Kyrill-Pfad

Schmallenberg-Schanze (51.129212 | 8.37834)

Death and rebirth

Approx. 1 km long path over footbridges and ladders through a storm area that has not been cleared since the destruction caused by 'Kyrill' in 2007

A cemetery in the middle of the forest. On the morning of January 19, 2007, tree corpses piled up to ten meters high. They lay criss-crossed on top of each other. They had been cut down by someone they called "the Magnificent" in German. In Greek, his name is Kyrill. The winter storm swept through Europe with wind speeds of up to 225 kilometers per hour. It also devastated huge areas of forest in the Sauerland. Areas with spruce trees were the worst affected: Although they grow quickly, they only have shallow roots in the ground. Kyrill had an easy time of it.

A few weeks after the hurricane, Stefan Knippertz took two rolls of red and white barrier tape, each 500 meters long, and cut his way through the thicket. "I was the smallest of the rangers, so I was picked out to crawl between the tree trunks and mark a path with the tape," he remembers and has to grin. Together we hike along the narrow path that he used to mark out on all fours. Knippertz is employed by the State Forestry and Timber Agency. He and his colleagues saw a unique opportunity after the storm: "We wanted to show what happens when an area like this is left to its own devices. What grows there when people stay out of it?" They were able to convince the state forestry office to waive the timber yield for 3.5 hectares, a sum of several tens of thousands of euros. "That wouldn't have been possible with private owners."

The path winds for exactly one kilometer. Today, no one has to crawl; visitors can stroll through aisles, over footbridges and small bridges as if through a natural history museum. On peak days, up to 1,000 come. Knippertz explains to me the waves in which the storm area was repopulated. The first to take the plunge were flowers and perennials such as foxglove and wood willowherb. Closely followed by bushes such as elderberry and blackberry. The latter is particularly aggressive, flattening others. The whole thing is a battle for light and water. Then came the pioneers among the trees - rowanberries, birches, willows and, of course, spruces. A competition for the best places in the sun began. Whoever shoots up faster puts others in the shade. Birches and spruces initially won the race. But now, after eleven years without axe and saw, a balance has been achieved. Knippertz's eyes light up when he looks out over the new forest from a high stand: "Isn't it a wonder how rich it is in plant and animal species?" Kyrill has caused creative chaos.

And have the forest owners learned anything from the storm damage? Knippertz shakes his head. Then he replies: "Probably not all of them, we still have some convincing to do! We advised reforesting with tree species suited to the location, such as beech. There was even funding for this. But many people opted for fast growth. So spruce again - with a high risk." The next hurricane is sure to come.

As we walk on, I ask myself what makes the Kyrill-Pfad a place of the soul. It inspires me to think about death and new beginnings. About our own transience. About how short the human lifespan is compared to the long breath of nature. About the fact that some things that at first glance seem like the end are actually a transformation, a transition to something new. Life that is born from death. A twinkle in the eye of eternity. Knippertz points to a trunk at our feet. "Another five years and it will be completely rotten. Inside, tree fungi are at work decomposing it." He points to a plate-sized bulge on the outside of the wood: "That's just the visible fruiting body. Inside the trunk, a fungus with a gigantic network is at work." Mosses and fungi, sun and rain are the tireless transformers. They transform trees into soil and soil into fertile ground for future trees.

At the end of the trail, the ranger leads me to his personal highlight in the open-air laboratory. He points to a spruce lying on the ground. The bark on the top has burst open. "Sunburn," he explains. But the crown of the tree consists of dark green, densely needled branches, with light green sprouts and buds at the tips. "It still wants something," says Stefan Knippertz, "it really wants to live. And it will make it."

Author: Michael Gleich