The first snow hasn’t yet settled on Switzerland’s peaks, but already the mountains are growing quieter. The melodious sound of cowbells is fading as herds make their way down to winter quarters. In valleys across the Alps, villagers turn out to welcome their cattle home, celebrating another cycle of transhumance, the ancient practice of moving livestock between seasonal pastures that has shaped these mountains for centuries.
Stick your head into any Swiss mountain hut today and you might find a weathered photograph from 1900 showing the same seasonal journey: proud farmers, cows decked in bright garlands of sunflowers, sheep dotting distant slopes like snow in summer. But this isn’t just a picturesque tradition kept alive for tourists. From the French-speaking valleys of Valais to the Romansh heights of Graubünden, transhumance remains a working system, adapting age-old wisdom to modern needs.
The choreography varies by region and animal. Dairy cows generally move between valley farms and high Alpine pastures, sometimes using intermediate stops, called maiensäss, along the way. Throughout autumn, communities like Charmey in Canton Fribourg, whose milk has the distinction of contributing to world famous Gruyère cheese, celebrate the cattle Désalpe (descent) with cows wearing Switzerland’s largest bells and the last flower crowns of the season. In addition to the parade of the cows, festivals may feature Schwingen (Swiss wrestling), yodelling and alphorn competitions, and lots of cheese tasting.
Sheep, meanwhile, are the high-altitude specialists, with flocks in cantons like Uri and Valais climbing above 3,000 metres, where even the most determined cow wouldn’t venture. Their shepherds still practise a more ancient, wilder form of transhumance, spending months in splendid isolation on peaks where the closest neighbour might be an ibex or, increasingly these days, a wolf.
This mix of high and low, of sheep and cattle, once formed the economic backbone of Alpine communities. Valley land grew crops while high pastures turned summer grass into cheese and wool. Through cooperative arrangements, even farmers with just a few animals could participate in this upland economy. When cooperation broke down, due for example to fights over grazing rights, it could lead to conflict, as in the early 14th century Battle of Morgarten. A squabble for land usage rights between the Canton of Schwyz and the Einsiedeln Abbey, (under the protection of the Habsburg Empire), escalated into land-grabbing, papal excommunication, pillaging of the abbey and a pitched battle between Swiss pikemen and imperial troops.
Perhaps thankfully, the challenges faced by alpine farmers are different – if no less complex. Wolves are returning, climate change is altering grass patterns, and fewer people want to carry on the role of pastoralists in remote pastures. Yet transhumance persists, evolving rather than disappearing. Modern dairy products from Alpine pastures command premium prices, while contemporary shepherds mix traditional knowledge with GPS tracking and WhatsApp groups. These working pastoral landscapes, shaped by centuries of seasonal grazing, support unique ecosystems that have grown up alongside human use.
As the cattle descend this autumn, decked in their finest bells and followed by proud farmers and curious tourists, they’re not just re-enacting tradition. They’re demonstrating how an ancient practice can adapt to serve modern needs – keeping mountain communities in Switzerland, Austria, France and Italy viable, maintaining distinctive local food production, and preserving the practical knowledge that comes from working closely with both animals and Alps. In an age obsessed with innovation, sometimes the cleverest solutions may be the ones we’ve been practising all along.