Trail Runner Magazine | The Alta Via One

As featured in Trail Runner Magazine November 2007

Photo Gallery : Trail Running the Alta Via One

NOTICE

Summer 2012 : DolomiteSport and Holimites will be offering Guided Trail Running Tours of this same trip; The Alta Via 1. One week of running through the Italian Dolomites, staying in huts, carrying very little, and eating like a king. Visit Holimites, for more information.

UPDATE (6/29/09) The first Alta Via 1 tour was a huge success:

PatitucciPhoto’s Photo Gallery says it all = FUN.

La Dolce Vita

The author and his running partners set off to find out whether the Dolomites’ trail and hut system measure up to Italy’s proud legacy.
Story and photos by PatitucciPhoto

I have never had a problem being Italian; overly dramatizing trivial events and swinging my hands when I speak (loudly) come quite naturally. And, like most Italians, I love to broadcast, advertise and generally promote my Italian heritage. We are a proud people. A visit to Italy reveals why; Italians do it right. Consider: Armani, Ferrari, Michelangelo, Rome, prosciutto, espresso, pizza and pasta—La Dolce Vita!

In the summer of 2006, my wife, Janine, our friend Amy Rasic and I traveled to the Dolomites of Northern Italy to find out if the trails, mountains and huts would prove as fantastic as all other things Italian.

The Dolomites feature massive towers and peaks of light-orange- and gray-colored dolomitic limestone in northeast Italy. It is an idyllic landscape with tiny villages dotting narrow valley floors, sheep and dairy cows wander the green grassy hillsides that suddenly terminate at the bases of the stone walls.

We chose a section of the Alta Via One Trail, the premier high route through the Dolomites’ most dramatic peaks and landscapes, linking villages, roads and huts.

Beginning near the northern town of Dobbiaco, the trail winds its way south, staying high in the mountains and connecting a series of huts until it reaches Belluno 150 kilometers later. Thanks to the well-worn path and relatively mild terrain, it is one of the easier long trails in the Dolomites, and makes a great running tour.

Lacking time to do the entire Alta Via One, we began near the middle and worked our way north. Agordo was our entry point, a town that allows access to the trail near the base of the Civetta, an El-Capitan-like wall of dolomite. Three thousand feet of steep trail straight up from the car put us on a high plateau and linked to the Alta Via One Trail.

Having not spent time on European trails, Amy, a certified Rolfer from Bishop, California, was in awe at the sheer relief and at how the trail led us amongst the gothic-like formations.

Five miles into the Alta Via, we arrived at a Malga, or family owned mountain-dairy hut. Spread throughout the Dolomites, these working farmers offer fresh milk and cheese, dried meats and sometimes coffee to hikers. More accustomed to her home range of California’s Sierra Nevada, Amy was also impressed at the availability of Italian delicacies along the way.  “Now I see why you didn’t seem concerned about carrying food in our packs”, she noted as the crowded hut came into view.

Arriving at the Malga mid-day, we found it packed, and squeezed into seats next to an Italian couple with their poodle at an outdoor table and snatched a menu. If this had been a restaurant in the United States, our choices would have likely been limited to burgers, soggy fries and bad beer. But this being Italy, we ordered a local cheese platter, a porcini mushroom pasta and a bottle of red wine.

“This will be the first running trip we gain weight on,” Amy teased. “It takes more than a 13-mile run in the mountains to burn a cream sauce and cheese assortment”.

After lunch we hit the trail, which meandered through green grass beneath the 3500-foot, eerily vertical wall of the Civetta. In the distance loomed the 11,000-foot Marmolada, the range’s tallest peak and coverd with the Dolomites’ largest glacier on its north side.

Soon, early evening was upon us and we were still about four miles from the Coldai Hut, which presented a problem unique to the European hut system—dinner was set for 7 p.m. sharp. Miss it and you go hungry. We quickly calculated how much time we would need to take photographs in the golden light and still make dinner. It was going to be tight, and I was getting antsy.

When I lived in Italy in 1997, my Italian friends would often implore, “Tranquillo, tranquillo, Patitucci.” Italians prefer a slower pace, and now those words echoed but there was simply no way I could miss dinner. An argument ensued between Janine and me—she wanted to work; I wanted pasta.

“Dan, we came here to work and enjoy the mountains, not to be inside a hut for sunset,” said Janine.

“Yes, but maybe we can work quickly and keep moving,” I said, employing arm waves and hand gestures for emphasis.

Luckily, reasoning and Euro travel savvy won out. This being Italy, one thing was certain: dinner would be late.

So we moved on, photographing occasionally, carving through switchbacks, winding alongside a small creek, leaping from foot-worn rock to foot-worn rock. We were like kids at Disneyland, hooting and hollering as we descended to a bench with two tiny azure lakes. From the lakes we climbed a small pass to a saddle where a small group had gathered to watch the sun dropping behind the mountains. We knew we were nearly home; Italians don’t stray far from dinner.

Upon arrival, we discovered that dinner was indeed late, found our seat and were handed menus. Menus at a mountain hut? We were accustomed to the French and Swiss huts with their fixed menus and a love-it-or-leave-it policy. Pizza or pasta? Salad or soup? I began considering pizza and pasta. During our four-course meal, we enjoyed watching a birthday celebration in the adjoining room. Twenty drunk Italians on a Via Ferrata (see sidebar) tour  sang and danced on tables as platters of grappa, a deadly alcohol made from the second pressing of wine grapes, were passed around.

“A little different than life in a tent with dehydrated chili and iodine-flavored water, eh Rasic?” I commented.

“Sorry, did you say something,” said Amy, looking up from her menu. “I was trying to figure out what to have for dessert.”

After escaping the dining room we found we were the last to make bed selections in our room. As a result, we were guaranteed the top story on three-tiered bunk beds. I climbed up the teetering bunk and crawled into bed trying not to think about the 10-foot drop to the floor. With fears of having to climb down through two tiers of snoring hikers if nature called, I faded off to sleep.

The next morning we were greeted with coffee, fresh bread and butter. Early morning sun warmed the hut’s deck where everyone gathered to study their day’s objectives.

For us it was a descent to a valley, followed by a 2000-foot climb up to the Alta Via and then about 12 miles of trail to the next hut, the Rifugio Nuvolào.

Studying the map revealed a worrisome situation—there was a section of trail that was at least seven miles long without a hut, restaurant or bar. I cheered up, though, as I discovered that we could take a nearby chairlift to the valley below, saving our knees a pounding. Ah, Italy!

After our chairlift ride and half-hour cappuccino stop (tranquillo, tranquillo!) at a roadside café, we were ready to run. A 45-minute climb placed us on another high plateau and the Alta Via Trail. Once again, we were rolling up and over glacial moraines, climbing gentle trails through forests of Larch trees and descending winding singletrack in open meadows.

The next several hours made our airline tickets worth every penny. Always gaining elevation, we were soon on a ridge with a steep eastern edge that dropped away to the distant town of Cortina d’Ampezzo. Soon the trail descended from the ridge and wandered through a massive open plain of boulders. Giant towers loomed. The landscape was surreal, and the darkening clouds brought a sinister feel to the air. We ran up a short pass to a saddle. Now, all that was left was a descent to a road and quick climb to our next hut. However, a boisterous group of Italian hikers came charging up the trail, all speaking at the same time, their arms waving. Laughter and the rings of cellphones filled the air. After numerous “Buon giornos,” we continued to the hut, with the Italians’ voices fading off into the distance.

The last day involved a short, six-mile run to a well-traveled road outside of Cortina, home of the 1956 Winter Olympics. This section of trail wandered through an area called the Cinque Torre, or Five Towers, which is famous for its World War I history. Still in place are the very trenches, bunkers, artillery platforms and tunnels used by the battling Italian and Austrian armies. Our run turned into more of an interpretive walk, as we stopped frequently to study these artifacts.

After three blissful days, we arrived at the final stop where our car waited—parked at a strategically planned restaurant. Here, we enjoyed one last round of coffees and torts before loosening our laces and piling into the tiny rental car.
While pulling out from the parking area we saw, across the road, the continuing Alta Via One. Sadly, this year it would have to go on without us. We couldn’t help but think that not too far along that trail would be the next hut, where at this time of afternoon, dinner would be running late, laughter would be loud, and the wine glasses would be beginning to fill.

Now it was clear, our experience in the Dolomites proved to be nothing less than La Dolce Vita; The Sweet Life. For running, eating, the landscape and the chance meetings with Italian characters, Italy truly plays the ideal host. In a country where nothing is in much of a hurry, I was already feeling the need to hurry back.