Trekking in the Dolomites

Our fifty-mile trek in Italy’s Dolomite Mountains this September left me with images of beautiful countryside and impressive looking mountains. But I took away much more: a greater understanding and respect for our country’s Tenth Mountain Division soldiers.

My husband Dave and I started our trek with twelve other hikers, plus two Italian guides, in Badia, about a three-hour-drive northwest of Venice. For the next five-and-a-half days, we hiked part of the Alta Via 1 and Alta Via 2 trails as we circled back to Badia. These trails led us through Fanes and Puez National Parks along mostly well-marked, dirt surfaces interspersed with footing on some sand-gravel-stone and a few rock slabs.

On the second day, we hiked to a pass that overlooked part of a valley where Austrians carried supplies up to a  distant ridge where their soldiers positioned themselves to ward off Italian troops during World War I. Nearly a century later, most of our fellow trekkers, all in the fifty-two to sixty-seven age range and all from sea level, huffed and puffed as they trudged to that 8,156 foot pass. And some of our group were hardcore, conditioned hikers; one woman had climbed Denali (highest mountain in North America) twice and Aconcagua (highest mountain in South America), and attempted Everest. She hadn’t let on but her husband had.

Dave never breathed deeply on the entire trek, and I never got out of breath. But then we live at 8,300 feet. He’d climbed ten 14,000 feet mountains in Colorado this past summer and I’d only climbed three.

As we  descended to a lake about a thousand feet below us, I thought of our country’s Tenth Mountain Division solders who’d trained during World War II only about 50 miles from our home. They’d lived at Camp Hale, which sat at an elevation of 9,200 feet, and trained in the surrounding mountains. I knew intellectually that living and training at altitude gave our Tenth Mountain Division soldiers the conditioning that they needed to fight in the Italian Alps. But I’d never felt the importance of acclimation to altitude until I witnessed our fellow trekkers trudging up to that Dolomite pass. I finally fully understood why our soldiers required training at high altitude to survive in the Italian Alps. And I realized that I appreciated and respected them even more for their service to our country.

That same day, we ventured into a couple of tunnels/caves carved into a ridge to see where the Austrian army had set up guns to fend off the Italian soldiers’ attempt to climb up from below. The next day, we walked past ruins of officer quarters and in five-foot-high stone trenches that Austrian soldiers built and manned to defend the ridge. Farther down, a World War I museum brought the sense of the war even closer- photographs, guns, garb and other exhibits, some in English. But one didn’t need a translation to figure out the exhibits.

On our trek, we hiked through forests, through lush green valleys and above tree line. The route offered varied vistas: colossal rock faces; the distant, snowcapped Swiss Alps; and more often 10,967-foot Marmolada, the highest mountain in the Dolomites. We hiked Alta 2 trail in the mist and along much rockier terrain, with craggier vistas than what we encountered on the Alta 1 route. Both trails wove through the countryside with repeated ups and downs: 2,000 to 4,100 foot elevation gains and losses on some days.

At night, we slept in rifugios, similar to motels or rustic lodges, without ensuite bathrooms. Private rooms for two were in short supply; rooms for four or six people as well as dormitories were more common. The dining area often doubled as a bar that shut down for quiet hours beginning at 10 p.m., except if one had the misfortune to room with a snorer.

Each morning, we tanked up on granola and yogurt, plus a variety of cheeses, ham or breads, before setting out for the day at 8:30 or 9 a.m. We generally didn’t eat lunch until mid-afternoon when we reached a rifugio or restaurant!

We encountered a few surprises on our trek. Livestock grazed on national park land which seemed devoid of wildlife. We saw only one marmot and a few birds. The trek wasn’t a wilderness experience but the trails weren’t crowded. Dirt roads led to most of our rifugios, so we only carried a day pack. The tour company transferred our luggage from hut to hut. Unfortunately, leave no trace principles weren’t observed. Toilet paper lay behind bushes at strategic potty stops.

Dave and I felt fortunate that we hiked with such a friendly and interesting group of people. We shared a few brews, swapped hiking stories and plotted other adventures.

During dinner at the first night’s rifugio, we learned that the husband of an Australian couple was a retired police officer. That’s all the encouragement I needed as a former prosecutor to prod him to regal us with “war” stories.

My Dave asked his wife, Veronica, “Does he talk to you sometime like a cop?” “Oh yes,” she replied. “I have to tell him, don’t give me that cop talk!”

“Cary sometimes gives me that lawyer talk tone,” my Dave chimed in. “You know, she cross examines me.”

Of course Australian Dave and I denied these accusations but we all laughed.

Although Dave and I hadn’t learned to speak Italian as we’d hoped, we found ways to communicate with Italians and other Europeans along our route. Some words or gestures were universally understood.

When we stopped in a village on the fourth day, I spotted what I’d been missing: a Labrador Retriever. I grinned and extended my arms out as I approached the fourteen-year-old handsome, yellow boy and kneeled to pet him. He wagged his tail furiously and wiggled all over, understanding the universal language of dog lovers. His owner beamed.