Alpine Return

Lost and found during an evening in the mountains, somewhere in the Italians Alps.

It's early evening, halfway up a mountain pass above Lago di Como in the Italian Alps. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting its warm glow on the mountains on the opposite side of the valley. The reverberating sounds of motor vehicles echo around the series of tight hairpin bends, the sound of commuters making their way home for the night. I too am on my way home, in a sense. I am heading into the towering mountains above this quaint alpine village, a place both familiar and unknown. Into the wilderness. 

Three hours until sunset seems like plenty of time. I lace up my shoes and begin the descent into the beech forest, following a trail that has become a daily pilgrimage for the past week that I've been living here. Along an ancient cobblestone path, I head deeper into the valley—in the direction of the Cascate di Begna, a small waterfall that has been carving its path into the seemingly impenetrable rock for many thousands of years. The white noise of flowing water increases in volume the further I head into the forest, a peaceful and calming sound. As I arrive, I contemplate for a moment about whether I should go for a swim or not. I decide against it, being only just over a kilometre into this mountain adventure. The risk of getting too cold didn't seem worthwhile. I am wearing only shorts and shoes after all. 

Following the red and white trail markers, I ascend up the other side of this green and fertile valley. The abundance of biodiversity is something that I have deeply missed after a summer spent in the aridity of southern Portugal. Higher and higher, escaping the noise of the modern world that bustles below, I stop for a moment to admire the panoramic view over the Como valley. Illuminated in a soft orange glow, the world seemed at once a more welcoming place—that everything that was here, belonged. With a unique euphoria that can only be derived from an elevated perspective, I began to climb again. I find myself now in an increasingly dense forest, observing the remnants of an old stone terrace from a previous inhabitant. I wonder who this person was and what drove them to create a life so far up this wild mountain range. I suppose a part of the beauty is that I will never know—that sometimes the mystery is what makes the exploration of these places such an intriguing endeavour, that these questions don’t necessarily need to be answered.

The sun is just about to dip below the summit. I am faced with the necessity of making a decision—to keep pursuing this path that exists on no map, or to turn around and head back to safety, the known. A risky choice, since I am carrying no food and water. I estimate that I probably only have around forty-five minutes of daylight remaining, with no head torch. There is no indicator that says this trail will lead to where I think it potentially could—since I am unfamiliar with the area, the names on the sign mean nothing. High stakes indeed. Continuing could surely be considered reckless. Naturally, I decide to continue. 

Driven by a subtle drip of adrenaline, that undeniable rush of embarking into the unknown, I push onwards up along the valley. The sun has now descended behind the rocky giants, these peaks suddenly appearing far more intimidating in the darkness than they did only an hour previously. The stone walls form a circle around me, amplifying my insignificance in this unforgiving yet beautiful landscape. I follow the path through long blades of grass, hopping over small boulders and free-flowing streams of glacial water. The trail begins to dip once again into a valley—the darkness now further amplified, visibility becoming increasingly scarce. I cross a small waterfall and begin ascending the other side, a continuous undulation over the landscape—rhythmic and hypnotic in its consistency. I fall deeper and deeper into a trance-like state, driven by nothing other than pure instinct. I stop periodically to drink from the mountain streams, the source that sustains life. Never have I appreciated the significance of pure water more than in this moment, or so it seems. I quicken my pace in order to escape the engulfing darkness that is now creeping over the landscape like a dark blanket.

For the past thirty minutes, I have been steadily ascending through the rocks and trees. With relief, I notice that the trail ahead begin to dip downwards. Noticing the subtle jingle of cowbells in the distance, I am relieved to hear a sign of civilisation once again. I run over a small stone bridge and notice a rustling sound in the forest above—a wild boar, foraging for food in the leafy soil. We seem to be heading in a similar direction, or perhaps it is showing me where to go. Either way, there is only one way to go. Up. 

The trail turns into a wider gravel path now, as I pass by a couple of quiet mountain lodges. I begin to fantasise about my dreams of living in such a place, surrounded by the tranquility that only true wilderness can provide. Chop wood, carry water. The simple life. Bringing my attention back to the present, I notice an asphalt road up ahead. I feel instantly relieved, since complete darkness is now imminent. Being a paved road, it meant I could let go of my intense focus on my footing and allow gravity to do the work, bringing me home—back to the earthly realm. A noise to my right draws my attention, a startled deer gallops down the steep grassy slope. I notice the village chapel in the distance, a view that I am greeted with each morning as I gaze upwards towards the towering peaks. It seems so far away, but the ease of descending on this road makes it seem closer than it actually is. Not that it matters. I could keep going like this forever—or at least until I eventually collapse in a heap, whenever that may be. I am tempted to keep going just to find out, but this doesn't seem to be the appropriate timing for such experiments.

Weaving through this quintessential Italian mountain village, I observe the human activity around me. An old lady watches from her balcony as I pass by on the street below. Some families sit for dinner outside a small local restaurant. A girl feeds her cat. All seems well in the world. Only a few hundred metres remain now, as I notice the moonrise beginning to appear above a distant mountain range. A soft yellow glow. A subtle contrast to the intensity of the late-summer sun that was present only a few hours previously, no less magical however. My body arrives back where it started, but the other aspects of my being remain elsewhere—nowhere and everywhere. Here and now, above and beyond. I'm reminded of the transcendental quality of moving in the mountains—of allowing oneself to become subdued by the purest majesty of the wilderness. A feeling like no other.