A Valley Lost in Time, Ausseerland - Go Wild

Landscapes cast in limestone and ice. Fractured. Sunken. Raised and snapped. This is the secret heart of Austria. Overflowing with water. Where oceans become mountains. And glaciers claw out lakes. It has frozen and thawed many times in the history of its rocks. And of its people. It's a little world of its own in the heart of Austria. It smacks of salt and shimmers with fish. There's so much to see here. That so much remains hidden. It's a single region that sums up a whole country. Yet it insists it's separate. This is Ausseherland. In this theatrical setting, seasons don't happen. They are proclaimed. Living with this beauty brings with it pride and suffering. As a 19th century traveller wrote, The most diligent cultivation could never meet the needs of this region. Grain and finished goods are ferried across lakes and up steep mountain paths. The animals first discovered the region's real riches. Lapping up the brackish water. It was salt that brought people up to the mountains. And burrowing into the mountains. 9th century monks at an isolated monastery began to hollow out the hillsides. And cut down the mountain forests. When the trees were gone, Tramps from far away were brought by water. 30 generations ago, at a log jam where three rivers met, Burning wood steamed salt from water in giant evaporation pans. A market was born. Markt Aussee. Not until salt lost its magic market value, Would Markt Aussee turn into a spa. Bad Aussee. This white building once dominated the town. For four centuries the salt house, the centre of power, Ruled the miners' lives. And multiplied the wealth of the salt merchants. Electric now, the town clock was once powered by atmospheric pressure. Barometer of the town's fortunes. It was always time for business here. Old Aussee's salt mines made the miners proud. And mount. Lake Grundelse's sweet waters imposed a different fate. Working hard, living off the land. As a lumberjack. Or on the lake. Their followers, in Austria's forestry department, Don't just consume the fish. They protect Ausseeland's natural resources. Sometimes they have to balance the interests of locals and recent arrivals. These cormorants are privileged protected immigrants. With an insatiable appetite for fresh char. Casting the nets marks the beginning of a triangular war. Humans versus cormorants. And both against the char. The fishermen have learned to live alongside these legalized underwater poachers. The fishermen have a harvesting rhythm that nothing can disturb. For the char, life is at an end. But it's also a beginning. The spawn are removed and hatched in breeding ponds. Where the young can grow in safety. Strong, healthy fish will be released back into the wild. Now look back, past the chocolate box and the mystic mist. To a time when this was a tropical ocean. With a massive coral reef. The sea retreated. The salt settled. The dead coral was folded and pressured into the Alps. And every year, mimicked by the first frost, the ancient salt crystals seem to grow again. Ancient ocean waves too, and the creatures they carried, are frozen in rock 2,000 meters above sea level. These are the dead mountains. The Tortusgebirge. The biggest limestone plateau in the Alps. The gigantic pressures that created the arc of the Alps forced these great peaks ever higher. The Große Prill. The Hohe Dachstein. Pillars that surround and frame the Ausseerland. And the Gremming, their isolated outrider. After millions of years, the water returned as ice. Massive glaciers crept imperceptibly over the land. They collared the highest peaks. They sliced valleys. They piled up moraines. An Ausseerland winter today is hardly an ice age. But it has to be taken seriously. Not long since, it could be deadly. It's a question of knowing how to live with it. Ice and snow leave the small tortoiseshell butterfly cold. Very cold. It freezes for the winter. It can survive at 38 below zero. An untimely thaw can be life-threatening because of the energy-draining activity of awakening and finding a new place to stay. The inhabitants of Aussee had and still have every reason to fill their winter months with life. They were protected and imprisoned by steep mountains and side valleys deprived of their freedoms by the Sold Administration. And paid off in kind. A collective experience that made them stubborn, independent, resourceful and sly. Good humour and malice, freedom and harsh constraints go hand in hand here. Tradition is no recent discovery. It fashions the future. Sometimes this snow-white paradise is arbitrary and cruel. The mountains unleash them. For generations, the carnival season has been a form of institutionalised anarchy. As the drummer women drum, which probably once included the owners of the salt mines. Once the ice has broken, it's time for spring. And for the vibrancy of the flinzel. You could be forgiven for seeing the influence of the Venetian Carnival. It's no wonder. Aussee's salt empire once stretched all the way to Venice. The last ice age gave way to an apical spring thaw. It revealed the now familiar landscape. As meltwater found new paths that collected in lakes. And left room for Ausseeland. Between the Todesgebirge, the Dead Mountains and the Dachstein. The Dachstein Glacier is the last relic of thousands of years of winter. It has nothing to thank this endless spring for. Except a loss of scale. In the shortest spring of the human year, common frogs can't wait to see the light. They mate in the ponds left by melting ice and snow. The ice may be retreating. But water and wind continue to mould the landscape. And sometimes geological history happens in the blink of an eye. In 1920, part of the Sundlingturm mountain slipped and crashed into the valley. The movement has stopped for now. But these rock pillars could fall at any time. No one would say that of the grimming, standing in proud isolation. For centuries, it was thought to be Styria's highest mountain. On this dramatically raised seabed, ibex seek out patches of spring grass. And playfully practice for life's harsher tests. Meltwater seeps into the limestone via sinkholes. And tiny cracks in the rock face. Over millennia, crevices grow into caves. More than 600 have been found in these far-from-dead mountains. Only a handful are fully explored. How many are still unknown? An entire mountain range, hollow? Dead mountains with an inner life. 30,000 years ago, this cave had a living room, a kitchen, and probably a ritual space. For stone ages. It was also a base for bear hunting. And it was modern hunters who found it. In 1924, sheltering from the storm, they discovered the bones of large mammals here. Cave bears. It looks like prehistoric Arsaeas and their guests may have appreciated a lovely view almost as much as their modern descendants. The bears are gone. The fish remain. Some have wondered where the char came from, cut off here in their legs. Perhaps they're simply passing on the genes of their ancestors that conquered this habitat at the end of the Ice Age. As the snow begins to thaw, water becomes the determining element in Arsaealand. One specialist knows how to make the most of this. The white-throated dipper dives into the rushing streams to seek out mayfly larvae. The area around Lake Odensee, with its unusual flora and fauna, has been declared a European nature reserve. The small tortoise shell has reproduced. Its hungry but choosy caterpillar will only eat one thing. Stinging nettles. Now the caterpillar will eat nothing at all. Butter warts glisten enticingly on moorland meadows. But when an insect lands, the pretty dewdrops turn into sticky digestive juices. A female goldfinch can now concentrate on the brood. Her partner will remain faithful and protect the nest. The crumbling, overgrown ruins of Flinsburg Castle merge into the landscape. This small but powerful fortress once protected a priceless treasure. White gold. Salt. Salt that has been washed out of the mountains for centuries. Beneath a ceiling of rock, the water flushes out the salty legacy of the Oceolant. At high speed, humans have reversed 200 million years of natural history. The waters of the ancient oceans dried into salt. The water used in solution mining turns the salt back into brine. And the brine, once again, becomes salt. Pure rock salt is mined in Altaussee. Crushed into small grains, it tastes milder than industrial salt and contains iron, calcium, magnesium and potassium. Pinewood tunnel props are a safety measure. They creak unmistakably before giving way. For generations, the forests of Oceolant were exploited for fuel. After centuries of reforestation, they are now almost entirely coniferous. But these efforts at sustainability didn't rescue Oceolant's forests. It was the imperial court's demand for hunting grounds that finally saved the remaining ancient woodland. As logging continued, increasing distances between the forest and the processing centre called for a new transport system. Hundreds of mine workers hammered and chiselled for the bigger canal between Kammersee and Lake Toplitz. Lumberjacks made sure the traffic and the waterway was never interrupted. Here, at Lake Toplitz, the forestry department still balances exploitation with the sustainable protection of nature. Toplitz Creek has been allowed to regain its natural course. Chub can once more make their way away from the lake into the calm, shallow inlets of their breeding grounds. The beautiful Demersel damselfly has returned to the riverbanks. Indisputable proof of the purity of the water. River crayfish have been around for about 250 million years. Endangered by humans, then threatened by imported diseases, they're doing well here. Digging peat as fuel for the sword works is a thing of the past. But a century of overexploitation has left its mark on a once expansive moor. What remains is a very special habitat. The soil, fed only by rainwater, contains few nutrients and is acidic. Only the most specialised of plants can survive here. The weak spring sun is shrinking the white patches in the mountains. Far below, it's worked a small miracle. It's snowed again. Daffodils. When the snow melts on the mountain peaks, the maritime prehistory of the ancient coral colonies comes back to life. In a big way. It thaws and drips and splashes and flows. Deep inside the mountains, ice turns to water. Drops become brooks that roar into the caves of the Dead Mountains. How exactly all this joins the great water cycle of the Alps remains a mystery. But every now and then, we get a glimpse of the secrets they share with the lakes far below. When Altaussee's lake bed was sonar scanned in a routine water quality test, they discovered something unusual. Icy water streaming into the lake through a duct 70 metres below the surface. This is unlikely to be the only duct, so it could be a clue to the water system of a lake with no apparent inflow. Water from below. Water from above. Sometimes too much water. Meltwater and rainwater join forces against the land. Every couple of years, for a couple of hours, or a few minutes, it happens. Cracks in the rocks, parched the whole year through, are the safety valves. Saturated with water, the mountains release all they hold, belching out the surplus. Once started, it gets faster and faster. The lake shores move outward. In this amphibious world, even the daffodils become water plants. Narcissus praeticus, the daffodil, thrives in meadows that nobody uses to grow things. The more you pick, the more they grow. And the scent is overpowering. So, use them. For an opulent outdoor spring festival. A feast for the eyes. Nothing new in Altaussee. People, landscape and nature celebrate together. Life's awakening from the cold, still months. It's a festival for everyone. Even if some of the locals prefer to do their own thing. Aussee-Aland doesn't need people to impress. The caterpillar of the small tortoise-shell butterfly became a pupa, and now struggles to metamorphose into a springtime beauty. In pastures, beetles and spiders clamber over the blossoms. Or, in the case of the longhorn beetles and cockchaifers, over each other. The young goat finches are peckish. Meanwhile, the fishermen complete their task as charm protectors, releasing the young fish into a somewhat uneasy freedom. For four centuries, Aussee-Aland was an intensively exploited pre-industrial region. Nature was seen as a supplier of raw materials. The salt works were still steaming and smoking away in Aussee's very center, when the first guests from outside discovered the region's scenic allure. One of these guests was a Habsburg prince, Archduke Johann. In Aussee-Aland, after political and personal disappointments, the Archduke found what he needed. A land he could love, with people who didn't bow and scrape, but liked him for himself, and his Anna, the postmaster's daughter, his sweetheart beyond all courtly conventions. It was inevitable. Aussee-Aland opened up to visitors and dolled itself up. In thirty short years, Aussee-Aland turned inside out. The industrial center became a leisure center and spa. Market Aussee was rechristened Bad Aussee. Thrill-seeking visitors still surprise the natives today. Local hunters were amazed to see wild boar roaming the highest regions. Authors in search of inspiration have long been visitors to Aussee-Aland. Hugo von Hofmannsthal was one. He felt so at home that he could write, I so love this landscape. The older I grow, the more precious it is to me. And one day, when I'm really old, I'm sure that my childhood years will return to me, rising up from the streams, the lakes, and the forest, to greet me. Even the emperor came here, just once, from his summer residence on the other side of the mountain. Aussee had finally become socially acceptable. A single visit was considered appropriate. Yet even in a world of unlimited recreational opportunity, some untouched quiet spaces remain, where you can tune in to the music of silence. Landscape, nature, and people have worked out how to live side by side, successfully with each other, in each other, through each other. Tradition still counts, and rustic country dances are in no way a thing of the past. One of the last of the salt-processing buildings has found a new role. But once a year, the disco is forgotten. In the autumn, the locals and visitors flock to Altgäuse's Kirktagen festival. The traditional beer tent fills to the best in an unbridled quest for pleasure and satisfaction, but continues without apology until at last you're truly sated. If the better off could dine well even outside the beer tent, in days gone by, the poor Aussee rarely had enough to eat. Unless a poacher came with a Sunday roast. Crossbow ranges nurtured shooting skills pending a real opportunity. The joyful anarchy of the scorers masked a deadly serious intention. 24th of June, 1914. The date for the opening of the Alpine Gardens. But then came the general mobilisation order for the First World War. For centuries, Ausseer had been spared military service as essential war workers. But this time, soldiers from Ausseerland made their way to the front. After the war, the middle class, predominantly Jewish summer visitors were determined to enjoy the good life again. Life was taken from them. Throughout the Kaiserreich and Hitler's Third Reich, the city clock recorded the atmosphere. Ausseerland's lost innocence, shrouded in mist, concealed or in plain sight. Castle Castiglione, planned as the location for the Führer's library, overlooks the Grundlsee, friendly and harmless. There's talk of Ernst Kaltenbrunner's Nazi treasures buried in the gardens of Altausseer's Villa Cary. The murder of resistance fighter Karl Feldhammer, and, of course, of Sandling, the salt mine where priceless artworks were hidden. Michelangelo's Madonna rested here. And Toplitze, wartime research centre for the German navy, still the source of the wildest rumours and no less disturbing revelations. Ausseerland awoke from the nightmare, though ideas like homeland and tradition, long misused, needed time to be reinstated. People preferred to be reminded of old glories, rather than dark recent history. And the local steamboat, first named after the Duchess, and then a member of the SS, became simply Rudolf. The palace still sounds the same to the fish in the lake. The char have stuck to their old, apolitical way of life. The old images of cows being brought down for the winter, merge seamlessly into the same scenes today. It's still a beautiful, dangerous and difficult descent into the valley, carried out for its own sake, not for the sake of the tourists. And the guests returned, in search of an idyllic world, with all the advantages of modality. People, landscape and nature have not always got on easily here. The mountains are valued today for their outer, not their inner qualities. The mountains form the dramatic backdrop for a natural stage, programmed for pleasure, that still has a place for sparse, unspoilt wilderness. Even here, the perfect combination of nature protection and nature exploitation remains tantalizingly elusive. But water in the lakes, brooks and rivers is still drinkable. And thanks to protests, the region has been spared the construction of a new power plant. Conservationists, hikers, tourism professionals, and of course the white-throated dipper, all approved. Late autumn, the fishermen mount a big celebration for selected guests on the lake shore. The Lechparty, the spawning party. In a simple hut on the lakeside, char and salt come together in a unique taste, the taste of Ausseherland. The glow of the fire reflects the glow of the char's abdomen, the colour of spawning time. It's a long night, a night of gentle sensuality. In the lake, the char carry new life inside them. Death is still present. The cormorant's hunting party is hungry for spoils. And the fishermen need full nets for the Christmas season. The char spawn, life goes on. A life with space for their freedom, as long as humans allow it. Somehow, it must all be possible. Here too, in the heart of Austria.