Hell's Valley

Spring like weather certainly looks different. Temperatures were in the low single digits (Celsius), and it snow-rained. We were close to calling off our plan for a day's hike but finally we got our butts off the couch, bundled up, and drove South ('going south' has a warm ring to it, yes?).

As we gained elevation we found the area still snow packed. While meandering through the High Black Forest (Hochschwarzwald) pure coincidence lead us through Höllental (Hell's valley), a nine kilometre long gorge between Freiburg and Hinterzarten.

We followed the signs to the Ravenna gorge. The state-of-the-art tourist center looked abandoned today. At the local tourist trap a handful of travellers (for some reasons mostly Eastern Indian, and not appropriately dressed for the weather) sought shelter from the rain, and bought cuckoo clocks, Swiss knifes, glassblowing art and other trinkets out of sheer desperation.

The narrow valley is a dismal spot even in the sunshine, however, with a railway viaduct overshadowing the area, deep hanging clouds, and the interminable rain falling it seemed haunted. We followed the trail along Ravenna creek. White water rushed by in its rugged bed. Moss and fern covered rocks, wet boardwalks and steep uneven stairs made for a slippery ascent. This place has never seen the sun.

Good that we had brought sturdy boots and rain gear because water was pouring down from everywhere, jumping off the cliffs, showering from the trees, and spraying off of several waterfalls. The higher we climbed the more we had to watch out for icy patches, and snow banks.

Großjockenmühle

And out of nowhere an old mill appeared, cowered by the edge of the stream, built at the end of the 19th century it had seen two world wars, and generations of travellers walking by. It looks like a place frozen in time, where shadows have their own life, a place where dark German fairy tales are born, stories including betrayal, crime, sex and violence, incest and cannibalism, the kind where children are left abandoned by their parents in the forest, meet Hannibal Lecter's great grandma, and survived by becoming killers and thieves themselves. Thank you Brothers Grimm for putting that picture into young childrens' minds.

We turned around as it was getting late, and the ever so little light began to fade. No breadcrumbs were needed to find our way back to the parking lot, we simply retraced our steps and followed the river downstream. A right hand turn detour lead the way to an old chapel, built in the twelfth century, and one of the oldest in the area.

St. Oswald Chapel

There is a famous polyptych altar inside. Alas, we found the doors closed. Maybe another time. The dreadful outlook of a boring day had been turned around completely today. One just has to get up and get out into whatever weather is thrown into one's face.