The Pfynwald, that ancient, mysterious pine grove, stretches out between worlds where the whispers of the wind still tell of times long past. Once, this forest, deeply rooted in the heart of the Valais, was more than just a collection of trees - it was a threshold between light and shadow, a passage that the brave and the foolish had to tread on their journeys, while the darkness watched them with countless eyes from the depths of the forest. Here, between Leuk and Sierre, twilight rose like a heavy curtain over the land and the paths were filled with a threatening silence.
The pines, whose gnarled branches stretched towards the sky like ancient fingers, were witnesses to dark stories. These forests were once ruled by robbers who stepped out of the shadows like shadows, silent and merciless. Travellers and traders feared the Pfynwald and its merciless silence. They knew that an invisible danger could lurk behind every tree. Many of them chose the safe detour via the Dala Gorge, where the roaring waters of the Dala drowned out the voices of their pursuers in the distance.
But the Pfynwald is more than just a repository of the horrors of days gone by. It has an ancient power in its roots, a magic that can only be felt if you listen carefully. Between the pines, a whispering, a murmuring of the earth rises that tells of the myths of the region. On the deep green carpets of moss and the crystal-clear streams that trickle through the thicket, you can see the traces of mythical creatures that hide here in the protection of the dense forests. The Pfynwald is a world of its own, a green cathedral that is both enchanting and a little frightening.
Today, protected by the hands of the nature keepers, the forest unfolds a new aura. The nature trail, which winds like a gentle vein through this legendary land, leads initiates to places full of secrets and wonders. The air is filled with the scent of pine needles and damp earth, and there is buzzing and chirping everywhere - an echo of life that has maintained its place here for thousands of years. Those who walk this path are not only walking on the paths of the present, but also on the traces of the past, in which the legends of animals and plants are deeply engraved.
But not everything is in balance. Like a dark shadow, the planned motorway traces its invisible path underground, while the canal of the Rhone works cuts through the forest like a gaping wound. The smooth concrete walls, cold and alien, stand in sharp contrast to the living veins of the forest. The water, once a source of refreshment and life, is now a deadly trap for the animals that roam the forest. And yet, despite this disruption, the Pfynwald continues to rise, resilient and proud, as it has done for millennia.
At this threshold, where the German and French languages meet, the Pfynwald forest lives as a guardian of the border. It is a living bridge between cultures, a silent but powerful presence that connects and separates people. Those who venture into the depths of the Pfynwald forest not only encounter nature in all its unspoilt splendor, but also themselves - amidst the eternal silence and the incessant whispering of the forest.
The Päschol
On a night that seemed to have been cut from a dream, the Pfynwald forest lay in the silvery glow of the full moon. The shadows of the trees danced eerily across the forest floor, as if the forest itself had a dark secret to hide. It was the kind of night when the boundaries between worlds grew thinner and the long-established legends awoke. In the distance, quiet laughter and music echoed through the trees - a forbidden evening of dancing, such as was often celebrated in those days, far from the eyes of the strict authorities.
A small group of young people from Leuk had ventured into the Pfynwald to follow the mysterious attraction of the moon. In an abandoned hut, hidden deep in the forest, they danced and sang until their limbs were heavy and their throats dry. The air was filled with boisterous laughter that mingled with the whispers of the forest. When the revelers became tired, they decided to play an old game - the forfeit game. Everyone gave a small forfeit, and whoever was drawn had to complete a task, sometimes funny, sometimes daring, but always in good spirits.
It should have been an evening like the group had experienced many times before, but that evening there was a dark foreboding in the air. As the game got underway, one of those present suddenly called out with a mischievous smile: "What if we bring Päschscholl a cake?" A murmur went through the group, and the normally cheerful faces became more serious. Päschscholl - a name that echoed into the darkest corners of people's minds. Only a few days before, he had been hanged in the Pfynwald, a feared robber who had long plagued the country with his misdeeds. But even though his body hung on the gallows, it was said that his restless spirit still roamed the forest.
A nervous laughter filled the room, but curiosity and thrill won out. The token was drawn - a young man, whose name is now lost in the mists of history, was chosen to bring a cake to the dead robber. Although his heart was beating heavily in his chest, he did not want to lose courage. He grabbed the still warm cake and set off alone, accompanied only by the furtive whispering of the trees and the light of the eerie moon that showed him the way.
When he reached the gallows, the air was strangely still. The Päschscholl's body hung limply from a branch, his eyes staring lifelessly into the night, and yet the darkness around him seemed to pulsate as if it would not yet release the evil within him. The boy hesitated, but with shaking hands he placed the cake in front of the lifeless body. "Here," he murmured, "for you, Päschscholl."
And then, as if guided by an invisible force, the dead man's lips opened. A hoarse, scratchy voice echoed through the night, so cold that it made the young man's blood run cold. "A cake... for me?" The words sounded like the scraping of bone on stone, like the echo of a curse that was never broken. The boy wanted to flee, but his legs were paralyzed. The Päschscholl slowly raised its head, the empty eye sockets seemed to be staring at him.
"Stay a little longer," the dead man whispered. "I've waited so long for company..." With these words, the robber's body detached itself from the rope and stood before the young man, like a shadow that had separated itself from the darkness itself. The ground beneath the boy's feet seemed to liquefy, and he felt the world around him fading away as the dead man came ever closer.
"Come, play with me," whispered the Päschscholl, his voice an echo of horror. "Or will you give me a pledge too?"
That night, the young man disappeared, and although his friends searched for him at dawn, only the cake was found, untouched and cold, in front of the empty gallows. Since then, it has been said that the ghost of Päschscholl wanders through the Pfynwald on full moon nights, looking for those who dare to keep him company - or perhaps just to demand another pledge.
So, dear hikers, if you get lost one night in the Pfynwald and the moonlight shows you strange paths, think of the Päschscholl. Maybe he is waiting for you too - with a whisper, a dark laugh and a question that you would rather not answer.
Access
The forest is freely accessible. There are parking spaces, for example at Ermitage.
