Distance: 77.67 Miles
Elevation Gain: 22,966 ft
Location: Alta Via 1, Dolomites, Italy
Duration: 6 days, 5 nights
Highest Point: 2,752m (9,029ft) above sea level
Bag Weight: 20kg (44lb)
The walk began around 3pm on the 1st of August, some six hours after departing from Milan that same morning. Hopping on and off and back on a series of trains, the lingering feeling of anticipation was growing prominent as I distanced myself further away from any big cities I had ever known. I then took a bus whose wheels swerved alongside roads buried at the feet of the nearby towering mountains. It made its final stop at Lago di Braies, and without losing a minute, I swung my bag to my back and made my way around the turquoise lake until I set foot on the AV1 trail.
I proceeded up some steep rocks and quickly gained elevation. After an hour or so, I looked behind and found the lake to have grown into a speck of blue, as I continued to make my first ascent up some 900m (2,952ft). Soon after, the rain began to fall and did so for the first two days, but I was well equipped and more so determined to make headway through the long journey that awaited.
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It was, by far and wide, the biggest solitary undertaking I had ventured into.
I recall the first summit I reached and that first feeling of being on top of the world itself. As soon as I made it up there, the rain ceased and the skies opened up as the sun pierced through the clouds and warmed my clothes and skin. The wind continued its strong gust but it mattered little as the views were transcending. I continued onwards, guided by the setting sun, until I found a stream next to which I pitched my tent and settled in for the night. I had walked roughly six hours and this first taste was a mere delight towards what awaited.
Each following morning, I would awake like clockwork at 6am - I would brew some coffee on the gas burner, change, get ready, then pack everything up and be out by 7am. I walked on average ten hours per day, going up a mountain, along its plateau, then back down, over and over again from one summit to the next, crossing some of the most awe-striking sceneries I have ever laid eyes on.
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Most of the journey was heavily drenched in fog, adding a dramatic feel to the landscape whose surfaces were at times barely visible. I would turn around, and what a few instants ago were mere clouds had now cleared and revealed over-arching mountains whose crevices and heights dominated over me like tsunamis that could crash down at any moment.
One late afternoon after the rain had stopped pouring, I surmounted an arduous ascent that landed me face to face with two mountains that seemed to be pillars meticulously placed on either side of the trail I was about to descend. Like a portal to another realm, its steep decline was engulfed by a thick white fog which gradually dissipated as I made my way through, and to my surprise, as the air cleared, it revealed to me this otherworldly body of water nestled in a bowl between several mountain peaks.
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I spent the evening in this place whose silence, stillness, and peacefulness I was blessed to have to myself.
The fog came and went as I settled in. I pitched the tent and cooked using the lake’s water whilst in the far distance, above some other mountain, what appeared as the shadow of a wolf seemed to gaze in my direction. I kept an eye on it as best I could, until it vanished altogether.
The next day began with an uphill climb that led me to the highest elevation point of the journey. I crossed paths with a flock of sheep, then passed one man who informed me they had been hit by a blizzard the previous evening - all of them were safe as they had gathered and slept in a refuge, but this was a gentle reminder of how volatile and treacherous mountainous weather can be, for a snowstorm struck as deep in slumber a few miles below.
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I continued onwards and passed by caves the Austrians had dug by hand during the First World War. Further on I entered and continued through a tunnel that had been built by the Italian army to attack the Austrians in 1915. Step after step, using my headlight and holding onto a metallic rope to help guide me, I then descended several hundred meters through the mountain’s heart, and with every step I reflected on the soldiers who had succumbed to war over a century ago on this same ground.
Over the next few days, I travelled through terrain that dramatically shifted— from scorching white limestone rocky-fields to green pastures or forests that bathed in shade; the scenery developed, transformed, and mutated restlessly.
My knees started growing weary on the fourth day, and with every downhill step came a slight pain that reverberated through my bones, but the beauty was too mesmerizing to stop and I kept on walking in bewilderment at the size and scale of it all.
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Every footprint that symbolized an accomplishment was ultimately insignificant in this place that will outlive any sentient being lucky enough to have witnessed it.
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And every night as I would pitch my tent, I would fall asleep miles away from anything or anyone - from any human sound or mechanical noise. I would be cradled by nature itself, and despite the temperatures falling to low or near negatives, knowing I was drifting off into dreams whilst living one was precious enough to withstand these small constraints.
This privilege was emphasized each waking morning, as I would unzip the tent and open my eyes onto the light of dusk whose yellowish,red glow illuminated the infinite views I emerged with.
I would walk above the clouds and see the ground beneath my feet to be the moon itself. The air was the freshest I had ever breathed, and the water flowing straight from the source was the coldest and most refreshing I had ever tasted. With every inhale and each sip, I could feel the elements reinvigorate my body and bring life itself back into it.
For miles on end, with every hour blending into the next, I continued onwards through the Dolomites, from dusk till dawn. With only an hours break throughout the day, I advanced until I’d find the ideal place for me to lay my head and body, and if it weren’t for the pain in my knees I could have continued on walking for hours on end, and into the night, for every second and dent I made into the landscape brought with it an immeasurable joy that was graced by something close to the Divine.
During my travels, I kept a pen and paper and wrote some words that crept to mind, some of which I shall share with your here:
To walk amidst the pines
with fog overhead
listen to the rustling sound of water drops
to the crumbling sound of stones
beneath the weight of my boots.
Six hours of slumber,
woke up in the rain
Praying my left kneecap doesn’t give away
I have taken the trail less travelled
through the forest
where the carcasses of trees
whisper their deepest secrets
The poncho from back home
torn to bits-
I kept a piece, wrapped around the top of my bag
let’s hope it keeps my clothes my food and all my belongings dry.
I tread,
I tread
from mud to rubble
In blissful solitude
I tread,
Further more than I could think
and further still from what I’ve known
Circadian rhythm,
I follow the sun
and rise as It rises
Cyclical rhythm,
like my feet to the ground
I walk,
a little further
Towards what I have yet to know.
“I tread”