3 times I was scared while taking pictures pt.2

It seems that the article about the times I was afraid has prompted a strong reaction from many of you. So here is the moment to share a second anecdote.

This one takes place in Germany. I was in the Schwäbische Alb region, a forested and fairly mountainous area that I am particularly fond of. I had identified a summit I did not know, from which local paragliders were used to take off. I therefore took the train, which dropped me off at the foot of the mountain.

In front of me lay a fairly easy, winding ascent of about an hour for 350 meters of elevation gain.

At the start, the climb is gentle, passing through orchards and family gardens. Then you enter the forest before emerging onto a plateau that offers a beautiful view over the valley. That’s where I decide to change my route. I choose to enjoy this panorama a little longer and continue moving along the edge of the valley. In any case, I had seen on the map that a path further ahead would allow me to re-enter the forest and reach the summit I was aiming for.

It moves

After this detour, which takes me through fields of wildflowers and past beehives, I find the trail that should lead me up the mountain.

Between the trees, the path sometimes narrows to the width of a single footstep. I tell myself it’s a good thing it’s summer, because in winter I would probably have regretted my choice.

After a few minutes of walking, I come across a tree (likely blown down in a recent storm) blocking the path. I step over it, which isn’t easy with photographic gear on my back, but I manage without too much difficulty. About fifty meters later, it happens again, except this time I’m faced with a pile of around ten fallen trees, completely tangled together.

Thinking back to the detour I’ve just taken, and seeing how close the summit is on the map, I don’t hesitate for long before starting to climb over this stack of wood.

Half-photographer, half-cat ?

I climb onto a first trunk, then a second. Clumps of leaves and thick branches prevent me from moving in a straight line above the path; a path I see receding as I gain height.

And it is in the middle of this effort, which takes me about fifteen minutes, that I start to feel the trunks moving under my weight. At first almost imperceptible, it becomes more obvious when I stop moving. The whole structure is unstable.

And then a flash of clarity hits me: what I am doing is anything but a good idea.

If one tree slips, it takes me with it. If a trunk rolls, it can trap my leg. If a branch breaks, I could fall five or six meters. In short, as in the case mentioned in the Faroe Islands, this is once again one of those moments when I realize I am alone, and that if something happens, no one will know where I am.

In the end, staying calm, I manage to continue like a tightrope walker and find the path again beneath the pile of trees.

Then, arriving at the summit, sweating and scratched by branches, I find in front of me two elderly women sitting on a bench, quietly enjoying the view, their picnic in hand. I can still picture the scene: me completely overheated, and them utterly calm and relaxed. I still wonder what image they had of me when I emerged from the bushes.

In any case, once again, more fear than harm. I can’t help wondering whether this kind of mishap happens only to me or also to other photographers.