Local writer and planetary modeller David Angus takes us on an epic hike through the Dolomites.
First of all why the title?
Answer: I build planets and the odd moon; model ones that is. Once in a while.
And long ago I participated in what was known as an amateur publishing group in science fiction fandom, where people could write about anything really. We all had to think of a title for our entries though, so because I build model planets and can moan about aspects of the mundane world, Planet Building Blues seemed a natural one for me.
Much later my contributions to the Star & Crescent added up. I wanted to eventually write a monthly column somewhere and mentioned this to Tom Sykes – one of the founding editors of S&C – while we were having a beer. What would I write about? Anything was his answer.
‘Anything’ was the same brief as it was with the amateur publishing group, so there was continuity with the old Planet Building Blues idea here.
Seeing as I can write about anything and this is my first effort it’s a bit of a hotchpotch. I agreed with Tom that I should write about the a trip I made to the Dolomites but there has to be an introduction with my first effort and because of the title I’ve news regarding one of my models that’s relevant too.
It’s a terrain model of one of the big 4 Galilean moons of Jupiter. Trouble is it’s Callisto; the most heavily cratered moon and as a result the most difficult. It’s become the model-making version of the Battle of the Somme! It even looks like no man’s land because of the craters. Although it’s less than a foot square and I’m nearing the end with the fine detailing, I have a mania for such detail so I keep coming across discrepancies when comparing it to my satellite image, such as some mountain – or rather tiny pimple – or tiny tricky patch that has to be remodelled, delaying progress until it dries. So the ground taken (modelled) is nowhere near my objectives and gained at a heavy cost in time. Meanwhile the weather is deteriorating and the days are shortening. Will the war be over by Christmas?
The day before I was to leave for a summer trip to the Dolomites, a last minute issue occurred in the form of a curious kitten who infiltrated my house when I’d left the back door and others open. The family owning it were in a state of stress and we couldn’t find it. This was because it had made a hideaway home in the middle of my storage area and was only discovered the morning preceding my afternoon departure by my laborious shifting of boxes. The woman owning it thought she was going to cry when when we found it. I thought I was going to laugh.
My run of mistakes rather than bad luck continued in Italy. At Verona my train was delayed, leading me to miss the taxi connection to the north, a tourist centre session deciding on a bus instead on the far side of the station, a waiting taxi when I got back there and a mouthful on the phone from the taxi boss in Italian.
At least I was able to relax with a bottle of mineral water on the comfortable ascending from the deep valley of Bolsano through a series of curves and tunnels up to spectacular views and hill towns, eventually reaching the town where my hotel was.
Next day I started hiking in a beautiful morning. The weather remained good throughout the week. I could hike up the valley and back through green Arcadian countryside with the spectacular rock masses of the Dolomites looming over the valley and blue with distance ahead of me. Most of it was uphill but I was travelling light. Not only was the heavier backpack to be transported separately to the next hotel but I was taking photos with the smartphone rather than the heavy Nikon camera.
Then trouble struck again after I’d stopped for some lunch for I’d lost my wallet!
Luckily, I had the bank cards and some cash in a money belt but I abandoned the hike, retraced my route and told everyone about the loss back in town to no avail.
All these mishaps hardened my resolve into a steely determination to conquer steep ascents over the rest of the holiday, to justify it. The first involving a steep climb hiking to the next hotel. At least this region wasn’t trackless. There was a signposted network of them throughout the Dolomites and the first ascent was up through a forest shielding one with cooling shade for most of the time, apart from a slope of rocks most of the way there. The whole thing seemed a static landslide of boulders and rocks that somehow was not rolling down the slope and crushing the town I’d just stayed at far below.
Far beyond that I made it to a plateau after a 2,000 ft climb. Not bad for a 75 year old.
An easier descent led me to a grassy saddle and the luxury of the next hotel. From my balcony I could see the sunset painting the mountains to the south with hues of pink, orange and yellow.
When I left that hotel I was in for another hike to the next hotel involving 2,000 feet again. The first part was an easy hike through an alpine upland like an enormous rolling unkempt lawn with alpine huts of uniform size and brown timbered colour scattered here and there like discarded playing pieces. Distant soothing cow bells tinkled continually while they were grazing.
Then it got much tougher: a zigzag path going up a slope at least 1 in 1 with no trees for cover towards a gap in the rocks along a mountainous ridge. It was a sun trap and I would have run out of water but for a water bottle with a filtering system enabling me to fill up from a small stream. On the zig zag it was a slow trudge with frequent rests while everyone passed me. Upon reaching a rock overhang with a view I realised I was getting close to the top and was going to make it. When I did it turned out to be the highest point of the hike. Another triumph at just over 8,000 feet.
There was a fantastic panorama up there of course, but it was the shapes of the Dolomites. Great barren rock masses and immense spikes of mountain with people crawling below them like ants. A faraway platform of alpine meadowland ending abruptly in a great precipice into a deep gorge of a valley. On the horizon was steep high peak with a vertical drop out of scale with everything else. None of these shapes relating to each other much. Must be the geology. Triassic limestone with some underlying volcanics which meant some metamorphic rocks. This was a likely region for marble then. It also meant that the the geology of this region began with coral reefed volcanic islands; the Alps themselves were not formed until after the dinosaurs died out.
Setting off from there I was looking forward to it being downhill all the way, but the track for vehicles was steep enough for it to be hard work not a great deal easier than the ascent! At last the gradient lessened – thank goodness – amidst shade giving coniferous woodland. Eventually there was a river on the right and finally a clearing with hotels ahead.
My last ascent was not the highest but the mountain mass was about the most spectacular one in the area: an awesome array of precipices, cathedral masses of spikes, towers, spires; except for the nearest mountain which had an extensive outer crazily tilted slope all the way to the top. The approach was through a sunlit blue skied paradise mountain meadows, ancient woodland, faraway views of this beautiful corner of planet Earth, a clear stream or two with a small ascent now and then and one main descent to a path along the bottom of the nearest mountain, its huge slope ending in the bulk of massive shadowy precipices looming above.
When I got home I showed photos of this at a pubmeet and was told those mountains looked like something out of science fiction. What with scenery, good weather and successful ascents at 75 my latest trip had turned out to be another personal triumph. Shame about the wallet.
Until I found it packed! All the time; mistaken by me for stuff in the small backpack behind where it was packed. Not so much a senior moment. More a senior saga!
Picture ‘Brenta Dolomites’ by Marco Ober reproduced under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0.
