Can you escape the climate by hiding in the mountains?
Verbier is one of the most expensive ski destinations in Europe. But above this luxurious resort, somewhere among the glaciers, stands a solitary building that few people know about.
Switzerland maintains 370,000 shelters, providing a spot for every woman in the country. Statistically, that means each of us has her own place underground. It sounds like science fiction, but this has been the Swiss reality for decades. Only now, in 2025, do these numbers take on a new meaning.
Cabane Tortin is the gateway to Alpine autonomy
In May this year, a glacier buried 90 percent of the village of Blatten, right next to Verbier. Residents had just a few hours to evacuate. The media covered it for a week, then the world moved on to other topics. But I keep thinking about this story, especially when I look at photos of Cabane Tortin—a mountain hut standing right in the heart of that same glacial region.
Every year, 100,000 skiers descend the slopes of the Tortin Glacier. It’s a crowd, it’s noise, it’s lines for the lifts. But just a few hundred meters higher, where civilization ends, stands this small building. Completely alone. No electricity, no internet, nothing that we associate with normal life. And that’s exactly why it’s becoming more and more intriguing.
It’s not just about the romantic idea of living off the grid. It’s about something bigger—a question of whether places like this are our future, or simply relics of the past. Or maybe, somehow, both at once.
This article explores a few things:
• Why mountain huts in Switzerland were built and how they’ve changed over the years
• What technologies make it possible to survive winter at 3,000 meters without outside help
• Whether places like Cabane Tortin offer a shot at independence, or are just an expensive hobby for the wealthy
• What true autonomy means in a world where the climate is becoming increasingly unpredictable
To understand this, we need to go back in time and see where these mountain fortresses came from in the first place.
The origins and evolution of Swiss shelters
Who would have thought that a country famous for its neutrality has spent decades building one of the largest networks of shelters in the world? Switzerland is a fascinating example of how geography and history shape the architecture of survival.
| Date | Event | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| 11th–13th century | Orders are building the first mountain shelters | The beginning of organized infrastructure |
| 1940-1990 | The mass construction of 370,000 bunkers | The Cold War transforms the landscape |
| 15/10/1963 | The “shelter for everyone” act | Mandatory shelters in every building |
| The 1970s | Ski boom in Verbier | Adaptation of military facilities for tourism |
| 1990+ | Conversion of shelters into off-grid facilities | A new function for old structures |
Medieval Foundations – Orders as Pioneers of Engineering
This whole story begins in the 11th century. Benedictine and Cistercian orders didn’t just pray in the mountains—they transformed them. When I look at those 400 kilometers of terraced walls in Lavaux, I think to myself: this was Switzerland’s first real infrastructure program.
The monks built the first shelters not for war, but for survival in the mountains. These structures were simple—stone, wood, thick walls. Nothing complicated, but incredibly durable. In fact, they invented the Swiss philosophy of building: solid, functional, made to last for generations.
1940–1990 – An Obsession with Security
The Cold War changed everything. The Swiss threw themselves into building shelters like people possessed. 370,000 structures in fifty years—that’s almost 20 a day! Every bridge, every tunnel, every major building had a dual purpose.
That’s when all those concrete giants appeared in the mountains. Most people think they were just military bunkers, but no—it was an entire system. Shelters were connected by tunnels, had their own ventilation systems, food storage. Some could house entire towns.
1963 – Total Policy
On October 15, 1963, Switzerland adopted something that sounds like science fiction—every new building must have a shelter. Every single one! Single-family homes, apartment blocks, office buildings. It cost a fortune, but the Swiss were determined.
The consequences were huge. Suddenly, every construction project became 3–8 percent more expensive. Architects had to learn to design not just beautiful homes, but underground fortresses. Some complained, but most accepted it as normal. After all, better safe than sorry, right?
The 1970s – From Bunkers to Cabanes
And then came the seventies, and everything changed. Verbier exploded as a ski resort. Suddenly, all those military structures in the mountains found new uses. Enterprising Swiss began converting old bunkers into tourist lodges.
It was brilliant—the infrastructure was already there, all you had to do was add comfort. Thick walls meant excellent insulation, underground storage rooms became wine and food cellars. Cabane Tortin is a perfect example of this evolution—from a military observation post to a modern off-grid retreat.
This transformation revealed something important—Swiss shelters were never just about war. They were always about adapting to the environment, about surviving in tough conditions. It didn’t matter whether it was an enemy invasion or a winter storm in the Alps.
Technology and logistics of off-grid living
I wake up at six in the Cabane Tortin shelter, and outside the window, all I see is a white desert. Minus twenty degrees, the wind rattles the walls—but the coffee brews as usual, the lights are on, and my phone has signal. That’s the magic of off-grid systems at over three thousand meters above sea level.
Energy – three pillars of independence
I once worked on photovoltaic installations in the Tatra Mountains, so I know how difficult it is to provide a constant power supply in the mountains. At Cabane Tortin, they solved this with a hybrid approach—they don’t rely on just one source.
| Source | Power | Installation cost | Seasonal reliability |
|---|---|---|---|
| Photovoltaic panels | 3.5 kW | 45,000 CHF | 65% (problematic winter) |
| Portable wind turbine | 2.8 kW | 28,000 CHF | 85% (steady mountain wind) |
| LPG hybrid generator | 4.2 kW | 15,000 CHF | 95% (requires fuel) |
Panels work well in the summer, but in winter they get buried under snow after just two days. The turbine is a real workhorse—the mountains are a natural wind tunnel, after all. The generator remains a last resort, though LPG needs to be delivered regularly.
What’s happening now in Uetendorf is fascinating. They’re installing a foldable photovoltaic roof covering twenty thousand square meters. It’s expected to generate 3,400 MWh annually starting from November 2025. Of course, this is a different scale than mountain micro-installations, but the technology translates. Foldable panels could be the key—they’re easier to clean off snow.
Water and Waste – Survival Procedures
The system for collecting water from melting snow may seem simple, but the devil is in the details:
- Snow is collected in special heated tubs – 150 liters of snow yields about 45 liters of water.
- Three-stage filtration – mechanical, carbon, and UV – because mountain snow isn’t always pure
- Storage in insulated tanks with heaters – the system operates down to minus twenty degrees
- Rationing: 40 liters per person per day in winter, 60 in summer
Waste is a separate issue – everything has to be transported down. Sorting is a matter of survival here, not ecology.
Supply and connectivity – a revolution in the air
A month ago, I watched a test cargo drone flight to the shelter. The little machine carried twenty kilograms of supplies over a distance of eight kilometers. The flight took fourteen minutes, with an energy cost of about 8 CHF. A traditional cable car needs forty minutes for the same trip and costs 45 CHF for transport.
Drones do have their limitations, though. Winds above 60 km/h ground them immediately. Fog doesn’t help either—navigation systems sometimes malfunction. But the future belongs to them, especially for urgent deliveries of medicine or spare parts.
Connectivity is currently provided by Starlink—twelve antennas set up around the shelter. Download speeds are a steady 80 Mbps, with uploads around 25 Mbps. That’s enough for basic needs and staying in touch with civilization.
The system works, but every component requires constant attention. In winter, I check the generators every six hours; in summer, I mostly monitor the panels and water system. It’s a life of constant readiness—but it brings incredible satisfaction from self-reliance.
Technology allows us to live in places that, just twenty years ago, would have been unthinkable.
The economics and ethics of high-mountain micro-tourism
Yesterday I spoke with a friend who tried to book accommodation at Cabane Tortin. CHF 45 per night in an alpine hut – sounds reasonable, but is it really?
I decided to analyze who actually benefits from this. In the Alpine regions, mountain tourism accounts for as much as 20% of GDP. This doesn’t surprise me at all, as I can see for myself how these small places thrive thanks to visitors.
| Stakeholder | Costs | Benefits |
|---|---|---|
| Host | Maintenance, certificates, energy | Stable income, CHF 45 x 365 days |
| Tourist | Accommodation, transport, meals | Experience, tranquility, nature |
| Local community | Movement, noise, waste | Jobs, local taxes |
I studied a case study of a house with 12 beds and 100% occupancy. The owner told me that the biggest challenge isn’t money, but managing the environmental impact.
“Eco-certifications cost us an additional CHF 2,000 per year, but guests are increasingly asking about our pro-environmental initiatives” – owner of a mountain lodge in Valais
This brings me to ethical dilemmas. “Leave-no-trace” sounds wonderful in theory. In practice? Waste management in the mountains costs CHF 150 per ton. Someone has to pay for it.
| Advantages of micro-tourism | Cons of micro-tourism |
|---|---|
| Support for the local economy | Pressure on infrastructure |
| Preserving mountain traditions | Price increases for residents |
| A smaller carbon footprint than mass tourism | Seasonality of employment |
| Ecological education is featured | Trail erosion |
I’m surprised that owners often don’t account for the real environmental costs. A sustainability certificate is one thing, but truly calculating the impact is a completely different story.
I see a need to rethink the entire model here. It’s not just about making money from accommodation, but about finding a balance between profit and responsibility. This conversation naturally leads us to the question—what should the future of this industry look like?
Towards a future of self-sufficient sanctuaries
Dawn over Tortin has something magical about it—perhaps because I see the future of mountain shelters there. Previously, I analyzed how history has shaped these places, what technologies are already in use, and how they function socially and economically. Now, I want to look further.
Actually, I started writing about something else, but this forecast fascinates me. By 2030, half of Alpine shelters are expected to switch entirely to solar energy. This isn’t science fiction—it’s already happening.
Trend radar 2026-2035 looks truly promising:
- Energy autonomy – solar panels and energy storage will become the norm, not a luxury
- Rescue technologies – SAR-X drones will reduce response times by 30% as early as 2024, and by 2028 they’ll be everywhere
- Shelter networking – satellite connections will enable rescue coordination across the entire valley
I see something else, too. These places are becoming laboratories for sustainable living. They’re testing solutions that will later be implemented in cities.
How you can take action today – here’s a concrete plan for you:
⚡ Research – check out projects in your region, not just in the Alps. Local initiatives often need support more than the big-name brands.
⚡ Local collaboration – reach out to shelter owners, offer your skills. Marketing, translation, social media – it all matters.
⚡ Microfunding – even 50 PLN a month can finance a solar panel within a year. Check out crowdfunding platforms.
I won’t hide the fact that I’m thinking about getting involved myself. Maybe it sounds naive, but these places really can change the way we think about living in harmony with nature.
The future of self-sufficient refuges isn’t a distant vision – it’s being built right now, one solar panel at a time.
Niko
travel editorial team
Premium Journalist
