Kindergarten Region, Dolomites
Italian Alps, South Tyrol
August, 1999
So my eight day journey through northern Italy proved merely an extended
layover. I arrived in Milan on August 12, I was to meet a group from
MIT on August 21 to fly to Nairobi, Kenya. There, we would travel to
Kilimanjaro, to attempt a seven-day summit up the Machame Route.
But I had some time to explore myself, so I grabbed a Let's Go: Italy,
a penchant for travel, a lack of Italian, and my (what will become
beloved) new Gregory Chaos pack. Eight days alone? No problem.
The first couple days were normal for el turisto. Milan.
Venice. I spent my fourth day in Padova (Padua), where I met a nice
student from Columbia, Ximena Zuniga, who was studying sculpture in
Italy. One of the neatest things of traveling through hostels (and
alone) is randomly meeting and wandering around with people from such
different backgrounds that you. But the art of Padua was soon explored,
and I boarded the train on Tueday, August 17, and headed through Verona.
I used the hour wait to run to town central and explore the ancient
Roman Arena, now one of Italy's prized outdoor operas. I returned quickly to
the train station, heading north for Bolzano and adventure.
Tuesday, August 17, 1999
Bolzano witnessed a entrance in the South Tyrol section of Italy. Here,
locals are a mixture of Austrian and Italian. German and Italian signs
were side by side. After wandering the town for the afternoon, I
decided to head into the Dolomites that evening. Grabbing a quick bus
to Nova Levante, I quickly departed for the "lift" that would whiz
me a few thousand feet up to the lower huts. After about a 45 minute
walk to the lift, I found that it had closed early, so trudged back into
town. Some nice, barely-speaking English (Hey - I shouldn't
complain, I'm the stupid Americano who is so ethnocentric as to only
speak English!) information person found an out-of-the-way chalet to
spend the night. For anybody interested in traveling this area, the
summer months, especially August, are high season for Italians and
Germans. Much of Italy actually closes during this period for a
"bank holiday," which meant that most of the closer huts and
hotels were packed. The place she found was a whiles away. So, I set
out at 18:45 after grabbing some food for a few days.
Shopping for food (being kosher) isn't quite the same as looking for
hiking fare in America. No REI, EMS, IME, or special freeze-dried
packs. I started my trip leaving all my real camping gear in Milan for
Africa. I still had my sleeping bag, but no tent, no headlamp (how
stupid is that?). I laugh about my traditional stuff - this is
old-school - large blocks of cheese, cans of tuna, tins of salmon in
oil, fruit, Swiss chocolate, a loaf of chocolate-swirled bread. Several
liters of water. Pounds of camera equipment. Well, that Chaos pack
wasn't feeling so light.
I hiked back up to the lift, and began my way again, following the map
as best as possible. I took a wrong turn for twenty minutes, and found
myself bushwhacking through virtually impenetrable terrain. Finding my
way a bit dangerously back, I following a pseudo-blazed trail for
another 90 minutes. I got lost soon again, wandering through boggy
farmer fields. But a nice Austrian boy tending the cows pointed me in
the right direction, and I arrived at the chalet at dark. I never
travel without my headlamp any more. For 25,000 lira (~$14),
Tscheinerhutte was my home for the evening.
Wednesday, August 18, 1999
0515 Wake-up
0600 Leave Tscheinerhutte
0620 Reach trail 9, see Kaiserstain boulder
0730 At 9-539-549 junction, take route 549
0815 At Hut atop chair lift
0900 Leave hut along 550-542, branching to 550
0945 Atop of Tschagerjoch (Coronelle Pass, ~2700m)
1145 At 541-584 junction, take 584
1205 Pass hut, taking 584
1300 Arrived Passo Principle Hutte
1320 Leave hut for Antermoia along 584
1440 Arrive at Antermoia Refuge (2497m)
1605 Leave along route 580
1630 Summit Mantel (2567m) in P. so Dona
1715 Return to Antermoia for night
I awoke early. Heck, I was in the Alps, I should do an Alpine start, I
figured. The pretty chalet caretaker had left several cheese brioches
for the road, so I set out quite full and content. A nice motorist
along the way gave me a quick lift to the nearest trailhead, only about
two miles from where she picked me up. I figured not to waste time on
the road - I wanted to get into the Kindergarten.
It was this morning where I first truly felt the majesty of these hills.
This is one of the birth places on modern rock climbing. Spires of
rocks shoot up several hundred meters.
I began the ascent along route 9, reaching the junction with 539 and 549
after an hour, and went north. I hiked for about another hour along
this path, waving to the shepherd who called a cheery good morn (it was
German - I hope that's what he said). I arrived at the hut to see a
large family group of about 30 eating a huge breakfast. Well, I wolfed
down another cheese brioche, drank some water, and took off along route
550.
The route led higher and higher, eventually going throught the Tschagerjoch,
or Coronelle Pass in Italian, at about 2700m. It was mostly class IV
scrambling here, a lot of scree.
While "hill-hopping" down on this stuff is a favorite past-time of
mine, hiking up is less than firm footing. But I went through the pass,
grabbing two Germans to snap a picture of me before traveling on. I
soon got out of the "heights" and down onto more gentle trails.
Unfortunately, this central region on the other side of the Kindergarten
spires were also much more traveled. Sporty Italians with Invicta
backpacks and hip-hugging jeans were walking by on another, milder trail
that ran parallel a few hundred feet below where I was. Unfortunately,
these trails merged at a hut, and I joined the mass of strollers/hikers
for almost 45 minutes. Luckily, at another hut a bit to the north, most
seemed content to wolf down quality food and beer. I soon left the
stream of humanity along 584, going north into winds and cold.
By the time I had reached the Passo Principle Hutte, the winds had
picked up greatly. I wrapped myself in my shell and sat for a minute
outside the hut. Unfortunately, the warmth inside was stolen by rowdy
drinkers, so I chatted with Uwe for a few minutes. Uwe was a German
hiker who arrived several hours ahead of his friends, and now was
getting colder by the minute waiting. He didn't mind a little
explanation - the clouds, high wind, and cold seemed to make the
climbing route over the Antermoia pass unsafe, so he decided to take the
less-steep (though not trivial) hiking path with me. Again, I missed my
harness and biners back in the states.
I went over the Antermoia pass with Uwe, crossing a few snow patches for
the first time. We said goodbye - it's amazing how people who speak
any tiny amount of English become people with which to chat!
But this was the first truly more rugged land. Pure rocky spires rose
on both sides, broken and crushed rocks comprised the valley. The small
Lago di Antermoia perched between the mountains - a small pond/lake
sheltered deep within the mountains. After another hour or so I arrived
at the Antermoia hut at 1440, which would be my home for the night.
Alone and without headlamp, it would be stupid to try for the next
refuge, several hours away over uncertain, barely marked trails. I was
cold at this point, so played it safe.
But I wasn't finished for the day, although many miles had passed
under my feet. I took off to summit the nearby Mantel at 2567m. The
path disappeared up the nicely rounded summit, and I found myself on
deep, beautiful, soft grass. I deeply desired to just spend the night
there, under the stars, in my sleeping bag. But again, safety weighed
out. The clouds still threatened rain, and I was without light (it was
about a 30 minute hike back to the hut). Thirty meters away was the
southern side of the Mantel - a cliff that plummeted 100-200 meters
straight down. Not something to wander off in the middle of the night.
I arrived back at Antermoia hut at 17:15. I sat around in the dining
room, eating my tin of salmon and walking with two Germans. (Why are
they the only people that seemed to speak English?) Guide and Jan were
students (late 20s) who were just travelling a bit before starting there
studies again in the fall. As I sipped the red wine they heartily
shared, we talked about West German versus US universities and
companies.
But drained from the long day, I hit the bunks at 23:00.
Thursday, August 19, 1999
0505 Wake-up
0605 Leave hut on route 583
0830 Past Cogol de Larsech,
Fog blows off, grassy valley and lake
0845 Passo della Scallete (2348m)
1030 At Picol Cront (2030m)
1215 Arrive Gardeccia Refuge
1315 Leave along route 550
1415 Reach end of route of 544
1430 Arrive town: Vigo di Fassa
The morning dawned cold - I started from the Refuge Antermoia with pants
and goretex shell on. I was slow at the start - a slight headache - I
think from dehydration from lack of water (and I'm sure the glass of
two of wine with Guido and Jan didn't help.) I generally travel
light on water, only carrying the 1L of water I brought. I was trying
the camel approach again, chugging about 1L of water in the morning,
then going several hours with only a tiny consumption. You require
several stops to "smell the flowers" early-on, but the technique
isn't a bad one for reducing pack weight.
This was the secluded section over which I traveled. At the hut the
night before, I was told that I was only the second or third American
who stayed there all season. I started alone on the trail...and
remained as such for hours.
From Antermoia, I started on the rough route 583 trail that occasionally
overlooked the lake. The fog was still think - I felt disappointed that
the views would be poor again. The hills rose and fell, peaking at
Passo di Lauso at 2700m. The sun began peaking through the clouds, and
as I descended into the valley de Lausa, I grew confident that I would
experience my first beautiful day in the Dolomites.
The Cma Di Lausa point to the west jutted into the sky; the ground
appeared to be an older riverbed; mud tracks of water rippled through
the valley; a tiny plateau of grass (3-5 ft in height) rose from the
moist earth. I was making such slow process, lost in the beauty, barely
minding my way, enraptured, running through rolls of film, giddy.
By the time I passed Cogol de Larsech, the sun was finally out. I could
make out the two jagged peaks of the Scalette Pass to the west. The sun
and clouds were creating a splendor over Crepe de Larsech: just the
tops were highlighted, shining like a halo. Still I saw nary a soul. I
was alone, just my spirit and the mountains. I wandered in complete
happiness, the only sounds were my own the breath, the rush of the wind,
and the soft thump of my boots.
I reached the Passo delle Scallete, a sharp decent from 2348m to 2026m.
Here I had reached a crux. An Alpine guide at the hut said the path was
better traveled and wasn't that rough. Still, static ropes were
fixed in place, people were supposed to clip in with harnesses. But the
section wasn't bad. It was mostly low 5.0+ scrambing and climbing. I
felt fine. With bolts and metals line to hold on to in case, I felt
perfectly safe.
I finally passed the first person at 10:30, with just a wave and
a bonjourno to a spry, middle-aged Italian hiker. Within 30
minutes, I began to hear the huffing and whining of several overweight
hikers - bright blue eyeshadow and fleshy excess hanging from too-tight,
shiny, designer tank tops. I realized that a lot of my privacy in the
mountains was gone for the day. It was this morning that I fell in love
with solo-hiking. I wanted to run after my hours of beautiful
solitude.
I passed Picol Cront, between Gran Cront and Pala da la Iacia. I was
snapping off pictures constantly, Pta Scalpello and Torre Rizzi looped
around to the east, sloping to the lower-lying towns. I looped around
on route 583 (on the Larsec Weg path), watching butterflies and bees
pollinate rampantly. I went west, turning north soon, by this time back
on more traveling paths. I stopped off at the Gardeccia refuge at
12:15, realizing that the 3-4 hr hike took my wandering, picture-taking
self almost 6 hours. I realize that I wouldn't have time to do my
original plan: 550, 541 south, 556 to 551 through the Passse so
Vailolon, then south on 552 to the lift down from Refuge Paoline.
So instead, I called it early, as I wanted to reach Riga del Gardo by
that evening (a lake-town in northern Italy.) So instead, I walked
passed Rifuge Catinaccio on path 540 to Rifuge Ciampedie. The place was
a zoo. Shirtless men tanning themselves. Babies running naked.
Inflatable rooms for kids to bounce in. Bleh. I rushed from that point
- trail running for large sections down route 544. Here again I
marveled at the Gregory pack - comfortably trail running with about
30lbs of gear in a 40L pack! The cable car lift only beat my down by 15
minutes to the nearby town of Vigo di Fassa at 14:30.
My journey in the Dolomites had ended, but the memories would endure.
As would the pictures.
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