But let’s start from the beginning. It all began with a sea of fog revealing only the mountain peaks.
If you saw our breakfast this morning, you would’ve thought we were in Spain. People were eating on a tiny square; on the other side some were painting their feet to leave a print not only on the banner but also in the memory. First mentioned is bragging with a picture of our sponsors, huge white letters and will be our companion for the rest of the trip.
Another fellow found his way to the side of each of us: a wooden walking stick, prepared by the glorious Massimiliano. As the time passes by and more and more adventures happen, the wooden stick will become a personal ‘signature’ from each of us by carving the bark.
Ready to walk!
Starting like a long Horned Viper (you get to know about that later), along the tortures road down to Resia Valley, a Common Bussard rose upon our heads, watching us and guarding our way. Crossing a huge bridge made us feel like beeing on a tropical trip in Vietnam… but actually at this point the Natural Park “Prealpi Giulie” began.
Thousands of trees. Billions of sun beams. And 20 Riverwalkers. 20 Riverwalkers that turned into Mountaingoats. “We are sweating so much that it’s becoming a Sweatwalk”, Nate gasped tiredly.
Another bridge. Another break. Staying faithful to our spirit we ate at a turquoise river. Neopren guys appeared out of the blue (waterfall) doing canyoning.
After ascending a steep scree the brave ones approached to a kind of fascinating canyon, splish-splash! For the adventurous types we left a treasure hunt in the form of Geocaches behind us…
We almost could touch the hut, our destination for the day, as the already mentioned Viper stopped us from running towards the tempting comfort that a small mountain shelter could offer. With an incredible amount of awareness everyone sneaked by the surprised snake face and dropped on the outside floor, just using the last energy for not falling into the field of stinging nettle.. and into the forest inhabitant’s poop.
A hut surrounded by the mountains.
New home for the night. New place for new thoughts. New sticks to carve.
The group members are slowly getting used of their roles and things are running smoothly.
When the sun hid behind the mountain tops, the clan’s chief showed us how to start a fire using bowdrill method. Although the end result was just a spark, we are staying highly motivated to try again tomorrow.
When our bellies were already rumbling like thunderstorm we gave up and used some matches to make a campfire. As the flames began to grow, also our inner thoughts and burning problems were voiced out loud during reflection time. All was quickly forgotten when we satisfied our appetite with traditionally made italian polenta under an rising sparkling moonlight.
Ghost stories and bonfire chants. Wolf howling and enchanting woods. With little folk and faries.