Cogne to Rifugio Sella, of ibexes and pedometers

7/18 - Cogne to Rifugio Sella, 2600 m altitude
Approximate Coordinates for Rifugio Sella for those of you who are curious -N 45°34.611', E007°16.144' (actually, the nearby mountain top)


5.79 trail miles

I saw my favorite panorama of the trip today. As I climbed straight up from the mountain town of Cogne into the wild mountains of Gran Paradiso, I heaved and ho'd my way until I was literally brought to a screeching halt by this view of pure beauty. The landscape I have yearned for, complete with pasture, river, waterfall, mountaintops, and old stone house, finally exploded onto the scene. I stopped, recorded the sound of the waterfall, marked the location as a waypoint on my GPS, took several pictures, and basked in the glory of what would turn out to be a mere taste of what I would soon experience.
What followed was a test of my mettle; a few thousand feet that felt like the rock climbing I did at those middle-school birthday parties. I panted and complained under my breath, but finally made it up to Rifugio Vittorio Sella, which sat on a mountain meadow 2600 meters above sea level.



The mountain hut was more of a big deal than I would have imagined. I pictured 3 walls, cobwebs, and an old iron stove with some people huddled around eating berries. Instead, this was a full-scale operation, complete with bunkrooms, dinner and breakfast, a fully stocked bar, and bathrooms. Of course, it was still in the middle of nowhere; what was once brought by mule is now brought by helicopter, at great expense. In fact, I would choose to forego a shower, as smelling bad costs much, much less than 4 euros, the cost of 20 liters (roughly 5 gallons) of warm water.



Soon after arriving, I heard that there were ibexes to be seen during the late afternoon. Thinking, great tourist pitch, guys, I nonetheless walked the two miles to the place where they were supposed to come down. After the Italian family that had joined me decided to turn back (we had to be back at 7:30 for dinner), I pushed on, thinking that I might as well as try for the experience.



The first ibex I saw was about 500 yards away, eating grass from the side of the mountain. I almost choked on my delight, and crawled on all fours to a hilltop so I could take a close picture. After getting some blurry pictures, I was super satisfied and ready to turn back, when my peripheral vision sensed some movement to the right. Here was a family of ibexes 150 yards away, drinking from the waterfall! Stooped so as to stay low, I bounded over giant rocks to get closer, and there took some great pictures. But wait, here was another family, this time a family of five, about 30 yards away on my right! Now, literally surrounded by 12 ibexes and the only human being for miles, I crept closer and closer till I was about 7 or 8 yards from them. They didn't seem to be afraid, and even now I think I could have come closer, but I remembered the golden rule of being respectful to animals in the wild, and I relented, only after shooting dozens of photos (most of them redundant, and by now deleted).

Since it was by now 7:00, I reluctantly turned away to head back in time for dinner. Half a mile away, I finally remembered to do my "Pat pat-down:" passport, GPS, camera, wallet, chapstick, mp3 player, pedome... Oh no! In my spasmodic attempt to photograph the ibexes, I managed to lose my pedometer, and even then I remembered the click click sound of something plasticfalling. Too distracted at the time to give it more than a fleeting thought, I now panicked, and sprinted back to the scene, in an attempt to find my pedometer amongst the rocks. I covered the entire area, which by now the ibexes had vacated, but at 7:20 decided that there was no way I would miss dinner.

I covered 2 miles of hills and a mountain trail strewn with rocks in 18 minutes, running the entire way. How the hell did I do it, when I have a half-dozen blisters and had just covered 8 miles, all of them uphill? All I have to say is: food.

As if to make my run worthwhile, the dinner was excellent, and I passed it in the company of a friendly German couple and a Dutch family. We spoke in English about a variety of things, mostly the fate of the European Union (3 generations more and it will be great, they said). I went to bed that night, vowing to myself to arise at 6:30 in order to resume my search for the pedometer, which after all was very important to my trip.

Somehow I woke up at 6:30 without an alarm, had breakfast, didn't shower (would you?), and headed back to the scene of the crime, hoping at least to see some more ibexes in the morning. In order to lend my search some greater meaning, I put on some triumphant Copland (Grand Canyon Sunrise and John Henry), and made my way there. I searched every inch of land, looking under rocks big and small, for 2 hours. No pedometer. At this point, rather than lament my cruel, cruel fate, I had the following thoughts. First, ibexes are sacred animals to Zeus, god of the thunderbolt and heavens, and it was only fair that I make a sacrifice in exchange for the privilege of gallivanting with them. Second, I had made a gift to one very lucky marmot, who could now count the steps of his forage with accuracy, and even keep track of calories burned so as to adequately prepare for the coming winter. Third, I had my GPS, which also had an odometer, and since the thing is as big as a brick in my pocket (and just as heavy), it would be a lot harder to lose. I would just have to keep it on the whole time.

So, after gathering my things and leaving the refuge, I had to bear the ignominy of passing the scene once more on my way out. This time I put on Beethoven's Eroica (Heroic) Symphony, No. 3, so I could prove that I was bigger than this small setback. The second movement, a famous funeral march, bore me past those ill-fated hills, and just when things started to get heroic, in my (favorite) 4th movement, the battery died. Cruel, cruel irony.