ITALY Dolomites AV1 (Alta Via Uno) 2013.

First little taste of a via ferrata to warm us up.
I had landed in Venice the afternoon before from Tassie and caught the bus straight there (well, via Dobbiaco / Toblach), arriving just in time for the evening meal. I hadn’t made a booking, but it all worked out. Next morning, that of the day in question, I was up with the dawn to circumambulate the lake, just quietly absorbing everything before I set out. Now, with excitement tinged with apprehension – one reads rather scary stuff about via ferrata – I was paying my bill and about to set out.

Summit of Seekofel
I had gone about a hundred metres when I made my first friends: a group of four Israeli mums undertaking the trek in a child-free spree. They were busy photographing the lake using DSLR cameras like mine, so I’d already found some photo freaks to share my journey. We chatted and I left them to it, keen to be off. There’d be plenty of time to talk later. Right now, I was a girl on a mission, as I always am once my pack is on my back. I’m so excited to be underway I just have to keep moving. I’m not one of those nice restful types. Sorry.

The clouds part, giving us a view down to the lake where I began 1400 ms directly below. My new friends took this for me.
Half way up the mountain I met more people – some from Holland, and a Welsh girl – and a bit later, a couple from Ireland. We had conferences about which was the correct way to go, as the map and the terrain had decided to differ, which was rather confusing if you like reading maps as we all did. Way forward determined, we were off again, but aware now of each other on the journey, and happy about future chances to get to know each other more. We were all excited about the adventure we’d just begun, and the air of happy expectation was infectious.

Seekofel itself. A magic mountain.
On I continued, climbing with glee until I reached the saddle overlooking my hut for the night. Some people I’d met had opted for a hut further on, but it was lower than this one, and the huts I’d decided on when I made my copious plans were all the ones that were as high as possible. So, some of us stayed in the pass, which I reached by lunchtime (in less than two hours’ walking); others continued to a hut I’d pass the next morning. I used the afternoon to climb the mountain behind the hut, whose German name is Seekofel.

Unfortunately, as I climbed the clouds began to roll in, and there was even a spot of very local sleet, but despite the near white-out conditions, I kept going, and soon met two people who’d turned back because of the weather, but who then turned around once more since I offered them quasi company (they found it comforting to know that I was up there on the same mountain ahead of them; it’s nice to know you’re not entirely alone in weather like that. I liked knowing they were somewhere behind me, too). I stayed on top long enough to wait for them to share the summit and exchange photos and a chat. The completely sheer drop of 1400 metres, straight down to our lake of this morning, was pretty awesome – almost vertiginous. Exhilarated, I danced through the snow along the tops before descending using the via ferrata, which was quite unnecessary, but a great confidence booster for later.

Day 2: Monte Pelmo comes alive as the sun illuminates her upper zones

Day 2: the scene outside our rifugio. Eisengabel.
I descended, ate my breakfast, and departed on my way while the day was still fresh, but even so, there were many out ahead of me, which I like: I love to know that others appreciate these golden hours too. After about ten or ten thirty, the day gets too glary for my liking. I was enjoying myself, and sang while I first mildly descended for ten minutes, and then climbed about one contour over a small ridge that then dropped to the valley that contained the hut that I’d chosen not to stay at. It had already emptied. Again, I met happy people on the track and had fun times as we enjoyed that bit of scenery together before I moved on. I didn’t enjoy the final climb up to Rifugio Fannes, as by then the sun was too strong, and that part was on a dirt road not a path. In addition, there were lots of day trippers. I felt the odd one out amongst them, and settled down for lunch, eagerly scanning the horizon for the others who were doing AV1. I had now met everyone who was walking on my schedule. I missed them because of the “crowds” also there for lunch; I would have been much less lonely had I been alone. My spinach dumplings, hot chocolate and apple strudel with cream were delicious!!

The stream outside our back door.
That afternoon was gloriously relaxing, an admixture of reading out on the verandah, listening to the stream trickling past our lodgings, gazing up at the spectacular mountains surrounding us or across at the contented cows, a-chewing, a-mooing, to pass the time of day. Being a somewhat restless person, I punctuated reading with strolls through the pastures full of alpine flowers, and wandered around photographing cascading water. I love arriving early and then having the afternoon to explore or soak in the local environment before being required to move on the next day. By this stage of the journey, I had become part of a group of four, a subsection consisting of the Welsh girl, the Irish couple and me. We ate together that night, enjoying the fact that you could have food of such wonderful quality there in the middle of nowhere.

Day 3: dawn. 

Day 3. Dawn.
This day posed a bit of a problem for me, as when the others phoned our intended rifugio for the night to come, it said it was full. Libby (Wales) opted for the security of a bed, and hived off at some stage to sleep in the valley. She’d meet up with us the night after. Steph and Austen (IRE) were already booked in. I decided to take a gamble and see if my actual presence achieved anything. I’d need to get there early if I wanted this miracle, so opted for a pretty no-nonsense day that would optimise my chances. Anyway, it is my delight to travel quickly. I still stopped for photos and food breaks, or to meet new friends. This was the day I met Marian and Dani from Spain. Dani liked my style as I scooted up the pass singing, and photographed this strange apparition. We made friends later, as the incline changed at the top, and where I had caught Steph and Austen and was having a small break with them while I took in the view. We all descended at approximately the same speed, so kept together until it flattened out again. A snack together at the end of a flat section, and then it was time for me to go up the next pass, through the soft snow with small icy patches alone and try to ensure a sleeping space.

I had no problems at all securing a bed. In fact, I even had a bedroom to myself for a while, which is a bit of a luxury in these huts. The kind manager had put me in a room with my new friends. Steph had found  the possibilities for falling long distances on the snowy slopes to cause some disquiet; Marian felt happy at having overcome some obstacles; and I was elated at getting a bed, so the five of us, as we now were, had a kind of party to celebrate our various causes of joy – a second lunch or whatever, in which we bought food and put it in the centre of the table and enjoyed food and company and toasting the success of our mission thus far. It was a fabulous group of fun and interesting people, adventitiously formed, but gelling together very happily.

The view was absolutely magnificent, perched high as we were (Rifugio Lagazuoi, 2757 ms asl) like eagles in an eyrie. Dinner was delicious, and so was dessert quite possibly, but everyone ignored it, as sunset arrived just as the food did, and we all had our priorities on the outer environment. The hut emptied to the possible insult of the cook (but surely he’s used to it) and off we raced to get a good spot for the fiery red as it lit the snow and the majestic peaks that were our special demesne this night.

Day 3: Traversing AFTER the steep decent down the rockfasce.

Dawn Day 4

Descending from the hut
My afternoon tea that day was outstanding (had near the Cinque Torri at Rifugio Averau): truly delicious cake whose memory haunts me still (pastry, with layers of cointreau mousse alternating with almond creme patisserie). I need to return to that hut and experience dinner, sunset and sunrise from there. It had a great location, right next to some fabulous hunks of rock (the torri). However, as usual I wanted the very highest hut in the region, and that meant that I needed to proceed, stomach singing with delight in response to its contents, and do the final very quick haul to Rifugio Nuvolau, the least friendly hut on the route, with the least enjoyable food, and yet, if my memory serves me correctly, it was the most expensive. I hardly ate anything, despite having worked hard, as the prices were high, but my interest in what was offered was low. Luckily I’d had a great lunch and a delicious afternoon tea. I’d even had hot chocolate with a cream mountain on top, which felt rather indulgent at the time, but stood me in good stead when dinner was so meagre.

Me, courtesy Dani.

Towering rocks above our traverse. If you look carefully, you’ll see a climber.
Nuvolau has, however, what few can offer in terms of spectacular location, and despite how things may appear from this account, I think I was here to see the scenery rather than to eat. Sunset was predictably wonderful (you didn’t have to climb to see it, as you were perched at the very top of that subsection of the environment). Austen very kindly went out and took photos of the via ferrata for the next day. Libby had rejoined us by now, and she, Steph and Marian were all feeling a bit nervous about what the morrow would bring. This was to be our first bit of challenging via.

Day Five.
Here it was was: our first real via ferrata – but first, of course, there was yet another fabulous sunrise. I really was scoring well this trip. Breakfast was not worth writing about – except to say the calories were needed.

Rifugio Nuvolau in dawn light
I must admit that I looked over the edge – which presented itself as pure abyss – with a certain lack of courage, although I wouldn’t call it fear exactly. I was definitely NOT going to be dancing over that edge, that was for certain. I was subdued enough by its challenges to do the first bit without a pack in order to reassure myself, but, having done that, I’d tamed the lion and bounced back up to collect not only my own pack, but also those of Steph and Libby so they could do the hard part unhindered by a weight. Austen and Dani were both utterly accomplished climbers with an amazing list of interesting peaks that they’d conquered, so they were, of course, totally nonplussed. The photos Austen took in advance, showing the more anxious ones how it looked from below, had been of great help. We had slept well.

The via ferrata descends to the snow.

View looking across towards cinque torri. Finished the first of the via ferrata at this stage.

And now we’ve accomplished the second. The happy faces of Austen, Steph and Libby as they rest.
My memories for the rest of this day include crossing snow drifts, walking through a fascinating valley with mesolithic remnants (and lots of wonderful flowers), more fun climbing, having my pack eaten by a donkey and being told by a man who didn’t know a thing about who I was or where I’d come from or what I was doing that my pack was too big. I didn’t do him the courtesy of explaining that I was there from Tasmania for a month and that I actually needed every single item I’d brought. Perhaps I could have left the iPad behind, but it kept me in contact with my family, and meant that I could download my photos each night and do some preliminary deleting of shots that I didn’t like as much as other ones. That not only lessened my workload at the end of the trip, but also cleared room on my memory card, and gave me pleasure. Our little group was also greatly enjoying the nightly slideshow. I could have also theoretically had a smaller camera, but then my pleasure would not have been so great. I am intrigued by people who want to dictate to us how we should be human without knowing any of the reasons behind our actions.

Route for part of the afternoon
That night we celebrated again – getting there, and all getting a bed. Libby and I slept in the laundry, as technically, there was no more room at the inn. The owner was as hospitable as could be, and did all that he could to make the room warm and comfortable for us (rifugio citta di fiume).

We knew how to celebrate.
Day Six.
Comically my diary records this day that I was sick of apple strudel. I ate it every single time we hit an eating place down in a valley. I liked the fact that it was a little sweet (but not too much), filling, came with custard and had heaps of fruit. However, on this day it was a case of enough is enough. The others laughed at me, having already wondered how anyone could eat so very much of the stuff.

The view at lunchtime (Rif Coldai)
This day we played our normal game of split and join, most of us meeting up for lunch at a wonderful rifugio almost at the top of an interesting climb. Libby was doing her own thing and going more slowly, taking lots of photos of wildflowers, which were numerous and interesting in this area.

Me in the pass after lunch (thanks Dani)

Looking down at the lake from the pass (Lago Coldai)
After photographing the lake the other side of the pass with its magic, teal waters, and negotiating more snow we all did the final climb to Rifugio Tissi and settled in to our room. The sky grew dark and threatening. Still no Libby. We became anxious on her behalf, and especially so when it began to hail. Every few moments we went to the window to see if there was any sign of her. The hail was monumental, hurling itself down furiously. And at last Libby appeared, legs red and dotted from the ice fusillade, clothes drenched, with a huge smile on her face. Once more celebration was in order, and we were getting very good at that.

Marian negotiates the next bit of snow
Any other person seeing that night’s post-storm sunset would have marvelled at its colour and magnificence. Being shockingly spoiled now, we only graded it as mediocre, but I photographed it nonetheless. It was fun to stand around and watch what we could see and talk anyway.

Sunset at Rifugio Tissi

Day Seven.

This was a very sad day, as it marked the probable disbandment of our little group. Steph’s knee was hurting, and she was unsure about whether she could continue much further. She’d set out, but may not get far. We had a “one in all in” attitude by now, so when she announced at Rifugio Vazzoler, a mere one and a half hours down the track, that she needed to stop, we all did. Besides: the most delicious smells imaginable were issuing out of the kitchen. Time to hang around and do some more serious eating.

We had morning tea and lunch and I started to feel both full and restless. While the others enjoyed the feeling of these temporary quarters and read and chatted outside, I went for a run in the surrounding mountains to quieten the little beastie within. Up the path and over the fields I gambolled, wild and free, until halted by an almighty thunderstorm, in which the rain was so thick and strong that you couldn’t see or hear. I ran to the nearest farmhouse and sheltered under an awning.

Rifugio Tissi
An ancient, traditionally dressed Oma came out and asked me what I was doing. Luckily I speak German, so we could communicate. I explained, and her response was to bring me inside, show me how to make cheese, indicating to me all the various stages as she had them in her outbuilding. There followed a cup of tea with some cheese tasting, by which time the rain had eased and I could continue. I was really glad we’d stopped at Vazzoler to enable this little sample of local life.

Austen in action. He was a fabulous climber.

Steph knew by now she was “doomed”. We rather sombrely walked down the path through the forest, rocky slabs towering above, out of our rifugio, knowing that this small stretch before the next track fork was our last together. Perhaps we would never meet again. It had been so grand, and we did not want this abrupt change to plans, but you can’t proceed through terrain like that with an injured knee, so they were doing what was necessary.

Last walk down the path together (thanks Dani)

Byee. (Thanks Steph)
After our fond farewells, we went up, they down, and on we went, up, down, up, down and along to a rifugio that I really liked the look of – Rifugio Carestiato – but unfortunately it was fully booked for that night, so we had to descend to the valley, to Passo Duran: first time this trip. There were two possibilities down there. We chose the one that looked most likely to give us a good breakfast and to have just the right kind of shower. All of a sudden, we developed a taste for fluffy towels. It all worked out well.

Passo Duran. Our stopping point for the night.

Dani and Marian (I never said it was an alcohol-free trip).

We arrived at this rifugio too early for lunch, but we didn’t let a little thing like that stop us eating. We had morning cake whilst waiting for midday so we could order something savoury. YUM. It was the best lunch of the whole AV1. Libby would stay there that night to further sample their wares, but the day was not looking good by this stage, so we quickly parted and off our little reduced group of three went, into the mist and snow to see what we could see.

Marian
Horrors. The first bit was fine, and we climbed with no problems. I started to be very glad of company. The grey all around us suited my mood but did not suit my need for confidence. The book had given too many dire warnings. I met some Germans who seemed to want to latch on to me. They appeared uncertain about navigation. Meanwhile, I was low in confidence about the execution of what I knew to be the route, so appreciated having the extra human contact. The drop off to the side became perilous, but there was nothing at all to hold on to, and the snow did not seem worth trusting. I lost it when I came to a spot where it was obvious the snow had caved in at that point. I did not dare put my foot in it lest I then fell a few hundred metres (I was leading). However, above the snow was wet, slimy grass and again, not a thing to hold on to for security. I chose the grass but was (sorry) at tear point at this stage. The others didn’t know that, as they were behind, so I could present a confident enough pose for Marian who did not need someone panicking ahead of her. She was at the limits of her own freakout borders  without my making anything worse. At last we hit an officially exposed bit. I found it fine – there was rock to cling to, so up I went happily, but I was really, really hoping this was the top and that we could now descend. It wasn’t.

The two black dots nearly at the top of the snow to the right of centre are Marian and Dani
I was absolutely fine on the rock, trusting it, but not at all fine with being required to traverse narrow ledges of soft snow with a monster drop off to the side. At one stage I just sat on the ground. I needed to collect myself before daring the next bit. Dani looked shocked. I think he was disappointed in me, some role model of female audacity, but I am just me, very normal, with a crack point like anyone else. Anyway, I got over it. I just needed 20 seconds or so time out to gather myself before continuing. This next part was indeed the last of the climb, and we were soon enough descending into possibly the most wonderful valley of the whole AV1, utterly larded with flowers of every form and colour: a wonderful feast of form and hue, and especially wonderful given the angst that preceded it. Dani, like me, loved photography and flowers. We both descended in pure heaven, clicking away. Later that night over dinner we’d compare our catches as usual.