A romantic evening
One scorching hot day about 30 years ago, I went on a mountain hike with some family members in a beautiful part of Tyrol. On a day with such temperatures, you don't take a hike like that lightly, of course; we had a clear goal in mind: a mountain hut about halfway.
We were prompted to this trip by our landlady's son, whom I'll call Florian for convenience. He promised us a beautiful mountain pasture with a mountain lake full of trout. For the fishermen among us, a prospect to make our mouths water. The hut's occupant, old Ludwig, was an acquaintance of Florian's. The latter himself would arrive later, provided with wine and lemonade. To me he bound his greetings from Ludwig in advance. Tell him he can put the pan on the fire already, then he will understand, he added. Hopefully there are no hunters around, as officially no fishing is allowed in that little lake. He rubbed his hands at the prospect of fresh trout accompanied by a good glass of wine. It promised to be a wonderful evening. For now, it was still hard work in the heat, but we made steady progress and eventually reached the hut with the small lake. No trace of Ludwig, though we did see two hunters at some distance, watching us closely. We deliberated what to do, decided to wait and see, and then saw Ludwig appear in the doorway of his hut. Relieved, I conveyed Florian's greetings. The old man did not look particularly cheerful, nor did the name Florian raise any light, so about that pan I kept quiet. Since Ludwig had nothing for us to drink, we made ourselves comfortable in the grass, drank the lemonade we had brought ourselves and waited for Florian's arrival. Meanwhile, we were approached by one of the hunters if we wanted to take a different route back. This was because they had to shoot a deer and wanted to avoid the hail flying around our ears. The chances of fresh trout now seemed very slim. Fortunately, it did not take very long for Florian to appear. From afar, we could already see his fishing rod sticking out of the backpack. For both hunters, he did not go unnoticed either. As if all that wasn't enough, dark clouds loomed up that did not bode well. Arriving on top, Florian spoke a few more words to Ludwig, whose bad mood appeared to be caused by his wife's illness. An ominous rumbling sounded. Florian looked worriedly at the sky and advised us to just follow him down as quickly as possible. This turned out to be no unnecessary advice: the thunderstorm was fast approaching. The way back went in record time, although we did not manage to get to the car dry. So that evening, instead of romantically eating trout in a mountain hut, we sat drying off in a guesthouse while thunder and lightning raged outside. The Hirschgoulash tasted fine, though.
