Trekking the Dolomites - Alta Via 1 Route
The Dolomites - a mountain range in the East Alps in Italy, designated a UNESCO Natural World Heritage Site - are criss-crossed with heavenly walking trails, including the two Alta Via (or high routes) that run roughly North to South in parallel. Alta Via 1 is 120km of mountain walking, ranging from pleasant skips through alpine meadows to scrambling across scree, climbing steep switch backs and negotiating via ferrata. You will rack up 6,665m in height gain on the route.
It is a spectacular walk that rivals the Torres del Paine Circuit for breath taking beauty. Most walks give me a sense of euphoria, but I particularly love walking among mountains and these topped the bill. It’s a challenging route and you need to be reasonably fit and have some long-distance walking experience; but you don’t need technical equipment or climbing experience (unless, of course, you want to tackle some of the many technical climbs in the region). Sam and I made this trip in September 2017. To get a taste of the trail, read my journal below. For more practical information, read how to make it happen! Don't worry too much about the 'Ways to die ...' list; this is just something I do for fun when I'm trekking :) |
Ways to die in the Dolomites
Develop hypothermia Fall off a mountain Garrotte yourself on a cable Get mauled by marmots Death by apple strudel Fall down a gully and bleed out from lacerations Get hit by lightning Sunstroke Drowning in your own waterproofs Trip over a tree root and smack your head Crushed by rock fall Become frozen to a via ferrata and die slowly from frost bite Breaks bones on hidden snow covered danger and starve |
Day 1 – London to Villabassa, via Innsbruck (travel day)
Hotel Emma in Villabassa and the bus stop on the corner
“Um, do you have a blender in your bag ma’am?” asked the security official of Sam, after we’d waited what felt like eternity for her pack to make it off the security conveyor belt. Why yes, of course, we always pack a blender for our multi-day hikes, to make smoothies from the kilo of apples we also like to take*. Having worried that we’d forgotten to remove knives, residues of weed from a distant youth, endangered animal skins and dangerous liquids measuring more than 100ml from our packs, we hadn’t anticipated the jet boil posing a security threat. (*We did actually carry a kilo of apples on one of our early hikes! We thought we’d eat them. We didn’t. We have marginally more common sense now.)
Beyond security, the trip went without hitch and despite ominous warnings to brace for turbulence (which didn’t materialise but scared me senseless anyway), the landing into Innsbruck – one of the prettiest little airports I’ve arrived in – was smooth. The airport lies in a small valley, nestled between snow dusted mountains (hence the regular threat of turbulence), decorated with fir trees and occasional, colourful alpine houses. The humourless passport officer declined our requests for passport stamps and we dithered around in arrivals for a while whilst we figured out where to get the bus from. Had we phoned ahead and arranged a seat on the direct bus from the arrivals hall to Villabassa we’d have been out of there within half an hour, and in Villabassa 2 hours later. We didn’t. So, we got on the bus just outside the terminal, headed for the main train terminal in Innsbruck where we dithered some more, settled on a train with one change, bought the tickets and whiled away an hour supping a couple of beers and stocking up on salami and cheese for the hike. We could have spent our time more wisely buying gas for the jet boil, but we are not wise. (I said we have marginally more common sense, I said nothing about wisdom).
The Orient Express - somewhere in Austria
I love train journeys, and although we were both exhausted from a late night spent packing and an early start (and months of ridiculously intense work schedules), we fought the gentle soporific motion of the train and enjoyed the wonderful Austrian countryside. Winding mostly through narrow tree covered mountain valleys, snaking occasionally under bridges, and passing infrequent small towns; we made serious inroads in the trail salami and took the opportunity to hop off the train at one stop to admire the Orient Express sitting regally at the station.
We arrived in Villabassa in darkness at 8pm, and were greeted at Hotel Emma by a group of merry (read pretty drunk) lederhosen clad men enjoying a celebration of some kind. Our first thoughts, as we drank beer and observed the occupants of the bar, was a stag do. Or some kind of traditional festival, given that they all sported check shirts, lederhosen and felt hats. But we ultimately concluded that’s just how they dress for a few pints in the bar on a Saturday evening.
We arrived in Villabassa in darkness at 8pm, and were greeted at Hotel Emma by a group of merry (read pretty drunk) lederhosen clad men enjoying a celebration of some kind. Our first thoughts, as we drank beer and observed the occupants of the bar, was a stag do. Or some kind of traditional festival, given that they all sported check shirts, lederhosen and felt hats. But we ultimately concluded that’s just how they dress for a few pints in the bar on a Saturday evening.
Day 2 – Villabassa to Lago di Braies to Rif. Sennes
4-5 hours walking
4-5 hours walking
Pausing for breath on the ascent to admire the view of Lago di Braies
Sam dreamt she was going around the bedroom wildly unplugging things trying to find the source of the noise that was keeping her awake. The dream continued with her putting her fingers in someone’s ear to wake them up but they were already awake. There’s a small possibility I might have been snoring a little and infiltrated her dreams. Dreams aside, we slept until 8.30 so we must have been tired! (I’m normally up by 5.00). Our wander around Villabassa to explore the little streets and see the church with its red onion dome was lovely, but fruitless in our quest for gas. We could see gas, through the window of the great outdoors shop that sells all you might need for a hike; but it’s closed on a Sunday.
Around 11.00 we hopped on the bus and chugged up mountain roads until we reached Lago di Braies. At which point it began to rain. It wouldn’t seem right if it hadn’t, as that’s how most of our walks start. We don’t mind a spot of rain; it provides atmosphere. A few minor clothing adjustments later and we set off past the lake and up the mountain. Really up! There is no gentle warm up to Alta Via 1; you climb a smidgen short of 900m (from Lago di Braies at 1,494m to Porta Sora‘l Forn at 2,388m) in 3-4 hours, with no respite. All but the last 15 mins of today’s section are up.
Around 11.00 we hopped on the bus and chugged up mountain roads until we reached Lago di Braies. At which point it began to rain. It wouldn’t seem right if it hadn’t, as that’s how most of our walks start. We don’t mind a spot of rain; it provides atmosphere. A few minor clothing adjustments later and we set off past the lake and up the mountain. Really up! There is no gentle warm up to Alta Via 1; you climb a smidgen short of 900m (from Lago di Braies at 1,494m to Porta Sora‘l Forn at 2,388m) in 3-4 hours, with no respite. All but the last 15 mins of today’s section are up.
Climbing up through the pine trees and clouds, the view back across the lake was pretty. There are two assisted sections to negotiate on this stage, the first is crossing an eroded bit of mountainside on a tree trunk bridge with a cable to hold on to. According to our trail guide, the cable assists here are superfluous unless wet and slippy. The only real danger would result from a misplaced foot, an unwanted slide down the mountainside, and lacerated butt cheeks. Possibly some broken bones. Maybe a slight concussion. It was, as it happens, wet and slippy and our inner mountain goats could not be channelled, but we avoided death by butt laceration.
The second is a cable assisted clamber up some rocky terrain, which goes completely unremarked upon by the trail guide. The trail guide author is quite the comedian. Many times along the way we lamented how we’d like to meet her and discuss a thing or two! Whatever, it was wet and slippy, and by this point the rain had turned to sleet and we were cold. With numb fingers we retracted our poles and strapped them back in place on our packs before grasping the icy chains and heading up the ridge which opened out to a greener, more spongy landscape for a while.
The second is a cable assisted clamber up some rocky terrain, which goes completely unremarked upon by the trail guide. The trail guide author is quite the comedian. Many times along the way we lamented how we’d like to meet her and discuss a thing or two! Whatever, it was wet and slippy, and by this point the rain had turned to sleet and we were cold. With numb fingers we retracted our poles and strapped them back in place on our packs before grasping the icy chains and heading up the ridge which opened out to a greener, more spongy landscape for a while.
Looking down on Rif. Biella from Porta Sora’l Forn
The climb continues over rock and scree for a good hour or so (during which the sun came out), until we eventually summitted at Porta Sora’l Forn to enjoy expansive views down to Rif. Biella where they serve the most amazing sachertorte. Buoyed by chocolate, we almost skipped down the mountain, across Middle-earth landscape for the remaining hour to Rif. Sennes where a pig, beer, pasta and a boot drying room awaited. Yes, an actual pig greeted us at the door.
Middle-earth! The landscape between Rif. Biella and Rif. Sennes
Day 3 – Rif. Sennes to Rif. Fanes
4 hours walking
4 hours walking
Rif. Pederu on the valley floor and a view of the switchback descent opposite
The light dusting of snow that we awoke to made the views magical and created a sense of excitement as we set off down the old military jeep track, through fairy tale forest, and on through Fodara Vedla - a picturesque spot with a stream flowing through it - before attacking the steep descent to Rif. Pederu in the valley below. The trail snakes its unforgiving knee jarring descent by an old army road, making many tight switchbacks and past long abandoned army bunkers built in to the rock face.
Low morning clouds over Fodara Vedler
From the valley floor, and following a stiff coffee at Pederu, the rest of the day was mostly up; initially climbing up the right side of a natural amphitheatre, across the saddle and through a valley with a few deciduous trees displaying their early autumn colours. We caught up with an Israeli couple and walked with them for a short while through the wooded section, until they scrambled down to the river to enjoy a picnic lunch. We stood for a couple of minutes, ate a salami and a couple of jelly babies and pushed on up.
The approach to Rif. Fanes before the snow set in
By 12.30 the snow set in and fell heavily for the rest of the day making our approach to Rif. Fanes quite beautiful. The last hour is fairly easy going, following the course of a river. Fanes also has a super warm boot drying room and with boots deposited and bodies thawed out a bit, we proceeded to stink out our room with chili noodles (made with hot water requested from the bar). These were the only noodles of our stash that we ate, the rest were dumped, along with the uneaten porridge. We arrived early afternoon at Fanes and enjoyed a 2 hour nap before heading to the dining room for supper. Despite the nap, we were in bed at 8.30!
Day 4 – Rif. Fanes to Rif. Lagazuoi
5-6 hours walking
5-6 hours walking
Trekking through a white out - just a vague outline of the mountains
Well snow was forecast and snow it did! Deep, beautiful snow and I was excited to set out in it … which of course we did in the wrong direction to start with because we are navigationally challenged. Finding the start of a trail always poses the biggest problem for us.
Retracing our steps back to the rifugio, we ummed and aahed a bit, brushed snow off sign posts trying to figure out the right direction, and watched a guy who looked far more competent than us come back down the steps he had set off up. We discussed the insensibilities (losing the trail, frost bite, breaking a leg on snow hidden dangers) of setting off in a blizzard and studied the map he sensibly had with him. The decision was made to attach ourselves to this competent looking man (an artist from Germany who was walking alone) and head off into the white out. I imagine the views on this section are beautiful in full visibility. We trekked across valleys, climbed up mountain sides, and negotiated steep switchbacks with obscured views over sheer drops. According to the guide book, this section requires a head for heights in some parts. Though we couldn't see far, it was beautiful and I loved trekking through the snow. We walked without pause for 3 hours until we reached Campanna Alpina, where Sam made her first adulting decision of the trip (I made none; had it been up to me we might well have perished), to follow suit with a group of climbers from the midlands who had also gathered there and walk out to a bus stop 20 minutes away, catch a bus to Passo Falzarego (a very hairy bus ride, taking many steep hairpin bends on snowy mountain roads). From here we took the cable car up to Lagazuoi. Had we risked life and limb to push on along the original trail, we still would have had to get the cable car as the snow was too deep to climb to the summit.
Retracing our steps back to the rifugio, we ummed and aahed a bit, brushed snow off sign posts trying to figure out the right direction, and watched a guy who looked far more competent than us come back down the steps he had set off up. We discussed the insensibilities (losing the trail, frost bite, breaking a leg on snow hidden dangers) of setting off in a blizzard and studied the map he sensibly had with him. The decision was made to attach ourselves to this competent looking man (an artist from Germany who was walking alone) and head off into the white out. I imagine the views on this section are beautiful in full visibility. We trekked across valleys, climbed up mountain sides, and negotiated steep switchbacks with obscured views over sheer drops. According to the guide book, this section requires a head for heights in some parts. Though we couldn't see far, it was beautiful and I loved trekking through the snow. We walked without pause for 3 hours until we reached Campanna Alpina, where Sam made her first adulting decision of the trip (I made none; had it been up to me we might well have perished), to follow suit with a group of climbers from the midlands who had also gathered there and walk out to a bus stop 20 minutes away, catch a bus to Passo Falzarego (a very hairy bus ride, taking many steep hairpin bends on snowy mountain roads). From here we took the cable car up to Lagazuoi. Had we risked life and limb to push on along the original trail, we still would have had to get the cable car as the snow was too deep to climb to the summit.
Happiness is ... trekking through snowy mountains
I felt dissappointed as that challenging ascent to Lagazuoi would have been a rewarding one … and the only view I enjoyed from the cable car was the inside of my eyelids as they terrify me … but it was the only sensible decision we could have made.
At 2,752m, Rif. Lagazuoi is the highest rifugio on the trail, with stunning far reaching views across the mountain ranges that reward the hiker for their efforts on the ascent … or so the guidebook says. We had no way of validating that claim on arrival as the view was obscured by the white out. Instead, we enjoyed one final boot drying room (after this none of the rifugios has them so you’re stuck with wet boots), another nap, and another evening of beer, wine, pasta and conversation in broken English / German with fellow hikers. Had they not been blocked with snow, we could have spent some time exploring the war tunnels here, abandoned after World War 1.
At 2,752m, Rif. Lagazuoi is the highest rifugio on the trail, with stunning far reaching views across the mountain ranges that reward the hiker for their efforts on the ascent … or so the guidebook says. We had no way of validating that claim on arrival as the view was obscured by the white out. Instead, we enjoyed one final boot drying room (after this none of the rifugios has them so you’re stuck with wet boots), another nap, and another evening of beer, wine, pasta and conversation in broken English / German with fellow hikers. Had they not been blocked with snow, we could have spent some time exploring the war tunnels here, abandoned after World War 1.
Day 5 – Rif. Lagazuoi to Rif. Nuvolau
4-5 hours walking
4-5 hours walking
Sunrise at Rif. Lagazuoi 2,752m
Up on the mountain top among the peaks of the range, which shone pink with the sunrise, we scoffed a buffet breakfast of pastries, cereal, boiled eggs and good coffee. Though someone stole my first round of eggs! You know those little contraptions for boiling eggs - where you place your egg in one of the little ladles that hooks on the side and submerges the egg in boiling water – why do people think it’s OK to take other people’s eggs? It’s not, those are MY eggs! Not the best night’s sleep – a hard bed made my ears go dead, the room was too hot, and the light in the landing went on and off like a disco strobe as people got up to use the loo. Whatever, just don’t steal my eggs!
The sky had cleared and although it was still windy, the snow had stopped. Determined to climb down off the summit we set out - ridiculously unsuitably dressed - in the knee-deep snow. Unsurprisingly, our resolve didn’t last long when we realised not only was the trail too treacherous to be tackled in knee-deep snow, but our extremities were already freezing off. So, we trudged back up the short way we’d made it down and took the cable car back down to Passo Falzarego, which consequently required a slight re-route. So, we popped in to the very handy shop at the bottom, bought an OS map and determined our new route over a coffee.
The sky had cleared and although it was still windy, the snow had stopped. Determined to climb down off the summit we set out - ridiculously unsuitably dressed - in the knee-deep snow. Unsurprisingly, our resolve didn’t last long when we realised not only was the trail too treacherous to be tackled in knee-deep snow, but our extremities were already freezing off. So, we trudged back up the short way we’d made it down and took the cable car back down to Passo Falzarego, which consequently required a slight re-route. So, we popped in to the very handy shop at the bottom, bought an OS map and determined our new route over a coffee.
Cinque Torres
Across marshy snow covered land we traipsed, through forest and up, up, up some steep forest paths. We climbed up to Rifugio Sciatolli and on to Cinque Torres where the views were enchanting. Surrounded on all sides by mountains in almost oblique shades of soft light grey, pine forested valleys nestled beneath them, with a village almost hidden somewhere down the bottom. I could have stood and stared at that view for hours more, had my eyeballs not started to freeze over. On we trudged towards Nuvolau which we could see perched at the very top. So focused were we on pushing through the biting wind and getting up there that we overshot our turn off and ended up at Rifugio Averau.
Climbing to Rif. Nuvolau perched on that highest peak in the distance
It could just be us, but it wasn’t clear where the trail went. Retracing our steps we found what we thought was the trail in front of the peak on which Nuvolau stands. We enjoyed a lovely tromp across a snowy valley with stunning 360 degree mountain views on trail 449, merrily following the red markings on the rocks, until we were at the bottom, just to the left of the summit. There was only one way up so we started climbing across the scree and up the side of the mountain until we were committed and could only keep going the one way … up the via ferrata on trail 438. Very bloody scary! Every foot hold was full of slush and ice. The hand rails were freezing. We stopped, precariously, to put our poles away whilst trying not to freak out about our unexpected predicament. I am proud of myself for not losing my shit. Mostly because had I lost it, I would be dead. Had my vertigo kicked in, the disorientation and panic that manifests would have caused me to lose balance and go tumbling down. It is truly amazing what you can do when you really need to. We literally scaled a mountain face. I know people do this all the time for fun. But I am just a normal person with a horrible fear of heights; and no technical climbing experience. My fingers were raw from gripping the rock. The cables ended at a vertical ladder to climb up to the very skinny summit. I did not look anywhere but directly in front of me, and crawled at times, trying not to think about my pack pulling me backwards. My adrenal gland went into shock.
The sun beginning to set over the ridge we just scrambled up
The via ferrata is the route we should have taken down off this summit the following morning. No thank you! As we settled at a table in the tiny bar inside the rifugio to recover from our shock, we waved goodbye to a couple about to descend it in full protective gear and harnesses! We decided we'd take the long way around off the mountain. Warmed by the fire, good food and red wine, we spent the evening chatting to a couple from New York (who we never saw after that) and a couple from Belgium (who followed a similar route to us from then on).
Day 6 – Rif. Nuvolau to Rif. Citta di Fiuma
5-6 hours walking
5-6 hours walking
Sunrise at Rif. Nuvolau 2,575m
The sunrise at Nuvolau, over the snow-capped peaks below us, was one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. Ice had formed on the trail overnight so we picked our way carefully down off the summit on the route we should have approached Nuvolau from the previous evening. This was one of my favourite sections of the entire trail. The scenery changes daily, and we were now in Heidi country: insanely pretty Alpine mountain ranges with meadow like valleys and pine forests. Sam humoured me during my spontaneous outbursts of song … yes, Edelweiss and the sound of music! We climbed up and down mountain after mountain on zigzag paths, over cols and forcellas, past abandoned huts. Up and down through the snow lines. Once we'd skidded down the ice path from Nuvolau, the day started with a pleasant stroll across the valley before the first steep zigzag descent down and an immediate steep zigzag ascent up, before making progress across several valleys.
Leaving Rif. Nuvolau behind on one of those far distant peaks
As we walked across the valleys we saw several marmots - which resemble a cross between a fat over-sized guinea pig and a small wombat and make a noise like an eagle screeching. We also bumped into our German artist again as he nimbly hopped down the valley. This section culminated in a long, steep climb to the col, and some scrambling through rocks believing ourselves lost before emerging in a high pass with reassuring signs down to Paso Giau. We stopped for coffee and devoured apple strudel at Passo Giau which lies in a very accessible valley so was a mecca for tourist buses, and bikers. Many trails criss-cross the Dolomites, and some of the rifugios are accessible by road or chairlift.
Snowy peaks and alpine valleys
The afternoon's walking comprised more clambering up and over cols and through forcellas, stopping occasionally to fill our water bottles with snow, and once for a snowball fight. We made it to Citta di Fiuma, secluded in a small valley, around 4.30pm and were greeted by the smiling face of Paul – an old friend from University – who happened to be holidaying nearby and made the 40 minute hike from the nearest road to share a beer and sunset with us.
Day 7 – Rif. Citta di Fiuma to Rif. Vazzoler
7 hours walking
7 hours walking
After a gentle start through a forest, with the birds singing and the sun shining warm enough to remove our fleece layer for the first time, steep climbing then became the order of the morning. Past fields of cows creating music with their bells, then left at a dairy farm, into the first glute shattering climb up a grassy hill which eventually opened out onto pasture land; a lush green meadow flanked by peaks providing some very enjoyable walking.
The meadow on top the mountain
The second climb took on a different outlook as we climbed higher, looking back over the valleys and ski resorts (lush green slopes in the absence of snow). We scrambled over rock and scree, round switchbacks and skywards, where the views opened out to the Hobbitesque misty mountains across the valley.
Climbing up towards Rif. Coldai and the Misty Mountains
We had intended to walk as far as Coldai, but we were there by 12.30, so after joining the Belgians for a hearty lunch we pushed on; distracted for a little while by the emerald green, aptly named Lago Coldai where we stripped down to our undies and took a little dip. The German couple we’d met earlier arrived, stripped off entirely and enjoyed a good swim; something they did at every opportunity.
The lake on top a mountain - Lago Coldai
Another scenery change as we stayed among the peaks, enjoying vast views over valleys and lakes, listening to the rumbling sounds of the occasional rock fall not far away. The dolomite rock is a gorgeous pale grey, painted lightly with pristine snow, set against a deep blue sky. Among the curiosities we saw during the afternoon: the most remote ‘roadside jesus’ I’ve yet encountered; a family walking together, of whom the Mum was carrying a four-foot log on her pack; stones artistically placed in cowpats. Had the cows placed the stones in the cow pats? Or had they deliberately pooped on top of stones? Or does someone go about the mountains artistically placing stones in cow pats?
Ignoring the nearby rockfall to enjoy the view to the valley below
Despite our toenails beginning to eject in protest, this was another of my favourite days on the trail; absolutely spellbinding scenery and thoroughly enjoyable walking; eventually descending to greener land, and through a forest where Rif. Vazzoler nestles. Vazzoler was shutting down the next day. Very few beds were made up, the food supplies were low and it was freezing! While a boorish American couple hogged the warmth of the fire, illuminating the lovely Israeli couple we'd walked with a couple of days prior with their opinions of how boring Israeli trails are; we enjoyed the company of the Belgians and the Germans, and overcame our disappointment at the lack of hot chocolate available when Sarah (of the Belgian couple) produced a bar of Belgian chocolate which we melted in hot milk.
Descending towards pasture land and into the forest towards Rif. Vazzoler
Day 8 – Rif. Vazzoler to Rif. Carestiato
4 hours walking
4 hours walking
A lot of this section stays high, traversing the mountain sides
Barely energised by a very sad breakfast, we trotted off down the forest path, making our zigzagging descent before climbing once more through mixed woodland. There are a couple of aided stretches on this section, and a couple of unaided but nerve wracking sections up and across steep, narrow ledges with loose footing and sheer drops away to the side. We emerged from the woodland to gully after gully of boulders, rocks and scree and spent most of the rest of the day crossing these, clinging to mountain sides.
Though the clouds were becoming thicker, the views remained breath taking; although we did not appreciate them too often as a glance to the right could set off vertigo and we were feeling the efforts of the previous two longer days catching up with us. We walked for just four hours today but it felt much longer and was tough going at times.
Though the clouds were becoming thicker, the views remained breath taking; although we did not appreciate them too often as a glance to the right could set off vertigo and we were feeling the efforts of the previous two longer days catching up with us. We walked for just four hours today but it felt much longer and was tough going at times.
Narrow ledges, sheer drops and a few hairy peaks to clamber over
The last – incredibly steep and relentless in places – climb through dense woodland decorated with a variety of fungi finally brought us out at Rif. Carestiato, perched on top of the world in blazing sunshine. Exhausted, we sat on the terrace and silently enjoyed a couple of beers and some soup while our faces burned in the sun, before mustering the energy to check in to our room, shower and wash some of our clothes.
Refreshed, we spent the rest of the afternoon drinking beer and coffee (in no particular order) and shared supper with a Czech couple while the sun gradually sank behind the mountain tops and thick storm clouds rolled in, bringing thunder and lightning with them to entertain us through the night.
Refreshed, we spent the rest of the afternoon drinking beer and coffee (in no particular order) and shared supper with a Czech couple while the sun gradually sank behind the mountain tops and thick storm clouds rolled in, bringing thunder and lightning with them to entertain us through the night.
Storm clouds rolling in over the view from Rif. Carestiato
Day 9 – Rif. Carestiato to Rif. Pramparet
4-5 hours walking
4-5 hours walking
Possibly fungi, who knows, and general wetness
I can’t describe the view today for I couldn’t see beyond the torrential rain falling in front my eyeballs. It didn’t just rain. It RAIIIIIIIIIIIINED! Hard. All day! ALL day. The terrain was pretty much the same as the previous day, so we didn’t really miss out from the reduced (almost zero) visibility, so you know, silver linings! We scrambled across boulders and scree, through gully after gully as fast as we could muster. Which was remarkably fast, motivated by the desire to avoid drowning in our own waterproofs (Ha!) or developing hypothermia. It’s amazing what the body can achieve and just how fast you can scramble across mountains when you really put your mind to it. We stopped only briefly to photograph a colourful splash of loveliness in the form of a fire salamander, at which point my phone died a very sad little death, never to recover (which is why there are very few photos of this section, taken by Sam when she could make her fingers work); and once more to inhale half a mars bar each for energy.
We continued along paths of varying quality: steep uneven stairs formed of rocks and rubble; tree root hop scotch puzzles; rivers; muddy puddles; thick foliage that whipped and scratched our legs. All the while, water dripped – nay poured – down our coat sleeves from our walking poles; our socks soaked up the rain causing puddles in our boots; our hats were wet through. Everything was wet, down to our pants. (But it is testament to the quality of our drysacks that everything within our packs remained dry).
Never before have I walked a section of a trail with so much determination to reach the end. It was definitely not about the journey today. Trench foot, gangrene and early onset hypothermia encouraged our inner fell runners to break free and we ran – well wobbled – the last bit, until a final unexpected bloody hill met us.
After what seemed like days - but was actually only 4 and a half hours - of hard paced marching in abject misery, we passed the Czech couple just 15 minutes from the rifugio. “It’s closed” said they, “we’re going on to the next one at Fontana.” The next one was another 4 hours walking. “No. They’re not closed,” said Sam. “We’re going anyway.” Though I feared we’d get there only to have to turn back - and in some twisted way kind of wanted to go on as originally planned - I had not the energy to argue, plus found a strange sort of comfort in Sam’s bloody minded belief that they would be open and we would indeed spend the night there.
“We’re closed,” said they on arrival. “No, you’re not,” said we. “We phoned this morning and you said you’d be open.” “But we have no electricity in the rooms and only a bit of pasta left, and no bread and milk.” said they. “We don’t care,” said we “we’d like to stay.” That agreed, they reluctantly made up two beds for us (they’d had other ideas of one last night with no guests so they could play their music loud and smoke weed. In the end they did that anyway) and - perhaps not realising we were actually soaked to the bone - they sat us down and served us the only two portions of leftovers they had (one lasagne and one deer ragu). We spread our soaking outer layers around the chairs and took up residence in front the fire. Lunch wolfed down, we each stood in the hot shower for a very long time trying to defrost and return from a deep shade of blue to something resembling skin tone.
At 3pm, the Germans arrived, crashing through the door like something out of a Daphne du Maurier novel. A similar exchange of ‘we’re closed, no you’re not’ later, and they’ve covered the remaining chairs, tables and rafters with their wet things and we spend the rest of the evening drinking wine and chatting, and cuddling the big old Alaskan malamute / husky cross, called Willie. We sat, practically in the fire, wrapped in blankets for five hours. The sun eventually made an appearance but we were in for the night.
We continued along paths of varying quality: steep uneven stairs formed of rocks and rubble; tree root hop scotch puzzles; rivers; muddy puddles; thick foliage that whipped and scratched our legs. All the while, water dripped – nay poured – down our coat sleeves from our walking poles; our socks soaked up the rain causing puddles in our boots; our hats were wet through. Everything was wet, down to our pants. (But it is testament to the quality of our drysacks that everything within our packs remained dry).
Never before have I walked a section of a trail with so much determination to reach the end. It was definitely not about the journey today. Trench foot, gangrene and early onset hypothermia encouraged our inner fell runners to break free and we ran – well wobbled – the last bit, until a final unexpected bloody hill met us.
After what seemed like days - but was actually only 4 and a half hours - of hard paced marching in abject misery, we passed the Czech couple just 15 minutes from the rifugio. “It’s closed” said they, “we’re going on to the next one at Fontana.” The next one was another 4 hours walking. “No. They’re not closed,” said Sam. “We’re going anyway.” Though I feared we’d get there only to have to turn back - and in some twisted way kind of wanted to go on as originally planned - I had not the energy to argue, plus found a strange sort of comfort in Sam’s bloody minded belief that they would be open and we would indeed spend the night there.
“We’re closed,” said they on arrival. “No, you’re not,” said we. “We phoned this morning and you said you’d be open.” “But we have no electricity in the rooms and only a bit of pasta left, and no bread and milk.” said they. “We don’t care,” said we “we’d like to stay.” That agreed, they reluctantly made up two beds for us (they’d had other ideas of one last night with no guests so they could play their music loud and smoke weed. In the end they did that anyway) and - perhaps not realising we were actually soaked to the bone - they sat us down and served us the only two portions of leftovers they had (one lasagne and one deer ragu). We spread our soaking outer layers around the chairs and took up residence in front the fire. Lunch wolfed down, we each stood in the hot shower for a very long time trying to defrost and return from a deep shade of blue to something resembling skin tone.
At 3pm, the Germans arrived, crashing through the door like something out of a Daphne du Maurier novel. A similar exchange of ‘we’re closed, no you’re not’ later, and they’ve covered the remaining chairs, tables and rafters with their wet things and we spend the rest of the evening drinking wine and chatting, and cuddling the big old Alaskan malamute / husky cross, called Willie. We sat, practically in the fire, wrapped in blankets for five hours. The sun eventually made an appearance but we were in for the night.
A fuzzy shot of Willie, the lovely, snuggly Alaskan Malamute / Husky cross
The lady that had served us food at lunch, wrapped herself up in a bin bag (I kid you not) and set off on the trail towards the nearest bus stop in Malga de Prampa to get the last bus home to Belluno – her last shift of the season done. Despite their lack of food, they still managed to rustle up a lovely home-made spaghetti with garlic sauce and a huge pile of polenta (which is gross, but it was food) for supper. It was a cold night, even buried under 3 heavy blankets each, wearing hats and gloves. But it was fun.
Day 10 – Rif. Pramparet to Forno di Zolda
3 hours walking
3 hours walking
Below the tree line, coming down off the mountains
Stale bread and jam makes a welcome and reasonable breakfast when you were expecting nothing. We put on damp clothes, packed up damp things, and set off on our final day. We followed the path of the bin bag clad lady and left the trail at Malga de Prampa following the river on path 523, through low woodland which had a lovely autumnal mossy feel to it. In stark contrast to the previous day, blue skies graced us once more as we made our way towards civilisation.
There were three ways off the mountain available to us: a mad descent on the Schiara traverse, by via ferrata that requires technical equipment and climbing experience; an alternative route via Rif. Fontana to Rif. Bianchet where buses run to Belluno that would involve a long narrow ridge, exposed to a 50m drop on both sides that was still covered in snow (this was our original planned route, but as we’d not made it to Fontana the previous night, the distance was too great to cover in one day); or our chosen forest descent to Forno di Zolda.
Feeling de-mob happy, we bounced down the mountain, negotiated a bit more downhill mud skiing, zigzagged down a wooded road and arrived at Forno di Zolda where we sat outside at a café and ate pizza. The Germans were just about an hour behind us, so we sat together for one last drink. We four were some of the last, if not the last, people off the mountain that day, and indeed for the season. Everything was shutting up in our wake.
There were three ways off the mountain available to us: a mad descent on the Schiara traverse, by via ferrata that requires technical equipment and climbing experience; an alternative route via Rif. Fontana to Rif. Bianchet where buses run to Belluno that would involve a long narrow ridge, exposed to a 50m drop on both sides that was still covered in snow (this was our original planned route, but as we’d not made it to Fontana the previous night, the distance was too great to cover in one day); or our chosen forest descent to Forno di Zolda.
Feeling de-mob happy, we bounced down the mountain, negotiated a bit more downhill mud skiing, zigzagged down a wooded road and arrived at Forno di Zolda where we sat outside at a café and ate pizza. The Germans were just about an hour behind us, so we sat together for one last drink. We four were some of the last, if not the last, people off the mountain that day, and indeed for the season. Everything was shutting up in our wake.
Forno di Zolda
Buses run regularly to Belluno and the ride was warm and comfortable as it weaved through the mountains. In Belluno we drank wine and ate huge portions of prosciutto and melon, and caprese salad. We hadn’t seen a piece of fruit or a vegetable in days. It was sublime. We sat at a restaurant in the square and just watched the world go by. (Side note: If you collect the stamps from the rifugios on the trail, you can take them to the Tourist Information office in Belluno and get a commemorative pin – we forgot.)
At breakfast the next morning we bumped into the Czechs; happily they’d made it off the mountain in one piece. We parted company again, they heading back towards Cortina d’Ampezzo, us to catch a train down to Venice where we walked many more miles exploring the city and enjoying a lot more prosciutto and prosecco before flying back to London, utterly content!
At breakfast the next morning we bumped into the Czechs; happily they’d made it off the mountain in one piece. We parted company again, they heading back towards Cortina d’Ampezzo, us to catch a train down to Venice where we walked many more miles exploring the city and enjoying a lot more prosciutto and prosecco before flying back to London, utterly content!
