Mum, look How pretty!

Iused to spend every weekend scaling a different summit in the South Tyrolean mountains. I was addicted to the feeling of looking down into the valley after each successful ascent. I swore to myself that I’d never stop spending time this way, even if I had children – but now I stand corrected. Don’t get me wrong, my love of the mountains is as strong as ever now I’m a mum to two boys. Every week, I still spend time planning exciting new hikes, poring over tourism websites and combing through online hiking guides. But my priorities have changed – and it’s my children, not the ambitious athlete in me, who now set the pace.

And this makes me happy because I’d been missing out on so many of life’s little pleasures.

Visiting the mountains with children

Short trails with plenty of places to stop and play make hiking more fun for little ones. Try the Gitschberg Sun Park next to the mountain station with its giant slide and sundial; the Jochtal Adventure Park trail leading from the Jochtal cable car’s mountain station to the Steinermandl panoramic viewing platform with attractions like a petting zoo and splash park; or the Woody-Walk on the Plose with a climbing tree, Kneipp water therapy course and dumplings at the Rossalm mountain lodge.

gitschberg-jochtal.com plose.org

I’ve never struggled to find child-friendly hiking trails for us to enjoy as a family in the Eisacktal valley. And our adventure today is no different. Our destination is the viewing platform on the 2,500-metre-high Gitschberg mountain. A small summit is better than no summit at all! Our journey starts with a ride on the Gitschbergbahn cable car from Meransen/Maranza. It’s an immediate hit. We stare in amazement as the world beneath us becomes smaller and smaller. How lucky we are here in South Tyrol to have such unbelievably spectacular nature right on our doorstep!

When we arrive at the cable car’s mountain station, I take out my binoculars and marvel at the panorama around me. I proudly tell my children the names of all the surrounding summits that I climbed in my younger days – not that they’re listening, of course. They’re already far too absorbed in playing mini researchers and explorers, examining grasshoppers, stones and plants with their small magnifying glasses. “Mum, look how pretty this shiny beetle is!” they shout excitedly. But instead of sharing in their joy, I glance at my watch: “Come on!” I urge them both. “We’ve still got a long way to walk.” With a lot of effort, I finally tear them away from a huge red toadstool with white spots, which I almost certainly would have missed had I been on my own. I’m trying to suppress my growing impatience, but part of me also envies them their ability to live completely in the moment.

We continue along the hiking trail at a snail’s pace. The path is surrounded by meadows peppered with brightly coloured flowers. “Mum, look, I’ve picked you a bunch of buttercups,” calls out my older son, running joyfully through the meadow. I wave back at him and try not to stare too longingly towards the viewing platform. “Muuuum, I’m hungry,” screeches my younger son just a few minutes later. I sigh and – even though it feels like we’ve only walked 100 metres from the cable car station – I spread out our picnic blanket, unpack our food and drink, and cut up the apples I’ve brought with me. “We’ve hardly gone anywhere,” I grumble somewhat disappointedly to my husband as I lie on my back and watch the clouds pass by.

The sun glides slowly through the sky, almost as if it’s strolling across the meadows with us. The stress and sense of urgency I felt when we set out have long since disappeared. I’ve accepted that our original destination is now too far away to reach. Eventually, I too crouch down, admire the anthills and build tall stone towers in the stream. And, as I do, it strikes me that the world is one huge adventure playground. “Life is about the journey, not the destination,” I think to myself, laughing into the approaching evening sky, suddenly feeling free and completely content.

We return home with rosy cheeks and rumbling stomachs, weighed down with treasures big and small. “Mum, I had an amazing day,” smiles my older son as he gets ready for bed. “I found a magic stone,” says my younger boy. “We did well today,” I tell my husband, already thinking about where we’ll go next weekend.