Just Like a Dream

The 13,000-ft peaks of the Alps have always cast a powerful spell. It’s the allure of the high mountains – majestic, remote, awe-inspiring – but also the deeply human pull of recognition, altitude and achievement. Many gravitate toward the famous ones: the Matterhorn, the Weisshorn, the Alphubel. But even among these icons, it’s still possible to find silence, solitude and moments of pure alpine clarity – if you choose the right time. Late spring in the Valais. The lifts are already shut down and the huts are closed for the season. But for a few, this is when the mountains truly open up and show their quietest self.

We were four friends, arriving at the Täschhütte’s winter room, which is surprisingly comfortable: wooden bunks with down duvets, a stocked kitchen, firewood, even bathrooms. Almost too luxurious for those of us who are used to cold bivouacs, frozen boots and melted snow for the tea. But what mattered wasn’t comfort – it was presence. Shared silence. Simple collaboration: boiling water, lighting the stove, cooking together. Mundane tasks that feel essential in the alpine, where everything becomes intentional. We hiked in from Täschalp in the afternoon. The snow had already retreated from the valley, but the peaks still held their grip.

We reached the hut with daylight fading, eyes scanning the ridgelines above, identifying peaks the old-fashioned way – without apps or GPS. Just maps, memory and imagination. And a touch of wonder and anticipation. The stars came out early and multiplied quickly. We climbed a small hillside, joined the sky with our headlamps and waited. Then came the sunrise. Pink light flooded the Mischabel mountain range. It was a perfect mountain theater, and we had frontrow seats. Time stood still. Words were absolutely unnecessary. Our first objective was Alphubel. From the Täsch side, the southeast ridge offers a steady climb. A short steep section gave way to a broad glaciated dome. We were alone – on one of the Alps’ most climbed 13,000ers. On the Saas Fee side, lifts usually bring crowds. Not today. Not this season.

The descent: smooth, white, sublime. We returned to the pass and climbed Feechopf, a minor summit with big views. Our plan had been to traverse to the Allalinhorn, but the ridge was sharp, snowy and exposed. Too risky. We changed our plan in light of the situation. The weather was too good, our energy too high. We headed for the Strahlhorn. We crossed the Mellichgletscher, reached Allalinpass and started the final climb. The slope stretched on forever. When the rocky tip finally appeared, we were exhausted and elated. A summit without noise, without competition – just space, wind, light. This was what we had come for. A place not just to reach, but to feel.

Back at the hut, everything felt better: the beer was colder, the pasta richer, the silence more golden. Maybe it was just us. Dusk fell, and our eyelids dropped like curtains on a fully lived day. Next up: Rimpfischhorn. A shorter day trip, but technically more challenging. We followed our tracks back and left our skis behind for the last 650 feet – the snow was steep, time for ice axes and crampons. A narrow gully led to a sharp ridge. Slowly, we reached the summit. Alone again. Below us, yesterday’s tracks traced the glacier like a memory. We didn’t linger. The sun was climbing. We descended quickly, clipped into our skis just as the snow softened. Spring snow 29Rider Lorenzo Filisetti, Maurizio Magatelli, Federico Magatelli

perfection – smooth, fast, effortless. Each turn etched joy into the slope, like writing something you never want to forget. At the hut, we moved slowly. The spell hadn’t broken; it had settled in. We didn’t want to leave. But we would carry it with us – this feeling, this time, this truth. These moments don’t fade. They stay. Maybe it’s the peaks. Maybe it’s the people. Maybe it’s the dream. And yes – we plan to come back. Next spring – or maybe even sooner.