A Winter’s Evening on Mount Pilatus

Steeped in myth and history, Mount Pilatus towers nearly 7,000 feet above Lucerne, attracting dragon slayers, adventurers, politicians, and even royalty. I've succumbed to its enchanting call on many cobalt-blue December afternoons, when crowds are sparse and the tranquility of the mountain resonates profoundly.

Admittedly, the Pilatus massif offers a wider array of activities in summer. That's when vibrant wildflowers bloom, ibex are more frequently spotted, and midmountain adventure parks provide rope courses, an Alpine slide, zip lines, and treetop escapades. However, winter's untouched snow, save for the tracks of daring explorers, brings its own charm, especially for those who choose to stay overnight. The temptations that drew me included: the serene hush of a snow-draped mountain, the comfort of a cozy hotel, the pleasure of a delicious meal, the brilliance of a sunset, the wonder of breathtaking stargazing, and the magnificence of a stunning sunrise.

Despite knowing that bad weather could obscure the views, I reserved a night at the Hotel Pilatus-Kulm to conclude an Alpine skiing adventure. Unlike Queen Victoria, who ascended via mule, I selected modern transport. In the warmer months, one can sail across Lake Lucerne to Alpnachstad and take the world’s steepest cog railway to the saddle between two peaks of the massif, 6,906-foot Oberhaupt and 6,949-foot Esel. In winter, however, access is via a two-stage gondola and an aerial tram.

From Lucerne’s train station, a quick 12-minute bus ride takes you to the Zentrum Pilatus stop in Kriens. On that mid-December day, I leisurely walked from there to the Pilatus base station and boarded a gondola. As it rose, the landscape unfolded; early-winter browns transitioned to increasingly larger patches of pristine white, and lush vegetation gave way to stark Alpine scenery.

Then Pilatus began to cast its spell.

As the sun dipped behind the mountains, it was replaced by a rosy alpenglow and the deep blue of twilight, highlighted by a delicate crescent moon. The sky, streaked with shades of blue and salmon, framed the neo-Gothic Klimsen Chapel, perched on a cliff beneath Klimsenhorn’s 6,253-foot peak adorned with a cross.

I reached the top station of the tram just as the last day-trippers were leaving, with the final rays of sunlight casting a glow on the Bellevue, the other hotel that complements the saddle’s breathtaking balcony. I wandered from one side of the summit terrace to the other, captivated by smoky skies, snow-dusted peaks, and dragon-like clouds floating over Lake Lucerne below. Legend has it that centuries ago, fearsome, long-necked dragons with venomous fangs roamed the summit. Stories of those who battled or were rescued by these creatures can be discovered along the Dragon Trail, a tunnel adorned with interpretive signs circling around the Oberhaupt peak.

Another legend tells of the tortured spirit of Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor involved in Jesus Christ’s trial, who supposedly rests in a long-lost mountain lake. Some attribute the mountain's name to this tale, while others believe it comes from the Latin word pileatus, meaning capped, due to the clouds that settle over it. I contemplated these stories while soaking in the breathtaking views revealed through the jagged openings of the tunnel's outer wall.

Nestled under the cross-topped Oberhaupt peak, the three-star Superior Hotel Pilatus-Kulm, established in 1890, resembles a fortress from the terrace. Yet inside, it exudes coziness and comfort. When the hotel is bustling, dinner is served in the grand dining room, but I chose to dine in a more casual area where the breakfast buffet is offered.

Afterward, I bundled up against the chill, stepped onto the terrace to gaze at the starry night, and spotted a trail winding up the cross-topped peak behind the hotel. Unable to resist the allure of the mountain, I began hiking for a better view. About halfway up the occasionally snowy path, I questioned my reckless impulse. Yet, I pressed on: my tight grip on the rails and ropes was the only thing keeping me from a dangerous fall. With only the wind’s whisper breaking the night’s silence, I breathed in the panoramic view. The lights of Lucerne sparkled in the distance, and the snowy peaks shimmered under the moonlight. When a shooting star streaked across the sky, I reached skyward, filled with awe and grace, and offered a prayer for a magnificent sunrise.

Awakening to steel-gray skies, I repeated the hike in the pre-dawn light. Once more, I had Pilatus all to myself. As the sun began to rise, the smoky lavender hues mirrored in the waters of Lake Lucerne. I gazed down at the Klimsen Chapel, up at the summit cross, and watched Alpine choughs—crow-like birds with yellow beaks and orange feet—performing an aerial dance. Then, one of Pilatus’s legendary dragons emerged from its hidden lair, exhaling brilliant orange and gold flames into the sky.