Alta Via 1, Day 8

Comfort is a luxury in the mountains where you're often granted just one blessing: a good breakfast, a working toilet, or a good night's sleep. Last night I had some of the best sleep I've had on the trail, which means I had a rather subpar breakfast of stale breads and barely usable toilets. It was, I later found out, the last day for Rifugio Vazzoler during this season, which might have explained the chaos.

We gathered outside for photos before parting ways: Stephanie, Lisa, Patricia, and I. Stephanie and Lisa departed first, headed to the Algordo bus stop before continuing their trip to Venice. Patricia stayed, as she became a celebrity overnight and everyone else also wanted to take pictures with her.

Day 8 felt rather heavy; my guidebook told me it would be a moderate journey that I won't have anything to worry about, but apparently even this guidebook doesn't take into account the particular heaviness that seeps in after a week of walking. In some moments, what once seemed like adventure now felt like labor. I lost the trail repeatedly among scree fields and boulders, and each time I would feel a surge of panic before spotting the small cairns left by hikers before me.

There were some unexpectedly steep climbing section which made me think that going with my trail runners was a bad choice. Other hikers continued passing me by, while I paused, again and again, to catch my breath as I relocate the trail.

By the time Rifugio Carestiatio appeared on my left handside, I was exhausted. I collapsed at an outdoor table and ordered ravioli with cream sauce, which was one of the few remaining options on a menu during the last week of the season. The server mentioned they were closing tomorrow, so not all options were available. It made me think of how this group of people whom I had been passing by and sharing small chats with is probably the last people who would be hiking the trail this season. Of course, some people do the hike off-season where they would either camp or stay in winter shelters, but it probably would not feel the same without the on-season hikers, without the rifugios being open, and without the chaos of the rifugio.

Patricia arrived twenty minutes later, and she complained that today too had been difficult for her. I was not alone! We spoke of quitting, but even deep down I knew that I would see her on the very last stretch of the trail, and we would rejoice together as we celebrate the completion of the hike. We did speak of quitting a lot, as we downed our ravioli, but we were also not the quitter type. And to abandon the trail now would be to waste all the difficulty we had already endured so far; there is no going back.

I continued to Passo Duran as afternoon stretched toward evening while Patricia remained in Carestiato for today. The rifugio in Passo Duran bustled with motorcyclists and hikers, among them Sunny and Livia, who I bunked with for the night. "Tomorrow will be hard, huh?" Sunny said. Apparently everyone else here also had the same itinerary, where they would be merging the two stages and head to Pian de Fontana tomorrow, because the rifugio halfway between Passo Duran and Pian de Fontana was closed for the season already.

The café upstairs was busy with hikers I wasn't familiar of, including the man who had once instructed me to smile on the trail which is an advice I found no more welcome now than then. I decided to keep to myself and opened my sketchbook to sketch the grazing cows through the window while avoiding conversation. Only when Phil appeared at dinner did I close my book. We studied weather forecasts that predicted storms by mid-afternoon tomorrow. Twenty kilometers stretched before us, with exposure and difficult terrain. We agreed it would be wise to start at dawn tomorrow, and we spoke little after that, conserving energy for the day ahead.