Ginsterkopf

Brilon-Wald / Olsberg-Elleringhausen (51.34316 | 8.56475)

Narrow and wide

661 m high, panoramic hilltop on the Rothaarsteig between Brilon-Wald and Elleringhausen.

This autumn day begins with fog, which slowly clears. The sun appears, only to be obscured by clouds again. Warming rays and cold wind alternate on the fly. That doesn't bother Willi Otto. He has meticulously prepared our tour; marked the route up the Ginsterkopf on field maps; consulted Wikipedia for background information; compiled a dossier of photos from previous hikes, which he hands over to me. He is one of those place narrators where I can sense how much they appreciate the natural and cultural wealth of their homeland. Not because of flowery declarations of love, but through their reliable commitment to the community.

Willi ("as hiking friends, let's say you"), born in 1951, formerly an architect, is now retired and an active member of the village association "Brilon-Wald aktiv e. V.". The Ginsterkopf, approx. 640m high, is indeed a place of the soul for him. Why? He'd rather tell us when we get to the top. Before the summit enjoyment comes a strenuous climb. But what a wonderful path: it is at least as varied as the weather. After leaving the wide forest road, we head uphill on narrow paths. They lead into a different world. Between wafts of mist, hobbits appear between dark green mossy boulders and disappear again into the milky void. Tree spirits stand guard. The soft carpet beneath our feet consists of a mixture of reddish-brown and green pine needles, the likes of which I have never seen before.

"The green needles are not a good sign," Willi explains, bringing me back down to earth. "The trees are infested with bark beetles. Their feeding disrupts the sap flow, which is why the needles are falling off prematurely." Stupid for the trees, I think, but this red and green mottled runner, rolled out between the trunks, is a real feast for the eyes. As soon as we get used to our springy steps, we reach rocky passages. The term "climbing variant", which I read on a sign at the bottom of the Rothaarsteig, seems slightly exaggerated to me, but some of the climbs definitely have an alpine character.

Finally, we emerge from the forest and reach the exposed northern summit of the Ginsterkopf with one last scramble. A distant view, we can set the focus to infinity. This is the mode in which the eye muscles relax. To the southwest, the Bruchhauser Steine, mighty volcanic rocks, rise out of the sea of undulating treetops. Further west, Elleringhausen and behind it Olsberg, Brilon in the distance to the north, bright splashes of bottle green.

Willi only meets a few hikers up here. "When I'm really looking for silence, both outer and inner, I go here. Everyday worries fall away as I walk up. The view into the distance gives me completely new thoughts." That is why this is a soulful and inspiring place for him, even if he, used to the sober language of engineers, would not describe it as such. And that is also why he worries that the silence could be lost if the hundreds of people flock to the place of the soul. As is the case with the traditional "Schnade", for example. Following a centuries-old custom, Brilon citizens walk the boundaries of their town, once a patrol to check whether their own territory is sufficiently protected. It seems strange to Willi when 3,000 walkers jostle each other on the Rothaarsteig, even if he is one of them. "Fortunately, the Schnade only leads up the Ginsterkopf here every ten years."

On the Ginsterkopf, I realize how closely paths and the places they lead to belong together. Silence up here contrasts with restlessness down in the valley. The experience of narrowness on narrow paths increases the desire to explore the vastness. The lightness I feel now is like an echo of the ascent with 90 kilograms of live weight. The summit light seems brighter because we had previously walked through twilight. This is how the path prepares us for the goal.

Why do people climb mountains in the first place? The biological answer: the overview shows where protection and food can be found, where danger threatens, where the path continues - it increases the chances of survival. The New Zealand mountaineer Sir Edmund Hillary, who climbed to the summit of Mount Everest (8848 m) for the first time together with a Sherpa, gave a pragmatic answer. Why does he climb high mountains? "Because they are there." Even on the much lower Ginsterkopf, I sense that there is also a spiritual answer. On a summit, as many hikers report, we come into contact with something greater, wider, more powerful. Elevation and sublimity are cousins, accompanied by amazement and silence.

Author: Michael Gleich