Walking Through A Postcard (and Into a Storm)

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Leaving the Rifugio Nuvolau on my fifth day on the Alta Via 1, there was a choice of onward route - either backtracking downhill to the Rifugio Averau and contouring around the base of the mountain, or dropping straight down the southern face of the mountain on a Via Ferrata route. With a full pack on my back the former seemed to be the only smart choice. With the cable cars having not yet started running for the day, the walk down was both scenic and peaceful... until I reached the road crossing at Passo Giau to be confronted by hordes of day-trippers starting out on their own hikes. But the scrum was soon left behind as I continued on the south side of the road (which seemed to attract only a fraction of the people that the northern side had) and soon entered a valley bathed in sunlight with only a couple of walking trails bisecting the grassy slopes.

A stiff climb later and I emerged at the Forcella Giau (2360m), where a broad panorama opened up featuring an expansive meadow littered with large, angular blocks of stone - this was the Mondeval di Sora, where Mesolithic tribes were known to have gathered during the summer months to hunt large animals (elk, ibex, deer etc) by blocking off the five passes that would otherwise offer escape routes. Pausing at the Forcella Ambrizola (2277m), I thought long and hard about taking a 2km detour to the large Lago Federa for a swim and lunch at the adjacent refuge, but the prospect of having to climb back up over 200 metres to rejoin the main route eventually saw me continuing on towards my next overnight stop at the Rifugio Citta di Fiume, with impressive views of both the pyramidal peak of the Antelao and the more angular block of the Pelmo (and occasionally the Civetta behind it) providing a rugged backdrop to the softer scenery of cow-studded pastures and pine woodlands.

After about five hours of walking I emerged above the grassy clearing of the Rifugio Citta di Fiume - my lowest hut of the walk so far at just 1917m - where there were crowds of people sprawled out on the lawn lapping up both the sunshine and the close-up views of the mighty Pelmo, whose northwestern aspect completely dominated the view. As the afternoon went by and the crowds began to dissipate, the anticipated stunning sunset was thwarted by a darkening sky that had soon enveloped the mountain completely in a wreath of clouds, while thunder rumbled ominously and a light rain started to fall for the first time on the walk.

Having not showered or swum in any lakes for the past three days, I decided to take advantage of the free cold showers on offer at the refuge, only to then discover a hot water token atop the shower screen - always a welcome discovery! I also had access to WiFi for the first time in three days, and it was at this point that I discovered there was over 100mm of rain forecast for Monday night, which would be my ninth (and most likely final) night on the trail. In the hope of avoiding a long final day traversing wet rock and mud, I decided to condense my eighth and ninth days into one by bringing forward my reservation for the Monday night to Sunday night, so that I could finish my walk on the Monday... hopefully before the forecast downpour hit. By the time I woke up the next morning (Friday) the forecast showers had been brought forward to Monday morning, and I was now facing the prospect of covering two stages in a single day in the worst weather of the week...

Putting this out of my mind for the moment, I hit the trail on day six under yet another blue sky, and immediately entered a section of woodland where the only sounds to be heard were my shoes crunching on the gravel underfoot, and the chirping of small birds flitting through the trees. After the wide open spaces of the opening five days it was a glorious interlude, though soon enough I was breaking back out into the open to cross the rubble-strewn lower slopes of the Pelmo, with its massive cliffs towering skyward and providing some much-needed shade. It was on this section that I passed a young American guy (fluent in Italian) who had been working at the Rifugio Nuvolau, who told me it was his day off work and so he and his Dad had decided to try to climb the Pelmo - though I found this difficult to comprehend given that they were carrying no climbing gear whatsoever, and one look at those cliffs rising a kilometre into the sky had me convinced that trying to scramble one's way to the top would surely be a suicide mission. Still, he responded that if the going got too sketchy, they would simply come down and try to circumnavigate the mountain instead. I felt tired just thinking about such an undertaking!

After dropping down to the main road at Passo Staulanza (where the Dutch ladies were due to have finished their walk the previous evening, and where both Claire and Laura were also due to have stayed) the trail followed the road for ten minutes before resuming its southward march along a gravel road that led to a farmhouse, where the difficulty level was instantly ratcheted up a few notches with a steep climb up the hillside, which led to a rare flat stretch of grass presided over by the nearby Cima di Coldai (2403m). Soon enough the most gruelling and prolonged climb of the day would begin, as the trail (which from this point on was busy with day-trippers) wound its way up and over the shoulder of the mountain via a series of switchbacks. But as challenging as the climb was, it was less sustained than some of the climbs I had faced on earlier days, and I found myself racing up the slope past dozens of day-hikers that were carrying a fraction of the weight that was on my back, and within 45 minutes I was rounding the final bend to arrive at the Rifugio Coldai at 2132m, having reached my overnight stop just after 11am!

The location of Rifugio Coldai could hardly have been more scenic, for while it lacked the wraparound views of the mountaintop huts at Lagazuoi and Nuvolau, it was perched at the base of the massive Civetta overlooking the equally spectacular Pelmo, with the small town of Pecol nestled into the folds of the valley 800m below. Immediately behind the hut the Cima di Coldai rose a further 270m, so after lunch I set my sights on tackling the steep route up to the peak, only to end up scrambling up a narrow chute as thunder started rumbling overhead... remembering my experience in the Tatras the previous month I decided to turn around not far below the summit; but consolation was offer d in the form of the gorgeous Lago Coldai lying at the base of the peak. For the first time in four days I was able to indulge in a gloriously refreshing swim while gazing up at the soaring cliffs of the Civetta.

Back at the hut I shared dinner with an Irishman named Conor whom I had been roommates with at Citta di Fiume, while Laura made a surprise appearance as well. She confirmed that the slightly overweight labrador I had seen being dragged uphill at the start of the climb to the hut had indeed made it all the way up, though whether or not it had survived the ordeal to make the descent back down to the valley remained to be seen. Unfortunately for the second day in a row any chances of seeing the western cliffs of the Pelmo lit up by the setting sun (the famed 'alpenglow') were dashed by a descending layer of cloud, though this did clear later in the evening to reveal the lights of Pecol sparkling in the valley below.

Day seven was all about the Civetta. With Rifugio Coldai located at the northern end of the mountain and Rifugio Vazzoler at the southern end, navigation for the day would consist entirely of following the base of the 6km long western wall, which rises over a thousand metres at an angle not far short of vertical; its top punctuated with numerous spires and towers. Halfway along, a steep climb led up an adjacent slope to an intermediate hut, the Rifugio Tissi at 2250m. Perched directly opposite the Civetta (3220m), the hut and its peak offered an unsurpassed view of the Civetta's western wall soaring almost a vertical kilometre above in one direction; while the town of Alleghe and its lake couple be seen down in the bed of the Cordevole Valley over a vertical kilometre below in the opposite direction. The views on both sides were unforgettable.

After dropping down from Rifugio Tissi the trail eventually reached the southern end of that immense wall of rock, where the southwestern corner of the Civetta was marked by the conspicuous spire of the Torre Venezia. Dropping down through conifer woodlands, a gravel road led around the base of its cliffs towards a second tower, the Torre Trieste. Together this intimidating pair of peaks flanked the narrow, steeply descending Val dei Cantoni, at the edge of which sat Rifugio Vazzoler at 1714m. With the outdoor terrace of the hut being orientated towards this incredible amphitheatre of cliffs, the views were completely different yet no less spectacular than those from the mountaintop huts of Lagazuoi and Nuvolau, both of which had been perched almost a thousand metres higher. It was this variety of scenery, as much as the jaw-dropping nature of the landscape, that had me completely enthralled with every step.

The lowlight of the day came when Conor - who had been assigned the same 4-bed dorm as me - came back from his shower claiming that if I wanted to have a shower myself there was still some hot water left in the one he had used (at every hut with showers you have to pay for a token to operate them, with the price fluctuating anywhere from €3 to €7 for 3 minutes worth of hot water in the Dolomites). Taking up the offer, I hopped under the shower, cranked the water on and started lathering myself up - figuring that when the hot water ran out I would at least be able to rinse myself off with cold water (as is the case at most huts). Unfortunately Rifugio Vazzoler is one of the huts where as soon as the credit runs out ALL water stops flowing... which is exactly what happened once I had finished lathering myself up with soap! As a result I had to rinse off one limb at a time in the long sink, and all without completely exposing myself given that the bathroom was mixed gender... much to the amusement of Conor, who was by now washing his clothes in the same sink! Never again will I trust an Irishman...

Day eight started out clear, but had soon clouded over as though in anticipation of the next day's forecast downpour. Having passed alongside the full length of the Civetta the previous day, the trail would now follow its conjoined twin to the south, the Moiazza. Unfortunately this meant first losing over three hundred metres in elevation as we rounded the Val dei Cantoni, before immediately having to regain all of that height (and more) on the climb to the Forcella Col del Orso (1823m) and Forcella del Camp (1933m). It was during this steep climb up through the pine woods that I finally lost my patience with the incessant steepness of the trails through the Dolomites, where it seems there is no such thing as a gentle 5-10% gradient, but instead every single climb seems to be at a gradient of 15-20% - which, with a full backpack, is most definitely too steep to enjoy. Expletives were flung in all directions as I lumbered my way up the interminable switchbacks (whose inclusion on the route seemed to do little to ease the gradient) while sweating profusely in the heightened humidity of the day.

Eventually I broke out into the open at the base of the Moiazza's western cliffs, where the faint breeze and impressive views lifted my spirits somewhat; though my ordeal was far from over as there were now steep scree slopes to be negotiated. Slowly but surely my long-suffering legs carried me up to the pass, where the trail turned east to follow the Moiazza's southern wall to the Rifugio Carestiato. Lacking vehicular access this was the quietest hut yet (as far as the daily lunch rush is concerned) and so I was able to check-in as soon as I arrived at midday - at some huts this can be as late as 4pm - and within minutes I was taking advantage of the comparatively cheap showers (€1 per 2 minutes) to finish the job of cleaning myself that I had started the day before! With free WiFi on offer I was also able to confirm that heavy rain was still expected the next morning, as well as checking the latest round of AFL scores - with my beloved Brisbane Lions having finished the regular season in second place, giving them a great chance of winning the premiership for the first time in 20 years!

My ninth day on the Alta Via 1 was one that will live long in the memory, though I have scant photographs to accompany those memories. The forecast turned out to be spot on, as eight days of settled, sunny weather came to an abrupt end with a series of heavy downpours accompanied by strong winds, starting in the early hours of Monday morning and continuing on and off throughout most of the day. Having left my trusty earplugs behind three days earlier, I was awoken multiple times by the sound of rain pelting against the bedroom window and violent winds tearing at the trees outside, and by the time I rose at 6:30am the nearby mountains were appearing and disappearing at the whim of the clouds. If the previous few days on the trail had started to feel somewhat the same, this would be the day that would shake everything up and feel nothing like the others. Whether this was for better or worse would depend on your point of view...

Leaving the hut at 8:30am, I did my best to ignore the sharp drop in temperature by setting out in just boardshorts and singlet, adopting the philosophy that the less clothes you wear in wet weather, the less clothes you have to get dry afterwards. Of course this only works if you avoid hypothermia. Following the hut's gravel access road, I'd made it only ten minutes down the track when suddenly the road ended abruptly at a washed out gully, before resuming on the other side fifty metres away. Whether this had happened overnight I had no idea, but there had been cars parked out the back of Rifugio Carestiato, and as far as I could tell there was no other way for them to have arrived at the hut other than via that road... which, if it were true, would mean those cars wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, as not even a monster truck would have been able to negotiate that wash-out. There would need to be some serious earthmoving equipment called in before that road would be drivable again.

Undeterred, I resumed my march on the far side of the gully, before a slippery trail led steeply down to the main road at Passo Duran. By now I had almost caught up to two other hikers - one headed straight inside the refuge/restaurant beside the road; the other continued on without hesitation. Even if I'd not recognised the woollen jacket, bright orange cap and ginger moustache I would have known it was Conor, who had finally been blessed with conditions that were familiar to him from the Emerald Isle. Seeing no point in delaying the inevitable soaking (by now the heavens had opened and I was copping a proper drenching) I too pressed on, enjoying the ease of walking along a sealed road for the next two kilometres, during which time only three vehicles passed by!

Alarmingly, when I reached the trail junction sign indicating the turnoff towards the next refuge, there was an 'Alta Via 1 diversion' sign stuck to the signpost. That the sign gave no more information than that (other than an arrow pointing down the road), was printed on an A4 sheet of paper held inside a plastic sleeve, and was stuck to the signpost with electrical tape - which looked like it was going to give way at any moment - seemed very suspicious indeed; and I chose to ignore it. Nothing that I encountered for the remainder of the day (other than the unfriendly weather) gave any indication that a diversion would have been necessary, and I was never any the wiser as to who had posted the 'diversion' sign.

In any case, unlike the previous day's climb (and every other day before that) the 500m climb was neither steep nor relentless, and for the first time I was able to enjoy a trail that seemed to follow the path of least resistance as it slowly eased its way up the mountainside. Having left my companions of the last two days (the Civetta and Moiazza) behind, it was the twin mountains of San Sebastiano and Tamer (both topping out at 2488m) whose lower slopes I would be contouring across for the day, starting with an enjoyable woodland ramble before breaking out onto the ever-present scree slopes at the base of the heavily-eroded cliffs. It was at this point that I finally (one might argue 'belatedly') donned my rain jacket and gloves, as each time I stopped for a break my fingers were slower to move than the time before, as if I were trying to operate someone else's fingers. On the bright side, the block of Milka chocolate that my German roommates had gifted to me - after deciding against continuing, in favour of bailing out to the nearby town of Agordo with its onward transport connections - went down an absolute treat, which I thankfully managed to avoid fumbling into the mud despite my almost-numb fingers!

As intermittent showers continued to pass overhead, I reached the Forcella del Moschesin (1990m), where the trail turned a corner and proceeded in an easterly direction past the southern end of the San Sebastiano-Tamer massif. At this point I was even more exposed to the wind - which threatened to blow me off the trail at times - but I was also nearing the end of my ordeal, with salvation arriving 45 minutes later in the form of the Rifugio Sommariva al Pramperet... where unfortunately my first impressions were underwhelming to say the least! To start with there was no 'boot room' to take off my sodden clothes in; the (outside) bathrooms were locked; and even when they were unlocked the lights didn't work, so I had to fetch my head torch to see what I was doing. Then when I did finally make my way inside fifteen minutes later, I was met with blank stares from the small crowd assembled in the hut's fire-warmed dining room, as if I were the first of my species anyone present had ever encountered! I seriously considered putting my wet clothes back on and continuing down the trail, until I was placated with a bowl of steaming hot vegetable soup. Followed by a slice of chocolate cake.

As it turned out there were only ten guests staying at the refuge that night, despite there being three times that many beds. Of these, one old German man had been there the night before (when there had been only four guests), while a French couple had camped nearby, and a pair of German brothers had camped two hours back along the trail. Only five of us had braved the conditions to walk all the way from Rifugio Carestiato. The irony wasn't lost on me that Conor had ended up staying at a farmhouse about an hour's walk away because when he'd booked his huts a month earlier Rifugio Pramperet had been fully booked. I wasn't sure whether he was aware that his overnight stop was more than 300 metres lower down the valley than ours - 300 metres that would have to be added to the 750 metres worth of climbing we would already be facing the following day, if we were to make it all the way to the end of the trail at La Pissa.

Waking the next morning there was cause for optimism, as the clouds were mostly above the surrounding mountains and weren't yet spilling their contents. After trying in vain to fill my stomach at the lackluster breakfast buffet, I was out the door and on my way by eight o'clock, in the hope of at least getting up and over the final pass before any rain hit. Weaving my way upwards I'd soon reached the saddle of Portela del Piazedel (2097m), from where the views continued to improve as the trail climbed up towards the pass - though at one point the view provided cause for alarm, as I could see a fellow hiker silhouetted against the ridgeline above, who was doubled over using his hands to steady himself against the ample slope!

A few switchbacks later I emerged atop a knife-edged ridge, which fell away precipitously to the Val de Erbandoi far below. It was at this point that I too had to use my hands to steady myself as the route climbed straight up the ridge crest (which was little more than a metre wide) at about a 45° angle; but soon enough the slope relented and a more gentle climb across the final slope led to the pass of Forcella di Zita Sud, which at 2395m was almost exactly the same height as the very first pass of the route from nine days ago! Knowing that it would be (almost) all downhill for the rest of the day I let out a 'whoop' of excitement that was mixed with relief, while taking in the whole new panorama that had opened up to the south.

Picking my way carefully down from the pass, it wasn't long before I heard movement on the scree slope above to my right, which upon closer inspection revealed a lone chamois searching for fresh forage. Further down the trail I spotted a group of four chamois doing the same on the opposite side of the valley - as always showing complete disregard for the perilous slope they were crossing. Slaloming my way downhill through a grassy valley pockmarked with marmot tunnels, I eventually dropped over a prominent lip and proceeded to inch my way down even steeper slopes than before - though at least now I could see the next refuge at the bottom of this steep-sided bowl. This provided the necessary motivation for me to keep going until, finally, I emerged beside the welcoming Rifugio Pian de Fontana (1632m), where the incredible panorama looked like it had been plucked from the Cordillera Vilcabamba in Peru and dropped into the Dolomites - with heavily-vegetated slopes plunging into the unseen depths of a deep gorge, in total contrast to the grey, barren-looking rocky slopes that had characterised most of my first nine days on the trail.

Wishing that I'd spent my final night on the trail here rather than at the previous hut - but thankful that I'd been able to make the crossing in reasonable weather regardless - I headed inside and ordered a slice of ricotta and ameretti cake that was accompanied by a scorchingly-hot coffee; before pressing on to tackle the final (short) climb of the trip, which took me back up 200m through quiet beech woods to the crest of the Val dei Ross, from where the onward route led across the Forcella La Varretta (1701m) and along a stunning belvedere path that clung to the mountainside overlooking the wide, deep and utterly beautiful Val Vescova. Stopping frequently in an attempt to capture photographs that would do the sublime scenery justice - with only limited success - I then plunged down into this wooded netherworld on a switch-backing trail that shed elevation rapidly, emerging sometime later in the broad clearing surrounding the Rifugio Bianchet (1245m).

With only one other hiker at the refuge (the final hut on the route) my hopes of getting a cooked meal were dashed; though the crepe smothered in Nutella that I was provided with offered ample compensation! Despite my reticence to hurray through the final stretch, with nothing much going on at the hut and a light rain starting to fall for the first time all day, I shouldered my pack one last time and headed back into the woods along the hut's gravel access road; and though views were limited, the walking was both easy and peaceful. As the valley narrowed into a steep-sided gorge - complete with a pointy peak guarding it's entrance - the heavens finally opened, and I was soon soaked to the bone. But it mattered little as I negotiated the final few hundred metres of descent to the bed of the Val Cordevole, where a five-minute walk alongside the busy main road (passing a towering waterfall along the way) delivered me to the nondescript bus stop at La Pissa that serves as the (decidedly anticlimactic) southern trailhead of the Alta Via 1.

It might not have quite been the triumphant ending that I'd hoped for, but it mattered not in the long run; for the past ten days had provided some of the most incredible landscapes I have ever been privileged enough to walk through, and if anything the weather-related challenges of the past two days (not to mention the extraordinary contrast in scenery from the rest of the walk) had made the experience feel more complete than it otherwise would have. It might have been my first ever visit to the Dolomites; but it certainly won't be the last.

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Photos

Soaring Skyward
Lago Coldai, backed by the towering cliffs of the Civetta

Grassy Slopes and Angular Peaks
Approaching the Forcella de Col Piombin (2236m) on my fifth day on the trail

Stone Scrapheap
Giant lumps of limestone littering the grassy meadow below Forcella Giau

Intimidating Backdrop
The Rifugio Citta di Fiume dwarfed by the mighty Pelmo

Isolated Peak
View of the Pelmo from the climb to Rifugio Coldai

Time for Lunch
Arriving at the wonderful Rifugio Coldai

Plunge Pool
Lago Coldai

What a view to wake up to!
Sunrise over the Pelmo, seen from Rifugio Coldai

Sword-shaped Silhouette
The West Wall of the Civetta from just below Rifugio Tissi

Tall Trees & Taller Towers
Heading towards Torre Triste on the gravel road to Rifugio Vazzoler

Rocky Barrier
Heading towards the mighty Moiazza, early on day eight

V-shaped Valley
View down the Val dei Cantoni from the trail

Shelter from the Coming Storm
Rifugio Carestiato at the base of the Moiazza

Tempestuous Skies
The first picture I took from the trail on day nine, looking back along the route

Battling the Breeze
Rounding the Forcella del Moschesin

Dodging Downpours
Heading towards the Cima di Pramper

Salvation at Last!
Arriving at the Rifugio Sommariva al Pramperet after a wet and wild day

The Final Pass
Approaching the Forcella di Zita Sud (2395m)

The Dragon's Back
Heading toward the cliffs of the Cima di Zita

Steep Descent
First glimpse of the Rifugio Pian de Fontana

The Final Valley
First glimpse of the Rifugio Bianchet

Standing Tall
Looking back at the peak of Ra Gusela from Passo Giau

Angular Peak
The pyramidal peak of the Antelao, seen on day five

Early Morning Views
The Cima Coldai and Civetta basking in sunshine on day six

Lush Valley
Passing the Cima Coldai

Stunning Sight
Lago Coldai under sunny skies on day seven

Unrivalled Viewpoint
Rifugio Tissi (2250m), sitting directly opposite the Civetta's imposing West Wall

Well-tended Lawn
Grassy meadow near the end of day seven

Cosy Refuge
Rifugio Vazzoler backed by the southern end of the Civetta

Rock Climbers' Playground
The sheer cliffs of Torre Venezia

Rugged Backdrop
The gnarled cliffs of the Moiazza on day eight

Narrow Ridge
Climbing to the Forcella di Zita Sud on day ten

Sturdy Shelter
Rifugio Pian de Fontana

Deep Gorge
The plunging sides of the lower Val Vescova

A Fitting Finale
Passing a towering waterfall just 100 metres from the bus stop at the end of the Alta Via 1

Comments

[D MJ Binkley]

Hiking Italy
Sorry you didn't have a triumphant end but it sounds and looks like this was a marvelous time even though you had some harsh and unsettling times. Amazing scenery.