“Buon giorno.” We’ve passed many day hikers today –the Italians love their mountains and love hiking among the high peaks- but the woman in Suisi, the town 1500m below us, was right. We’ve got the Bolzano Rifugio practically to ourselves. The old stone hostel is over 120 years old, and I can almost feel the presence of alpinists past as I enter the darkly paneled common room, breathing in the thick essence of the place.
The good-natured, two-man staff on duty seem to be quite amused at this couple from the United States, out here in these mountains with their three young sons, knowing only a few bits and pieces of Italian, but possessing lots of American enthusiasm. The young men take good care of us, and according to my dog-eared journal “that was the best spaghetti I have ever eaten!”
We are at an elevation of 2500m in the Dolomite Alps of northeastern Italy. Known for stark, barren, and colorful rock formations and little vegetation, this place is otherworldly. In places it seems like an alien landscape.
Early morning is my favorite hiking time. We’re climbing up a steep trail above the rifugio. Fog lies low among the peaks and soon hides the hut from view. It’s quite cool –jackets are zipped up tight- and everything has that extra-fresh feel to it. Breakfast was the standard bread and jam, and the hut keepers made sure we took along extra for our lunch later. The boys are scampering along ahead of us, the youngest especially keen to keep up with his big brothers.
In a few hours we come to another hut –this one tiny and particularly cozy- in a protected pass called Sasso Lunga. The hut mistress has just cooked a batch of delicious kaiserschmarm -kind of a fruit pancake- and she insists that we sample the still-warm traditional treat. Okay, Bella, twist my arm.
There was armed conflict in the Dolomites during World War One, when Italy fought Austria over the disputed border, high among the mountain ridges. Today there is still evidence of the struggle, and evocative are the tunnels bored through the mountains, and the via ferrata –“paths of iron”-which one encounters. Via ferrata consist of iron ladders and chains affixed to the pinnacles and cliffs, and allowed for troop movement over terrain which would otherwise have required technical climbing. Today some of the via ferrata are maintained for use by modern hikers and climbers, and many of the trails we traverse today are along mule tracks created during the war.
Hiking affords opportunity not just to experience the mountains close-up but to meditate and daydream and plan for adventures beyond the current one –that’s right, planning for the next one already. Strange, huh? Besides imagining animal shapes among the rock spires we walk among, the boys are planning a tree house this morning. “I think we’ll have a special ladder that hangs down inside from the top all the way to the ground, with some kind of trap door in the ceiling and the floor.” They plan to construct it when we get back home. It may never happen, but it doesn’t really matter, I think, as just the fun of planning it is hard to match.
Late afternoon finds us stepping through a real lunar landscape. Scree slopes crunch under foot and limestone spires tower overhead, bright white in the sun, striking against the blue sky. The Dolomites, named for an18th century geologist, are made up of calcium carbonate, much of it actually ancient coral reef 230 million years old. Sheesh, I think, and we’ll only be here for a few days.
The big sun is sinking in the sky and according to the map we’re close to the Passo Principe rifugio, our destination for the night. Sure enough, Adam spots it up ahead in one of the only flat areas around, dwarfed by soaring cliffs above it. There are lots of people around it, but as we approach we notice that many are leaving, and within an hour after we arrive only the five of us and the hut keeper and her young family remain. The rest are Italian day hikers, returning to the valley below for the night. I’m instantly moved by the place. The fiery, dark-haired hut mistress is definitely queen of the roost and never speaks in an even tone of voice. Passionate, she argues with her husband like she’s going to kill him one instant, and the next minute she is as loving as can be. She is delighted to have us Americans visit their hut and even her sullen husband softens up after a while, as he watches our sons play with his. I’m fascinated with the “relaxed” standards of cleanliness of the place –the husband-cook’s kitchen apron is absolutely black with grease and the squat toilet out back is not for the faint of heart- but I can tolerate it in light of the spirit of generosity and passion for life which fills the shabby rifugio.
Above the hut is a rock outcropping which is just right for watching the shadows lengthen and the light change as evening comes. As the sun drops lower in the sky the spires around us light up in enrosadira, or “alpenglow,” that alpine light effect that creates golden glowing peaks in the fading gleam of the sun. We just sigh in reverence at the sight and the feel of it, our powers of speech being, as they are, inadequate.
It’s getting chilly out as we reenter the cozy hut. Rosina serves us perfectly prepared linguini, cheese and spinach. The wind rises that night and the narrow bunks cradle us. The window panes rattle and from the kitchen emanates, gently muffled, Rosina’s hearty soulful laugh.
By John Robinson [email protected]