Where the Stars Put Us in Perspective – A Night on Melchsee-Frutt

25 February 2024.Mateusz and I set out on a short but intense ski tour. The starting point is the high plateau of Melchsee-Frutt. The route leads along the mountain flank, all the way up to the Abgschütz shelter. The snow is deep, hard to break trail. Every step takes effort. Add to that the full winter gear – sleeping bags, mats, food, everything we need for a night out in the snow. The moon hangs high above us, lighting the way. Our headlamps stay off. The light is enough to trace the outlines of the mountains. Once we reach the top, we begin digging a hollow into the snow. It’s not enough for a real igloo – the snow is too loose. But the digging warms us up before we crawl into our sleeping bags. The wind picks up. Temperatures drop noticeably.

We drink a beer and a sip of cognac against the cold, then we lie down to sleep.

Above us, a night sky you only see far away from civilisation.The Milky Way stretches across the darkness.We talk about how the sheer size of the universe makes us feel smaller — how our worries fade into nothingness in this kind of vastness.Lying under the open sky on Melchsee-Frutt, you realise quickly: some perspectives don’t shift through words, but through experience. Sometimes you need nights like this — out of the comfort zone, into the elements — to realign yourself. Cold, exhaustion, effort — all of it puts life into perspective and sharpens the focus on what truly matters. If you never push your limits, you lose your sense for what counts. It’s not an escape. It’s a reminder. A nudge not to take yourself too seriously — and still take responsibility for your own life. Self-reflection rarely happens in a warm living room. It happens outside, in the wind, in the silence, beneath a sky that doesn't care whether you’re satisfied today. At some point, Mateusz falls asleep. Judging by the snoring — pretty deeply. I struggle. The wind keeps blowing fresh snow into my face. I drift between half-awake and half-frozen, refusing at first to give in. But eventually the cold settles so deeply into my bones that it’s clear: enough. I wake Mateusz, feeling guilty. Ten metres away stands the hut — a luxury, if you allow it.We move over, drag our gear inside, and continue sleeping there. Usually, you wake early in the mountains to move on. But this morning, as the first sunlight breaks through the dusty windows, the sleeping bag is simply too warm and too tempting.We let it be. No pressure, no rush. Breakfast becomes the highlight of the tour.As so often, I had packed everything — except food.

Mateusz — looking like a camouflage-clad Santa Claus — starts unpacking: Bernese sausages stuffed with cheese, fresh bread, herring in tomato sauce, and hot tea. In the cold and thin mountain air, everything tastes better. The simplest meal becomes a feast. We clean up and pack our trash.On a short walk around the hut, we finally see what we had only heard during the night: an avalanche, not far from where we slept. Lucky. The conditions were still stable during our ascent. The descent back down to Stöckalp is pure joy. Powder snow, open terrain, not a soul in sight.The feeling of freedom on skis is hard to describe unless you’ve experienced it yourself. No noise, no pressure — just your own breath, the crunch of snow, and the vast sweep of mountains all around.

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What Remains

• Moonlight can replace a headlamp — but not the cold.

• In a snowstorm, even the best headlamp is useless — it blinds you more than it helps.

• Most of our problems are smaller than they seem — and the consequences far less dramatic than we imagine.

• Better to pack one loaf of bread too many than one pair of socks too few.

• On a full-moon bivouac with no shelter, the light shines straight into your face — with zero mercy.