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We awoke, miracles and wonders, to a rain-free morning. In fact, by the time we finished our breakfast, a few swathes of blue sky played overhead, and a dim light played across the rooftops of Chiusa. Although this appeared promising, mist still swirled around the upper reaches of the mountains, and the weather forecast continued to advance the possibility of rain in the afternoon.
“The rain is done for the week,” announced the owner of hotel.
I hoped he was right. Today’s stage was going to be hard enough without the added hurdle of inclement weather. Our guidebook lists the stage from Chiusa to Collalbo as one of the toughest on the Via. It is not long---only 20.5 KM---but it has one of the greatest ascents of the entire route. This stage would take us from the bottom of the valley up to what is known as the Altopiano del Renon. We would begin the day at around 500 meters of elevation, and finish at 1,200. Our ascent was leavened with a number of descents, so uphill distance for the stage would be approximately 1,240 meters, roughly 3,600 feet, or about two-thirds of a mile. In other words, it wasn’t the length of the journey that was predicted to be challenging, it was the climbing.
We departed Chiusa on a bike path that ran flat beside the river. I saw a sign that claimed it was only 27KM to Bolzano on the bike path. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” I asked Mary. “We could just follow the bike path right to Bolzano and skip the high country.”
That idea was summarily rejected. Many of my best ideas are.
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We departed the bike path, followed the Statale for a brief period, and then plunged up into the woods on the designated Via Brennero. The road wound up a hill, the concrete turned to trail, and suddenly, after far more climbing than is healthy, we emerged at the edge of a vineyard as the trail vanished in grass. There were no waymarkings, trail signs, or any indication that we were even close to the route. Fortunately, I had my GPS. Although it offered few clues, its map did indicated that there was a road 300M south. With no better idea, we elected to bushwhack up a hillside on a faint trail. Much to our joy, our thin trail steadied and after 200M we began to encounter the red and white markings of an official Italian trail. We continued south (when on doubt on the Via, always head south), and sure enough, the GPS led us to a road, where we were pleased to see a Via Romea indicator.
This GPS rescue put me in such a happy frame of mind that I did not even mind the road’s obstinate upward slant. Hills are far easier to stomach than feeling lost in the woods.
I was pleased to note that we were once again back on the Chestnut Trail. Evidently the trail begins at the Abbey of Novacella, and finishes at the Castle of Roncolo,which is north of Bolzano. It is becoming an old, familiar friend.
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With every pace south, we found ourselves more firmly in Italian wine country. The slopes of these steep hillsides were covered with long rows of grapes. Some of the vineyards appeared almost unmanageably steep. I don't know who has to pick the grapes, but they must have good balance.
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Vineyards
As we walked, some of the mist began to burn off the mountaintops, and we began to get a hint of what we had been missing. The views became fantastic, the higher we climbed. Perhaps that is why people climb mountains, to obtain better views of other mountains.
Of course, as I noted earlier, the day’s stage was not all uphill. Occasionally the road would turn sharply downward and I would watch all of the altitude we had expended so much sweat and calories to attain, slip away again. This was particularly true as we passed the village of San Maurizio, and began strolling into a gorge that had been carved into the side of the mountain. We descended into the gorge. The sound of crashing water reached our ears, and then, rounding a corner, we saw an incredible flume of water smashing downward over large boulder.
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Bridge Across the Raging Stream
We crossed the raging flow on a rickety wooden bridge built on a base of two steel railroad tracks. The trail then turned steeply upward, switchbacking up through the forest as we worked to recover the altitude we had just lost. The ascent was challenging, a serious thigh-breaker.
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Mountain View
The mountain views continued to improve. Large peaks, still dressed in snow, emerged from the mist. This was the first time we had really seen the mountains and it was quite impressive. The improved mountain view made me wish that I had a longer telephoto lens to pick distant details. Unfortunately I'm already carrying 7 pounds of camera equipment, and adding a 200-400 millimeter lens would have made my pack even heavier going uphill.
The alert reader might ask at this point: if you have a pack full of camera equipment, why are the photos in your blog so poor? A good question. In fact, all of the photos in my blog are coming from my antique Motorola mobile phone (Mary has chipped in a couple of IPhone photos as well). I don’t have a laptop computer to transfer the photos off my camera and move them into the blog. In the future, after the trip is over, I will update this account with superior photos.
But back to the mountains. The closest peaks, across the valley were Mount Santer and Schlern Sciliar. They were our constant companions throughout the day as we slowly trudged past them.
We reached the small town of Barbiano around noon. The morning brightness was starting to dissipate, and dark clouds were thickening. I hoped to be proven wrong, but it certainly felt like rain was on the way.
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At the town church, we encountered an old friend, a statue of St James. He was dressed as a pilgrim, with his cape, staff, and scallop shell. James is the patron saint of the Santiago de Compostela, and we spent a lot of time in his company two years ago. It was nice to see him again.
The afternoon progressed. The gathering clouds lent a grey hue to the world. There was a smell of wood smoke in the air from the fireplaces of the farm houses we passed. The day felt autumnal, as if we were walking through the last days before the first snowfall.
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The slope leveled out for a couple of kilometers, and then we began the ascent to the church of Santa Verena. This required a steep climb through the woods, following a narrow, root-infested trail. The trail had not dried out from yesterday’s rain, and the roots were slippery and provided an awkward surface for our feet.
After this short, but brutal climb, we emerged in a clearing at the top of the hill and found the church. Santa Marina was a fourth century Christian faith healer and caregiver. She was born in Egypt and died in Switzerland. She accompanied Rome’s Theban legion on a military expedition into the region that would become Switzerland, and spent her time caring for the soldiers. She eventually settled in a cave outside modern day Zurich and lived a solitary, ascetic life.
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The church, which stands overlooking the valley floor, was built sometime before 1256. It fell into disrepair with the passing centuries, but was restored in 1980. It was also locked, which, given its remote location, was both sensible and frustrating. We took a rest outside Verena’s walls and contemplated the fact that after hiking all day, the worst of our climb was still ahead of us.
The trail descended the other side of the peak, down past the stations of the cross. At this point, the trail follows a segment of the old Imperial way, the Kaiserweg. The Kaiserweg was a stone path built by the medieval German emperors that gave overland access to northern Italy. Today, only isolated fragments of the path remain.
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As we hiked down from Santa Verena on this section of the rocky Kaiserweg, I was surprised by how narrow the path was. And although the stones were laid to provide traction for horses, carts, and soldiers, when they were damp, they were slippery.
Our serious day’s climb began on a two rut road that ascended at what was probably a 45 degree angle. Someone had poured cement into the two ruts, which provided stable and grippy footing. They were much easier to climb than any of the other surfaces we had experienced during the day. A pilgrim’s blessing on the heads of those who poured this concrete.
We reached an intermediate plateau and walked toward a farmhouse. An old woman was clipping flowers in front of her house. As I approached, she looked up, took a look at me, and then scuttled inside her house. I obviously didn’t make a good impression. Moments later, her dogs began barking.
More climbing. Growing fatigue. The next major milestone was the church of Maria Saal, which, rather predictably, was set on top of a hill. Up we slogged through a pasture. The path ran beside an electric fence, and a constant stream of water oozing down the hill had made it fairly muddy. Finally, we reached the top, and found the church.
The church was to be the last serious climb of the day. From here we followed a trail past the Pyramids of the Earth (which I plan to discuss in tomorrow’s entry), and then on into Collalbo. Footsore and fatigued, we limped through town, vainly searching for our evening’s lodging. As it turns out, our beds were housed in a Agriturismo on the other side of the town, and, you guessed it, up a steep hill.
Despite the ardorous and lengthy stage, Mary and I agree that this day was the best of the trip so far. The views were phenomenal from up here on the Altopiano. Tomorrow will be a shorter, largely downhill day.
Daily Distance: 23KM
Total Distance: 98KM
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