The Stampfanger Chapel

Next to the Hexenwasser gondola, perched atop a large rock, it stands as if built by a witch’s hand. It was precisely here, centuries ago, that a tragedy nearly unfolded—one that only took a fortunate turn thanks to divine intervention.

Back then, deep in the valley by the Stampfanger brook, a miller named Christian Pellhammer lived with his family in Salvenau, at the foot of the Salvenberg mountain. Farmers from all around brought him their grain to be milled, as the brook’s steady flow powered his mill wheel year-round. But Christian was not only blessed by nature—he was also the head of a family that seemed to bask in endless sunshine. His cheerful wife had given him five healthy children. The eldest, Simerl, already worked alongside him as an apprentice miller. His daughter Susann helped her mother with household chores and looking after the younger siblings—eight-year-old Peter and five-year-old twins Anni and Seppei.

Maria, the children’s mother, spent most summers outdoors, wandering through forests and mountain meadows with the younger children in search of berries, mushrooms, and herbs, or tending to her garden. The Pellhammers were a happy family, protected by a higher power. But sometimes, even the most innocent are struck by unexpected misfortune.

On a sultry August day, Maria decided to go mushroom picking with Peterl. The week before had been rainy, followed by hot weather—perfect conditions for mushrooms to sprout from the mossy forest floor. Peter was delighted to have his mother all to himself for a day. While the younger children remained in Susann’s care, Maria and her son climbed up to the Silleralm, where she knew good mushroom spots. And indeed, between the moss and lichen, golden caps gleamed, soon filling their baskets. At midday, they took a break at the alpine pasture, where the dairymaid offered them a cup of fresh milk. Just as Maria felt a wave of drowsiness, she caught sight of a large, dark storm front rolling in from the Wilder Kaiser mountains.

“Oh no, a storm is heading straight for us!” she exclaimed. She sprang up and grabbed Peter firmly by the arm. “Quick, we need to get home before it hits!” With a hurried “Goodbye, Greti!” to the dairymaid, Maria and Peter rushed down the steep meadow toward the brook. But the storm was already closing in. As soon as they reached the valley floor, the sky unleashed its fury—lightning flashed, thunder rumbled, and rain poured down in torrents. The Stampfanger brook, usually a clear and gentle stream, swelled rapidly, turning into a raging torrent.

“We’re almost home, my boy—just a little farther to the bridge,” Maria reassured Peter, as much to comfort herself as him. The wooden bridge connecting Salvenberg to their mill in Salvenau would bring them to safety. But when they reached the spot where the bridge had stood, all that remained were its posts—the wild waters had carried it away.

Disaster Strikes

“How will we get across?” Maria cried out in despair, dropping her basket of mushrooms. Peter broke free from her grasp and ran ahead, looking for stepping stones to cross. But he ventured too far, slipped, and fell into the raging water, which instantly pulled him under and swept him away.

“No, Peterl!” Maria screamed. Without hesitation, she leaped in after him, trying desperately to reach him. But the brook had turned into a ferocious torrent, tossing her about mercilessly. Frantically, she searched for her son. With the last of her strength, she grabbed onto a floating piece of wood and cried out in utter desperation:

“Holy Mother of God, Virgin Mary, help! Save my Peterl’s life!”

At that very moment, a massive boulder broke loose from the Bromberg with a deafening crash and landed in the narrowest part of the valley, blocking the raging waters like a cork. The Stampfanger brook, now crashing against the rock, surged over its banks. The sudden surge carried Maria to solid ground, and a short distance ahead, Peter was also washed ashore.

Maria immediately ran to her child, who lay motionless. He had lost consciousness during the ordeal. But as she shook him, weeping, a stream of water gushed from his mouth, and he awoke, coughing. Shivering from cold and exhaustion, Maria clutched him tightly, covering his wet little face with kisses. Then, she lifted her gaze to the pouring rain.

“Thank you, almighty Queen of Heaven, for saving us from death,” she prayed fervently, crossing herself with deep humility.

Summoning her remaining strength, Maria hoisted the weakened Peter onto her back and struggled homeward through the storm. As they neared the mill, Christian and Simerl came running—watching anxiously from the window, they had been sick with worry.

“My dear wife and Peterl—you’re alive!” Christian stammered in relief. But before he could say more, Maria collapsed into his arms, still clutching their son.

That night, the storm subsided, the raging Stampfanger brook returned to a gentle stream, and the sun rose brightly over the Söll valley once more.

In the warmth of their home, Maria and Peter recovered from their ordeal, surrounded by their loving family. Christian, deeply grateful to God for sparing his wife and child, made a solemn vow:

“Right there, on that rock, I will build a chapel in honor of the Holy Mother Mary, my wife’s patron saint.”

“Our Lady of the Rock”

And so it was done. Before long, the beautiful stone chapel “Our Lady of the Rock” became a place of pilgrimage, drawing people from all over the Söll valley. The image of the Madonna, majestically enthroned with the Christ Child in her arms, continues to be invoked by the faithful in times of danger, particularly during floods. But even without a special request, this little chapel atop the rock fills every visitor with awe and reverence.

The Pellhammer family lived long and happily by the Stampfanger brook. And so, dear people, remember the moral of this tale:

“Miracles do happen—never forget that!”

(Parts of the text ©WilderKaiserBlog)