I used to dream about trekking in the Dolomites. And then one auspicious June, a friend and I found ourselves in Italy with a couple weeks to spare.
Not four hours in, I thought we might be in trouble when deep dark clouds rolled in and began to dump rain and hail on us. We spotted a lone shed and headed for the meager shelter under its eave. And we weren’t the only ones with that idea. A cow came hustling over, paused when it saw us, but huddled under nonetheless. The three of us looked at the dark sky and the frozen rain sharing a hope that this was not a portentous moment. The storm passed. We three struck out on our way. Not ten minutes later our first mountain lodge came into view above us. Day 1 in the books. We set down our packs and wandered along the ridge seeking a view of our route. We were greeted with a stunning expanse of mountains in the distance, towering clouds, and this rainbow bridge to limitless blue.
We met snow, blinding fog, and clear sun on our days, and stars, wind, and rain in the night. We crested snow covered passes, and waded through fields of new green dotted with the first yellows and purples of spring in the mountains.
