Throat of The Dog: Bikepacking the Zillertal Alps

I’m not sure anyone else has really noticed, but it’s hot… like, really hot. Sweat drips from my nose, eyebrows and chin, and my t-shirt, stained with salt, tells of what has already been a long morning. My bike — loaded with three days of kit — is across my shoulders. The sharp angles of a modern cross-country mountain bike geometry dig awkwardly into my spine. 

For three hours now we’ve been hiking up a steep, loose scree slope somewhere along the mountainous on the border of Italy and Austria and I still can’t see the top of the pass where we’re heading. There’s little in the way of shade up here. Yesterday’s message on the WhatsApp group haunts as it laps my brain – pack light we’ll need to carry our bikes. Seems I didn’t pack light enough.

When I was first sent the details of the route — 177km over two and a half days, I agreed and barely gave it a second thought. But now, having moved about 3 kilometres in as many hours, I curse my former self. I should have heeded the packing warning more wisely.

While there’s a shared relief within our group having reached the top, with the descent before us we’re far from done with The Throat of the Dog. The trail is steep and technically demanding. Somewhat cooked, this isn’t the time to push my mountain biking prowess. The hike-a-bike is not over yet. Adding a layer of clothing and taking a bite of whatever is close to hand, we continue with our bikes on our backs. While I’m glad to have the long gruelling ascent behind us, the leg shaking downclimb is no less tricky.

Eventually, having traversed yet more snow and rock, we reach the gravel road at the foot of the mountain and the pack regroups. Morale is high as we pass our sugary choices among one another, our eyes the only thing to give away just how deep we’ve each gone.

We’ve rejoined on a fork in the road, an inviting winding gradual descent or a sharp straight climb ahead. I take one look at Tristan and realise we’re destined for the latter. Climbing switchbacks at this late stage in the day while I can see the asphalt in the valley below is salt in my now gaping wounds but eventually the path flattens, my tyres spin freely and the burn in my legs starts to subside.

You know it’s hot when you’re seeking glacial rivers for respite. As we steadily ascend, the allure of cascading snow melt is too strong to resist.

The asphalt runs out in Pfunders. From here, we transition to the gravel that leads us up to the Weiterbergalm mountain hut. This is our last checkpoint before we venture off the path to the foot of the Pfunderer Joch, the third and final pass of our journey. We order plates of sweet and savoury pancakes to share before the final push.

‘Where are you headed from here?’ The hut’s owner / chef enquires with us about our plans. 

‘Up and over Pfunderer Joch.’ 

Clearly used to hikers rather than cyclists hauling their bikes over the pass, his expression is one of mild confusion. ‘Camping at the top?’

‘Nope – we’ll try and make it over and back down to Vipiteno.’

Hmmmm,’ the man glances at his watch. ‘Still a big day.’

Collectively, the group looks to Tristan. ‘We’ll be fiiiine,’ he protests in defence.

Gathering ourselves and our bikes for the final climb of the trail — as well as a 4x pack of liquid Snickers I have stashed in the ice-cold drinking fountain in the hope they’ll reshape — a group of hikers arriving at the hut wish us luck.

With various ridgelines standing tall in front of us, it’s hard to visualise from here exactly where we’re aiming for. In the foreground, sharp singletrack switchbacks scale a steep grassy mound. A good enough place to start I guess.

I figured we’d be riding 95% of today’s trail but once again the bike finds its place on my back. 

We come to another steeper scree slope with patchy snow either side of us. The group detaches to match our individual paces. Concentrated on sure-footing and keeping my bike comfortable either on my back or by my side, I realise my head has been largely down or facing straight ahead. I take a second to do a quick 360 and take in my surroundings. With the added altitude I now can see far across the valley — to a huge glacier opposite. The trail we’ve followed winds relentlessly down the valley from which we came, around the corner and out of sight. 

There’s not a single other soul up here — but I’d love to see someone’s reaction to meeting eight cyclists and eight bikes on top of this remote mountain pass. Opening out into the valley ahead of us, the other side has a totally different feel to where we’ve come from. Huge jagged spires of granite and gneiss tower over the valley floor beneath. Northern Italy or Mordor, I’m not 100% sure. Before us winds dream gravel singletrack all the way to the valley floor below us. This is the apex of this trail, the moment the past two days have been leading to. Damn it Tristan, you were right!