It all started when I was 17. Well not quite everything. There was already a good dose of love for the mountains, given by my parents. There was the passion for hiking, given by the CAI. There was the thrill of a journey on foot, backpacking, taught by Scouting.
These were the foundations with which I decided to embark on a walk. And not just any path, but the famous Alta via delle Dolomiti, known as the Alta via dei Giganti. And we were talking about giants: giant mountains, giant altitude differences, giant backpacks! I don't even remember how I managed to drag two of my friends with me, but I do remember my father going to talk to the parents of one of them to convince them to let her go. Always on my side in these things, I think he understood my need for adventure, or he just didn't want me to go alone.
The fact is that we found ourselves one hot August morning making our way among the tourists at Lake Braies, attracting curious glances at our backpacks. Yes, because we were three 17-year-olds, who had the money for the huts? So we shouldered our tents, sleeping bags, cooker and moka! There was a lot of inexperience in our backpacks, if I think back on it now, with my ultralight equipment, my shoulders still hurt. Obviously we didn't have GPS, and there were no apps with trails yet, so 3-4 maps had to find a place in our rucksacks. Thank goodness I already knew some of the trails. We set off happily and carefree, not knowing where the trail would take us. By the third day, we couldn't take it any more. One of us had terrible blisters on her feet, and she couldn't go any further. We called my parents, who promptly came to our rescue at Capanna Alpina. Salvation arrived on four wheels in the form of a big, sweet, juicy watermelon. But as we drove home, I had already made my decision: one day's rest and then I would set off again, even alone. Luckily it was not necessary to leave alone: Giorgia decided to go on with me. During the rest day we came to the conclusion that we could not continue to travel so laden. We abandoned tent, sleeping bags, mattresses, and even the moka. We had come to our senses. We left loaded with energy and unburdened from where we had left off.
The first night at the Nuvolau hut we were chased away like mangy dogs by the drunken owner. Our fault? We had not booked. At the refuge below, the Averau, they saw us arrive almost in tears, and gave us a generous discount, because otherwise we could not have afforded a private refuge. Never have I slept in a more beautiful place. I still remember the relaxing shower, the dormitory all to ourselves, the excellent dinner and the huge shooting star that lit up the summit of the Averau. From there on, the journey went (almost) smoothly, apart from a few scary moments on the Pelmo. It was so nice to get up in the morning in a magnificent place, walking around chatting about the future, passing through incredible places, and arriving in the evening at another refuge, where you can be pampered by a warm stube and good food. I discover that the tent is a great adventure, but the hut is also fascinating. Being two girls so young, and the high route not yet being as well travelled as it is today, we attracted the attention of many, who showered us with compliments and admiration. We were so proud!
The high point of the trip was one afternoon, on the way to the Tissi. We had lingered to reach the peak of Coldai, then to bathe in the lake, without noticing the black clouds gathering. The heavens scolded us with a good scrub, and not just 'of the head'. Of course, we arrive at the refuge and it stops. We are wet as chicks, and a little depressed. But soon after, the sky opens up, the sun sets and.... the north face of the Civetta, with its 1,000-metre overhang, is fiery red, and a rainbow frames it like a painting. What a marvel!
Our walk ends a little before Belluno, we are tired and not equipped for the via ferrata on the Schiara. Also, the start of school is approaching, and we haven't finished our homework.... We spend the last night in a bivouac, in the company of dormice. Then we return a little sad to the valley, and from there to the stifling heat of the plains.
I return home and am already thinking about the next trip. How many high routes are there in the Dolomites? I want to do them all! In those days, the dream was born to walk all the Alps, a dream that I would cultivate for a long time and realise exactly 10 years later.
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