Peter van der Gugten rides the Alps
Translation by Liz Zerro (Calandra)
I thought that in a drearily wet and dull summer, you might enjoy reading about a truly long ride, from the Mediterranean through the Alps to Switzerland
Peter van der Gugten is a Swiss-German businessman who is a keen horseman. The form of horsemanship he prefers is long-distance riding – not in a competitive manner, but rather riding purely for the sake of travel on horseback. I’ve been in contact with him for some time regarding Alpine routes and routes through South Germany, and he has kindly given me permission to translate his website and blogs, and post them where I wish.
Peter lives in Schleitheim, Switzerland, with his wife Kathi, 2 almost-grown children, 4 horses and a dog. Schleitheim is a small municipality in the canton of Schaffhausen, in the north of Switzerland. The Black Forest, the Jura and the Vosges mountains are within easy reach for weekends and longer journeys, and of course the incomparable Swiss Alps are never far away. Lake Constance (known as the Bodensee) is nearby, too.
His main companion on his travels is Flash, a 16yo white-grey Arab gelding, who has been in Peter’s ownership for over 12 years.
He has been making lengthy journeys on horseback for some years now. He travels very light, usually sleeping in rural guesthouses or farm outbuildings. Occasionally he will take a tent, such as when he rode along the Danube from Budapest to Austria.
This year he plans to ride across the French and Italian Alps, following, as far as possible, the “Grande Traversata delle Alpi”, in company with his good friend Pat, who rides her own Domingo, another white-grey Arab gelding.
The Grande Traversata delle Alpi – or Great Alpine Crossing – is a long-distance path that runs for over 1,000 km from Switzerland to the Mediterranean Sea, crossing both the main ranges of the French and the Italian Alps as well as other minor ranges. The route was established with the primary aim of promoting eco-tourism in remote mountain areas, thus providing the local inhabitants with opportunities for employment and investment. If you read German, there is a very comprehensive website about the route at www.klingenfuss.org/gta.htm Even if you don’t read German, it’s worth looking at this site for pictures of the stunning scenery to whet your appetite for the journey to come.
Last year we rode from Rosenheim in Bavaria to Venice and back to Switzerland; we’re going to try the GTA - "Grande Traversata delle Alpi", or the Great Trekking Adventure - this year. This long-distance path leads from Grimsel in Switzerland to Ventimiglia on the Mediterranean and is about 850 km long. We hope to extend it somewhat by adding on the stretch from Grimsel to Schaffhausen, if we have time. The maps are taken from Werner Baetzig’s outstanding guidebook, Grande Traversate delle Alpi part 1 and 2, available from the publishers “Rotpunktverlag” Zurich 2006.
(note from Calandra -the links I put up to the maps won't work: I'll be putting the links or the maps on my own website shortly where you'll be able to read this account with the addition of pretty pictures)
A great adventure awaits us, and we face plenty of challenges. Finding hard food for the horses will be a problem, as will the high summer temperatures. Finding adequate water supplies may be difficult. Once more we find ourselves surrounded by maps – but at least this time with the support of GTA professionals. I’ve made new, somewhat, larger saddlebags, and for Domingo we are having a large pad and some pommel/horn bags made.
Pat is organising the supply of hard feed. It’s a huge problem, and she needs to discover what we’re going to be able to buy in village stores, to use in place of normal hard feed, and how we can best get the horses to eat it. Feeding is a science in itself, and Pat is doing vital research!
At present Domingo and Flash are still barefoot, but in the second half of February at the latest they will be shod. Pat tried new plastic shoes last year, which impressed her; I’ll test them in April or May.
We’ve been coming across some very interesting websites while we’ve been searching for more information on the GTA. If your Italian is fluent, here is one of the best: www.alpitrek.com Mauro (the site owner) has ridden both the GTA and a connecting journey from St Moritz to Venice. It’s reassuring to know that I’m not the only mad horseman out there! Some of the other rides he’s made are simply phenomenal. His French is only slightly better than mine, but his friend, thank heavens, speaks English, so we had a reasonably easy conversation. Mauro will let us know of possible places for overnight accommodation in the Susa Valley area.
www.mulinomartino.de is a further contact, this time from the area around San Remo on the Mediterranean. They have offered to organise drops of hard feed for the horses. Horse people genuinely want to be of help.
In the meantime, the horses have been using the new plastic shoes. Although they’re definitely the best plastic shoes we’ve tried, whether they’re really going to be suitable for our needs is still uncertain. A massive stumbling block is that our emergency shoeing tool is totally useless for them. So maybe it’ll be back to iron, in the end.
In the past two weeks, we’ve changed Flash and Domingo’s diet to maize. Since we’re not sure what we’re going to be able to get in the way of hard feed for them, we had to make a decision of some sort. Pat has tried cooking Polenta pancakes, which she has been feeding to Domingo. It seems to work well, and we’ll be able to get Polenta in any shop in the mountains.
Flash finally turned the corner and is at long last truly fit. I’ve been taking him out alone, for 3 hours at a trot with 1000m climb and he’s having no real problem with it. However, I still have a problem with my weight, but I’m hopeful. I only have 6kg to lose by the end of July.
On 16 May we set off on our first mountain ride of 2007 and will test our new equipment in the Graubuenden.
Grande Traversata delle Alpi - the route
The southern half of the route leads from Ventimiglia on the Mediterranean across the limestone escarpment of the pre-Alpine ranges and onto the steep slopes of the 2200 m Monte Saccarello. This is all within the first 40 km of the route! It will eventually take us to Limonetto. In this area, the houses are huddled tightly together in small villages, for protection from the harsh climate. Passing through these villages, and through forests and over the high passes of the Ligurian Alps, we must ride north for two days before the route bends left and takes us to Limonetto.
We’ll ride over the Tendapass and enter the Maritime Alps National Park. Later in the week we’ll enter the Grand Paradiso area. Both are former royal hunting grounds of the kings of Piedmont. We’ll take old military roads through the rocky peaks of the Argentera and then we’ll be back in the Maritime Alps – this time into the western section. Going through a wonderfully lonely area with only few villages, of which over half are abandoned, we then pass through the Monvisogebiet and reach an altitude of 3841 m. From here onwards the Wallser language is spoken, and we will enter the Waldenser valley leading into in the Vale Susa, or Susatal (Susa valley) from which there is a direct connection to Turin. It is here in the Susa valley where we hope to meet Mauro, who runs a riding stable. This will be our halfway point.
After the horses have had a rest, we’ll climb straight up to 3500 m, the highest point of this journey. Through the Graji Alps and the Lanzotaeler (-taeler, or tal = valley) we’ll aim in a northerly direction toward the Monte Rosa area. Again we pass through a national park, and enjoy the views of Monte Rosa. We’ll ride on old muletracks, originally used by the Walser people from the Sesiatal, which will take us along northwards and over mountain passes, before we arrive in the Devero Nature Park.
From there it is then only 3-4 days’ ride to Riale at the Lago di Morasco, where we meet the Sprinz route, which I rode in 2004. If we have enough time, we’ll ride back from there to Schaffhausen, and thus bring the journey to its conclusion.
Mauro Ferraris rode the entire length of the GTA. He will help us with accommodation in the Vale Susa, our halfway point. Mauro rode the GTA 25 years ago, making a connection from its end to St Moritz in Switzerland and then onwards to Venice. That took a further eight weeks of travel. I take my hat off to him.
Scalettapass
During our snow-training weekend at the Scalettapass, we had an accident. Flash was badly cut by a sharp-edged rock. Now he needs 14 days box rest, so that the wound can heal without long-term damage. He’ll also need to wear protective boots on our trans-alpine crossing to protect the freshly healed flesh from further injury – and they’ll need to be long and very strong.
Flash geht es gut!
Flash is doing fine!
Flash has tolerated his box rest without a problem. The wound has healed well and the stitches were removed yesterday. Unfortunately it still needs a few days more to heal completely, so I’m taking Pete’s Criollo to the Vogesen.
Only 14 days to go!
Flash and I did our "Italian training" yesterday - 30 degrees in the shade and 40km … Whenever I tried to get him to walk his brakes almost disappeared – only the most severe brakes had any effect at all, and we reached our destination in under 5 hours – and that time included a half-hour rest. We rode to a party - happy Birthday Bea, and thanks again for the super party; we enjoyed it very much.
Despite his energy, though, Flash was grateful to be driven home. Pat’s new saddlebags are finished, as are the tear-resistant boots for Flash. I also tried out some new walking shoes yesterday. Next week we’ll send a package with spare parts and other oddments to Pragelato, our half-way stop. We’ll take the hard feed on the horses with us. That actually means Domingo must carry it, so the weight is more evenly distributed between the two horses. I’ve finally realised that there’s nothing more I can do about my heavy bones! The emergency medicine cabinet has been stocked, and very well stocked, too, particularly in view of the fact that in case of emergency, it could be a long time before a vet could reach us. Our unwelcome experience on our Scalettapass trip made that very clear, and we learnt a lot from it
Last-minute preparations
Flash and Domingo are both freshly-shod. We decided on the plastic shoes in the end, having had good experience with them all year. The last lot of official documentation has been sent off and received – animal insurance and rescue, Italian Alpine Club hut pass; my Blackberry seems to work and tomorrow I need to get new tyres for the car, then Pete will come over and check out both the car and trailer.
Then we’ll pack everything away and be ready to go.
On Thursday I’ll fetch Pat and Domingo from Freiburg, and at 6 am on Friday morning, we’ll load up and drive to Pete’s in Morschach. Pete is driving with us to Mulimartino. If we arrive early enough, we might take a short trip to Ventimiglia, but our plan is to stay overnight at Arnulf’s "Mulino" ranch with some good wine to drink, and plenty of "shop talk" on horse travel, and then in the morning we’ll drive to Ventimiglia to start our ride.
SETTING OFF FOR ITALY.
At 6am we got going. All that needed to be done before we left was to muck out the sand yard and the stables, but we were in good time and should have been at Pete’s in Morschach at 8. The only problem was that there was a delay on the roundabout just before Kriesel. We were over 30 min late, but Pete wasn't bothered. It was rainy and cloudy until we arrived in the Tessin valley when the sun came out.
The Italian border post at Chiasso took some time, as the good fairy at the Italian customs needed to double and triple check that the number plates on the trailer were correctly attached. At the end of the pantomime she at last expressed herself satisfied.
At 3pm we were in Mulino Martin. We hosed down the horses, let them loose in the sand yard and went to our accommodation before going to the beach. Later Arnulf invited us to a BBQ – it was a wonderful evening, and we got to our beds far too late. Dawn came at 5 am.
First day - Mulino Martin near Dolcedo, north of Imperia, is a top-notch place for trailriding in Italy. Arnulf is a great chap and everyone there is exceedingly kind. We slept over the kitchen, and despite open windows and a fan running all night, were too hot even with just sheets. The night was too short for enough sleep, and there was only Pat’s Espresso to rely on for energy, but at 8.20am we were somewhere north of Ventimiglia, saddled up and ready to go.
Let the show begin. Let the GTA be started!
The path was ride-able, but it went up and down and around so much that we decided to lead the horses. Domingo had clearly got wind of what was going to happen, as he usually does. We had to pull him and drag him the entire day. Flash, also, seemed a little tired after yesterday’s long drive. We decided to have a break, so that these two gentlemen could regain their strength and energy – and wouldn’t you know it, Domingo decided that ten minutes rest was enough, thank you very much, and off he went. Flash followed on his tail and Pat sprinted along behind.
At two in the afternoon, we decided to stop when we could. The path was very well marked, but it just went on and on without end.
At the Gola di Gouta we took another break, washed the horses’ bellies of the blood from all the flies, and decided that was enough for today. We asked the very helpful staff about the route ahead, and they advised us to make for the Rifugio Muratone for the night.
On the way there, we found a fenced meadow and Luigi, the owner, was happy for our horses to use it.
The landlord of the Rifugio drove me back to the meadow and I closed off its open end with our fencing, while Pat unpacked the rest of our luggage and then rode bareback on Domingo, with Flash in tow, the 5km back to the pasture. The horseflies were trying to eat our boys alive, but they'd both worked out that if they stayed next to Pat, she would kill the flies for them. She did feel some pressure to stay with them, but we got a lift back up to Muratone and the landlord produced a delicious meal, which we enjoyed in a dining room with a magnificent view of the Ligurian Alps around us. There was a shimmering in the far-off distance, which we imagined was the sea.
The second day
Yesterday (Saturday) we rode for 37km and 1300 metres of total ascent. By the flickering light of red graveyard candles we managed to eat breakfast today. Dawn broke slowly at around half past five. Visiting the toilet by the same light was a strange experience – they give more smell than they do light! At 6 am the hut’s landlord arrived and drove us, with our saddles, down to Luigi’s meadow, where our horses had spent the night. The flies were already out and active on the two equine blood donors.
We rode back to the hut and loaded our luggage onto the horses there, then trotted up towards Torraggio. Pat told me that I was trailing a most unusual smell behind me. I sniffed my T-shirt, then my armpits, but Pat meant that I was leaving a lavender scent in my wake, as my boots brushed against the bushes on the side of the track as we rode. I was re-assured by this! The views were tremendous, and the path, though narrow, was well marked. We descended round the back of Torraggio and followed the path past Monte Pietraveccia. The air buzzed with flies and the horseflies too were persistent and gave us no peace. At the Rifugio Gray, which was closed, we passed a cave, at the end of which there was a small pool that welled up from underground. Flash drank from this, but Pat got only wet shoes, because Domingo made it quite clear that he does not drink from underground sources.
The path ahead tempted us to trot, and soon we had passed the Saccarello (the highest mountain of the Ligurian Alps) and the Tanarello. We rode on, followed by two loose horses, and decided to spend the night in the open as it was still more than 20 km to the next open Rifugio.
The only thing that bothered us was the presence at one point of some annoying motorcyclists and 4WD's, who continually overtook or crossed in front of us, throwing up clouds of dust as they did so, so that we slowly turned into the resemblance of typical dust-covered cowboys.
We found some pasture at the side of the path and erected the fence for the horses. Later in the evening, the goatherd who seemed to own the area arrived, and had no objections to our presence there.
We ate from the supplies we carry, and were slowly surrounded by sheep, which came down the mountainside to join us, as if they wished to share our campsite. Gradually the sheep settled and lay down on the area of land below us, while Flash and Domingo dozed. While I was lying on the grass and writing this, suddenly all the sheep began to bleat, as if to some invisible command. Peace returned eventually, though, and then there was only an occasional Kamikaze fly to annoy us.
We watered the horses again, and then lay down under a starry sky and fell asleep. What a pity I fell asleep so quickly – for once I would have liked to need to count sheep!
There are two sorts of human beings.
I'm writing this sitting here two days later, right on the ridge of the Col Arpiole in deepest Piedmont. The paths round here only go in two directions - straight up or straight down. Today was up.
We're taking a break and letting the horses graze on the sweet Alpine pasture.
The third day
Monday 6th August
But back to the beginning. The night under the stars was cool and damp; it was no problem to pack our bags at 5 in the morning and go downhill to the little stream. The goatherd was there, and offered us coffee and breakfast. He had already been up to the goathouse further up to bring down fresh milk. Wonderful with really good Italian coffee! We decided that we'd had enough of the dusty paths on the previous day, and to climb high up onto the ridge of the hills. Climbing straight up from where we'd spent the night appeared do-able, so we simply went up the grassy slopes to the top.
As soon as the horses knew where they were supposed to be going, they began to climb uphill of their own accord. I used Domingo to help pull me up part of the way, and to show Flash the way. Pat scrambled up behind us. Flash got a few scrapes from a fallen rock, but apart from that we were totally proud of our two Arabs. Some 300m higher thant the dusty track below, we followed the ridge path, which Napoleons soliders had built. The path was about 2 metres wide and gave views of the valleys on both sides.
At the Rosso Pass, we had to return to the dusty track below, as at some point shortly after the Rosso Pass a rock avalanche blocked the ridge path. A local farmer showed us - with his Motocross bike - how he had managed to get around it, though. The gravel track led us to the Rifugio Barbera. Pat asked for a tomato sandwiches and the landlord said he had none. We explained to him what "Radler" (German term for what we know as Shandy) is, and ordered Radler with ham sandwiches - which came complete with thick slices of tomato.
Right after the Rifugio, on the way to Monte Signori, was some marvellous grazing for horses. The path, though, was a challenge. The heat was exhausting to both us and the horses . They urgently needed mineral supplements, and we also needed to increase the supply of hard feed we carry for them. The stony path seemed endless, and it was sadly not suitable for trotting at all, owing to the irregularly-sized broken stones which made up its surface. We rounded ridge after ridge, only to tackle valley after valley, while Limonetto seemed always to be hiding shyly round the next bend ...
We bought more home-made mountain cheese on the mountain farm at Lago Perla, and inquired in the Bar Marmotte about the area, and the possibility of shopping for supplies in Limonetto. Pat lost her mobile phone, and went back to look for it - unfortunately without success. Neither SMS nor emails can now reach Pat.
We dismounted in Limonetto and went shopping. Peaches were bought - to be eaten immediately, and polenta was bought in 5kg bags. I chatted in the meantime with locals, trying to find overnight accommodation. and somewhere we could get a shower. Everyone was asking everyone else, but no one made an offer or had any concrete suggestions. The net was flung ever wider, and we were referred to people who were dead, or who had been living overseas for five years ... Finally we were told of where we could find a stable which we could use, with running water and where we could stay overnight.
For safety's sake, we first called on the stable's neighbour, to confirm that we could indeed stay there overnight. We started to prepare the polenta and washed at the well. Shortly before dusk, the alleged owner of the stable appeared and threatened us with arrest by the police. There was no arguing with him, and insisted that we leave within 30 minutes. So we saddled the horses again, and decided to head for the farm of this pleasant fellow's neighbour. However, before we get there, we find a small piece of grassy land next to our reluctant host's farm, and decided to use it for the two geldings. We ate our supper in the dark, and set up our night camp. It's the third night without a hot meal, and we resent it.
The fourth day
Tuesday 7th August
It rained during the night, and our primitive bivouac was needed for the first time; we managed to keep mainly dry. Pat had no problem packing up our things by moonlight; she didn't want to meet last night's farmer again. We were gone soon enough - he wouldn't have appreciated the view if he'd seen us!
We climbed up to Col Mien at 2378 m above sea level. Domingo led us up the narrow path. Pat held onto his tail, with Flash's lead rope in her hand; I followed close on Flash's heels. The path was rocky and steep, and I was amazed at the nerve shown by Pat in trusting Domingo to such an extent up here. At the top there was a flat, rocky area about 4 m square, before the mountainside dropped steeply around us. I looked at the descent on the other side and asked Pat what she thought. Typical of Pat, she got on her hands and knees to clamber down a short way - this confirmed my doubts. Then she climbed back up and said "No chance!" So we turned around and climbed back down, losing the 400 m of height we'd just struggled to gain. Back where we started from earlier in the morning, we selected another route to Panafre. Two things were becoming very clear indeed - the first that these Italian maps cannot be compared to our familiar Swiss maps, and secondly that the way-marks of the GTA are few and far between. This is going to make things exciting!
We reached Panafre safely, and were happy to see that there was a large, new farmhouse. We had hardly arrived before the farmer came out to greet us in a freindly way and solved all our problems in one stroke. No, there's no Posto Tappi, neither is there a restaurant or any shops. Any other questions? Yes, there's hay, and a meadow to graze. His cows eat corn - the horse can have some with pleasure - we are welcome to sleep in the hay. There is milk, water and electricity, and the opportunity to wash and use a toilet. He even showed us where we could leave the saddles to clean them later. Then we were shown the meadow, and where we could wash the horses. Panafre was Paradise!
That was not all. In addition, this future landlord of the future Posto Tappi gave us four cans of cold drinks, and then drove us 9km to a restaurant! There we ate the first hot meal we had had for four days. At 10pm our new friend drove us back to Panafre. We slept in sweet-smelling new hay, and the horses ate their fill of grass, hay and cattle food.
The fifth day
Wednesday 8th August
Panafre - Trinita - San Giacomo. We've ridden 150km so far, and climbed 6000 metres! The horses enjoyed polenta and cow feed, and we slept late. We had breakfast at 6 o'clock - fresh soft cheese, yoghurt and iced coffee - cold milk with coffee powder!
We rode up to the Val Gabrella and over the Costa Peanard then down to Trinita. High on the ridge we were in dense cloud, and it only emerged later that the descent was not straightforward. Several times we had to let the horses decide for themselves how they would cross the dry ravines which barred the path ... After several adrenalin rushes, we finally reached the actual track. Above the village we were approaching, we wanted to let the horses graze on the rich meadows, but they refused to settle. It began to rain, and a thunderstorm approached. We fastened our waterproofs securely and soon arrived in Trinita. While we were eating lunch and the horses were dozing under cover, the heavens opened. We trotted on to Entreteque, and then on to San Giacomo. The camping-site in this place offered us hay for the horses, and we ate, too, in company with the campsite caretaker and a group of Dutch people who were camping there. It was late when we crept into the tent we'd been told to use, and I saw a mouse. Pat thought it was my imagination and that I had had too much wine to drink, until the little animal emerged and scampered over her feet! After we'd successfully got rid of the tiny rodent, we slept well and long.
The sixth day
Thursday 9th August
San Giacomo, Terme di Valdieri - an old spa resort.
We've ridden 200km and 9700 metres of total ascent.
After our experience of the past few days, I decided that today we'd take to the roads; the Fenestrale Pass - especially its descent - appeared as if it would be so difficutl that it would be unfair on the horses. After a discussion with the Park Ranger and the agreement of some helpful locals, we crossed the pass by using a tunnel at 2000m, and then after a short rest at the Rifugio Genoa - beautifully situated beside a reservoir - we continued to climb via the Passo de Porco. The "Pig Pass", I am quite sure, carries its name because it is a real swine of a route ...
We climbed unceasingly for five long hours along a dusty red-grit road, then another endlessly-winding track faced us before we reached Terme. On our ride we again met the two French hikers, who we'd already met a few times on the route.
In Terme we met the Park Information Officer, and explained our needs. After a quarter of an hour, he told us that we were welcome to stay overnight on the helicopter landing area above the town. He had double-checked this permission with his boss and the park ranger, so we should (hopefully!) have no difficulties.
We quickly reserved a table in the bar-restaurant opposite the information office, and climbed up from the valley to our campsite above. It began to rain again, so we found somewhere our two equine heroes could get some protection from the weather, as well as plenty of grazing, before we erected the fence. We erected our tents, stowed our belongings inside and then went down to the restaurant, where we were in good time for our evening meal. We met our French friends there again, and noticed that everyone else in the restaurant spoke German. After a good Italian meal, we enjoyed a thermos of coffee in the tent and attended to my injured left foot before we fell asleep to the sound of pouring rain.
The seventh day
Friday 10th August.
Today should have been a rest day, but the only ones to benefit from it would have been us. Termi di Valdieri is a tourist town - better than Limonetta, but not suitable for horses. We are in a stony, scrubby landscape, with hardly any grass.
So we left early and rode up the old Military road. The track was as it has been for many many kilometres , very stony and difficult for the horses. Soon we reached an old barracks with good grass growing all around; here we let the horses have some time to catch up with the grazing they missed on the previous night. I changed my boots and my feet started to slowly recover - the shoes that had been fine last year didn't give enough support for this sort of walking.
From the ruined WW1 barracks, we climbed up to the Paso di Drues, where we saw Isola below us. From the heights of the top station of the skilift, I saw three horses in the valley below. We clambered down, the only visible path leading us directly to the pasture. The track led us through a boggy meadow, and slowly it dawned on me that here we were not about to meet with a few friendly, curious horses, but with adult cold-blood stallions, compared to whom my Flash would look like a rag doll.
Screaming and whinnying, the brown stallion ran towards us, while we were desperately trying to get through the bog, searching for brooks and ditches which were jumpable. When the stallion was almost on Flash, with great good fortune he reached the end of his tether rope and he could come no closer. The other stallions had been watching and they wanted a part of the action, too, pulling desperately at their ropes. Fortunately they were both well out of range, and even more fortunately their ropes were strong.
In the meantime Pat and Domingo were having problems in the bog. Once I realised the extent of the brown stallion's range, I managed to go around him and help them; they fled up the mountain and were well out of range. .
I tried to give her instructions from a safe distance as to how she could best get safely past the brown stallion, but she was categoric that the entire valley floor was a bog and that she just could not come back down. It's at times like these when your common sense flees from you!
I decided to tie Flash up securely, well away from the other horses, and to take my rope and tie up the stallion briefly, so that Pat could ride safely past. With the screaming and whinnying of the three stallions and two geldings ringing in my ears, I pulled the stallion towards me and wound the rope around the tree trunk to which he was tied. I interlocked the two ropes and managed to pull my fingers to safety before the stallion tried to tear himself free. Again I pulled him closer, and again he rebelled; this was repeated a few times until he was briefly tied up sufficiently short that Pat could pass him in safety. Now she only had to ride through the bog, over the stream and out of the range of the two other stallions, up to Flash. She calmed our two down while I released the stallion again and let him have the full length of his rope.
We searched for the GTA markings - they had probably disappeared back in 2000 - and worried over the bad maps yet again. We found the scree slope again described as the path, and climbed along the side of the mountain until we reached the asphalt road over Paso Lombardia. There stood a kiosk promising food and cold drinks! As is customary, our horses were looked at with curiousity, and it turned out that we have the owner of the three stallions here. He found our story amusing, and treated us to a round of white wine. Then he explained to us where we could possibly find accommodation, and shows us the way to get there. We did try, but the lady there had more hair on her teeth than she had hospitality in her heart, and we continued to the pilgrimage centre of Santa Anna di Valdieri, where the good sisters found us a meadow for the horses, which belonged to Christine, a friend of the convent, who also offered us a shower and an evening meal. At the end of the day, the owner of the meadow came out and brought us some home-made liqueur, which we drank two hours later, in a toast to Christine and the day which we had just survived. We slept next to the horses in the meadow, under a sky studded with crystal stars.
The eighth day
Saturday 11 August
Last night was cool and clear. I woke at 5 am and waited for dawn. The horses had been restless all night; probably they were chilly, too.
Around 7, the landowner brought us a very welcome wake-up cup of coffee. We saddled up - and Domingo got caught against the gatepost. After we'd repaired the saddlebags, we rode along the side of the mountain in the direction of the Passo Bravaria.
About an hour later, Domingo suddenly tried to lie down and came out in a muck sweat. He was dripping wet. Pat diagnosed colic instantly, and together we unsaddled him and gave him one of Pat's famous pills. Ten minutes later, we gave him another, and slowly he started to improve. He was breathing more calmly, his nostrils were not dilated and he gradually dried off. We loaded the saddlebags onto Flash and led Domingo the last few hundred metres up and over the summit of the pass.
By 11.30am we were in Bagni di Vinadio, and while Pat did the shopping for us, I went in search of hard feed for the horses. Less than five minutes away from the shop, I found a farmer who sold us some corn he fed his cattle on. To make sure that Domingo continued his recovery, we decided to not use use the GTA path or take any mountain passes, but to use the road to get to our destination, Pontebernardo. There we received a most friendly welcome from the landlord of the Posto Tapi; he organised a meadow for the horses, with hay and water, we were able to do our laundry and were served the most delicious Piedmontese delicacies in the restaurant for dinner.
There was a Frenchman at our table who reassured us that the route improved considerably further on, so, tired, full and reassured, we each fell onto a mattress in the dormitory and slept the sleep of the dead.
The ninth day
Sunday 12th August
After a generous breakfast, we followed the asphalt road up the mountain. In order to use the tunnel, as we had been given permission to do, we had to leave the road and balance on the large waterpipe that ran through it as we led the horses. Soon were we on the way up to the Passo di Rocco Brancia. There was about 1200 metres of ascent in front of us, and after about two hours, I noticed that Flash was beginning to show exactly the same symptoms that Domingo had shown yesterday.
We unsaddled him, gave him a pill, led him around for 10 minutes, then he seemed to be relieved and was happy to continue. The cause of this is a total mystery to us.
We led the horses up the pass so as not to put them under any strain after their problems, sickness or whatever it was. Domingo led the way along the path, then came Pat with Flash following and I brought up the rear.
The map we are trying to use appears to be the product of a fantastic imagination, nothing more or less, and when we met an Italian hiker we asked him for information, which he gave willingly and - most importantly - correctly. The correct route is widely known, clearly, but no-one has thought to put it on the map...
Ten minutes later we crested the summit of the pass. The view into the valley was amazing, and there was an old military road that we could follow downhill. Having reached the Gardetta pass, we took a rest of well over an hour. While the horses dozed, we enjoyed the wonderful panoramic views laid out before us and ate our paprika-salami sandwiches. A really beautiful path led us into the valley below. On the way down we saw three groups of horses, but unfortunately the woman did not have any space for our horses to take their well-deserved rest. She tried to help, suggesting a place further down in the valley, but there was insufficient grass. So we continued to climb again, and were soon high over the next pass. On the Col de Ciarboney we found an alpine meadow where we could fence in the horses and erect our camp for the night. Our primitive bivouac was draughty, and darkness swiftly fell so that we could only dream about the sights we had seen in the day just passed.
The tenth day
Monday 13th August
At last, after 10 stressful days, the horses can enjoy a day's rest. Campeggio senza Frontieri has a brook, some areas which are suitable for grazing, and a shop and a restaurant nearby. There's also a police station, but no-one's there and no-one answers the phone.So we proceeded on the assumption that it was OK for us to leave the horses to graze on a suitable area and to unsaddle them and let them stand together in the brook. They slept while standing in the stream and enjoying the chill of the water. The horses were suffering from flies which crept into their anus, but neither of them have any sores or wounds which are obvious. They have a few small scrapes, and Flash's upper lip is missing a piece of skin about the size of a fingernail - no idea at all where that happened! We erected the fence and the tent, then, the washing having been hung out to dry, we had a siesta. The rest did us good. We have ridden 320 km and completed 14500 metres of ascent, as well as having driven 465 km. We slept, then walked back to Chiappera. The Posto Tapo in Base Campeggio was supposed to have a grocers, however in reality they stocked nothing more than wine, some ice cream and soft drinks that were being sold for 2 euros per can. The shopkeeper was not very friendly. So we went over to where delicious smells were wafting out of a kitchen. We found Bar Mario, whee a tonight a private party was being organised, but we were offered sandwiches and other good things to put on bread from a generous buffet, and, bearing in mind the shrinking bellies of our horses, we asked about hard feed for them - and were promptly given 15 kg of cattle corn. Perfect! We were at the entrance to the valley here, and it was explained to us yet again that the night would be cold. We took some extra sandwiches with us when we left, as we had been unable to find a grocer, and we had with us only our emergency rations of a few crackers and a couple of pieces of salami. While we were getting our supplies, in the neighbouring house it sounded as if someone was working with jack-hammers; in fact the bar staff were installing five loudspeakers. I was happy we hadn't decided to stay there for the night!
The eleventh day
Tuesday 14th August
We took some items from the buffet to make sandwiches for the next day, and filled the Thermos with coffee. The day promised to be fine, so we decided to tackle the climb to the pass, which was at 2800 metres above sea level. We were refreshed and in good spirits, and the horses willingly pulled us in their accustomed manner to the top of the pass, where the magnificent prospect of Mon Viso was laid before us.
Today, unusually, it was Pat’s turn to have a stomach-ache and she didn’t manage as well as usual on the climb. She drank some liqueur, wondered if hot milk with honey would help, and, unhopeful, asked a passing hiker for advice – who offered tea to drink, which solved Pat’s problem. God is good.
I came to the conclusion that I could attribute the horses’ colic over the past couple of days to the Autumn Crocus, or Meadow Saffron (Colchicum autumnale) which, not yet in bloom, had been eaten by the horses. We were in meadows full of flowering Autumn Crocus – a few days ago there were no flowers but the meadows would have been just as full of the toxic leaves. This entire region was stunningly beautiful; while I was writing this, we were having our midday rest and lunch at a height of 2000 metres. The horses were loose, grazing in a two-hectare meadow, and we relished both the view and our tasty Prosciutto ham, tomato and cheese sandwiches.
We led the horses downwards on a well-constructed footpath, dropping about 1,000 metres in height, and came to Bellino, where the weather closed in and cloud covered the mountains. We passed through Bellino and went shopping in Castelfino. Loaded up with food for the next day, we rode along the reservoir to Maddalena, where the woman from the Posta Tappi had more interest in the tidiness of her entrance hall than she had in welcoming guests to her establishment. She referred us to her neighbour, who also had horses. In seeing the horses, our rather withdrawn and silent hostess thawed out so much that we soon acquired the use of a meadow with a little brook, hay and drinking water. I decided I would ask her husband about hard feed after I’d had a shower. That would be less stressful for both of us, I thought.
The twelfth day
Wednesday 15th August
Attempts to get a supply of hard feed had not succeeded, and the horses ignored their hay. At least our beds were comfortable, although I dreamed the whole night long about colic attacks, and a persistent whistling sound woke us shortly after midnight. I unplugged every single electrical appliance, examined the ventilator below the window, and rung the doorbell, and finally came to the conclusion that the noise was coming from the handset of the telephone. If all that had not happened, I would have been able to claim that I had slept well. In the morning Pat had her right shoulder badly pulled when Flash knocked her as she tried to kill a horsefly that was on his hide. Domingo, though, was responsible for her bruises.
We trotted along the banks of the lake back to Castello, and then climbed the Gastaldi Pass close to the snowcovered Mon Viso. Our descent was difficult and rocky, across stretches of boulder-field and scree, and we used the horse-boots we had had made to protect their legs. Once on the valley floor – still at a height of 2,400 metres! – we freed the horses to graze, and we enjoyed the peace. Pat dozed while I sat writing this blog. The flies were the only disturbance or noise.
Mon Viso the mountain was behind us, and ahead, just down the valley, was the Rifugio Mon Viso. Behind the Rifugio lay our path, climbing once more to an elevation of 2,800 metres. Domingo again led the way up-wards, going straight through a flock of sheep as we climbed. The descent – despite it being described to us at the Rifugio as not being as bad as the one we’d just come down – did not look easy, and at first Flash refused to move downhill. Then he scraped himself against a rock, and we put their boots back on again. Just in front of a metre-high drop from a rock, where we had to take a short diversion across some scree, Domingo made it very clear to us that he was fed up to the back teeth with all this, and wasn’t going to go any further.
Flash and I at this point took the lead, went around the rock and across the scree, and left Pat and Domingo to their battle of wills. Pat was tired and sore, so Domingo easily won – this time. Pat came down to me, and left Domingo alone above the rock, where he remained. Eventually, I climbed back up to Domingo. Pat took Flash further down towards the valley, while I offered Domingo two alternatives. He didn’t like either of them. So I made the decision for him and led him onto the scree slope and under the rocks; it was only a few metres before we were again on the path. Pressure from me, and the sight of Flash disappearing into the distance, had made up his mind for him.
The descent through the valley was a descent into the unknown. We were surrounded by cloud and although we could see the path in front of us, we only got an occasional glimpse of our surroundings where the clouds were thinner. Finally, after passing a lake, we arrived at the Rifugio, where we asked for information on the route ahead. Flash and Domingo were stared at in amazement – bitless and with their synthetic rope halters, they appeared very strange to the people there. Ivan, the landlord of the Rifugio, recommended accommodation at a farm - an Agriturismo - on the meadows below. We descended further through the clouds and arrived on the meadows of the Alp, where we thought we could hear concertina music drifting through the mist. A short time later, we came across a couple of sheds beside the path. Stretched between the sheds, right over the path, was a large tarpaulin, under which a colourful group of people sat, eating, drinking and making music.
It was the festival day of the herdsmen’s patron saint. A pig had been slaughtered and everyone from the area was celebrating. We stayed for a while and a British woman, who had been living in Piedmont for 30 years, told us about this festival and asked if her nephew could sit on Domingo,. In the meantime, Flash took himself into the party tent, where Pat found him grazing happily between the drinkers. She reversed him straight out again under their astonished eyes.
A short time later, as we led the horses along, the sign for the Agriturismo suddenly appeared. Maria Angela, about 20 years old, a]came out and took charge. She told us what to do and where to go in English, and led us to our accommodation. We got hay, and 10 kg of "Mangime" - an Italian hard feed - was produced, and the horses fenced into a meadow. We were to sleep in a converted cow-stall, in which four beds were installed, and where cowbells by the dozen hung in serried ranks on the walls. It was truly rustic, but we did have electric light. The dinner consisted of a herbal aperitif, followed by bacon and bread as hors-d'oeuvre, then tomatoes with home-made mayonnaise and soft cream cheese produced on the farm, followed by pea soup with home-made croutons, and afterwards chickens with carrots. Then cheese, dessert and coffee was on offer, all of which, apart from the cheese, we turned down. We organised more hard food for the horses’ breakfast, coffee for us and dropped, stuffed full of food and tired out, into a deep sleep.
The thirteenth day
Thursday 16th August
In the morning the weather was clear, so we could appreciate the beauty of the valley and also see the route we took while climbing down. For breakfast there was unfortunately only coffee from the thermos again, with too little milk for Pat’s taste. We treated Flash’s injury and saddled up.
The plan was to climb in a northerly direction out of the valley on a narrow asphalt lane, which is for us the equivalent of a four-lane motorway, and enjoy simply being able to put one foot in front of the other and riding, instead of forever scrambling about.
We went round Villanova on the high path, while the skies closed in around us, looking as if they were carrying threatening weather. We rode upwards along the road, simply riding up to the pass, hoping to be able at last to actually ride over a pass, but it was not to be. The road was so steep that we dismounted and led the horses. It drizzled on and off, and a cold gusty wind blew, breaking the cloud in the valley into swirling wisps.
Hardly were we over the Faure Pass, when the weather started to improve. In front of us was another narrow road, that led to an abandoned alpine village. Another 400 metres of ascent, and we were over the second pass of the day, the Pass Col Giulian, where we chatted with an Italian couple. They stayed behind us, as I warned them of the dangers of loose stones being kicked forward by the horses. The descent followed a well-trodden cow path. After a rest, where there was some grass for the horses, we arrived at an asphalt road again, that led us to Ghigo and Prali Villa. From Rodetto we climbed a further 300 metres, and arrived on the Col de Fontane, only in order to descend those same 300 metres by means of endless hairpin bends down the other side of the pass.
At the Agriturismo "La Miando" we found hay, a clover-filled meadow for the horses, rooms for us, and a Piedmontese evening meal. Stuffed tomatoes, then deep-fried courgette flowers, then salad with cheese and mushrooms, followed by rice and mushroom croquettes with liver, then lamb shanks and roast potatoes. To finish, cheese and fruit accompanied by a farm liqueur. A long day came to an end at last.
The fourteenth day
Friday 17th August
The landlord loaded us generously with food, and revealed before my eyes a genuine banana, one of my favourite foodstuffs, and which I had not seen for a full fourteen days. He presented us with a very generous (to him) bill, too. Ah well, that's life. We led the horses down towards Masello. Then we mounted and rode up to Balsiglia. At the Posto Tapa it was explained to us that the Col der Piz, at 2610 metres, offered a good path over, and so we rode and led our horses along the packhorse trail, ascending 1100 metres. At 2500 metres of elevation, another valley opened up in front of us, and high on the side of this valley opposite we saw sheep strung out like pearls on a string, from left to right in a row, just below the ridge.
We remounted, and the horses took us up the hill across the meadow, until we dismounted to let Domingo pull us both up the last 150 metres. Two shepherd dogs came to watch us, and were whistled back by the shepherds, who sat high above on the mountain ridge. There are few better-trained dogs than these.
Where we crossed the ridge, a stunning view was offered, deep into the French alps, and over and beyond Val Susa. Pragelato glittered beneath us in the sun. We descended, following the little road, here and there taking a shortcut along the ski run, but eventually we had to stick to the road and follow the endless hairpin bends downwards until we arrived at the valley floor.
We were riding through the Salbertrand Forest Park, and our path took us through the most wonderfully beautiful larch woods. On a shortcut we met a cow, who had just that moment calved, licking her still-wet calf, and later both Domingo and Flash stood in belly-deep grass with nothing they wanted to do other than roll.
We rode out of this beautiful valley enclosed by green hills, and into Pragelato, where we planned to have a half-way break.
We tended to the horses first; both got a good wash-down first. They both had some pressure points where the girths lie, so we treated those and then, after their hay, they both got four scoops of hard feed. We went to the swimming pool for our wash-down! Pat did some laundry, and replenished our supplies from the care-packet sent from home to this place. We sent back excess items by the same route. Our evening meal was left up to us to choose - whatever one chose was plentiful and very, very good.
The fifteenth day
Saturday 18th August
Saturday was a holiday - for the horses at least. They stayed in the paddocks of a riding stable and were pumped full of hay and hard feed. After some misunderstandings it became clear that we would have to wait until Sunday for the blacksmith. We took the shoes and nails out and left them at the riding stables, and then went shopping. After a picnic by the river, we decided to sort out our things. So far we have come 455 km, on average travelling 47,64 kilometers per day. We have made a total ascent of over 21227 meters. Because the descents have been steeper and slower than the ascents, we have averaged only 4.6 km/hr and have been leading the horses for 90% of the time. The horses are healthy. They have a few small scratches and scrapes; none of which concern us, or them. We are a little more concerned about the pressure spots in the girth area. And for the first time in his 18 years, Domingo has learned that if he stands head to tail with Flash, they can protect each other from flies. Pat never thought to see this happen!
We sat on the terrace of the restaurant, after yet another rich dinner, and enjoyed the cool air of the evening. Seeing the way that Pat wrapped herself in her thick jacket, watchers might have thought differently!
We have taken over 1000 pictures and will convert them to a slide show. We probably won't make it back to Schaffhausen; our goal is now to reach the Swiss border. In the meantime, at 9.30 in the evening it is past bedtime. Tomorrow we will ride to Susa after the blacksmith's appointment, and on Monday we will cross the Roccamelone, which is estimated to be 3000 m. Possibly we might go further.
The sixteenth day
Sunday 19th August
Pragelato - Frais
At seven in the morning we went to feed the horses and pack our stuff at the riding stables; at eight we enjoyed a generous breakfast in the barrack-like atmosphere of the Villa Kinka, where we had stayed overnight. And then we waited for the farrier who said he would be with us at 9 am, or at the latest 9.30. He arrived dead on 10.30 am, and by noon we were at last ready to leave. A photo with Christine and Tito, the stable owners, who had truly made us feel welcome, and we were on our way.
Our route took us to the other side of the valley, up to Col Laissan, and from there we followed the Via Balkone, a high-level path, which played a tragic role in the French-Italian war of 1744. Over 5000 men lost their lives in this short war. From this high-level route, you can see into both valleys, to Pragelato and to Salbertrand. The entire mountain lies within the National Forest Park of Salbertrand, with its typical larchwoods. Flash was not trotting 100% sound with his new shoes, so we kept to a walk.
Later we led the horses through clouds down to Frais, where we met a horseman in the Bar Stephano, who was worried about the well being of our horses. We let the horses loose to graze in a large fenced meadow, the landlord cooked Polenta for the horses, and after feeding the horses - and then ourselves, with a delicious pizza - we slept in the meadow. We had actually wanted to climb the Rocciamelone, which at 3500 metres is the highest mountain in the region accessible on horseback, but we needed more time. Never mind, we could only see what the morrow brings.
The seventeenth day
Monday 20th August
Frais - Valle Susa - Trueck
We each found a foam mattress to sleep on - these are used on ski-runs to protect the skiers from posts and poles, and we each took one from a great pile. It helped the pain in my hips from sleeping on the ground. In the middle of the night, Pat rolled off the ~15cm high mattress and began thrashing around wildly. I awoke and was a witness to how she crawled back onto the mattress, still in her sleep! The horses, for some reason, insisted on grazing right next to my ear, regardless of the fact that they had almost half a hectare of available grass.
It began to rain. We pulled the tarpaulin over us and tried to breathe. Of course the raindrops then fell directly on my nose, which was peeking out trying to find some air. Some hours later I woke, and immediately noticed that Domongo' s neck was almost 2 meters long ...he was trying desperately to reach under the fence to the container where the cooked polenta for his breakfast is kept. I pulled the bucket over to me, and slept again.
By six it was light, and we breakfasted on coffee from the thermos and Twix bars. The descent to Susa via Giaglione is easy, but for the horses seeming to be somewhat lazy. At last, coming up to 10 o'clock, we had crossed the valley floor and found ourselves in one of the three valleys of San Giuseppe, once more on the GTA going in the direction of Rocciamelone. The climb began with a stepped path between the tightly packed village houses, and then continued as a mule-path, climbing steeply.
Two hours later we stood, almost 800 meters higher, in front of a small chapel. We would soon meet the road and would then be able to ride. When we reached the road, the horses were soaking wet and we were exhausted. We led them a short way further before remounting. Taking the GTA itself at this point would be something of a shortcut, but the narrow road was considerably easier even if it was a little bit further. The weather began to close in around us, and we heard thunder not too far away. While we were mounting, Flash stood on Pat's food and Domingo and I stood on a wasp's nest, the residents of which were quick to take their revenge on Pat and Flash, although Domingo and I came away unharmed. After another two hours Pat declared that she needed either a coffee or her bed, and almost immediately we arrived at the Posto Tapi "Il Truek".
We had coffee and discussed the situation with the landlord. The steady downpour outside made us decide to spend the night here, as the next possibility of finding shelter was at least seven riding or walking hours and two passes further on. We fenced the horses onto a section of lush meadow to graze, and the landlady cooked polenta for the horses and made more coffee for Pat and I. We are hopeful that the weather will be better tomorrow.
The Eighteenth Day
Tuesday 21st August
Rifugio il Trucco to Usseglio.
The weather hasn't changed at all - it's wonderful! No horseflies - no flies at all, in fact; no tourists standing around - it's wonderful. The rain and snow hardly bother us. It's just a pity that we miss out on the views, which, as we're climbing at over 2600 meters, must be stupendous. Our feet are being washed and rinsed continuously, and I've discovered that my right boot has a hole specifically placed for the purpose of fast drainage ...
We got up at 5am and tried to be quiet for the sake of the other guests at the Rifugio. We ate our breakfast and had milky coffee; this landlady seemed to have filled our thermos with all the missing milk of the past two weeks! We fed the horses, got our stuff out of the landlords' pick-up and then fetched them to be tacked up under cover. While we saddled up, it began to pour with rain, and, quite rightly 
we looked forward to the day ahead. To begin with, we led the horses. They appeared to have been deprived of food all night, despite their lush grassy meadow, as they tried to grab at any leaf or twig within their reach as we walked along beside them.
We mounted, and rode to the end of the drivable lane in thick cloud and drizzle. We arrived at Alp Alcellam where a shepherd offered us use of his warm kitchen, then produced coffee and biscuits, and corn for the horses! He also had a diesel generator running for electricity, so I could charge up my mobile phone. We accepted his invitation gratefully, and warmed ourselves. A little later, the weather lifted and we led the horses the last 600 meters towards the Pass Crocce di Ferro. Over the last 200 meters, the rain changed to snow, and it became unbelievably cold. As we passed the mountain hut, we arrived at the summit of the pass, which we crossed quickly. We had to start descending before the snow made the rocky path too slippery. Thanks to the synthetic shoes, though, we had no problems and by 1 pm we were at the Alp Vulpo; sadly we'd seen little other than clouds and rain and we were soaked through ourselves. We left the horses to graze while we each had a lunch of spaghetti, with coffee and hot chocolate. It feels really good when water stops running through your shoes, even if only for a short time! We took the path towards Usseglo, and, approaching the start of the place, a herd of goats found our horses so fascincating that they began to follow us. Our two brave heros were so honoured by this that they concluded fast forward flight was the best response; we sought to get into some sort of driveway or entrance so that the goats could pass us and continue on their way. Fortunately we must have been near the goats' home. Someone appeared and called out to them, at which the herd swung around and headed off in another direction
We reached the PostoTapa, and a very elderly lady was extremely friendly and hospitable - but once she met the horses, she became hopelessly confused. We would have to wait until her brother arrived, maybe in one hour, maybe in two ... For the second time today, Pat sat by a warm fireside and dried her trousers, jacket and shoes. In the meantime while we waited, I tried to set up an arrangement whereby the horses, while having the shelter of a cantilevered roof belonging to a ski store, could graze. In a neighbouring meadow, there were some horses that were being fed. I went over to them and spoke with Henrich, their owner, who offered us some hay. I drove back with him to his barn in the next village, and brought two bales of hay back. Pat and I worked on the fence by the ski store, and had hardly finished, when the Friesian x Haflinger foal simply broke and walked through its own fence, came through ours and headed straight to Domingo. Flash immediately decided his friend Domingo needed defending from the baby, and aggressively tried to drive him away. In the meantime, all of Henrich's four horses had walked into our paddock and were walking and trotting all over the fence tape. I ran to switch off the energiser, while Pat tried to catch Domingo and Flash.
I grabbed the two torn ends of the tape and tried to fasten them both securely to the same post. Eventually we managed to get the three adult horses back into their own meadow and we only had the foal to deal with. It insisted it wanted to be with Domingo, who really couldn't care less, and Flash was equally insistent that Domingo needed protection from the foal. Pat, having caught our two horses, finally managed to succeed in tying them up securely, which gave us the opportunity to move the foal away from our two and, at last, corner it and push it back to its frantic mother. Immediately we energised our fence again with three strands to protect the boys from any more precocious Freisian X Haflinger foals that might be around ...
Our dry clothes and shoes are now soaking wet again, because naturally it was bucketing down the entire time this was happening.
Finally we went over to the Grand Hotel, where a meal was booked. I took off my squelching shoes and hoped that my partially-wet shirt would just be thought of as interestingly bi-coloured. Although I am sure that we appeared out of place, and were probably emitting some interesting aromas, I felt better immediately as I began to eat, while Pat could hardly get her food down. On the neighbouring table sat a white-haired woman, at least eighty years old if not older, who gulped down her food and belched all the way through the meal! The meal was plainer and smaller than we were used to, however, it cost less, too.
We really wanted to leave our things - the saddlebags and tack etc - in the garage overnight, but the landlord had been adamant that we couldn't. Somewhat bewildered by his refusal, I broached the matter again - and suddenly the misunderstanding was explained. It wasn't us who wanted to stay in the garage, it was our saddlebags and tack!
The Nineteenth Day
Wednesday 22nd August
Usseglio to Balme
In the Grand Hotel Usseglio there was only crispbread on offer for breakfast. Big name - little service. We saddled up and took the GTA path upwards, but after a short time, it became obvious that the path was much too difficult for our horses , so we consulted the map. 10 km further down the valley, a mountain track went up to an Alm, very near to the Pass that we needed to cross. We decided to go that way instead, and we turned round. On the way down, we met Henrich, who had driven after us to return Pat's watch, which she'd forgotten at the Grand Hotel.
We rode along the mountain track, and after climbing about 1100 meters, we arrived at the Alm where the path to the Pass began. The way marking was feeble - a green brushstroke every 500m was occasionally visible. The rest had probably been painted over with cowpats. Fortunately the mountain shepherds had built cairns, because the dense fog prevented us from seeing more than 10 meters ahead. We had to climb to the cairn, stop, and look for the next one before moving, and continue in the same way. After a further hour of climbing we reached the summit of the pass, surrounding by wonderful views of white nothingness. We took a few photos, and climbed down the other side of the pass; as the fog cleared and we were able to see 100 meters into the surrounding pastures. we were certain that it would be truly beautiful here if we could see it. We climbed down over scree slopes and rocky stretches, and we had to let the horses find their own way more often than we would like. The rocky surface was wet and the horses slipped repeatedly.
Despite protective boots, Flash's wound started to re-open and I had to ask myself if we really could continue after today. We met a group of hikers and received 10 different answers at the same time to every question we asked. Level of useful knowledge? Nil. We decided abandon the GTA and instead to take the old drove road in the valley, since cattle would surely not ever have been expected to travel on the GTA and neither would horses. The drove road was freshly mown, and easy to follow. We climbed down, the horses sufficiently far behind us to be safe, because the stones were wet and slippery.
We came to an Alp and the old man there- surely well over eighty! - was visibly thrilled to have visitors. After he saw us, he went into his stone hut and came back out with a large bottle. He seemed to be looking to us to provide the glasses, as Pat told me to get the cups from the thermos flask. The wine was not at all bad, and he was eager for us to drink more as he chattered away, and we nodded and laughed and understood not a single word. However, I was able to introduce myself, because I suddenly became able to speak fluent Italian after a few more glasses of wine. We went along the final section of the road in a merry way, and reached Balme. While Pat was shopping in the Alimentari, I looked for the Posto Tapa. The English-speaking landlord immediately found solutions for all our problems and worries. The meal was excellent, as was everything about the place and its staff. We dried our things in the boiler room, and the horses had plenty of good hay on the football field, where they spent the night.
The twentieth day
Thursday 23rd August
Balme to Locana
In the morning, we decided, with the advice of the landlord, not to head for the Col de Trione, but - because of the weather - to take a short-cut which should save us a day's travel. Snow had fallen down to 2000 meters, and our earlier plans took us over 2800 meters; in addition more cloud, mist and rain was forecast. We could expect no improvement until Friday at the earliest. We rode down the valley through Lamie, and in Ceres we raided the ATM in cowboy-style, from horseback. Unfortunately they yielded little - only two x250 euros - and no more was to be had from the thing. We left Ceres and crossed the river, where the horses were allowed to graze while Pat waited in anguish for a grandmother and small child to leave us, as she desperately needed to go behind a bush. Eventually they left.
Trotting, the horses carried us along the mountain track up to about 1300 meters, where we had to take a footpath, leading the horses up the steep path. Pat again sampled what happened when a wasp's nest is disturbed. We crossed the pass and left the footpath to follow the vehicle track, then rode in dense fog over the Forchetta pass up to Alp Coasiolo. There we asked the farmer's wife about the next sections of our route, the way marking, duration and direction. Her answers were encouraging - we had between five and seven hours' journey in front of us, way marking was non-existent, and that we are on the correct way to the Perascritta pass. Despite this, we continued ahead through the pea-soup fog. The vehicle track led us to within 20 meters of the summit of the pass, but we needed help to find its actual entrance.
The fog thinned, and just as we crossed the summit of the pass a mule driver came towards us. He kindly described the first 500 meters of descent over the scree to us, and advised us to follow the cattle tracks. However, cattle don't have the tendency to follow one behind another and thus form a clear but narrow path. They wander about over a wide area and so the descent was exciting at times. Fortunately the fog had cleared considerably, so we could see where we were going. There was, however, no way-marking at all. After descending through boulder-fields and over meadows, we luckily found the cattle drove road that we then followed downwards. This drove road was unlike the earlier one; underfoot it varied between boulders, bog and flagstones, and it always ran along the side of the mountain, either because the valley floor was thickly wooded, or to avoid the grazing animals below. Pat had had enough of all this clambering over rocks and stones, and we stopped ten minutes outside the village to construct the night quarters for us, and the horses. She said that out here she was led to think that we were in the pioneering days of the Old West; the only thing missing was the Indians.
The Twenty-first Day
Friday 24th August
Locana - Ronco - Canavese
We packed up and left early in the morning, and rode down to the village of Locana. An Alimentari sold us food, in a hardware store I found duct tape, and the pharmacy added to our stocks of wound dressings. Flash's injury was festering a little, and we had to ensure it was kept clean. In a bar we found cappuccino and croissants, and information about which farmer or dealer might sell us some corn. The horses stood happily, tied up to the window grilles of the church.
We found the recommended man for horse feed, and the old devil made a killing - he wanted 20 euros for 10 kg of maize flakes! Ah well. It's all the same to us - we have to pay. We stocked up and rode on un-surfaced tracks down the valley. Riding on level ground was great fun, we decided, after weeks of either leading the horses or climbing up and down. The weather was good and forecast more of the same.
We rode to Sparone, took the asphalt road up to the Sanctuary of Trascondu, and then continued another 700 meters up to the Col de Crest. The path up was - as usual - just about suitable for a mule, but above us there were only goats and sheep using it. The horses' hooves were broader than the path, which ran along a grass slope straight across the mountain at a height of 2000 meters. This was definitely the adrenalin rush for today!
We continued to climb, and reached the ridge on which there was a piece of flat ground with just enough room for two horses, and admired the views spread out before us. We could see the entire Poebene laid out in front of us with further mountain ranges in the background. Unfortunately we had to go back the way we came, because in three directions around us, the ground fell steeply from the ridge. Going back down, we started to rush too much, so I felt happy when I was once more at the level where all I risked was stepping in a cowpat.
The path down the valley was well marked for once; we were on the GTA path again and so it was no problem that we didn't dismount until 7 pm, when we reached a village above Bosco, stopped and asked someone if we could let the horses graze. The occupants were hesitant at first, but when we explained that we would be leaving around 6 am the next morning, they welcomed us, and even produced a couple of piles of hay, which had been forgotten about in a barn. We gave the horses the hay, having fenced them in on a piece of meadowland. We slept in the barn, on an old mattress we found there, but our evening meal was very meagre, when we couldn't find the bread that we'd bought earlier in the day. But we managed to toast the journey with port wine, which the owner of one of the village houses offered us, when I went to ask if there was any electricity with which I could recharge my mobile phone.
It was a long day, and we were over 12 hours on the move, but it was worthwhile. We've now come almost 700 km and so far climbed a total of over 30,000 meters of ascent. Our knees and thighs are still functioning, and the horses are fine.
The Twenty-second Day
Saturday 25th August
Ronco to Canavese to Piamprato
We woke early, courtesy of our inner clocks, and after a breakfast consisting of biscuits and apricot juice, we saddled up, collected my phone from the neighbour where it had been recharging, and rode out onto the road leading down to Bosco and Ronco Canavese. On the way we again met the woman who the previous evening had given us the port and let me recharge my mobile phone. We reached Ronco just as the shops began to open, and first of all made sure that we got coffee and several croissants. We then parked the horses in the village car park, and while Pat made the necessary purchases in the Alimentari, I tried to write this blog and at the same time answer the countless questions of passers-by.
Where have we come from, where are we going to, what do we want? Why do the horses not wear bits, why do the horses not have iron shoes? Why plastic? What is our nationality, what are the names of your horses, how old are they, why do they stand so very still? The latter is the easiest question to answer - they are simply happy not to have to move!
We left the village through the Saturday market, leading the horses past the stalls as Pat wanted to buy some socks. Flash lifted his tail and dunged right behind the sock stall, and the owner made such a song and dance about it that Pat decided she didn't need socks, so we continued on our way. We trotted towards Piamprato. The valley seemed to widen, and instead of dried-up yellow grass, everywhere was lush green. The sky was clear and we were following the directions on the map through the village to find the GTA . The only problem was that the map was wrong again ... at the far end of the village, we turned back in order to look for the lower end of the path as we hadn't found it. Since this was the second time we had passed the bar, we decided to go in for a coffee, and entered into conversation with some locals, who strongly advised us not to attempt the Passo di Ocre, because even mules can't manage it.
Apparently there is a section of the path where one must squeeze between two rock-faces, and this is too narrow for mules or cattle. What to do? We unpacked the maps and ordered more lemonade ... the locals helped us work out an alternative, much easier route which would take us back onto the GTA, but further north than originally planned. For the third time we left the village, and this time we found the path and rode along it for the first three km. Then we branched off onto the "much easier" way, and it is clear that we have made the correct decision. If this is the easy path, I would hate to see the other one!
We continued climbing and, because the map is wrong about 50% of the time, we repeatedly stopped to discuss where we thought the path should be going. At about the halfway point, a cold spring invited us to cool off. Refreshed, we continued and finally it became clear which pass we'll be crossing. We took a rest on a small grassy plateau, and a short time later we stood on the pass 'Colle de Larissa' and admired the wonderful panorama in front of us, with Monte Rosa in the background. We had a long break there. Then we found the route downwards and followed it, passing many alpine huts, down to Rifugio Dondena. The landlord there has horses himself, and was expecting us. It was wonderful to have good pasture for the horses, hay and hard feed for them, with showers and dinners for us, followed by a bed each. We'll definitely breakfast here, too.
The Twenty-third Day
Sunday 25th August
Rifugio Dondena to Isollaz
The dogs were kept quiet by the landlord so that we could, without waking the entire building, take the stuff from our room and saddle the horses. Breakfast was generous and when we left, we started by leading the horses down the un-surfaced track through the Avic National Park, which reminded me strongly of Scotland's landscape, with scattered, formerly-noble, houses, and green rolling hills. We reached the path that would lead us across the Col de Croix, and climbed past a green lake with Domingo in the lead again, until the path took us over the pass, and soon we had arrived at the Rifugio Barbustel.
There the landlord gave us valuable information about the path ahead, and we rode along beautiful mountain tracks beside lakes and through moorland landscapes to the valley, where a winding road of endless hairpin bends waited for us, leading to Champ-de-Parz in the Aosta valley. On the way we caught the scent of grilled meat in our noses, and our mouths watered as we simultaneously got pictures in our mind of grilled steaks on delicious fresh bread rolls. We found the source of the appetising scent, but this is Italy, and the steaks only came as the second course of a five-course meal prices at 32 euros per person, tips at your discretion and inclusive of an aperitif, a digestive, wine and coffee. We do without, but decide that we must have some good red meat for dinner tonight. After 2 hours on the road we are finally in the Aosta valley, and cooled our burning feet at the first spring we found. In Verres we treated ourselves to ice cream and shandy, while the horses trimmed a farmer's clover patch for him.
We rode uphill in the direction of Villa; in Isollaz a farmer offered overnight use of his pasture, hay and corn. After a good wash, we took to the road again on our own feet; about 500 meters saw us in a bistro where we ordered a three-course meal each. When we returned, we gave the horses more hay, and put a few piles on the meadow, where we were going to sleep on our saddle-pads. The moon was full and bright as it gently illuminated the horses and out night's accommodation. "Don't forget to switch off the light" Pat murmured as she fell asleep.
The Twenty-fourth Day
Monday 26th August
Isollaz to Issime
I'm sorry the blogs stopped for a while. I had a problem with the Blackberry. I finally discovered that if, after each blog had been sent, I removed the battery and then replaced it again, the next one would be sent successfully. Very technical!
We took the horses down to the spring, groomed them and saddled up. Then we rode along the vehicular track that rose towards the Donduil Pass. High up we came across a beautiful Alm, with delightful farmers who were excited to see someone, especially horse riders. Their son led us along the cattle tracks to the summit of the pass. Again we had climbed over 1200 meters of ascent, and now we led the horses down into our first Valdenser valley.
It is simply amazing to see the means by which the farmers here kept cattle at such a tremendous height. The people must have had enormous determination and stamina to build houses up here, to construct paths and tracks and to build churches. Up here at an elevation of 1600 meters above sea level there are stone houses four storeys high - with just a mule track leading to them. We rode along the lightly wooded mountainside and passed an Alpine farmhouse dating from the 15th C and still inhabited and being worked as a functioning farm.
We were surrounded by high Alpine culture, and could imagine meeting Johanna Spirig's Heidi and her grandfather anywhere round here. Even the horse blocking our way through a meadow proved to be a calm and friendly gelding, and we were soon safely away from him. We reached the village church, which was originally built also as a meeting place and communication centre for the locals, and from which one could exchange information with the villages down in the valley by means of signals. An asphalt road appeared, which we followed down to Issime, where we relished chilled lemonade and packets of crisps.
We rode on, following the right-hand bank of the river in the direction of Gaby, and at the campsite there we found excellent pasture for the horses and a manager who even left her meal to show it to us. Showers, food and then into the sleeping bag; the horses had plenty of clover to enjoy.
The Twenty-fifth Day
Tuesday 27th August
Insime to Rassa Val Sorbe
The campsite was great. The horses had a lush, grassy field that was partly fenced with wooden rails and contained some groups of pine trees for shelter. We had divided the meadow and claimed a group of the trees for ourselves as night shelter.
We got an early start and continued to ride up towards Gaby. Shortly after we'd passed through Gaby, a jeep overtook us and one of the people in it had helped us with the route in Dondena. They stopped the vehicle, got out and seemed hugely happy and excited to see us again.
We found the path in the Val Loo and the route, classified as E (easy) led us steeply upwards. As we climbed, we could see that ahead of us was a wide valley, divided into small fields with low stonewalls. In the middle of the valley, there was a road running between walls and in the direction of the mountains. Again and again we passed stone-built houses in different stages of collapse. As we climbed, a dog came barking towards us, and a woman came down from above to calm it down. We chatted for a few moments with her, then climbed further up. Pat was riding, and saw in a house high above us a mother with a child, who waved at us. Further along, in the direction of the pass, we met the man of the house, who was grazing his cows, his horse and his donkey up here on the alpine pasture. Flash decided he had something against the man's pony, and tried to drive him away with evil looks.
Shortly after that, we arrived on the GTA once more, and ahead of us was the climb to del Macagno. This was not exactly inviting, as both us and the horses were tired, but it was the shortest way to Riva Valdobia and the routes leading to Domodossla. In the meantime, the herdsman came over the hill with his cattle, and while the horses were grazing, I went back to him to find out more about the mountain crossing.
He described the problems of the climb to me, and stated categorically that he wouldn't do it with a horse. After careful study of the maps, we decided to risk it and began to climb.
50 meters below the summit of the pass, Pat held both horses while I climbed to the top to have a look. The path was scarcely as wide as my two feet, and was very nerve-wracking, but just 6 meters below the crossing of the mountain, it became impassable, at least for horses. Starting at this point, a narrow rock gully ran up to the pass summit. The horses would need to jump up into it, but neither above nor below was there any grip for their hooves, even though they were wearing synthetic shoes and not iron ones. We decided that it was indeed impossible for horses, so we descended once more and consulted our maps yet again.
Eventually I found the area on some Swiss maps, which I carried, and saw clearly that there was no alternative route over this Pass. There was only one thing we could do and that was to head for a different Pass, and to ride towards the east instead of to the north, heading for Rass and, below it, the Sorba valley.
The ascent in Val Loo was as beautiful as the descent back down was awful. A few cairns, an occasional way-mark - otherwise we followed the paths made by the sheep, of which over a thousand are brought up here every summer. Over boulder fields and scree slopes, along the beds of streams - we searched for a better path that we could follow downwards. We, and the horses were very tired, and a couple of times Flash was reluctant to go on. It began to rain, and the paths were slippery underfoot. We had been on the move for eleven hours, and in three hours' time it would be dark.
One hour later we were in the valley and although the path was better, it seemed to go on forever. We passed a display of charcoal burners' huts, with piles of wood and charcoal beside them, a restored water mill and other exhibits of past life in these valleys; a sort of living museum of times now past, but not really far distant.
It wasn't long before a tiny house suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere. Heidi's Bar. I could hardly believe it; moments earlier Pat had calmly said that a bag of chips, a beer and a bed had been flashing in front of her eyes for some time. And there it stood in front of us: Heidi's bar and restaurant. We obtained hay, a grassy meadow, an evening meal of superb quality and polenta to feed the horses. We slept overnight in the landlady's mini-tractor shed, on a hay bed.
As we led Domingo out to the meadow, he looked lame on his right hind. What will tomorrow bring?
The Twenty-sixth day
Wednesday 28th August
Rassa to Alagna to Valsesia
Domingo was perfectly sound in the morning, but we decided on a change of route, since we want to keep things easy for the horses.
Instead of taking the GTA route as originally planned, we decided to take an old military road which led us into the Val Ansacsca and from there to Domodossola. We took the asphalt road first, leading and riding alternately towards Alagna higher up. On the way we took the opportunity of cooling the horses' fetlocks wherever we could in brooks and streams. The weather turned once more and it began to rain. Our rainwear has been well tested and is still effective. After about five hours on asphalt, we reached Alagna, and tried to find a night's accommodation. The owner of the campsite referred us gruffly to the community centre and the tourist information office, and then told us that both of them were closed. A very helpful man!
We left the village and climbed further, where we chatted with two men, one of whom we heard being gushingly addressed as Signor Proffesore by a lady. This same one showed an interest in the gentle manners of our horses, and Pat developed a conversation with him in German. We asked about overnight accommodation for the horses and ourselves, and he advised us to try the Hotel Montagna de la Luce in the next village. We rode up and asked about the possibilities of pasture.
After a few phone calls, we received permission to put the horses on the neighbour's meadow. This was an untouched area of lush green grass, about 200 square meters. By four o'clock the horses are happily grazing, and we went up to our room to once more dry our shoes and socks, soaking wet after putting up the fence. The 2kw fan heater we had borrowed proved a great help. Then we went back into the village to do some shopping, as none of the shops were open when we had passed through it, and they didn't open until after 4pm.
We prepared polenta mash for the horses. We carried Polenta with us, and had bought two bags from the Bar Heidi. This was mixed with water and concentrate-pellets, so that a doughy mass was formed and the pellets swelled. The horses each got a share, and then we visited the local museum of the Walser people. There, Pat decided on looking at dress sizes, that she had been born in the wrong century.
Later we had a delicious meal at the hotel - cheese-filled ravioli with walnut sauce, followed by grilled fillet of chicken with salad and potatoes, all accompanied by red wine. Later an Italian/German couple sat with us for a chat, and we enjoyed a nightcap together.
The Twenty-seventh Day
Thursday 29th August
Alagna to Valsesia to Rif Pastor
Today we completed a difficult route around the foot of Monte Rosa. We saw the moon setting as we fed the horses in the early morning, then we led the horses on an asphalt road past many entrances to mine workings. We saw the sun rise over the mountains, and decided to take a break at the Rifugio Pastore and not go any further until the next day. We led the horses up well-constructed footpaths towards the rifugio, and I went ahead to enquire about the possibilities.
A tiny paradise opened before our eyes. A well-fenced meadow, a beautifully located Refugio and the view of Monte Rosa lay before us and invited us to stay. We unsaddled, put the horses in the meadow and left our things safely in the woodshed. We ate at noon and relaxed all afternoon, taking all the breaks we'd missed during our journey.
After our picnic it began to rain again so an afternoon nap was also called for. In two days our journey will have ended. We will have travelled about 1000km, and climbed over 30 passes completed about 40,000 meters of ascent - and of course the corresponding descent. The descents are usually harder work than the climbs. The afternoon break did us all good.
The Twenty-eighth Day
Friday 30th August
Rif Pastore - Borca - Valle Ancasca
The Polenta for the horses had not sat unnoticed overnight in the woodshed. Early in the morning it looked as if a dozen little sausages were floating in the mash, with funny strings attached to their ends. I decided to fish out whatever they were, and was surprised to find that we had drowned an entire generation of field mice. I threw all the mice out and simply mixed the mash well - the horses seemed to enjoy it regardless. I think it must have been a very clean and neat family of mice.
After breakfast at the rifugio and another photo session, we got onto the GTA to look for the path back down to the valley, from which we came up yesterday. All I can say is that there is no sign of the GTA, but a path '7A' is clearly marked ... Yet again, one of the 50% wrong times ... We turned around again, climbed back up and followed the path to 'Toerl'. Called Colle de Turlo on the map, the pass lies at 2738 meters. A track, well-constructed by the Valser people in years gone by, led up through the middle Alp, passing the higher Alp and them all the way up to the summit of the pass. At this height we again and again caught views of Monte Rosa with the sun reflecting from its slopes.
The decision to take a day's break was the right one. We had blue skies, sunshine, and greeted all fellow pass-travellers heartily. We especially enjoyed the magnificent views of the Valle Qaranze from high above it. It would be easy to become addicted to these mountain passes and their tremendous views. The descent, snaking down the stony tracks built by the Valser people in an endless series of hairpin bends, took us a long time. We passed a herd of Halflinger horses, and at 1600 meters we stopped beside an Alp for a rest. We enjoyed our lunch while the horses grazed. Down below, in the valley, we could see an emerald-green lake shimmering in the sunshine.
The path downhill now followed the course of a small river, and we stood the horses in the water several times to cool their fetlocks. Soon we came to the first houses in the valley, and to the lake, which we has already seen from above. A bar beckoned us inside for a cold 'Radler' (shandy) and as we drunk it, Flash pulled back and broke the carabiner on rope halter. I took hold of the lead rope with my hand, and Flash stopped as if he were still attached to it! I replaced the carabiner and we led the horses back onto the track, and then rode down the valley towards Borca and Macugnaga.
On the way, we met a group of riders from Macugnaga. In the stable from which they came, we got what was probably the last ration of hard feed we would need on this journey. The woman in charge of the stables, who must have been well over 70 years old, absolutely refused to accept any money for it. Eventually she accepted some Black Forest cherry brandy in exchange, and wished us well for our journey.
We continued to ride along the asphalt track, and arrived at a small hamlet where we were greeted in a very cordial manner. I asked the elderly gentleman who had greeted us if he knew of any pasture where we could graze our horses. He called his wife, and I repeated my question. They both then nodded, and soon I stood on a 200 sq m piece of lush grassy pasture. I called out to Pat, who didn't respond. I called her again, using her full name, and she looked up, afraid, as she had not properly heard me. Very strange!
The woman ordered two pizzas for us, the man went to get them, and another kind neighbour made coffee for our thermos flask. We devoured our pizza when they arrived, as well as the beer that came with them. We broke all our previous records and were in our sleeping bags by 8.15 pm. It was not that we were particularly tired, but that our feet could no longer support us in an upright position.
The Twenty-ninth Day Saturday 31st August
Macagnaga - Domodossola
The next-to-last day of our journey. To give the horses some relief, we took the valley route and led the horses along the road down to the Anzasca valley.
On the way, we got coffee, croissants and nectarines. We were over-taken by a car driven by some people we had met at that Rifugio last night - they waved and drove on.
After travelling in the mountains on the paths of wild goats and chamois for four full weeks, with never a bruise to show for it, Domingo managed to slip on the asphalt and give himself three cuts on his right hind - so much for giving the horses an easy day! In the afternoon, we reached Val Ossola, and rode above the villages, on the right bank of the river, until we came into Trontano, from which we will leave on Sunday to go up the Val Vigesso and to the Swiss border.
In Trontano there was a festival happening, and we met up with a very kind property owner. She offered us a meadow for the horses, a campsite for us, and a shower. We ate pork ribs from the BBQ and goat's cheese salad in the bistro, which was happy to provide us with breakfast in the morning. Hopefully tonight, snails will stay far away from Pat, as I am to blame if they crawl over her face ... It's nine o'clock, the singer and the electric piano are just getting going, and we fall fast asleep.
The Thirtieth Day
Sunday 1st September
Domodossola - Switzerland
We slept out of doors last night, and it wasn't very restful. Foxes were sniffing around our campsite, and people and cars were pulling noisily out of the celebrations until late. Fortunately the snails left us alone!
The promised breakfast at the bar fell through, unfortunately - the ladies who offered it had probably forgotten that it was Sunday. We continued along the asphalt road, as we had decided that although it was marked on the map as a road, it was in fact one of those roads that petered out into an un-surfaced farm track or even a footpath. The horse's boots were put on for protection again, we mounted and rode down the main street, which took us along the valley in the direction of the Swiss border. Already there were hundreds of cars out and about on the roads, and we stopped at the first bar we came to and enjoyed a belated breakfast.
Then we clip-clopped carefully along the road until we came to S. Maria Maggiore, where a large folk festival was taking place. We bought a few things, and later had to fight our way out of the village through crowds of people. After we left S Maria Maggiore, the traffic was much lighter and the horses could trot out briskly. When the road started going downwards, we led the horses. As we passed a Maneggio (riding stables) we got a phone message that our transport was only a few km away. In the next village, we found a dead-end with a turning place, and unsaddled the horses. They were happy to relax and graze before they were loaded into the trailer and driven home.
Our journey has ended. We have tackled the GTA from beginning to end. We have ridden 1100 km, have climbed a total of over 40,000 meters of elevation and descended the same, which was often harder work than the climbing. We've crossed 30 mountain passes, some of them being at an altitude of more than 2800 meters, and on many days, we and our horses completed over 40km of travel on arduous tracks. It was an adventurous journey that took us to the edge of our abilities, but we were limited only by the physical nature of the paths and the passes. Yet again we have learnt even more about ourselves, and our horses, how we can integrate with the natural world around us and about life in Italy.
Beautiful Italy! Beautiful horses!
Grateful thanks to all friends and helpers, especially to Pete Betschard and the Möllinger family, and to our own families for letting us go on these wonderful journeys.