Numbers, numbers

The Bodensee is pretty big. Being utterly lazy and looking on Wikipedia rather than doing a bit of GIS, the surface area of the lake is about 571 square kilometres. Approximately half the area of Dartmoor for the Devon reference. For someone who grew up thinking that Roadford Lake was pretty big (about 295 hectares), it's an impressive body of water.

I frequently find myself somewhat unsettled on an almost subliminal level to go dwn to the shoreline and discover that the tide has neither risen nor fallen. I'll get used to it. There are tidelines along the shore, a mix of decaying water plants and algae picked over by gulls, crows and Water Pipits, so there is a resemblance to the seashore. The lines mark the various windy periods and floods though, rather than any familiar ebb and flow.

There are water gauges at strategic points around the shore. Langenargen harbour has one which runs from the current level (somewhere over 3 metres) to 7 metres, with the notable floods of the past marked on it near the top. These are impressive enough just to look at as a red line on a board above the current lake level: the highest recorded flood was in 1871, reaching 6.91m - this level also carefully marked on the adjacent tourist information office wall. Then try and grasp the sheer volume of additional water present in the lake to reach that height! Even if you ignore the fact that the lake shore is rather flat and just run a 'cylinder' vertically upwards, trying to fit 3 metres of water onto half of Dartmoor is somewhat hard to comprehend.

Some fag-packet calculations (assuming my arithmetic is robust). When the water level in the lake reached 3m above what it is today, that works out to about 1,713,000,000 cubic metres of water. Some 685,200 Olympic-size swimming pools. Put more simply still, that's an awful lot of water. A;though the whole lake catchment is large, the major input of water to the lake is the Rhine: the river must have been an awe-inspiring sight, particularly at the Rhine Falls just below the lake's exit. At this point the river drops some 20m; spectacular at the quietest of times.

There it is folks, in black and yellow

And just to add weight to the tourist information office walls.

Langenargen harbour this morning.

For a post-script: the lake froze over on a number of occasions, the most recent being in 1963, when at least one brave chap apparently rode a horse across the lake. Given that you're crossing a body of water which reaches some 250m depth... well. Where is the dividing line between bravery and foolhardiness, I wonder? I also wonder what the horse thought about it?

The Argenmündung (mouth of the river Argen)

The lake and sky both lie grey and still, sound melting into the mist to leave the day near-silent along the shore. Even the troop of Black-headed Gulls at the river mouth are subdued, preening and chuckling to one another quietly.

A collection of larger than usual stones on the islet resolves into a loafing flock of Goosander, the males' salmon-white bodies blending with the stones just as well as the females' grey. They slide seamlessly into the water as we approach, gliding nonchalantly around the islet, keeping a safe stretch of water between us. The heron standing head sunk into its shoulders on the end of the islet turns a pale yellow eye in our direction, then returns to its study of the water, almost with a contemptuous sniff.

Here and there on the lake, Great Crested Grebes float sleepily, white topped with a swirl of black, curled up like some sugared pastry. Amongst them some Black-necked Grebes dive for fish, spreading circlets of ripples to lap gently on the stones.

A willow has been toppled into the river, it and a pile of fresh orange-tinted chippings on the shoreline beneath are testament to the presence of beavers. Fresh tracks of paws and tail in the mud suggest the tree was felled last night.

 

Scheidegg Geopark

Ingredient 1: Sunshine. Ingredient 2: happy children. Ingredient 3: Sunday morning - pancakes eaten and washing up done. The stage is clearly set for a bit of exploration of our new surroundings. Where better to begin than the Scheidegg waterfalls?
The road climbs up gradually from the lake, leaving the lowland fruit trees behind. As we pass into hillier country the road behind to curve and twist up into spruce forest, hairpin bends swirling us round the woods to gratified shouts of 'Whooooaaa-aaah!' and 'Again-again!' from the back seats.

The main visitor 'centre' of the disparate waterfalls is easily found, though a bit of adjustment is necessary as we are not allowed to turn right into the site from the main road. The first thing we then see is the rather incongruous sight of a Grey Heron sat at the top of an apple tree. Always something new to see in this world.

Waterfall 1

The inevitable playground is greeted with delight by the girls, who rush to get onto things which whirl them round and make them as dizzy as possible. They reluctantly disengage to visit the waterfalls. The falls are good. The small river is channelled through the edge of the playground and then drops off a conglomerate ledge to a new bed some 20 metres below. We watch from a steel platform jutting over the basin; not a spot for those who suffer from vertigo!

We backtrack from the platform and head along the trail to the lower falls. The path winds up to a small clearing crammed with sedges and the remains of summer seedheads, stays on the level for a brief moment, then plunges down the side of the gorge to reach two further viewpoints.

The first is from the base of the first falls, where the size of the basin carved from the underlying rock can be appreciated - a great round sweep testifying to the size of the falls after the snowmelt.

The second, deeper still in the gorge, looks onto the lower falls, somewhat smaller, but without the intrusion of metal platforms and playground above, so with a more unspoilt feel. The remains of past viewing platforms rot forlornly by the modern metal grille.

Waterfall 2

More time at the playground is needed after the effort of all those steps. The site is scattered with equipment related to water: a hydraulic ram, an Archimedean screw, a modern water turbine and one of the first electric turbines ever built in Bavaria. Though it's all powered down for the winter, there is enough rainwater in the screw to let it function for a while; again much to the delight of the children.

The final falls are upstream, a short walk along the valley. The stream cascades gently through the conifers, stepping down over blocks and layers of conglomerate. This final waterfall is quite low, but the party runs round the inside of the basin, behind the falls: loud and lively with low water, it must be quite an experience the spring.

The valley woodlands are a trans-boundary nature reserve, shared with Austria and left to grow and age without human interference. The cynic in me feels that it may simply be because the slopes are to steep to bother with for forestry, but maybe that's a churlish view. Besides, better to have some areas which don't require human 'management'.

Spindle berries brighten the woodland beautifully. Pfaffenhuettchen (little priests' hats would, I guess, be the literal translation). Whatever the word, they are gloriously colourful in an otherwise green-brown-grey season.

Brexit - means Brexit.

OK, so it's a predictable title; sorry.

Here we are. We've left the sunny shores of south-west England and washed up on the banks of Europe's third-largest lake: Constance (Bodensee, as I'll probably end up referring to it forever after). We're living in a small village just to the north of the lake, just east of half-way along. Seek out the local town of Langenargen on your trusty online mapping programme and you'll get the general gist.

Moving here has been something of a mammoth task: quitting jobs in the UK was relatively simple. Making the house ready for the next family was somewhat more Herculean, but achievable. Packing for the move seemed to take forever and - despite being fairly thrifty with our posessions, an alarming amount of stuff, clutter, call it what you will, was shipped off to charity shops, friends and family.

The journey over was the next challenge: Dover-Calais ferry, or the tunnel? Or Harwich to Hook of Holland? We plumped for the latter, particularly because the long journey meant a proper break and a chance to sleep, as well as saving us the tedium of the Oostend-Brussels-Aachen stretch of motorway - anyone who's driven that route ought to understand. So, a ridiculously early start from Exeter, a fairly stress-free journey to Harwich and we board the ferry - strange to be looking back at the coast and think that this is not actually a holiday. A millpond crossing, glassily smooth, meant that we could watch seals loafing in the North Sea for a good long while - individuals asleep in the water, bottling happily a good hour's journey out to sea: looks like the life. If reincarnation could happen...

A short hop down the motorway and we were able to break the journey for a couple of nights with my in-laws: again, a stretch of the legs for the adults and a bit of rest from the tedium of sitting in a car seat for hours on end for two small children. Finally, the last stretch - past Frankfurt, Stuttgart and Ulm with barely a hitch - only to be held up for 20 minutes with an inexplicable traffic jam about a kilometre from our exit from the final motorway. Cruel. We rolled in, finally, to the driveway of our new temporary home and shoehorned ourselves and the children out of the car with a communal sigh of relief. Even the car seemed grateful to stop moving (ruthless anthropomorphism I know; sorry).

Since then, we've been gradually extending our knowledge of the area, getting to grips with a somewhat cooler winter climate than we've been used to, and dealing with what feels like a small Alp of bureaucracy - though to be totally fair, the general helpfulness of the average civil servant here is incredible.Registering ourselves, the car, working, finding future work, getting children settled in kindergartens, looking for a more permanent flat, finding health insurance, doctors, the local shops; the list feels endless, but somehow we're whittling away at it.

The local area if dominated by fruit growing. Lots of apples, in particular. Much of it is very intensive, as you would expect in a western European country, buy the as also some pockets of older traditional orchards, with big old trees and much more evident wildlife. Our local patch has such goodies as Grey-headed Woodpeckers, Hawfinch and a plethora of Tree Sparrows. Not bad when you're from Devon. Much, much more on the local area, walks and wildlife later though!

Looking forward to seeing what the rest of the winter - and then the spring may bring us...

The Saentis (in Switzerland) looms closest over the lake directly to the south. The snow which fell (on my birthday! There's a first!) has retreated up-slope considerably, but the mountain still looks nicely picturesque.

Looking south-east from the lake-front at Langenargen, the mountains in Vorarlberg (in Austria) a somewhat more forbidding presence. There's good birding to be had there...