Tag: hiking

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ITALY Dolomites AV1 (alta via uno) 2015 (+Tre Cime)

Day 1. Pre-dawn tranquility, Lago di braies / Pragserwildsee.

The bus neared the grand old Hotel Lago di Braies, the start of the AV1, the place I had been looking forward to sharing with my husband since the first time I stayed there two years ago. That first time, I had been full of uncertainties. This time, I knew what lay ahead and was sharing it with Bruce, hoping he would enjoy it. It is sometimes scary returning to a place once loved: I get fearful that the present actuality won’t match my fond memories; that it will fail me the second time around and somehow, in that failure, mar the aura created by the initial memories as well. I thus had a mixture of apprehension and excitement as we grabbed our packs and headed for the entrance. If nothing else, here was the last time for a while that we would have a room for just the two of us, and the final decent shower for an unknown number of days to come.

Same

In order to fully appreciate what the hotel had to offer, we chose a room with a balcony overlooking the lake with its reflecting waters of an entrancing colour – its quaint wooden boat shed protruding over the bobbing wooden dinghies to our left – the gardens in front, and the tiny chapel to our right. The scene needed some ladies and gents in Romantic Era clothing. We spent a long time both before and after nightfall just staring at this view.

Day 1. The next morning, it was time to test out this route, 2015 edition. It begins with a big climb, up into the mountains at the end of the lake. As with last time I did it, there were plenty of people on the track, all heading in the same direction (both day walkers and AV1ers), so I was free to go at my own “happy pace”, lost in my own little world of thought. Bruce and the girl who was with us were perfectly capable of finding the route without me, and I am used to climbing solo in the Alps. It’s our habit to reunite at the top. It was a hot day – a perfect day for using the climb as a good workout and climbing quickly to finish it before the day got any worse. I used my early arrival to debate our case for a bed in the full hut. We were given our own quarters in a little barn, removed a bit from the hut – perfect. There was no toilet or shower, but we’re used to tenting; this was luxury. I loved the view, and we kept the door open to maximise it.

(Day 1, close). Looking at the real hut from our little barn

The day was a hazy sort of day that wasn’t going to offer any fine vistas from the top of Seekofel, but I hadn’t done enough work for the day, so climbed it anyway just for the workout value. I didn’t take any photos, so could have saved myself the weight of my camera. Even in the haze, the view down to 1400 ms below, to the diminished lake and hotel where we had been that morning, was impressive.

Day 2. I had intended us to stay at Rifugio Fanes, but when a call was put through on our behalf, they said it was full, so we went to Lavarelle instead, and it turned out to be nicer anyway. The food was brilliant, there was a beautiful lake for Bruce to swim in once he’d arrived, and a plethora of wonderful streams to explore once the day had lost its sting.

Day 2, shortly after leaving Seekofelhuette / Rifugio Bielle. 

This day was another scorcher, so I’m afraid I belted it out like the previous day, getting my homework done before lunchtime so I could enjoy relaxing at the hut and dipping my legs in the lake. (The water was too cold for me to swim. Shrieks from a different beach indicated that others shared my opinion. Even Bruce didn’t last very long in the tempting waters). The odd combination of solo and company that resulted from our different speeds pleased me, as without the other two, I got to converse with new friends in German before I was required to use English once more. I also got some reading done, satisfying my love of reading in mountain locations.

(Day 2). Bruce having an enjoyable freeze down at the end of a scorching climb; Lavarelle.

One of the many streams to explore near Rifugio Lavarelle (end day 2).

Day 3 was a longer day, culminating in a protracted climb up to the highly perched Rifugio Lagazuoi, a fabulously situated refuge. The first section is benign enough, involving green vistas and flowers, followed by a medium-length climb to a different col, a short, very steep descent over the other side, a traverse along a scree slope with huge towering, shapely rocky hunks above, and finally, just when the day has reached its hottest, the long climb to the rifugio. Once more, with the day that hot and with there being too much glare for photos, I just knocked it off quickly so as to enjoy being there. For the third day in a row, no photos were taken after about 9 a.m.. I like walking quickly in the Alps anyway, and when it’s hot, I love relaxing at our destination and soaking in the view, waiting for day-trippers to disappear and for the sun to assume its more golden hues as the shadows lengthen. Sunset at this height is always an event to look forward to.

Trying to cool down at a stream early in the day on day 3.

Day 4 involved, of necessity when you’ve just spent the night very high indeed, a marked drop to the valley floor way, way below. There happens to be a téléphérique operating from near this hut, so I suggested that Bruce, who has never been a purist when doing these walks, take the easy way down, which would save his knees and give him a rest. He liked that idea, and went down with a family we had befriended. They would all walk up to the next hut where we would be together once more.

A scene taken during the drop to the valley floor after Rifugio Lagazuoi (Day 4)

Yet again, it was an extremely hot day, and one that didn’t offer much photographically due to the glare and slight heat haze. I repeated the no-fuss, no-delay approach of the other days. I also knew that our next rifugio, Avarau, had the best food of any mountain hut I know. I was keen to have both lunch and dinner there to maximise the quantity of food sampled from this great chef. His liqueur cakes are very special, but his pasta is out of this world. We had cakes, then lunch, then divine pannacottas and the best dinner of the holiday. In between all that eating, if I was still capable of getting up any slopes, I had planned to climb the mountain from which the refuge gets its name. However, at long last all these days of extreme heat produced a hefty storm, and no climbing could be done, so we ate some more. I didn’t even get to explore the interesting rocky formations below, of the cinque torri; the storm beat me to it.

Dawn, day 5. The cloud lingered, to float around the biggest of the Torri. I loved it.

Day 5. Time was running out on our Italian section of the trip and we would soon be flying to Manchester. The person with us really wanted to see the Drei Zinnen (tre cime), so we had agreed to terminate AV1 on this day and begin a different trek further east that would take us to these shapely and dramatic monsters. We dropped down from the refuge, exploring the five chimneys en passant, descending through a beautiful, shady forest replete with wildflowers, and dropping eventually to the road, where we caught a bus to Cortina and another further north to a point I had selected that would enable us to reach our new goal if we walked east and climbed a huge amount for a few hours.

Flowers on the descent from Avarau
After the cosy, friendly huts of the AV1, this one, on the AV6, felt very touristy and strange, but it satisfied a need for us (and the many others who want to see these rocks at sunset), and we were given a bed in another barn, which felt much nearer to our style than the main hut. Another storm was brewing. We could barely see our barn through the thick mist, which helped lend the place some of the atmosphere that it otherwise lacked for us. The paparazzi came out in force both nights we were there. It was almost comical.
Our barn (shared with many) and moody skies over the Paternkofel – far more atmospheric than the giant hut efficiently churning out meals for the hordes. (Day 5, close)
 
Dawn exploring, day 6

Day 6. This day, which we had left free for exploring, was brilliant. Whilst taking sunrise photos, Bruce and I happened on some tunnels that delighted us. We explored them, and decided we wanted to devote more time to this after breakfast. Off we set, not having a clue what lay ahead or how far we’d manage to get. Bruce got quite high, but called it a day when the drop-offs became a bit daring. I was a little unnerved, especially as everyone other than our party had the full via ferrata gear (helmets, karabiners, special rope) but D was also willing to keep going, so up we went. When we got to the final stage of the climb up Paternkofel we decided we needed to be clipped in, so climbed the neighbouring knob that was less dangerous instead. Even this was high, with an element of risk, so we were both elated as we stood on the summit. It was exhilarating.

More dawn day 6 exploration
On our summit
In the afternoon we climbed a different tower of smaller dimensions, and Bruce was able to climb that one with us. We used our day well, and I also did a kind of circuit around some other mountains. We all explored the lake below us. There is plenty to do in this area, and I want to return with hired ferrata equipment and do a whole lot more next time. The Drei Zinnen used to be the Italian-Austrian border (it is still the linguistic border), and has a great deal of historical interest (as did the Cinque Torri and the area around Rifugio Lagazuoi). It is shocking and amazing to look at a scene so spectacularly beautiful and try to imagine soldiers fighting for their lives in the same spot. My daughter and I explored some of the soldiers’ tunnels when we were here in another life to race up the paths.
 
The Drei Zinnen (Tre Cime) – waiting for sunset.

Day 7. Exit. Always sad, but I like to leave an area wanting to do more. We had beautiful weather for our departure, and waved a reluctant goodbye to the three chimneys. For me, this was one of many goodbyes to these rocks, as I used to race in this area. They are old friends with many happy memories attached. I’ll be back.

The object of our quest: die drew Zinnen or Tre Cime.

 

Dawn from the hut
Paternkofel (we climbed the bump next to the summit) and our lodgings
Farewell Dolomites. Early light as we bid goodbye.
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Lady Barron Falls 2015 Aug

Lady Barron Falls 2015 August.


The day we visited Lady Barron Falls, the river was in flood, so the flow was monstrous – almost too big, as its enormity obliterated many of the interesting rock details one normally sees (and its volume created a spray that hard to keep away from the camera lens.


If you want to read the rest of what we did that weekend, turn to http://www.natureloverswalks.com/collins-cap/

My diary records that my husband and I took twenty minutes in each direction. We parked the car at the topmost intersection between the track and the road (centre top below), and just walked in, almost on contour, from there, as we were in a bit of a hurry, having “wasted” a lot of time playing in the snow, and darkness was approaching. (Since when is playing in the snow a waste of time? You know what I mean.)

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FRANCE GR5 2015 Chamonix to Modane.

Scene from the Refuge de la Croix du Bonhomme (Day 1, evening)

Itinerary. 
I want to write stories, giving you an idea of life on one of these trails rather than a day by day account of where I went, and I have done that below the itinerary that follows. However, I know that I have found other people’s itineraries helpful when planning, so I will give you mine before I paint my pictures. My route is not the official GR5, as the exceptionally helpful assistant in the visitors’ centre at the entry to the Vanoise National Park advised that GR55 was nicer than GR5, and that the route she then offered was even nicer  – she said to stick as high as it’s possible to do whilst traversing the park; this would be challenging but worth it. How right she was! In my mind, I kept offering her thanks as each new delight was exposed. You’ll need a good map to convert what I say to a route – but trying to do the GR5 without one would be madness. I carried both paper maps (IGN’s Carte de randonees 1, 2 and 3 [1:50,000] and the randoneur’s “Bible”, the official GR5 book in French that contains maps, a route description, and expected splits so you can plan your stages appropriately.


Along the route next morning, day 2.
Schedule:
Day 1. 19 July Chamonix to Les Contamines by public transport, having already walked this section last time, and thence to the refuge du Croix du Bonhomme. (3 hrs 11 mins). The public transport part took a very long time indeed, so we didn’t get started until around 3pm, so we had to push it hard to make it to the refuge in time to order dinner. After a yummy cake on arrival, we had a delicious dinner of pea soup, then Boeuf Bourginion with cheesy polenta, and choc cake for desert. At last my hunger was appeased.
Day 2. 20 July Refuge du Croix du Bonhomme to refuge de la Balme (5 hrs 37 walking). This day was was not of any particular photographic merit until the mid afternoon, when near the hut, when it became photographically splendid. My lens, however, was dirty, and I got too much flare. I have to go back to do this place justice. The food here was also wonderful, and going back will not be any kind of hardship. For dinner we had nettle soup (yum), penne carbonara and a delicious cake that was so good I got the recipe, but it was so rich (I realised, once I had read the ingredients), I have been reluctant to make it. 
Day 3. 21 July Refuge de la Balme to refuge Pont de Rosuel. This was an exhaustingly hot day. I’ve never felt the heat so badly, but the river was too cold for swimming. Rested in the shade for several hours, as walking was impossible in that heat.
This was not a photographically appealing day at all. I took two images, neither of which was good, but the exercise got us into the fabulous Parc de la Vanoise. The refuge was modern and very comfortable, with excellent food and good books to browse through.

Day 4, the Refuge du Col de Palet as seen from above and beyond on my route to climb other things in the area after arrival.
Day 4. 22 July Refuge Pont de Rosuel to refuge du Col de Palet. This was an annoyingly short day – I was there by 10 a.m. – but I had agreed to stop here.
After I secured my bed, I climbed Point de Palet and other interesting lumps and bumps before descending for lunch, by which time the glorious day had clouded right over. I met a lovely man on the mountain, and we came back down singing together. His wife, sitting down there waiting for him, had fun listening. I joined them for lunch.


Day 4: the Point de Palet – a fun little climb.
Day 5, 23 July Refuge du Col de Palet to Refuge de la Leisse – possibly even more annoyingly short; I was getting restless, but I wanted to spend a night at each of these wonderful, high locations. I was disturbingly near the end of my book. This refuge was also a family farm, so I had fun observing the way it worked.


Evening scene at Refuge de la Leisse. Day 5


This is the refuge that evening, and please don’t accuse me of overcooking my image. The sky really was like that, and I was delighted to see it on my screen after taking it. On the computer, however, it seems as if I’ve just been turning on some red function.
Long after that colour and deep into the night, my new friend, Mathilde and I watched the stars come out. It was such a wonderful evening, and great to share it with her.
Day 6. 24 July Refuge de la Leisse to the refuge Col de Vanoise. This, too, was a very short day – only 2 hrs 15 – but this col was so beautiful the time there was well spent. This was maybe my favourite refuge, but they were all so lovely it’s hard to be sure.

Leaving the valley below the refuge.


Nearing the Col de la Vanoise


Flowers everywhere


This photo took over an hour in the making. I had to lie down in the pasture, pretending to be a blade of grass and being exceptionally still and quiet, hoping a marmot would come by, lured by the smell of a crust of bread I had placed there. I think this one is very old, as he was silly enough to be fooled. This is not a zoom lens – quite the opposite. We were up close and cuddly.


In the evening, we had a truly fabulous storm. Oh boy was I glad of the comfort, security and safety of the hut! It was a really wild one. After it had finished, shafts of light would break through the clouds to light up sections of the mountains. There was a lot of damage done by this deluge, and several bridges collapsed, inter alia. My route for the morrow became impossible.


Day 7. 25 July Refuge Col de Vanoise to Refuge de la Valette. This was possibly also, normally, a short day, but I turned it into a 4 hrs 15 one by dropping and rising 1400 ms extra – not to be silly, but because the bridge on my chosen route had been washed away in the storm. I had to go right down to the valley floor and rise up again, as this was the only way of safely crossing the very flooded stream. Even that route on this day was full of hazards. When I say “flood”, I really mean it: it was exciting.

Mist on arrival

Sunset that night
Day 8. 26 July Refuge de la Valette to Refuge de Fond d’Aussois. I had been warned often that this day was hard and long and confusing, and that I may not make it. It was harder and longer than any of the other days, and certainly had its confusions, but the ten hours on the trail I had been promised was five hours fifteen in reality, so bear in mind that the parameters for this day probably lie somewhere in between these times. Julian took even less time than I did (which would have been less again had he not got lost). Two other guys maintain it took ten hours of consistently strong “marching”, with only a single twenty minute break for lunch. Choose your own time.


Julien leaves, nice and early, I was not quite that organised.


Friendly day-trippers I met along the way. These people come up from the valley floor.


Day 9. 27 July Final day. Refuge de Fond d’Aussois to Modane, and then bus and train back to Chamonix in time for a celebration dinner. My photos from this day are record shots only.

First Story. “Refuge de la Leisse”
I round the corner, knowing from the elapsed time on my watch that I should see the refuge where I’ll spend the night around this bend: the place of my fate and fortune for the next twenty hours. There it is, perched on the hillside. Having never researched these refuges beforehand, I always have an element of surprise on arrival, and, because of that, excitement. Will it be comfy or crowded? Will the people be friendly or aloof? I am greeted by three teenagers, eager to help the family business and obliging with attempts at English when my meagre French doesn’t quite convey my meaning. They break off carting food to the two horses to show me around.
In the Col

Combining our best efforts we manage to communicate. I am shown a tiny wooden building (outhouse dimensions) which is my shower should I require it. It has cold water, and is free, the boy proudly tells me. Below me is an equally tiny shed, a toilet apparently, which I will need to walk to during the night should I need it. For exactly this purpose I carry a headtorch. I’m fine.
The sleeping room, which contains an inordinate number of bunks smashed in on top of each other, is also wooden, and is very dark. The only light comes from a hole in the door at the far end. I am told that the darkest bed, bed number 48, is mine. I say I don’t like it; can’t I choose? I want light. He says people don’t choose. I ask why not and he can’t think of a good reason other than that’s the way it’s done, and, realising that is not an adequate justification for anything, acquiesces, and lets me have my bed near the light.

Leaving the refuge at the Col Vanoise (day 7).
Outside, the family is back, attending to the horses; an array of hens and chickens cluck around me as I plomp myself at a table in the sun. Ducks are dozing in the shade of the Salle à manger. I am in a verdant green bowl of grass and flowers, encircled by towering eroded mountains; there is a stream far below, which I intend to explore later, but the wildflowers have a greater claim on my attention. Clouds are gathering around the tops; we may have another storm this afternoon (which will once more ruin my chance of a beautiful sunset to photograph). The wind is picking up force, so I think I’m right.
While I sat with the dirty dish of my crêpe au fromage et jambon before me, staring at the peaceful scene, two parties of walkers from last night’s hut came through. We greeted each other but also said farewell, as they are going further. I have played hare and tortoise with these friendly people who have dubbed me The Singing One “celui qui chante”. They are lovely, but now our paths have parted, which is always the sad but eventual way of the mountains.

Arriving at the Refuge de la Valette (day 7)
 ……
It is time to explore the stream and flowers and to photograph before this storm breaks. Even in the time it has taken to type this, the clouds have taken on a much more defined shape and colour. Also, since sitting here in a random couch placed out in the sun, conveniently positioned to give me a vista of the valley, I was offered dessert, and ordered and ate the standby sweet of the savoie and haute savoie: fromage blanc aux myrtilles. This one was not as good as the norm, but the myrtilles are the nearest thing I’m going to be offered to fruit in a region where fruit and vegetables need to arrive either by donkey (the most common method) or by helicopter (prohibitively expensive). Right now I am hearing the teenagers giving the four walkers who have just entered the same spiel I got. These are no disenchanted, alienated, anomy-specialists here, but a contributing part of the family, and exercising their responsibility as such with élan. 

…..
Now it is several hours later. The tiny hut is filling up to an alarming degree as walkers continue to trickle in from the variety of possible directions, some looking fresh, others exhausted. Ones I recognise from previous huts greet me and we exchange stories of the route. Others, travelling in reverse directions to ours, tell us of what is to come. 

Morning breaks at la Valette

…..
After dinner, there was not much time before sunset. I couldn’t see many possibilities for a good shot, so just climbed a hill to sit in a hollow out of the wind and watch whatever was going to happen, without any particular photographic ideas in mind. Luckily for me, when drama began, I discovered I had pleasing foreground interest, and was satisfied with my results. I returned to the hut, thinking everything was finished, only to discover that the sky behind the refuge was turning pink. I looked at my result on the screen and let out a whoop of joy. Others from the hut came scurrying up to me. “Montrez- moi s’il vous plait”. Suddenly I had new friends. It was all too beautiful to go to bed. The others turned in, but Mathilde and I stood there together as the sickle moon and stars became brighter and the sky turned to ink. The moisture in the air condensed to clouds in the valley below.
Uncharacteristically, I needed the toilet twice during the night. The first time was at midnight. To my amazement, the clouds had risen, and mist enfolded me as I mooched my way over the terrain to the tiny building that served my needs. At 4 a.m., on the other hand, the clouds had gone, the moon had sunk just below the horizon, leaving a mild glow as residue, and the stars were shining. The mountains around were dark silhouettes in the sparkler sky. I stood on the balcony, leaning on the railing, admiring.

Soon enough after leaving next day, I caught three friends whose route had run parallel to mine for a while, but now it was time to say a sad goodbye. Our paths would diverge forever around the next corner. Life in the mountains is full of these warming yet temporary meetings of kindred spirits. We gave the standard French double kiss and bid farewell, each promising to write. Parting is always such sweet sorrow, a microcosm of life. On I continued alone, in song, rising up to the next Col where I would be greeted by plentiful flowers, a quiet, rippling stream and countless marmots.
In fact, as it turned out, our paths did cross one last time. In the Col, I decided to climb an extra little something off to the side. On my return, I found a little bunch of flowers attached to my pack. I knew the donors. When I passed them for the really last time, we hugged warmly. It’s amazing how small gestures can fill you with such a glowing feeling of human connectedness. Bring on the next hut.

Second Story. Last full day.
I look out the refuge window – another huge one – and watch the colourful ants (daytrippers) scurrying in busy lines, disappearing down the valley to the towns way below, and as I watch I reflect on another wonderful day – beginning with a wonderful sunrise and clear skies. For the first three and a quarter hours, I descended, traversed and then climbed again, on a path with fabulous views – a narrow path, kind of contouring and dropping in turn along a steep spur. Even more dominating in my thoughts were the myriad clear, cascading streams and the multiplicity of flowers. It was very green and colourful.
Today was typical of randoneur life. I had made new friends sharing dinner the night before, but had to leave them as our routes diverged. Julian, whom I had met yesterday, and I were the only ones doing our route, and he had left before me, promising to write. I set out alone. A few hundred metres along my way, however, I heard my name being called, but decided I couldn’t be hearing that, or that some other Louise was being summoned. Eventually I turned around. There outside the dortoir was the artist I’d had dinner with, calling to wish me a happy day as I departed. I waved and with a smile continued past “marmot rock”. The drop to the valley was monstrous: rocky shapes stood out in stark relief. The sun blessed the tops of the surrounding mountains with its warmth and light. The plants I passed were frozen. I wondered if Julian had noticed.
An hour or so passed by – during which time I had actually seen Julian, he’d made a wrong turn in a very confusing section, and was now hurrying along to make up lost time.
Before I say this next bit, I must stress that we were in a highly remote area of a foreign national park, and that I had now farewelled every friend I had made, all of whom were heading in different directions to me. It was now time to climb the Col d’Aussois, which undertaking the sign said would take 2.5 hours. Given how hot and now tired I was, I couldn’t count on my usual trick of halving the numbers.
Up I went. There ahead was a colourful group, snacking on a rock. There was a man waving at me. Yes, I know this group. “Bonjour encore, encore, encore,” I called, and they called the same back (the multiple encores being a joke we shared, as I kept passing them , but then stopping to climb an extra this or that, and so passing them again). I very willingly shed my pack to tighten my plait and chat with them, and work out how on earth it was we were seeing one another again.
Up I climbed again, lost in a world of rock and heat and sweat, moiling my way up the steep slope. “Louise,” I hear yet again. This is getting funny. Again I ignore it. The call cannot be for me. Louder it comes and repeated. There is Mathilde, farewelled several days ago after the cute refuge de la Leisse. She was coming down while I ascended. We greeted with hugs and kisses, and once more sloughed off our packs to chat for a while and catch up on each other’s story of the journey, our individual pilgrimages south.
Off I set again, and at last the col was reached. It seemed to be the longest and steepest so far, but maybe it was just the heat of the day that gave that impression. I dumped the pack by the cairn in the pass and set off to climb to the Observation Point, a rocky spire that looked about ten minutes away. This was a real climb, and there were endless possible ways to “attack” it. Yet again, I hear “Louise” called. Yet again I ignore it. Yet again it is called repeatedly with increasing loudness. It was Julian. Unbelievable. What was he doing here? He explained. We chatted and then separated for the final time.
The rest of the journey was fairly quickly dispensed with – a steep descent lasting an hour that brought me to my chosen refuge for the night. Now I am sitting by the window smelling fabulous smells as the friendly staff members prepare dinner. If the rhubarb tart I had on arrival is any indication, it should be a memorable meal, which is fitting. Tonight is my last night of this (for me) three-stage journey from the north to the south of France on foot (GR5). How sad.

 

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ITALY Dolomites AV2 (Alta Via duo) 2015

AV2 July 2015
AV2 is more demanding than its more easterly and popular sibling, the AV1. As my husband has had Parkinson’s disease since 2002 – an illness that robs its victim of full coordination and spatial awareness – I never originally intended bringing him on the AV2, but trying to please more people than just us, I agreed to do it with an acquaintance at the start of our European trip, which meant he would be there. As usual, I had masses of Plan Bs up my sleeve in case my husband should find it too hard.
Day 1. Excitedly we set out from Bressanone in the northern Dolomites, heading for the first hut on the route, the Plosenhütte (or Rifugio di Plosen in Italian, the second language for the region). I was on holidays, and for me, holidays mean freedom: freedom from set plans and bookings, and the release to walk at my own “happy pace”, which doesn’t seem to cooincide with anyone else’s happy pace, but I like climbing by myself and singing; it’s what I’m used to, and the way Bruce and I always operate in Europe. He knows I’ll wait for him at any significant spots. I felt so very happy to be here at last, walking in the mountains. Hopefully everything would turn out well. 

Afternoon Day 1. Staring across to the Afener Odel Gruppe that we were about to climb over 
By lunchtime at Plosenhütte, we’d done the first stage of AV2 and were about to do the second – not a bad effort for a man with indifferent health who had stepped off the plane from Tasmania the previous night. First, however, it was time to taste of the delicious wares the menu had to offer.

Evening Day 1. Nearing Schlütterhütte for our first night Day 1
It was grand to be there with vistas all around. The forest had smelled wonderful en route, and I was already enjoying the alpine flowers. I was totally in my groove climbing; the regularity of my steps clears my mind in an almost hypnotic way, just like the regular plash, plash of arms through the water used to do when I did swimming training. Exercise is one of the most peaceful and relaxing things I ever do. Meanwhile, Bruce and D had not been too far behind. The world was good. Way in the distance, our next pass was visible; I pointed out the afternoon’s goal to the other two, just so they didn’t relax into lethargy in the glorious sunshine and in the feeling of elation created by this lunch spot.

The scene along the tops was “sound of music” territory: open mountain slopes, easy walking until our compulsory descent, wonderful shapes and peaks and lighting all around. I had already done the official route and felt it could be improved by staying higher longer. The total loss and gain in altitude would even be reduced with this self-made variant. All three of us loved the route that resulted. Eventually, however, we had to do the necessary and drop down off our own mountain Gruppe, cross the stream in the valley below, and climb the pass that took us to the other side of the Afener Odel that we had been staring at since lunchtime.
Time was ticking by, and I was getting worried about our chances of securing lodging for the night (and, me being me, more importantly, of making sure we weren’t going to be too late for ordering dinner, normally 6pm). I wasn’t going to enjoy things any more until I knew for sure we’d get three places. The others agreed that I would climb speedily ahead, score the beds and food, and then come backwards. It was lucky I didn’t wait for them in the pass as I would normally do, as I had to do a fair bit of debating to convince the hut manager to take us in when they were already overflowing. Our beds were matresses on the floor in the corridor en route to the toilet, but that didn’t matter. Successful in my mission, I was then free to go back along the track, convey the good news and enjoy the now golden hues of the light as it gave definition to the peaks around and highlighted the colours in the grass and flowers. My husband had done two days of the AV2 straight off the plane. Everything was working out superbly.

Scene from the variant on day 2

Day 2 brought another variant to the main route, this one not invented by me. Having already done the official route, which I knew was too demanding for a man with coordination problems and vertigo, I opted for the longer, safer official variant that would add an extra day to our journey. It was beautiful, and enjoyable for me to see some new scenery.

Climbing a via ferrata, day 2

Even this route, however, was not without its challenges, and I feared even this would overtax my husband. However, slowly yet miraculously, he coped with drop-offs to the side way below ones that I expected greatly exceeded his tolerance levels. At one point we passed a school group all wearing helmets (I hoped he wasn’t noticing the helmets). This queue then followed us up the first of his via ferratas. I think it helped him to be thus sandwiched in. They sweetly congratulated him at the top and we left them behind as we eagerly forged ahead to a late lunch at Rifugio Troier that we could see below. D won on the menu here with the most delicious penne cacciatore, hot in its cooking pan. I had shocking food envy, although my own lunch was also very tasty.
It was only a very short stretch from here to Ravensburgerhütte (/ Rifugio Firenze) where we were greeted by cows, and where we had time to relax, wash clothes and eplore a bit before dinner. I had a superb plate of mixed forest fungi cooked in butter, followed by delicious apple strudel – a meal that turned out to be one of the best we’d have on the AV2.
Day 3 began with a glorious dawn, giving fire to the mountain, as below.

Glorious sunrise from the Regensburgerhütte (Rifugio Firenze). on Day 3.
After a fabulous breakfast (complete with real and multiple cappuccinos – rare for a hut), we set out up the beauiful valley, ever approaching the pass for today. Had I known in advance how difficult this was, I would never have brought Bruce, but sometimes ignorance is an advantage (in this case, for both of us).

Early morning light before we set out. Day 3
Once more, inching his way through the tricky bits, he made it to the pass itself, and then suggested a rest, possibly more from fear than physical exertion.

Climbing the via ferrata on the menu for day 3.

However, I didn’t want him to rest until the worst was behind him, so pointed to a high bit we had yet to reach, and said we’d rest there, not realising how exposed the next ten minutes would be for him on a via ferrata with narrow shelf and big drops, with maximum penalty for failure – but it was too late to back out now. He said he was OK, so I went a smidgeon ahead and talked him through the challenging parts, reminding him to only look at the next step ahead and the steel coil.
Relaxing on top with an Italian couple decked in helmets, karibiners and slings, I evaded Bruce’s questions about the following section.
“Where were we going next?”
“Oh, somewhere over there,” I swung my arm in a broad arc that happened to include the next part, but also encompassed many gentler possibilities. I could see the thin band on the steep scree slope that constituted our next move. No point in evoking panic ahead of time.
We left the Italians behind and forged on to the next hut, with Bruce once more mastering his justifiable fear. He was dropping badly behind at this stage, and as I walked and saw the distance between us increasing, I made the decision to call it quits at the hut we would arrive at before lunch. I booked us three beds on arrival.

After lunch, I climbed this while the others slept. There’s always plenty to do in the afternoons.

Bruce’s face at lunch was spent, but showed definite delight when I announced the new plan. After lunch, probably more emotionally than physically exhausted, he slept and I climbed some extra mountains. D did a combination. He was even relaxed enough next morning to come climbing with me for sunrise photos. I was stunned that he’d made it here to Rifugio Puez.

Sunrise next day (Day 4)
Day 4. As I predicted, with the trickiest via ferratas of this section mastered with aplomb, the passes for the first half of this day presented no problems at all, and we could all relax and enjoy the drama of the rocky shapes that guard the entry to the wonderful Passo Gardena, full of flowers as its name suggests.
 
Off Bruce sets for a much easier day 4



On the way down to Val Gardena
However, as we neared the pass, I decided Bruce needed a break from extreme fear, and I knew the next section was very technical. I would have enormous fun, but I knew it would terrify him if he attempted it. Thus, while we ate apple strudel in the pass, I suggested he take a bus to Passo Pordoi and stay the night at the fabulous Hotel Col di Lana (where the staff took solicitous care of him and fed him like a prince), while we went up high. We would join him the next day.
We saw him off on the bus, and then began the hugely fun climb using the via ferrata, up to Rifugio Pisciadu, nice and high.  Scaling those cliffs was possibly my favourite part of the route.

    
Near Rifugio Pisciadu, afternoon of day 4.
I arrived at Rifugio Pisciadu at the top of the climb hungry and very ready for the delicious lunch I was served. I was surrounded by snow and ice and huge rocky pylons. I was in love, and had fun, as usual, exploring my surroundings as friends dribbled into the hut. My Norwegian friends even went swimming amongst the mini icebergs. It was too glary for photography, so I mostly chatted and read, waiting for the next instalment of delicious food, and for sunset. I had high hopes. The mood at dinner was one of elation. Everyone had climbed there, and all were excited.

Sunset, Rifugio Pisciadu
Day 5. At the start of the day, another via ferrata had to be negotiated to take us even higher on this Sella massif. I adore the slight risk and demanding nature of these sections, and once I’d made sure that friends old and new were past the hardest section, bounced along happily at my own pace, eager to see Bruce again at the far end of the rocky bulk where he would meet me at the next rifugio, having caught a téléphérique up. The only thing to stop me on my way was a nice mountain worth climbing shortly after the via ferrata (Cime Pisciadu), a fun little scamper. I’d save Piz Boé for later in the day when it wasn’t so glary, and after I’d connected with Bruce.

The hut itself, bathed in sunrise light


We climbed up that gulch to reach the refuge
Whilst the once more united husband and wife shared lunch, clouds rolled in, causing me to doubt whether we should bother staying up high. The pleasures of a shower and good food in the valley were calling fairly insistently at this stage. However, I decided I’d be disappointed later if it cleared and we’d gone down for mere bodily comforts. So we stayed where we were, at Rifugio Forcella di Pordoi.

Day 5 sunset

The resulting sunset and sunrise photos show that the call was a good one! We were very excited by the views after dinner. I am so very glad I experienced that sunset and later sunrise with Bruce!! Who knows how many such glorious moments we have left to share. You never know what the future holds, but especially so when your partner has Parkinson’s.

More day 5 sunset
 It is, after all, a degenerative disease, and you have to be fit and strong to climb this high. I cling to each special moment that comes our way. It was good to have to work for the sunset; we’d been fed to near bursting point at dinner time. I’m amazed we could get up the slope. It was so beautiful, I really didn’t want to come back down to sleep.
Day 5 sunset
Day 5 is drawing to a close. I don’t want to leave this place.
Day 6. Here we had a bit of a problem. I dearly wanted to stay at the Hotel Col di Lana in Passo Pordoi to taste its delicious wares (well known to me from last time), but it was only about fifty minutes away – less for the other two who took the téléphérique.


How can you call a halt after so little exercise? I devised a circular daywalk once we’d settled in to justify the location, and we were all happy. It was great to wash our hair and to eat such splendid food, and the daywalk was very beautiful.
Just before I left to climb a ridgeline after lunch, Bruce joked about my “consolidation of the rest day”.

Dinner and breakfast were as delicious as the food was plentiful, which was a good thing. Little did we know what lay in store for us the next day – events so dramatic they need their own separate story.


Dawn Day 6

Day 7. The Great Hail Storm. (My camera was tucked in my bag in a bag in a bag, where it could come to no harm. There are no photos from this day. I will thus include more photos from the wonderful dawn of Day 6).

The valley had been hot and oppressive. Now we were high again, breathing was easier, but it felt decidedly humid. I could see that my husband was starting to fade, so I called a quick chocolate stop so we could all refuel in case of rain. Eating in a downpour is not fun, and neither is running out of energy before the top. We were only about 15 minutes away from the pass at this stage – whichever pass it was. It was hard to tell from where we stood, greedily munching, but there were only two possibilities, and both were in our sights.


As the delicious choco-marzipan combo did its work, the rain began. Fast and heavy. We threw on our coats for a second time and shouldered our packs to be moving and keep warm. We assumed that, like the last downpour, this one would last maybe15 minutes. Loud thunder started rolling around us, and the rain was so heavy it was hard to see. Soon lightning began flashing at us, all too near. It was unnerving, and each time the thunder boomed, it made us jump with its ferocity. I looked for a friendly rock or anything that could serve as a shelter but there was nothing.
Soon we came to an expected fork in the path, with one narrow line of dirt heading up to the pass 100 vertical metres above to the right, the other contouring more before climbing to the pass slightly left of straight ahead. Flash, boom. The rain poured down on us. There were no signs at the fork, and I couldn’t get out the huge, unwieldy map. It would be papier mâché by the time I’d unfolded it and worked out our location. (We had just walked onto this map at the last town, so I hadn’t yet unfolded it or highlighted our route. These maps are bigger than ballgowns, and in this weather, it would take all three of us to hold it down. It had been so mild and peaceful in the valley I had never anticipated a need such as the one we were now in). Not wanting to destroy the map, I made a snap decision in favour of the lower of the two passes. None of us wanted to get nearer to the lightning by going any higher. It even looked as if we could walk out of the storm if we went to the pass on the left. 

Can you find my daring husband?
Boom, crash. Now lightning and thunder were worryingly close together as we hastened along the trail, which, like all high alpine passes, offered no hint of protection. Our heads were bent low to keep the weather off our faces, shoulders hunched in some kind of protective mechanism against the blast. We reached the pass to read its name. Damn. Wrong name. Our pass had been the first, higher one. We looked back to it with its even angrier clouds and nastier flashes of lightning and did not regret the decision to be in this pass at all. The problem now, however, was how to eventually link with the path we should be on. We agreed this was a problem for later, to be solved in a valley in shelter, and the important job for now was to get out of our current location and lose height. In a rare lull in the rain, I pulled out the map, unfolded the monstrosity and ascertained that if we kept forking right at all options, things would be for the best. As I refolded her up, the thunder, lightning and rain began again. 
For maybe two minutes, the path on the other side was a good and clear one, after which it disintegrated to become a vague, ten-centimetre wide, muddy line, only discernible if you were searching for it in the long grass. This obviously wasn’t a well-frequented route, although sheep used it. We were now heading for what was the top of a monstrous cliff where half the mountain had fallen away. It looked amazingly dramatic, especially as sheep were grazing precariously on little grassy islands that seemed to be balanced on thin air. Below was a drop to infinity off the other side, so, whatever this track was going to do, it was not going to continue in its present direction. How I wanted a photo of those sheep on their funny islands, oblivious to the fact that if they took one step more, they’d drop six or seven hundred metres to their deaths.

Before we descended, day 6

Slowly I angled us along the slope which had a drop even on this side that I hoped my husband had been too busy following my steps to notice. D stayed with him, kindly encouraging him as he cautiously inched his way along, and I went on about twenty metres ahead of the train so I could suss out the best route, for now the tiny path had become a dangerous mud slide; we were on a dramatically steep slope, angling through the slippery grass, clutching more grass to stabilise ourselves. Had we tried the “path”, it would have been a record-breaking trip down the slope. Being ahead, I had time to peep over the precipice while I waited for him to get to the next move I’d made. Wow, what a drop, and what dramatic weathering in the rocks – almost vertical. Half the mountain had quite literally fallen away.
On a declivity between two grassy islands perched on the edge of this precipice, grew three little larches. I suggested we have other quck chocolate break to keep up our energy. The rain had abated a little, and the others seemed glad to have a short refuelling pause. As we chewed two minutes later, however, the hail began – huge, grape-sized bullets of ice, falling in sheets so vast that the landscape rapidly went white. Despite our little troika of trees, we felt very unprotected here, so as soon as the drop rate decreased (but didn’t cease) we set out again to lose height. Now there were giant ballbearings of white ice to negotiate as well as a muddy slope that made your average slippery dip seem to have a very gentle gradient.

The first half of day 7 was benign enough. It was only after lunch that the weather began turning.
The going was painfully slow, and then the hail gathered force again. Ouch, bang. Every time these projectiles landed on your body the pain was extreme. I began to fear that we would be knocked unconscious by their force. There was another larch ahead, bigger than the last babies, so I ran there to put my head under where the trunk bent a bit. The others followed, so we were soon in a tiny, shivering huddle, protecting our bodies against this onslaught. I was freezing, but opening my pack to get clothes was impossible. I couldn’t take off my pack or undo it, and the thought of taking off my anorak, even for a second, was unbearable. Fortunately, D took contol of me, and steered me into her spare jacket, tugging to get my wet, stiff arms into the sleeves. Sheets of ice continued to spear us.

Underway on day 7, with the famous Marmolada to delight us

As we waited for a decrease in fire, we noted that we were now nearing the tree line, which brought  some comfort. Surely there’d be shelter in the forest. When the ice barrage lessened its intensity, we made another downward dash. I tore down the slope to the next tree but looked back after less than a minute’s running to see Bruce way behind, gingerly feeling his way through the ice. I hadn’t anticipated his being quite that slow in this new obstacle. The ferocity picked up once more. I could see the other two choosing a tree pair with space in between. I had chosen a baby Christmas bush (no trees were available where I was waiting) and tried to cover my head with branches to stop being knocked out. By now the ground was 10-15 cms deep in iceballs, and any sign of a track had disappeared. I had to choose the most logical route down and hope that the track was underneath.
Once the fussilade had abated again, I once more went slightly ahead to concentrate on route finding, letting out whoops of joy if ever I spotted an indication that the route I was choosing for us converged with the official one. The slope was still perrilously steep and Bruce was having trouble enough on the “official path” without adding the complication of free-lancing into the wilds.
Eventually I let out another whoop. The line we were following widened ahead. We were going somewhere, but were too cold and wet to care where. “Somewhere” was going to have shelter. Now we were happy as we continued to lose height.

The last photo I took on the AV2, shortly before the rain began.

Just when we thought our trials were over and that dry, warm conditions were coming to greet us, our widened path – by this stage of four wheel drive dimensions (we really were getting near ‘civilisation’ now) – had to cross the stream. But the stream was now a raging brown torrent of unknown depth. I found a route across, but the other two were a lot more cautious, and baulked at following me. Eventually, however, we had all three on the other side of the latest obstacle. Unfortunately, we had to repeat this cute manoeuvre three times before we were finished.
We also had to deal with being given false directions to where accommodation lay, but ultimately we found what we needed, a town with a hotel (Felice – how appropriate was that name). Food, hot showers, fluffy towels, duvets. Bliss.

And I finish with a sunburst from night 5, a sign of bright things to come

The next morning I knew it was time to give up. I was stunned that Bruce had coped so well with so much danger and fear, but, well, I had never really thought AV2 was for him. We;d undertaken it under pressure because I hate saying “No” to people.  I had been proven right. It was time to switch to the much less threatening AV1, where Bruce could relax a bit more. Bravery has its sensible limits.

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Projection Bluff 2015 Jun

From the base of Projection Bluff as we passed it the first time

Luckily Projection Bluff is not far away from our intended mountain for the day, which had been Rats Castle, for we piked out of the latter. The story goes like this:
We stood at the base of Rats Castle, feet crunching the icy snow, wind howling ominously around our ears, numb, aching hands held close to our bodies in a vain attempt to warm them – and we hadn’t yet begun clutching icy vegetation. Our overpants seemed ineffective at offering any kind of help in protecting us against this blast. I gazed up to where our goal lay, up there beyond the couple-of-kilometre-long band of frosted scrub, and up above the blocks of now white dolerite. Dark clouds were swirling on the tops. It would be slow work along the ridgeline, making sure we didn’t slip on the thin ice carapace that covered each rock. Snow started falling again as we considered. This worsened matters.

The walk begins …

“If this snow continues, it may make the road undriveable on the way out,” I mused aloud. I was beginning to feel decidedly wussy about this whole venture. Luckily for me, Angela agreed to a change in plans. Let’s do nearby Projection Bluff instead – short, sweet, a pad with markers hopefully so that we didn’t have to bush bash and could move quickly enough to maybe even warm up. The path would debouch us onto the rocky area much more quickly than the alternative in front of us, and if the rocks  were treacherous, well, we’d turn around. The trouble with our planned Rats Castle was that we could work for a few hours and only then discover the rocks wouldn’t admit passage under these conditions. By choosing the shorter Projection Bluff, we’d at least get a mountain in for our drive.

So, here we were at the startling line a second time, ready to push through snowy bushes, wondering where the “pad” was, buried somewhere there under arching bushes and covered in white. We had trouble locating it at first, and decided it wasn’t there, but then some markers appeared, then disappeared in a frozen lake, but eventually reemerged in icy rainforest once we happened on the right spot out the other side. After that, it was plain sailing – just the normal game of “spot the marker” as we climbed, being careful not to be caught out on slippery ice.

 The exercise even warmed us up enough for me to shed my ridiculous oversized goretex mittens that made me shockingly clumsy and that fell off every few metres. I had enough feeling in my fingers to plait my hair at last so I could begin to see. I even had enough movement in my fingers now to tie my shoelaces properly for the first time that day.

The views from the moment we popped out above the tree line were worth any discomfort we may have felt earlier on. I was in love. Click, click. Two or three metres’ progress. Click, click. Poor Angela. She waited with great patience as my photography slowed us down far more than the icy rocks. What a privilege it was to climb something, even as small as Projection Bluff, in conditions such as these, and to witness such enormous stretches of beauty laid out before us.