Hiking the Alta Via 1: Day 7

Rifugio Coldai to Rifugio Vazzoler. 3 hours, 45 minutes. 6 miles.

    Breakfast at Rifugio Coldai was served at 6:30. In addition to the usual basket of breads, plates of ham and cheese, bowls for yogurt and muesli, there was a platter of scrambled eggs. You might think with all the walking I was doing I would be losing weight on this trip, but the good food undid the good of the good walking.  

    The highlight of this day, as far as I'm concerned, was a swim in Lago Coldai, a green gem at 7032 feet.

Swimming in Lago Coldai.               Photo by Margaret Della Santina

It was a delicious swim, across the lake to the boulder side and back to the rock-pebble shore, where William had carried my towel and clothes to a spot in the approaching sun. The water was refreshingly cold. 

    The next highlight was Rifugio Tissi, a worthwhile detour on a sharp, vertical, rock-step ascent. We sat on the deck and had a coffee in the presence of awesome Dolomite peaks. Just as we were leaving the rifugio to make the short climb above it to the summit, we ran into Dana and Neil, the couple from Colorado we had met the night before. As we parted, they promised to come ski with me in Oregon. 

    At the summit above Tissi we had a 360-degree view of those Dolomite peaks. Far, far below, straight down the cliffs, we could see a blue lake and a town, Alleghe, minuscule below us. We could see the ribbon of the river stretching from the lake into the green hills, with house-knots on the river-ribbon winding up the valley.

                                                             Photo by Margaret Della Santina

William and I lay on the edge of the cliff, looking down.

                                                                        Photo by Margaret Della Santina

    Here, I decided, was the perfect place to spread some of my late husband's ashes, he who had hiked the Alta Via 2 with me six years ago. The wonderful memories of that trip have occurred again and again on this one. He would have loved to be here with us. I faced away from the view of Alleghe, gorgeous though it was, because of the wind, and flung the ashes towards other peaks, wishing Mike good resting in the Dolomites.

                                    Photo by Margaret Della Santina

    From time to time along the trail we have been seeing memorials to people who died on Dolomites climbs. Today we came to a large memorial with a statue (Mary? Jesus? A saint?) and a plaque with photos and a dedication to Marco Anghileri, obviously a beloved climber, greatly grieved.

                                   Photo by Margaret Della Santina

When we got to Rifugio Vazzoler, we saw more photos of him and a plaque in memoriam. He was 32 when he died on a climb.

    Later today we came to a memorial for another climber—an open frame with a broken climber's axe in it. Very poignant.

    The Dolomites take their toll.

    The day ended with a very long descent down a rocky road which was hard on my feet and on Margaret's, which also suffer from arthritis. Finally, though, we were at beautiful Rifugio Vazzoler.

                                                            Photo by Margaret Della Santina

We were in time for a late lunch, which, for me, included a very good polenta and a pork-and beef sausage called pastine.

        You would think that Rifugio Vazzoler, after all the descending we had done, would be in a valley, but, in fact, it sits on a flat spot with enormous spires above it and plunging depths below it. The rifugio was picture-book beautiful, with red begonias in window boxes, sturdy picnic tables outside the building, magnificent mountain peaks above it, and a wildflower garden on terraces down the mountain, though, of course, nothing was in bloom at this time of year. 

                                                                                        Photo by Diana Coogle

                                                           Photo by Margaret Della Santina

    Margaret and I were sitting at one of the outdoor tables, writing in our journals, when one of the group of German climbers—they were here to do some via ferrata—at the table next to us asked if I would take their picture. What ensued was a lively exchange of banter and get-acquainted questions. (They were the only people we met who made a snide—or any other type—comment about Trump.) Later, at dinner, they were very loud, singing and joking, and in the morning, when I saw one of the women and asked how she was, she said, "Too much alcohol last night." I hoped she wasn't going climbing later that day. 

Me with the German climbers.         Photo by Margaret Della Santina