. So, five fingers on the feet and backpack on the back, off your trampess set. Apart from meeting too many trucks, cars and tractors on the way (while a hiking route the path also provides access for farmers to the higher barns and occasionally one meets the odd vehicle – today’s encounters were excessive). Once above WildMoosAlpe, the path was once again clear, and all the tree felling that had been the bane of my existence in April was now over. That did not mean peace though.

I walked along the path, on the part of the walk where I usually gain speed (this was good as I had begun to worry that I would not make the last bergbahn down for the day – suddenly I was back in control and confident that the Tramp would not be worried that his dinner would be unduly late owing to the Trampess taking 2 hours instead of 5 minutes to make it to the car!). But things turned rather more eventful than planned as your trampess reached a previously non-existent gate with a lot of cows huddled near it on the other side. Not good, but not necessarily bad. I opened the gate, let myself in, and shut it again and proceeded to go along the mountain side of the herd (the other side was fenced with barbed wire, a sleep incline down, and all things considered probably the less wise option).

As I was in the middle of the herd working my way to the far side, trying to keep to the path, one ornery bull decided he didn’t much like me in the midst of his cows – and perhaps more importantly, calves. He turned and gave me a threatening look. Not best pleased but trying my best not to look intimidated by a creature several times my weight, with hooves and horns, and not more than a foot away, I more or less told him to move on and tried to shoo him away (with my superior Nordic walking sticks – not that I hit him or poked him – this was just meant to be a gentle indication of the way he should move). He nudged me (I admit I took it personally) and then lowered his head, in that way that bulls do, and pushed his horns toward me. Aarrggghhh, your trampess has crossed paths with many a cow and young bull, one time dressed in bright red and significantly pregnant, but without fear, and never arousing more than faint curiosity, but this was quite different! I pushed him away sucking in my tummy (the idea of being impaled on a bull’s horns as a kind of bucolic martyrdom is not my idea of an elegant death). He tried again. I tried to scramble up the hill. No dice: too steep, too soft, no footholds, no roots to grab, no rocks, nothing.

Finally I decided on a different tact: to retreat, walk along the outside of the barbed wire (on the downward slope) and then find a place, farther along, where I could crawl under (not fun with the ground full of mud and soft cow pats but the backpack would protect me from the barbed wire as long as I didn’t get stuck). Of course as I started my marine training belly crawl, the cows all decided they were interested and started coming my way. As it turned out, this was not an easy manoeuvre what with being up hill and under barbed wire, so your trampess was not setting world records on making the distance quickly. Once again, a change of plan: to retreat to the gate and try again the conventional way since the cows were no longer in a huddle there and the chance of passing easily was – how shall I say, more likely to be normal.

Well blow me if as I was half way through the herd one calf didn’t start licking my leg and the bloody bull didn’t start taking an unseemly interest again. So a few more times with the head down and the horns in my direction and a few more times my pushing him away (feeling just a touch vulnerable at this point what with cows on all sides of me). Nothing was working. He was determined; your trampess was trapped. Escape was the only answer: to try to get up the hill once more was the only way. Of course, the past is always the best predictor of the future and your trampess kept slipping down (one does not need to mention that her language was not the purest at this point) but finally got a small foothold, just enough to throw herself in the direction of a strong root which she grabbed to advantage and hoisted herself up with.

Safe at last, I managed to walk along the very steep pasture until I was in well in advance of the herd (no chances this time that the curious would block my forward movement) and then I ran back down to the path. By now I had lost considerable and valuable time and realised I had to hoof it to make the bergbahn. Adrenalin was on my side of course, and as I got to just beneath the station (not quite at full VO2 max) I could see the bb was in place and ready to depart; I saw a man just about to enter and waved frantically with my sticks. Luckily he saw me and screamed down if anyone was behind me. I said I was alone and steamed ahead. They waited – hurrah!!! I was of course rather muddy and dishevelled, so explained I had had an encounter with a bull which had slowed me up. Much laughter. But hey, your trampess is alive and here to tell the tale. I was a bit of a sight in the supermarket (shopping for supper could not be put off until your trampess had been home and changed – stores close early here; Austria is still a God-fearing country and the stores close at night and are never open on Sunday) and my seat in the Smart car is now on the disgraceful side. I did wash most of the mud and cow dung off my legs and shoes with the outdoor hose, but I have to wait for a shower until the tramp can off load the dirty water tank (which he is loathe to do while the neighbours are all having drinks in the afternoon sun!). Your trampess will wait, but she is not holding her breath!