Please find below the article (a few of the images may differ) just released in the fantastic On Landscape digital magazine. Thanks as ever to Tim and Charlotte who run an amazing visually stimulating and intellectual read.
Our planet is a paradise of endless, unimaginable beauty and as a landscape photographer, I have been privileged to have been able to visit just a few of the treasures it has to offer. I have gazed, literally mouth ajar, at sites of both natural and manmade beauty, be they an overwhelming wonder such as the Grand Canyon or Machu Picchu or an intimate shaft of dawn light shining through a cobweb laden with overnight dew in my back garden. Such sites never fade or dull, each remaining a part of my combined experience. But both my senses and subsequent deliberations were left genuinely reeling following a recent visit to the unimaginable world of the Carrara marble quarries.
Here amongst the towering peaks of the Apuan Alps, man intervenes with nature with apparent disregard in an overtly brazen manner. And yet the consequence is magnetic, staggeringly captivating and eerily mystic. The accumulation of some 700 disused and modern operational quarries – excavated over 2000 years – has left a multitude of deep and seductive, yet horrific, scars across a previously pristine landscape. Our guide consoles us nonchalantly that they are only allowed to excavate 5% of the “hills” as the range is protected by UNESCO. I look around me and ponder the figure, it seems pretty significant in the context of an entire mountain range to me!
We had travelled to Tuscany for a friend’s book launch and decided to return home through the hills. As we exited the tunnel at the top of a pass, I could but stop, stand and stare. The scale of the scene was in every sense simply breathtaking as I looked across a mountain range shrouded in intermittent clouds towards the Mediterranean glistening far below in the distance. Quarries dotted various slopes which have been mined as they provide the source of the purest white (and other) marble on the planet. Michelangelo’s David and other magnificent statues, cities and palaces across the globe have sourced their raw material from this unique place. As you drive up the steep winding road towards the huts of various tour operators, shops selling an infinite choice of marble eggs, chess boards, tables, statues and lights line the route.
I become overwhelmed as our Landrover crawls up the 45-degree incline and I look both down and ever upwards to immense, smooth cliffs of neatly cut rock set into the surrounding natural landscape. Cavernous holes in sheer rock with ignored no entry signs as tourists seek to touch, explore and live this unique environment.
I am in a Tolkienesque scene of fantasy madness – huge excavators and lorries with wheels twice the height of a man appear as Tonka toys against the endless quarry faces which in turn are miniaturised by the scale of the hills themselves. An entire ridge hundreds of metres long simply removed. A hillside of rock sliced away. Tourists as ants against the backdrop. All I can do is reach for my camera and begin.
As we drive away too few hours later and over the following days and weeks, my thoughts begin to reflect on what I have seen and wander in many different directions. I am reminded of the colossal majesty of the 7 year long “Workers” project by the matchless Sebastiao Salgado where he explores the lives and working conditions of the people who dig, mine and excavate for our everyday pleasures such as sugar, gold and oil. I begin to ponder what I have just seen in a similar light against everyday products bought in the shops, where they are sourced and the impact each has on some part of the planet remote both spatially and often in thought. The discord of both immense and yet in the 27 years since Salgado completed that immensely questioning work little appears to have changed.
I wonder what will happen when the quarries reach their 5% limit for extraction. Will the companies tidy up and walk or will they chip away for just a little more. And then a little more again, arguing consumer demand and local economic justification, and they would be far from the first industry to do so. I later even argue with myself over whether I should submit this article and in doing so potentially encourage vanity travel and the carbon footprint of others as they hop on a plane for a long weekend to capture their own interpretation of these remarkable edifices. (I am happy that I did at least think on this and determine the benefits of raising awareness over the potential costs made my actions justifiable though I recognize nothing is perfect).
The quarries have left a profound impression on me. They undoubtedly reinforce many questions on a wide range of issues including beauty, greed, consumerism, society, environment and personal responsibility. They have reminded me to never stop thinking about how I might proactively answer and address such questions both through my work and with respect to my own lifestyle and in questioning others. As a such, they have been as inspirational a venue as I have ever visited, though as I now reflect, maybe not for the reasons I thought as I first drove through that tunnel and looked out in wonder.
CALL TO ACTION
Carrara represents my current “Voice”, thoughts and reflections on consumerism and climate change and the dilemma of my own carbon contributions vs my work as a landscape photographer. In this, as some will already know, following much soul searching Morag and I will stop running all our flight based photography workshops at the end of current commitments and will cease flying wherever possible as part of our own contribution to take personal responsibility.
This has been a very difficult decision to make and how each of us responds will always differ but I am sure I am not alone in recognising the urgency to act. In this regard these pages have already seen the excellent articles on this subject fromJoe CornishandNiall Benviegiving very different personal perspectives on the subject. Personally I think we have to each take responsibility for our own actions and together bring politicians and “corporates” to account, I believe that images can have a profound effect in helping to raise awareness and to change attitudes and would like to thank Tim for giving us all a forum to commence the widest possible discussion on the subject.
I am very excited to see what “Voices” come forward and invite everyone to contribute their own Voice, together with any ideas as to how we can take the discussion forward.
I absolutely love autumn and the sheer variety it brings, the colours, the harvest and the changing weather patterns. Photographically it is a very productive period given the sheer variety of landscapes here in our bit of Liguria.
Thunderous swells at Maranola in the Cinque Terre
Camogli remains subtle & sublime even in a rampaging storm
The beauty of the wave
Small storm over Imperia
Nestled between its cousins of Provence to the west and Tuscany to the east. It is wilder here, less developed and I increasingly think the region has greater depths than either of these as you find yourself in the midst of the incredible Maritime Alps where bare limestone peaks and crags plunge from 2700m through steep wooded valleys, olive groves and vineyards into the azure seas of the Mediterranean over just a few kilometres in distance. It leaves me humbled and feeling very fortunate.
Alassio pier by dawn & by night
Thee bright lights of Alassio
This season has been truly spectacular with sun baked days giving way to deluge, floods and 6 metre waves, with everything in between. We really could not have asked for more from a photographic perspective. And amongst all this the medieval hilltop and valley villages glowed in their semi abandoned glory and we simply couldn’t find enough hours in the day to go exploring.
Some autumnal colour
Crystal spring waters
The chilly pews & the “hanging” chapel – another story (see my Instagramfor a hint)
This post is to share with you some of the simple delights I have been fortunate enough to witness over the past few weeks. On this occasion I very specifically focus on the sheer variety of the imagery and places we have been, both as ourselves and with the wonderful guests who joined us on our workshops, as it just seems so fitting to do so with all things autumn.
Where I dropped my beloved Sony a7r2 in the river 😦
I am sure I will find a few more as I continue my review but I hope you enjoy these for now.
For someone who spends most of my life in the mountains for both work and fun, vertigo is a seriously tricky affliction, affecting both walking and driving in annoying and often completely illogical attacks. For example – a 3000ft drop posing no problem as long as there are trees, whereas a 30ft drop down a steep grassy bank or scree slope cut into a hill can be paralysing and walk-ending. I’ve struggled with this for years and while I’m making inroads into overcoming it, it’s excruciatingly slow and I’d love to hear any ideas or success stories anyone has to share before my endlessly patient husband finally loses the plot with me altogether.
For our wedding anniversary this year we decided to continue with the age-old tradition (started last year) of popping up to the higher hills to see off some of August’s more intense heat and gain a bit of altitude. I’d got it into my head for some reason that I’d like to hike up to 3000m and Viso Mozzo in the Monviso Natural Parc seemed like a reasonable bet.
Scaredy cat that I am, I actually googled the road up to the Rifugio Pian Re where I’d booked us in for a couple of nights and finding it on the DangerousRoads.org site did absolutely nothing to reassure me – “The road is difficult and it’s a nightmare in the wet or dark (or both). The road still remains an adrenaline-pumping journey and is definitely not for the faint of lungs, heart, or legs”. Lucky for me the road was pretty fogbound, and I wasn’t driving, so didn’t have to worry much on the way up.
Our destination was so utterly spectacular that our little legs carried us straight off on a mini-hike to see what was round the corner. What you get in the alps more than Liguria is a lot more water, reminiscent of the Scottish highlands and you immediately notice the difference that a river makes as a companion on a hike – the ever present rush and burble. What you also get, in this part of the Cottian Alps is the Salamandra Linzai – a very funky looking shiny black salamander that constantly gets under your feet when you’re not looking – one even walked along under my camera bag when I stopped to grab a shot.
We turned in early after delicious food, some vino and a round of cards, ready for a bright start the next day – we’d calculated something like a seven hour walk. At the crack of 8.15 we were off, striking out from the car park and soon encountering the source of the River Po, sparking some musings on it’s length and destination (the Adriatic, apparently). The path climbed steeply upwards, magnificent crags on both sides and we’re on the shores of Loch (ok Lago) Fiorenza, an impressive lake, it’s blue hue reflecting the mighty Monviso. A bit more climbing follows, all on very friendly, non challenging terrain – apart from one tiny section but I push through it without too much worry. Around the next corner and the delicate Lago Chiaretto reveals itself, named after its startling turquoise waters.
It’s here that I get my first taste of the collywobbles – I can see a traversing path along what looks like a steep scree slope and I start to get myself worked up – I’m feeling pretty strong and determined though so we agree to get on up to it and see how it feels. Which turns out to be OK, huge relief that I’m not calling the walk off after less than an hour. It’s a short-lived reprieve though, as in no time at all we reach a rockfall with alarming – “very dangerous, fallen rocks” painted on the boulders which sets me a-jittering again, just in time to get onto the narrow and steep traverse around the edge of the hill. I’m not liking this much, even though the exposure is only genuinely lethal in about one place – question here for other vertigo sufferers, is anyone else really bad when there’s a blind corner combined with a drop? Because I’m still feeling determined I manage to round the corner and can see the path gets a bit less tricky up ahead, with solid ground on both sides again. It’s all very rocky, there was a big glacial collapse here in 1989 and it’s not long before we encounter another couple of scary bits, with a fallaway path which Ted coaxes me over – I don’t enjoy it but the drop isn’t the worst I’ve seen and soon we’re onto the boulder field proper which makes me very happy – although it’s not ideal for the dog with lots of big gaps to potentially lose a leg in. This goes on for a while and with another one or two tricky* sections we finally pop out onto the Colle di Viso and it only takes one look at Viso Mozzo for Ted to firmly declare there’s absolutely NO WAY he’s taking me up there (we reflected later that we should have just started up there and seen what is was like, as a lot of the paths look worse from a distance). Given that I’m wobbling on a fairly flat wide path that slopes steeply down to the lake, he’s probably right and so we carry on the few hundred metres to the dramatically located (and reachable only on foot or in a helicopter) Rifugio Quintina Sella for a brief refreshment. The clouds are coming and going on the face of the mountain and I set up a little time lapse while Ted is photographing stills – there’s background sounds from almost constant rockfalls and I think of the climbers up there and hope they’re all safe.
As we’re not going up the ‘big hill’ we decide to carry on for another hour or so in the direction of a different pass and we stay on splendidly friendly terrain for the duration, giving us time to admire the waterways and the magnificent mountain flowers, omnipresent in both this area of the Alps and Liguria where we are based – every mountain seems to have it’s own unique variety – I swear I see a new flower on every walk. Today’s special is a rich purple delphinium. Given that the clouds are swirling and we haven’t seen a weather forecast since yesterday – deliciously wi-fi and cellular signal free up here – we decide that we should turn around, it’s no place to be in a thunderstorm.
The return walk is almost strife free – despite the fact that I’d spent the last two hours dreading the scary bits on the way back with my mind conjuring up all sorts of hideous unwanted scenarios (one of which was disembowelment on a sharp rock!!). I was only properly scared on one bit but by keeping an eye on the path and putting one foot in front of the other, thanking the universe for the wonderful cloak of fog it had again provided, I make it over the gnarly bit and can breathe easy again for another day.
It was genuinely satisfying to know that I’d stuck with it and managed to do a bit of fear conquering and we decide to celebrate by adding another night on to our trip and do some more walking the following day. Unfortunately for me, exposure to The Fear has a sensitising rather than alleviating affect and on day three (with hardly any sleep the night before) the chimp part of my brain has got up early and is banging on in my ear from the first sight of steeply traversing path which I’m praying isn’t our route. I’ve got a whole different level of wobble going on today, I feel dizzy, shaky and almost physically sick on the first few metres of said path and have to beat a very hasty retreat (anyone else do the dangerous drunken run/stagger thing when faced with exposure?) leading to an instant change in destination for the day. Luckily we’re in another very beautiful valley and it’s no hardship to divert up the other side of the hill. Until about 100 meters from the top that is, when I find myself completely incapacitated again. Dang and blast. Ted goes on ahead and comes back saying I’ll hate it (!) and won’t gain anything by carrying on up – but in spite of the fear I’m also seriously pissed off about being beaten, so we decide to stop and have lunch and give it some thought. There’s another path higher up which I think looks much friendlier and so after a very pleasant hour spent lunching and lazing we go off piste and upwards (following the ibex we’d been watching ascend the hill earlier), clambering up a bit of scree/grass and onto a path that’s pretty much identical to the one we were on, just a bit higher. For some bizarre reason it’s less frightening than the other one, yet I still grind to a halt (another bend) and Ted has to spend another 10 minutes coaxing me round and up and over with admonishments to ‘really dig my poles in’ and ‘stay upright’. Embarrassingly there’s actually people up there having lunch who must wonder what this weirdo woman is scared of, but knowing I’ve got to clamber back down again the same way I can only allow myself about 45 seconds of admiring the view on the other side of the Col before I have to go immediately back down before I freak myself right out again. Ted makes me take the scarier of the two paths on the way back – maintaining that it’s actually the least dangerous of the two and I reluctantly but firmly join him and arrive back where we’d left our packs – because life is always less scary without a pack, right?
Anyway, to cut a very long story short, we had a few really lovely walks in the Monviso park, finished off with a delightful hour sat on a large rock watching the light roll across to us down the valley on Saturday morning. I’d be fascinated to hear anyone else’s vertigo/fear of heights stories, especially coping strategies or ways to overcome it entirely, please feel free to message me privately or share your experiences in the comments section.
A bit late getting this one up on the blog but hey ho….
Seeing as we have one of the offspring staying, I decided we need an adventure into the mountains. We had been planning on walking from Limone to Upega along the Via Del Sale but the threat of thunderstorms and a bit of a logistical faff to get to the start (which would also lose us at least half a days walking) meant we decided to stay a bit more local – mooching around on the high level border between Italy and France.
Ted and Zed dropped us off at Viozene and we made the steep trudge up the hill to Rifugio Mongoie, where luckily a big cold beer was waiting for us. We enjoyed the refreshment overlooking the impressive valley and towering peaks above us before heading along the footpath to Carnino. It was tempting to check out the caves that are just by the wobbly bridge that Zed hates but we realised we were already risking being late for dinner and decided to leave them for another day.
Rifugio Foresteria in the middle of Carnino is a great place to stay. We were served a lovely meal by the patron, who was a bit flustered as his wife was away but the food was delicious all the same. We had the dorm to ourselves so got a pretty good nights sleep.
We got an early(ish) start the next day as we wanted to avoid the heat if possible and so were on the trail at 8am, winding up through some very pretty woods before heading up the side of the gorge which in turn gave way to high pastures, nestled in a bowl almost surrounded by high peaks and the sound of cow bells. The first marmots could be heard at this point, and the geology started to get really interesting.
Taking note of a very loud bark up ahead which we assumed to be coming from a gigantic cane da pastore (a herd guarding dog – we’d met one the night before and assumed our most humble body posture to be allowed to pass) we proceeded with caution. A few hundred yards up the track and we came across a small pocket sized dog using the echo from the surrounding mountains to amplify his stature.
Another climb up and we reached Rifugio Don Barbera, who – after a worrying pause – assured us we could stay the night and eat there. After some lunch (the most meagre of snacks according to Joe) we headed up towards Punta Marguareis, which was looming impressively above us, with some pretty scary looking scree. With the mist descending rapidly and worried about thunderstorms we opted for the ‘easier’ path to the summit. It was still a bit of a haul and the odd gap in the mist revealed some exposure close to the path so we picked our way up carefully. On reaching the summit we were greeted by two very cheerful 78 years olds so we stopped for a bit of a chat, gleefully establishing that we’d all brought our own sandwiches rather than lunching at the rifugio because the Genovese are just as tight as the Scottish (something they delight in).
We couldn’t see much up here at all, so we used the cloaking mist to be brave and get very close to the edges which were all that stood between us and yawning chasms on three sides. Joe was actually holding on to my ponytail at one point having coaxed me out onto the precipice.
We scampered down again, with Joe taking advantage of the late snow fields to do some impressive skidding, and then we had a quick explore under the edges, because we could. Annoyingly coming down to the first Col I realised the top I’d tied round my waist had fallen off so I had to retrace my steps up the hill but apart from that the descent was relatively uneventful, other than a ‘quick’ short cut across a boulder field.
The day was still young so I persuaded Joe out for another donder around the plateau and we were rewarded by spotting a large lone wolf, not very far away and making full eye contact. Sitting ourselves down on the rock we managed to watch it patter it’s way up the steep hillside for a full five minutes, a real treat.
Another nice meal and we were ready to hit the hay, a bit less sleep as we were sharing the dorm with another three guys who were doing impressive amounts of cycling.
Following what can only be called a meagre breakfast we struck out south along the Via Del Sale heading for Monte Saccarello. The first bit was the scariest, with overhanging rock and a big drop to the side but I’ve been making inroads into tackling vertigo and got up there without too much trauma. The road was open to motorised traffic now (it’s shut on Mondays and Tuesdays except to pedestrians and cyclists) and we were pretty surprised by how much traffic there was. The scenery was spectacular but we soon dropped down to about 2000m and it wasn’t long before we hit the high tree line. Walking on a track can be dull in some ways but it does afford the opportunity to take in the surroundings a bit more thoroughly and we saw some interesting sights, including a guys washing out his huge milk churns in the river before presumably milking his herd of goats in the nearby field. The wildflowers were spectacular as ever, other wildlife including butterflies, possible eagle and vulture sightings,
marmots and a (sadly) squashed fire salamander.
With our only possible short cuts down behind us, a full five hours later we spotted our goal – the top of Monte Saccarello, not far above us as we were already on the high track above the ski lifts of Monesi. Unfortunately the sight was accompanied by some pretty hefty thunder so we made a quick decision to hot foot it down to Monesi, getting a serious drenching in the progress.
Monesi was hit very badly by the extreme weather in November 2016 and it was interesting to see the level of damage to the roads, both above and below the resort. We decided to do our bit for the local economy and stopped for a pint and some food, before pressing on into the rain. A quick phone call to Ted and we arranged a pick up much further down the hill at Mendatica, I think as we approached the 8 hour mark and passed 30km Joe’s patience might have been wearing a bit thin and we were glad of a lift.
The trip ended as many seem to: in Bar Centro in Borghetto D’Arroscia tucking into some excellent pasta (pizza for the boys) and rehydrating ourselves liberally with the local grape juice.
You can see some of the routes by following these two links, we didn’t record the first section and the second section cut out on the mountain top.
After far too long away from the mountains cabin fever was starting to set in so, having dropped the menfolk off to help out on a friends new roof, Zed and I set our sights on Monte Monega, a hilltop we’d skirted on a couple of occasions but never summited.
Our starting point was Case Fascei, high above Montegrosso Pian Latte, by way of a road we hadn’t travelled before. The weather was looking a bit patchy with possible cloud covered tops but we were really desperate for some altitude so pushed on anyway.
The path starts of as a track at the end of the tarmac road from the village of Casa Fascei – which looks to have been completely renovated and using the original materials making it very cute.
We pass a very impressive potato field, being tended manually by a local guy who no doubt keeps very fit hoeing his vegetables. From here we turn right and wend our way up steeply through the trees on a fairly well signposted path which we only lose on one occasion due to daydreaming and soon pick up again. We make heavy work of this but eventually pop out into the open, a very well kept rustico with an impressive solar array and cow herd on our left and grassy banks to our front and right, covered in wildflowers giving off a heavenly scent.
Afraid the cloud was about to engulf us we quickly scampered up to have a peep over the edge and were rewarded with beautiful clouds and Monte Guardia peeing out intermittently.
We’d reached another track by now – the Via Marenca – and we followed this for a short time until we got to the signpost which pointed us in the direction of Monte Monega. It was an easy hike up a grassy slope from here and aside from a strange dizzy spell (maybe from having a big dslr with a 100-400mm lens slung around my neck) we were quickly up at the top. There were remains of what were probably old fortifications and a metal cross, typical of many peaks in the region, and what has to be one of the best views we’ve come across so far, and let’s face it, the bar was already set pretty high. (It was so good in fact that we went up again two days later to show Ted and Joe and were rewarded with very clear views of the mountains, giving us some great ideas of where to go next).
Although we would have loved to linger longer the clouds were building fast and we didn’t want to get risked getting caught in a storm (which we did manage to do two days later, thankfully just after we’d dropped off the summit ridge). We headed back along to the Passo Pian Latte where the mist came up and surrounded us briefly, nothing to concern us given the size and quality of the track. The occasional fleeting flash of light lit up the landscape in verdant green.
From here we took the track down as opposed to retracing our steps through the trees, it made for a longer circular walk and took us through some very beautiful flower meadows before arriving back at the car. A thoroughly rewarding and uplifting hike, and one I would recommend to anyone who’s good for an hour and a half slog up.
We hadn’t completely run out of energy though and on the road down we passed a sign saying the Cascata d’Arroscia was only half an hour away, and although we were a little pushed for time it was far too tempting to ignore, having heard about these legendary waterfalls. We fast walked/ran the route and managed to get there and back in about 35 minutes give or take the odd stop for a quick iphone snap – there were some fantastic trees besides the path. The waterfall had it’s charms, and reminded me of being in the jungle in Sri Lanka, but compared to the waterfalls we’ve got used to in Scotland, Iceland and the Faroes it was a bit of a whippersnapper in truth.
It was definitely time to call it a day after this so we headed home, just pausing for a refreshing dip much lower down this same river, in Borghetto D’Arroscia.
You can see both the routes by clicking on the links below:
Who could resist the thought of a lunch date with a wild clematis? Not me, that’s for sure.
Zed and I got packed up and headed up the road through Nava and Ormea before climbing up to Chionea to start the walk. The first section unravelled pretty much the same as last time we were in these parts, a steep burst through the top village, flower meadows and vegetable gardens. The path forms a kind of small gully between two walls here, which seemed like the designated meet up spot for all the butterflies in the area.
We turn up onto the rocky and tree covered ridge and see the vibrant orange lilies are out in force. I’m sure this is where they belong but it’s still startling to see such a showy flower out in the high mountains.
A little further up as we come across the first pasture I’m chuffed to bits to find some arnica, for someone who manages to hurt themselves as much as I do it’s a brilliant ally. I leave this in the ground though as it’s not abundant.
The roses are just starting to appear too, in numbers, although they are no match for the azaleas (yet).
(A lizard has just scampered up to the window to watch me while I write, tapped his foot a few times and then buggered off. No, me neither).
Legs are a bit tired today and its slow going, the top of the hill looks ominously cloudy though, although it’s a bit brighter when I take my shades off so we push on.
This time we manage to find the ridge top path straight away which leads along a spectacular rocky stretch and I’m immediately on the look out for more clematis patches. I’m certain I’ll find the one I saw last time (how difficult can it be to find one particular plant on a whole mountain top?) but I’m curious to know if there will be more. Also I’ve decided I’m having lunch with the first clematis I find, and I’m bloody starving.
A flash of blueish purple catches my eye from under a rock and we’ve stumbled upon our first clematis of the day. Not having learned any lessons from the last time, I take a crappy iphone picture of it, knowing that I’ll find the larger specimen further up the track. Or not, as it turns out.
We stop for a clematis-less lunch with fine views over Liguria, we can even see down to Albenga which is our nearest coastal town. With the cloud lifting we decide to push on up to the mountain lake, it’s a steep grassy path with an impressive drop off to the right. As is often the way, as we reach the signpost to stop climbing and turn to the right, the cloud makes a swift and fulsome descent. I decide it’s best not to tangle with the next phase of the path and we turn and retrace our steps.
We’re overtaken by a mountain biker not long after and Zedboy gets his hopes up that he’s still a trail dog, we both miss our biking days.
We make a brief stop at the unmanned rifugio, which is open today as there’s a family with a couple of kids staying there – what a wonderful way to spend the weekend. We fill up with water and have a general nosy inside – no dogs allowed inside unfortunately, so Zedboy frowns at me from the porch while I inspect the accommodation.
The views from here are spectacular, last time we passed the visibility was about 10 metres and we could only guess at the surroundings.
Striking out along the high track we extend the walk by another 5km or so, returning by way of the lower track.
(At this point Ted phones me and says he’s about to take off from Milan and I’m truly boggled to receive a text from him as I arrive back at the car saying he’s landed – the time passed for me so differently than had I been on that flight.)
There are a couple of interesting abandoned buildings, one of which has a stream running right out of the front door, I’m assuming it won’t be standing for too much longer. We linger for a while to enjoy the birdsong.
We’re also very taken with a couple of little grotto type spaces that have formed around the banks of a burn by the track.
Heading down at what can only be described as a dawdle, stopping to photograph flowers and insects on the way we descend towards Chionea and a promise of a gig (The Fantastic Blue) and unlimited pizza for 8 euros at the Bar Centro in Borghetto D’Arroscia.
Having been out for a gentle stroll from Carnino to the Rifugio above Viozene on Sunday with Ted, Zed and I decided to tackle the route high up into the craggy peaks today.
Climbing out of Viozene on the steep path amongst the trees it wasn’t long before we had to navigate our way through a free ranging herd of cattle, with their usual jangly bells. Not much further and the path crosses the edge of the high pasture before climbing steeply through more mixed deciduous and pine woods, plenty of funghi and wildflowers here.
Walking steadily up and out of here we found ourselves on a detour (ahem), what is it about mushrooms that mesmerise you right off the path you’re following. We traversed around the hill for a while, through lots of lovely stingy nettles and ended up at a dead end snow shoot. Good excuse for a spot of lunch, and thanks to Mapout and a gander at the compass we could see we needed to retrace our steps before turning back up the hill again.
The landscape became increasingly wild and we stopped briefly to watch a herd of deer make their way up an impossibly steep snow field before heading back on up the sharp ascent.
Finally reaching what I thought might be the top, only to find it was a plateau we soldiered on thinking there couldn’t be much between us and the summit. Except – as it turned out – a craggy high altitude landscape made up of scree and snow packs. Initially we thought it would be impossible to path but the path navigated the hazards surprisingly well for half an hour or so. Gingerly crossing some snow, glad of the walking poles we made progress. Not for long, we eventually came across snow lying on a 45° gradient and I decided my trail running shoes weren’t exactly the right footwear choice for continuing on.
Zed and I did make a half hearted attempt at scrambling over the top of the snow but several cuts later decided it probably wasn’t our best course of action given how remote we were and the pack I was carrying. The top of the pass and the lake beyond will have to wait for another day. Perhaps an excursion right across to the Rifugio at Mondovi on the other side of the mountains would be a good excuse for a second attempt.
Bailing half an hour earlier than our designated turn around time did give us plenty of opportunity for dawdling on the way back, and stopping to appreciate our surroundings.
We startled a very large marmot but he got away before I could whip the camera out, and we were accompanied by the noise of what I think were young crows learning to fly for a while.
Still plenty of wildflowers, including the gentian, which today the sky was giving a run for it’s money, one of the first really hot and sunny walks so far this year. As we reached the trees again the flora changed a little and the welcome smell of thyme underfoot became strong again.
We took a look at the Rifugio on the way back – it had been packed at the weekend but was quiet now with some renovations going on so instead of stopping for a drink we followed the track down to the road. Happily instead of turning onto the tarmac at the bottom we found a small path running parallel just a few metres higher up. The path meandered down and eventually reached the town, we passed through an area of really lovely looking summer cabins, most of which were still unoccupied. One last bit of road to do and we were back at the car. Happy and hungry.
If you’d like to see the animated map on Relive, click here:
Climbing out of Chionea and Tetti Soprani we are almost immediately stopped in our tracks by an outstanding flower meadow, progress is halted for a while as we attempt to get some shots but mindful of the weather that might come in later and wanting to avoid any possible storms on the high open tops we tear ourselves away, vowing to return and do it justice on another occasion.
The track turns up and along a ridge, and is quite rocky in places, the sun and gradient making for sweaty work. Before long we catch sight of a porcini patch in our peripheral vision, some makeshift bags are prepared from coats and waterproof camera covers and we’re back on our hike with an few extra pounds of weight in the bag (Ted’s not mine by some stroke of luck).
After following a track for a while we realised the path we’d been trying to join was now above us, we must have been so excited by the ‘shrooms that we lost concentration, nothing a quick cut up the hill couldn’t fix so we traverse across the vegetation until we’re back up on the ridge. It’s here I spot the first wild clematis I’ve seen in the mountains, a real treat and I wish I’d stopped to photograph but thinking there would be more ahead of us, and with the cloud coming down we kept moving. Not for long it turned out: not a hundred metres further along we looked down to our right and saw a sweeping expanse of wild azaleas – bright pink and impressively puncturing the mist swirling in the valley.
After a happy interlude with the flowers we stopped for a snack lunch, jackets on now the sun had disappeared for good. A quick review of the path forward and we opted not to go to the highest summit with visibility being less than ideal.
Traversing around the hill we came across the Rifugio Valcaira (an unmanned site) and immediately decide we need to go and stay there for a week, we could only guess at the view but it was bound to spectacular. From here the route started to follow a track and flattened out across a plateau before we came to a crossroads where we began our descent in the direction of Quarzina.
Zed had the first of two run-ins with a husky here, luckily it’s owners were on the case and they called him back before any swords were drawn. All of this while we’ve stopped to photograph two old enamel baths up on the hillside, presumably at one time there as water troughs, although their current placement – one wedged end on in an impossibly small gap in the rocks and the other upside down suggested those days were past. More spectacular azaleas up here amongst a boulder strewn Tolkienesque landscape before we round another small peak – Monte Castello di Quarzina – and turn east again to head back to Chionea along the lower track.
Not far along and we happen across a bizarre boulder and barbed wire combo – it wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Tate and we could only ponder it’s reason for existence as there were no old fences around suggesting it was abandoned materials from an old field boundary. We took some photos anyway, it was an interesting juxtaposition, especially surrounded by wildflowers.
The signposts were soon promising a lake, which was getting me quite excited, it was easily warm enough for a dip. We arrived to find it very small by Scottish standards but it was tempting enough for me to strip off and dip the feet in, before deciding to beat a retreat having found it occupied by hundreds of very fierce looking newts (or were they baby crocodiles?).
The husky owners had also advised us to steer clear of the pastoral dog further down the hill (at least I think that’s what they said, my Italian not being quite what it could be). On hearing the jangle of cow bells lower down we decide to make a detour to avoid their pasture, missing out on a church en route, but it’s always good to leave something for another day.
More mushrooms and an set of abandoned farm buildings peaked up out of the mist, grabbing Ted’s attention for a while, Zed and I pondered where the twenty or so horse riders had arrived from, their ranks being swelled by a steady trickle coming up the track to meet them, at a canter.
We were well out of high mountain territory by now and seeing more signs of civilisation, the path lit up by dozens of laburnum trees in flower. There were also some gigantic chestnut trees, they must have been hundreds of years old and very impressive.
Passing through another couple of remote villages with little or no car access and in various states of abandonment, and our weary legs were glad to see the rooftops of Chionea come back into view. We were both buzzing from the day, agreeing wholeheartedly it was one of the finest walks yet.
Stopping off to verify the mushrooms with Antonio who runs our local bar (Bar Centro in Borghetto D’Arroscia – highly recommended by the way) meant we were easily lured into staying for a primo – gnocchi with trombette and pancetta washed down with some delicious rosé. A fitting end to a truly grand day out.
If you would like to see an animation of the walk on a map, click on this link:
On waking I had no idea that a day of wonders was in store for us in the Galloway Hills.
We started out at the Lorg cottage, as far as I know used only as an outpost for shepherds and shearers and wanders up the Water of Ken, which itself offers up a treat in the form of a small gorge with cascades, somewhere we could have easily spent a day if we didn’t have our minds fixed on a long wander with some exercise involved.
Striking out across sheep fields we were intrigued by the old circular sheep buchts and stopped to grab a quick snap of their frosty stone geometry, remnants of a bygone age. We headed into the woods from here, wondering if we would find an actual path or have to negotiate the often treacherous clamber through dense forest. We were pleasantly surprised to find a wide and open path through the trees, soft and springy underfoot. I don’t know the history of this path – possibly an old drovers route but we were immediately struck by a sense of the past, echoes and whisperings of long-past traffic and centuries old journeys. Moss laden sheep pens and trees and an earthy scent from the forest floor left us in a temporarily fanciful state, our imaginations running riot.
Emerging from this and returning to reality, we also found ourselves back on the forest track and decided to take a quick detour up to the Polskeoch bothy which can be reached by road from the Scaur Glen. A quick look around and plans made to come and camp overnight there sometime and we were back on our way, only to be pulled in by more winter magic, frozen mud on a rickety wooden bridge and some eager steam rising from the small burn, highlights from the sun reflecting in the water and dazzling us. Dragged on again by an unwelcome timepiece reminding us of the short daylight available we carried on up the path, with another brief stop to marvel at some backlit moss, enhanced photographically by Ted’s breath steaming in the cold air as I attempted to capture it.
Not one hundred metres further on we chanced upon some of the quirkiest ice patterns in puddles I’ve ever seen. Nature had one last treat for us before the walk resumed a sense of normality*, some tiny plants growing in the forest track, momentarily shedding their icy cloaks before the sun slipped back down behind the hill.
Breaking out onto the top of the hill we took an unexpected pelting from the wind which we’d been blissfully unaware of in the shelter of the trees. It failed to dampen our appreciation of the marvellous views, hazy in the winter sun.
*Fresh air, good paths, bad paths, weather, spectacular views, flora and fauna abounding.