Start: Rifugio Chalet L'eppe/Finish: Rifugio delle Marmotte, 9.8, +913, -1140
Today takes me across the range into the next valley, and I decide to extend the day a bit and finish at Rifugio delle Marmotte. How can I not, with such a name?
None of my Dutch hut-mates are going in my direction, and they are all asleep as I leave, picking up the trail from right outside the hut.
From the Rifugio the hike up is not too bad, and as I get to Col Finestra (2840m), there's a herd of Ibex right below me.
The descent quickly turns into my own worst nightmare. It's a mix of badly made narrow and steep trail, with scree and a boulder field to cross. At certain points the trail has been partly washed away, and the trail marking's not very clear. I usually like crossing the fields of boulder, but here it alternates between the boulders and the scree, and often I find myself looking at the next visible trail blaze and not understanding how in the world am I supposed to get there.
On the way down from Col Finestra
At one point I stare at where I think the trail is, and I look over at the Ibex doing their usual unbelievable feats of balance across the mountain, and I want to cry. How the hell am I supposed to get off this mountain? It's been an eternity, and I'm still so far away from being stable on my feet. For some reasons the tears don't come, but I'm devastated. I. Want. Off. This. Mountain. NOW.
Of course no magic happens, and of course I make it down, alive and in one piece.
Once I get off the top of the mountain and I'm back at the meadows level, I stop to take a deep breath and listen to the sound of my heart, and the wind, and nothing else.
It's the nature of well, nature, that you never really know what you will encounter. I'm a fairly well prepared hiker, having planned the trip by myself. I've read the guide book as well as some blogs. I've spent hours looking at maps, plotting trails and alternative trails and deciphering altitude lines. I've hiked over 10 mountain passes in the past few weeks. I know there will be steep descents and scree and boulders and lots of zigzagging, but I never know how it will be FOR ME. Others might not understand this, for others this might be easy, but the past few hours have been rough, rougher then most days so far.
As I continue the descent, the valley is suddenly revealed far below me. Bruil Rhemes Notre Dame looks almost like a middle-ages castle, with the church usually located at the entrance next to the single lane road entering the village.
As I reach the village, there are some wooden sculptures depicting children at play adorning the entrance. I think they are meant to be playful, but there is something a bit creepy about them.
The lovely old village is dead silent, and there's absolutely no one around. A walk through the village showes the only store - an upscale deli selling local produce - is closed for lunch.
The trail takes a left out of the village, and I find a spot for what has become a tradition, now that i'm not nervous about making it to the hut at the end of the day - a midday nap in the sun.
I'm now officially in the national park of Gran Paradiso, Italy's first ever park, and the most aptly named place I've ever been to. Not that it looks any different from the view in the past few days. There is however a sign on what to do if you encounter a wolf, something I haven't seen before
The small, unassuming building of Rifugio della Marmotte
Emerging from the forest, it's a short vertical walk through marmot-infested meadows into Rifugio delle Marmotte. The hut is operated by the same organisation toperating Rifugio Frassati, and is housed in what looks like an old farm compound. There's a cloths line, a trough, and several adults and children are milling about.
A women steps out of the main building - a low, single story structure - greeting me warmly in Italian and English and offering me sweet tea out of a large pot they have waiting for guests on a table at the entrance to the hut.
The hut itself is small and cosy, with only 12 beds across two rooms, both opening directly into the yard. Hot water is free, and the (only) shower room is spacious and decorated as if it's someone's home.
I take a shower and cross over to the common room slash kitchen. It's full of volunteers, at different ages, and it seems as if there's at least two or three families there. The women that greeted me is helping a girl do her homework. There's smells of cooking from the kitchen that is separated from the main room only by cabinet with cutlery and dishes. The home-made cakes on the table look great, and I can't stop myself, and although dinner is only an hour away, I ask for a piece of the Amaretti cake. It's delicious and homey and I say so, and my compliments are translated into Italian and shared with the baker, and older women I haven't seen before.
Soon dinner is served, and there's 3 more people - an older man on his own and a couple, all Italians. Dinner is fantastic, and very different from what I've had so far: first a bowl is served containing clear broth, cabbage, cheese and a slice of black bread. I'm not sure if it's meant to be a soup with dumplings or a lasagne like dish with sauce, but it's delicious, and very clearly transitional. I later google it to discover its a little-mentioned dish called Zuppa Valpellinese, named after a village at the north of the valley.
Then comes smells and sounds of something else cooking in the kitchen. Soon they emerge with a dish of chicken breast in lemon sauce and ratatouille. The chicken is cooked individually for each dinner, and it's so good that I'm done with mine when the couple sitting in the next table over are only being served there. I think the staff's amused by how quickly I devour the food. They offer more, and I'm more than happy to ask for more ratatouille. Curious, I ask about the cooking, and they tell me that they have a hut cook book they are meant to follow, bu of course each week food will be slightly different.
Dessert is one of the crostata I saw before. I say no to an offer of coffee, can't get used to the Italian way of drinking Espresso before bed.
I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of something crumpling plastic next to my ear. It's clearly not a human sound, as I hear my roommate breathing in his bed on the other side of the small, cozy room. I turn over and fall asleep, only to be woken by the same noise. It's coming from my backpack. I turn on the light on my phone, scanning the room with it. There, here's the culprit: a small rodent that has broken into my trail mix, caught red-handed with a cashew in his hand. It will be one of by biggest regrets in life that I was not fast enough to take its picture, all transfixed by the light, hands raised, before it ran away.
I laught myself back to sleep.
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