I took a train over (well actually it was through, considering the number of tunnels) the mountains to meet Claire (Watson Fellow `77 I believe) who has a house in a village near Dagro. I made it to an empty lift that goes up the mountainside and waited until someone who spoke English could talk to me over the intercom, making sure I was inside the car with the door shut. I made it up there, and Claire and I hiked down to her house, where I met her daughter Emma and her German friends who were also visiting. I had a refreshing break from hiking, spending it playing with Emma in the freezing cold fountain by the house. We had dinner by candlelight and I enjoyed the warmth of my sleeping bag for the first time.
The next day Claire and Emma headed back home to Basel because Emma was sick, so I headed up to Capanna Prou alone. It seemed like it was straight up the mountain, but eventually I came to the treeline, and saw the hut along with fantastic views of the surrounding mountains. Prou had no guardian, which means that we just write our name in a book and put our payment in a cassa inside. Only one other person was staying there that night, Nathalie from Belgique, so we made soup together in the little kitchen and talked about the US Civil War in French and English (a conversation prompted by Nathalie`s reading of To Kill a Mockingbird in French).
In the morning I headed off to the next hut, Quarnei. I stayed above treeline most of the time, crossing 10 or 15 streams from the snowmelt. I saw Quarnei for 2 hours before I actually got there. I watched from afar as a helicopter came roaring through the valley and dropped a huge white sack right at the entrance to Quarnei. When I finally got there, past the goats and cows and more streams, I saw that it actually four white sacks, full of supplies too heavy to carry in. Quarnei was bigger than Prou, with an entry way especially for dirty boots--you take off your shoes and put on sandals to walk around inside (this was standard for all the huts I visited-no boots allowed). There were families here for the night, Swiss, Italian, and German. I was glad to be cozy inside reading Snow Falling on Cedars as the wind roared outside.
From Quarnei I went over a pass (my first of the trip) to Capanna Adula (CAS). It was so windy that I put on my serious mountain gear for the first time, windproof pants, rain jacket, and I even cinched my hood up tight around my head (you know Carolyn, with the cincher that all rain jackets have). After a brief encounter with goats that scared me (even though they were just curious), I made my way up the rocky path, putting aside my walking sticks sometimes to use my hands for the climbing (yes Mak, what`s his name from rocking climbing class would be proud). There was a little lake at the very top of the pass, but it was too windy to pause and admire it for long. Further down, I could not help but stop and take pictures pictures all around. 360 degrees of green meadows dotted with purple and white or brown rocky cliffs splattered with white snow. The waterfalls and streams caused by the snowmelt were loud, but only up close, so that you would hear nothing until you turned a corner and then there it was, rushing down the mountainside. At the first Adula hut, run by ATOE, I stopped for a break and watched a group of climbers head off, their ice axes securely attached to their (much smaller) packs... (maybe next trip). My hut for the night was down another 300 meters, perched over the edge of a valley. I spent the afternoon outside in the sun, speaking French if someone spoke to me because no one spoke English there. Dinner, since that was a hut with a guardian, was classic Ticino food, or so they assured me. It was a kind of thick noodle stew, with noodles fat like fettucine but purple, and with vegetables like brussel sprouts and chard, and maybe cauliflower, brought together by a thick cheesy sauce.
Adula to Scaradra was the longest day. I walked through a valley, a very busy one, in fact. It was Sunday so families and big groups were everwhere. At the end of the valley I got confused, but in the end I saw the trail did, in fact, go through a narrow dark tunnel. Oy. That was scarier than the pass the day before, but with a deep breath or two and my headlamp securely fastened, I hustled through. No car actually passed me, so it was fine. The tunnel came out on a big dam, with a lake beyond it, and yet another tunnel. Great. This one actually had a sidewalk of sorts for pedestrians like me. I walked all the way around this big lake, then stopped at the little farm at the end for a snack. An old Italian woman sold me a small container of homemade yogurt-- almost liquid, drinkable, and unsweetened, but very good, along with some cheese. I spoke in Spanish but she assured me, in Italian, that she could understand. Then it was up up up forever it seemed to Capanna Scaradra. I got discouraged seeing a huge group ahead of me on the trail, thinking they would take up every spot in the hut, but it turned out they were going somewhere else. 2.5 hours later, only an hour longer than the trail marker had indicated, I was at the hut. Actually I was outside again, scared by another huge group of goats that were all gathered right by the door. Of course, they were as scared of me as I was of them, so they scooted off and I squeezed inside the door. I had the place to myseld. I turned on the gas, spread out my things, and made myself at home. I had figured there would be pasta and soup and coffee along with some other essentials like there had been at Prou. There were some things to eat, but for dinner-like food, only rice. Now Mckenna can attest to the fact that rice is not exactly my speciality. But it was risotto, and I resisted calling home on my satellite phone for directions from Mom and half-figured out the directions in French. There was a little bouillon in the hut, so it turned out great... I will just have to shows off my skills when I get home (or when I get a visit).
I slept in late, until 9.30, since my body was pretty tired. I finally finished drinking my tea (the Stash Peach tea from our trip, Carolyn) and cleaning up at 12.30. I had just shut the door to the capanna when a Swiss (German speaking) couple came up asking if I knew the way to a hut they were going to. I did, so we headed off down the mountain in the same direction. I said goodbye to them, and retraced my steps from the day before through the tunnel. I walked down towards the towns in the valleys on a trail until I saw a bus that would take me back to big towns and train stations.
Now I am in rainy Lugano, hoping the weather will clear. I am staying with Carmen and her family, another couchsurfing adventure. Tomorrow (rain or shine...?) I will walk up the little mountains around Lugano for a view of the city and the lake from up above. It will be nice to take a walk without my 20kg pack. After that who knows... I still don`t plan ahead that much. I was on the bus back to Biasca and I still had not decided to what city I was taking a train. Rena and Jolanda invited me for a weekend of hiking if there is good weather, so I will go to Zug to meet them on Friday. I am considering going to see Claire and Emma in Basel before, to give my body a few days to recover, and to wait for Switzerland to get its weather patterns figured out.
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