In our changing climate, we should be careful what we wish for

The upward curve towards summer has begun. Christmas is over, the days are lengthening and a new year will soon be upon us. Not that it necessarily feels like it: the bleak month of January, stretching out far ahead, rarely offers promise of what is to come.

Anyway, as we pine for some heat, we might do well to recall that there can be too much of a good thing – just ask the poor old Aussies. Or cast your mind back to those record-breaking days in June and July when Britain opened every window and still sweltered.

Walking in such heat can be a trial for some. (But it’s almost always preferable to the rain.)

As it happens, on one of those broiling days last summer I found myself walking in the Essex countryside, desperately searching for shade in the arable landscape. Yet when I think of hot hikes, a much earlier one is the first that comes to mind.

We were in Obergurgl, Austria’s highest parish at just over 6,300ft. The border with Italy is close by, but a hard walk away, with vast peaks in between – and, on the southern route, the Gurgler glacier.

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I was 14 and had spent the first part of the holiday feeling miserable with an ear infection. But it is hard to feel too down-hearted in such surroundings, where snow tips the mountains and cow bells tinkle away in all directions.

And it was very warm too: not Sydneyesque, but on high paths in the middle of the day the heat was quickly sweat-inducing.

On a day when the sun seemed to shine with particular vigour, we set out for Ramolhaus, an alpine refuge hut renowned as a base for high-altitude walkers but which for us was a destination in itself. It was little more than five miles away to the south but with an ascent of more than 3,500ft to deal with.

The climb took us well over four hours, my mother slowed by pain in her knee and my brother a fairly reluctant walker back then. Still, we made it to the hut in time for lunch and marvelled at the views from this place, which seemed as solid as the mountain, despite its precarious position.

By the time we began our homeward march, the sky was piercingly blue and there was no shade to be had on the path until the last mile or so. I quickly became frustrated by the pace of our family group and decided to go ahead alone – the path was steep but fairly easy and I was happy to be moving at my own pace, even without company.

Maybe I went too fast. Or perhaps the lack of a hat and any water took their toll. Either way, after an hour or so, and with the sun beating down, I began to feel less certain on my feet. Yet with Obergurgl in site it felt daft to wait for the others, so I carried on.

In the lower reaches of the valley I was astonished when a hay bale whizzed past on a zip wire, sent down to the village from the pastures above. I vaguely wondered if I was becoming delusional.

By the time I reached our hotel I felt sick and disorientated and, after glugging some water, I more or less collapsed on the bed. When I woke up 45 minutes later, I no longer felt on the verge of vomiting. I went outside and gazed at the basking mountain as I awaited the slow-coaches – but I stayed out of the sun.

In the end, I stopped melting. I can’t, in the face of our changing climate, say the same of the Gurgler glacier.