Selva, Italy - August 2024
Re-Equilibrating
Like the previous 18 months, our experiences in August were overlaid with the hope of resynchronizing with each other on the trails. Twenty-five years ago, we became full time cyclotourists and were tethered to each other like never before. Then, on Christmas Day in ’22 when my chronic, niggly spine and buttock problems hit the crisis stage, we abruptly cut the line and lived our daily lives independently.
Bill pressed on after my acute back episode, striving to walk 40 miles a week as was possible between his eye surgeries, and for a few months, I struggled to manage my pain while walking a few miles a week. Last summer in the Dolomites, Bill went on high adventure hikes without me while I did village walks in the mornings and again in the afternoons, with long lunch breaks on our apartment floor to diminish my pain. This summer began with the same pattern of hiking alone at the edges of our individual abilities in the Dolomites. Then suddenly, our roles reversed at 10:30 am on June 29: Bill was stopped in his tracks by profound fatigue.
Re-Equilibrating
Like the previous 18 months, our experiences in August were overlaid with the hope of resynchronizing with each other on the trails. Twenty-five years ago, we became full time cyclotourists and were tethered to each other like never before. Then, on Christmas Day in ’22 when my chronic, niggly spine and buttock problems hit the crisis stage, we abruptly cut the line and lived our daily lives independently.
Bill pressed on after my acute back episode, striving to walk 40 miles a week as was possible between his eye surgeries, and for a few months, I struggled to manage my pain while walking a few miles a week. Last summer in the Dolomites, Bill went on high adventure hikes without me while I did village walks in the mornings and again in the afternoons, with long lunch breaks on our apartment floor to diminish my pain. This summer began with the same pattern of hiking alone at the edges of our individual abilities in the Dolomites. Then suddenly, our roles reversed at 10:30 am on June 29: Bill was stopped in his tracks by profound fatigue.
Slowly getting back to our routines, like doing dead hangs, eventually for over 2”.
The New Normal in the Dolomites
Europe is the Fastest Warming Continent on Earth
Amidst the personal health distractions for us this summer, our slower pace resulted in us noting the declining health of the Dolomites region because of climate change and over tourism. The travel experts had forecast a drop in European tourism this summer because the post-covid boom was over, but the heat waves drove more people to the Italian mountains (including us) in search of relief.
Water Shortages in the Mountains
“New normal” is a 100-year-old phrase that is now the go-to euphemism encouraging us to move beyond the loss of something we treasured, something we’ve lost that is not coming back. Such is the case with climate change creating a new normal in the Dolomites where the traditional mountain climate was disappearing before our eyes. Climate change is all around all of us, it is the new normal, but the details looked a little different in the Alps, though the effects were more extreme elsewhere.
On August 10th, one of a string of unseasonably hot, 80° days in Selva at 5300’, we made our treasured hike to the top of Puez Peak at 9600’. About halfway through the walk-up track to the summit itself, Bill passed a lean, fit, young man consumed by severe calf spasms. We surmised he was a bit dehydrated and low on sodium. We had hiked for 5 hours to get to the trailhead for the peak, though he and his buddies had surely been faster than us. Nonetheless, we were steadily trudging on like we always do, and he was immobilized. We summited 10-15 minutes ahead of him on this, for us, an hour-long climb, when he joined his waiting friends in drinking beer and eating lunch.
Puez Peak panorama.
While we happily munched our lunch 7 hours after breakfast; admired the stunning, 360° panorama of nearby peaks backdropped by the big sky; and lazily studied the gear and garb of our fellow summiteers, we thought back to the hut’s water trough at the trailhead to the peak. We wondered if these drinkers had been expecting to hydrate there, at the spout that is usually free flowing with snow melt, a spout that had a mere trickle of water on this day. We’d hiked to the hut several times this season, though had skipped the peak trail, so we had known to carry sufficient water for the entire 10-hour day.
A week later, the Puez hut water spout didn’t even have a trickle of water.
When we descended from peak, there were 5 people waiting to fill their multiple empty bottles, which would require about 5 minutes for 2 cups of water each. Presumably, the hut still had bottled water to sell, though at other huts, it was going for about $3 for the same amount of water. Perhaps these seemingly overly confident, 30-ish men weren’t bothered by this new dearth of trough water, a trough which had been a reliable source previous summers. Perhaps they were content to hydrate with beer, though clearly other hikers weren’t heading back to town without water.
On one of our earlier hikes this season, we briefly pondered if the hut managers were hoping to increase sales of their expensive bottled water by constricting trough water flow, but we decided that the shortage wasn’t due to greed: it was the lack of snow on any of the peaks, other than the shrinking glacier on Marmolada miles away.
In the last week, we’d also noticed the rushing river in Selva was reduced to rivulets around the riverbed’s rocky bottom and when going to the peak, the always-soggy moss-covered treacherous bit of trail was bone dry. Also missing on the route this day was most of the water in the idyllic ponds at the 8000’ level before reaching Puez hut—they too were drying up. The low and high elevation pastures were still lush and and we hoped the occasional thunderstorm would sustain the grasses for the free-ranging livestock, even though other water was disappearing.
Water shortage sign posted inside Puez Hut.
Back at our apartment after our all-day, hot hike to Puez Peak, the never-ending string of unusually hot, 80° (15° above average) days made sleeping challenging. We had done our utmost to keep our south-facing apartment cool while away by closing the big patio doors, drawing the curtains, and using only a few lights while in. Even with this care, the apartment was usually about 75-78° at bedtime and it would only cool to 73-75° overnight.
Thank goodness we hadn’t accustomed ourselves to the newly popular weighted blankets at home in attempts to improve our sleep because the cool mountain air was a thing of the past. I definitely benefit from the recommended sleeping temperature of 68° or less, so we only dared use a sheet as an overnight covering in Selva. Perhaps if we hadn’t grown up in the cool, damp, Pacific NW, we’d readily sleep uncovered, but for us, the association with being covered was a prerequisite for sleeping.
Air Pollution
Air pollution, especially from the exceptionally toxic wildfires, skyrockets in extreme heat everywhere though the polluted air in the Dolomites this year seemed only to be wafting up from the lower elevation industrial cities. The risk of air pollution levels soaring at any time, day or night, resulted in us sleeping with our 2 patio doors onto our balcony closed tight. I kept our air quality monitor handy and would briefly set it outside when I awoke in hopes of letting cool air in, though that was rarely the case. Inexplicably, the air quality was often worse in the wee hours.
Remnants of the disappearing ponds at 8000’.
By being hypervigilant, I discovered the air inside the grocery store we patronized could have PM2.5s of 30 when the air on the other side of the door was at 12, the limit of acceptable pollution. After that shocking discovery, I checked the air continuously when in the store. If the levels were too high, I’d immediately exit, wait for Bill outside, then help him haul the food up the hill after he had paid.
Almost all water troughs on other trails were abandoned.
Humidity was a horrid problem in our apartment on the hot days when the outside air was too toxic to open our doors. The well-insulated building constructed in the ‘80’s had no venting for the bathroom or kitchen fans—the fans whirled but didn’t move any air. Often, when we showered in the early evening, the humidity indoors would hit 80%, making our comfort index plummet since the indoor temperature was in the 70’s. Some nights, our indoor humidity would only drop to 70%.
Before climate change, this lack of proper ventilation likely wasn’t a problem: surely you just opened the doors and windows and let the cool, pristine air in. So, along with almost no buildings in the Dolomites having air conditioning, the poor ventilation standards made the excessive heat and air pollution a crisis for some of us in multiple ways.
Obsolete Phrases
Truths that I trusted, like “air the house out,” “clean mountain air,” and “rain will clear the air,” are no longer givens with the effects of climate change. For all my life, “airing the house out” daily was highly recommended because the indoor air quality was invariably lower than the outdoor air quality, even in most cities. However, we confirmed the reversal of this truism multiple times: too often on these August days, the levels of toxins were measurably higher in the outdoor air.
Half-way through the approach to Puez hut.
Val di Gardena, where we parked ourselves for 3 summer months in the Alps, is an extremely popular destination for young couples with their newborns. We cringed knowing that some days these families were promenading in a stew of airborne toxins instead of taking their babes to the mountains for clean air like they thought. Of course, the air was likely better in the mountains than the cities from which they came, but they were unwittingly chasing a myth.
On every bad air day, we hoped a robust, mid-afternoon thunderstorm will dump torrents of rain and clean the air, but improvement in the air quality doesn’t necessarily follow with rain. Several afternoons, we stared at our AQI monitor during a downpour in disbelief while the air quality worsened: incredible and heartbreaking!
Apparently, the effect of rain on air quality is highly specific to a locality and the current conditions. When we observed the air quality degrading with rain, the larger particles measured by the AQI may have been driven to the ground while the smaller, more toxic PM2.5s that I scrutinized, were unaffected. And I read that in some cases, the accompanying winds may be more potent than the rain in changing the air quality.
Helicopter crews plucked dead trees felled because of the bark beetle infestations spurred by climate change.
My mantra for describing my frantic feelings after spending the 2 covid summers in the States instead of the Dolomites unsuccessfully trying to escape wildfire smoke, was that there was “Nowhere to hide!” Unfortunately, I still believe there is no escaping summer air pollution anywhere we want to be and now, more than ever, pollution flattens me by triggering asthma.
This summer, like last summer, we frequently discussed whether to terminate our beloved tradition of summering in the Dolomites in search of better air. Western France is the only place in Europe that seemed to consistently have better overall air quality than the Dolomtes, but shifting our sporting life to France would require starting over to find the specific circumstances we need, like great steep hiking trails, food markets, and lodging, all in walking distance of each other. Relocating felt overwhelming. Finding a new playground would require massive amounts of time to research venues, both online and in person.
Another enormous construction project on the narrow highway to Passo Sella.
There is no place to hide from climate change triggered heat and air pollution, but we are applying ourselves to find more ways to stay healthy and comfortable while exercising outdoors. My worsening asthma and Bill’s newly revealed heart condition keep the pressure on us to find successful workarounds.
“Tourists Go Home”
I was crushed to see the graffiti on the back of a sign at the 8300’ point on our favorite loop hike to Puez Peak: “Tourists Go Home,” in English. I felt blamed yet understood the sentiment. The Dolomites were increasingly overrun with tourists. Tourists were often in the hundreds on trails where in the past, we would have seen dozens and one day, we estimated that we could have been in the midst of a thousand people.
Our new $5 vinyl coats were superb in the sudden mountain downpours.
“It’s not the tourists’ fault!” was my next thought. For 2 decades, we’d watched in awe how the tourism departments in the each of Dolomite villages aggressively ramped-up tourism. Every year there were new events, especially mountain biking and then e-mountain biking, and the people came. This year was supposed to be the end of adding tourists' beds in the mountains, but the city fathers backed down and the building frenzy continued. They had shot themselves in the foot and were blaming us.
Additionally, to our eyes, it looked like the industry had wildly and inappropriately marketed to their fellow Italians about the bliss of strolling in the mountains. Our mouths were agape every time we made our noon return on our relative-rest-day, 6 mile hike up Vallunga from Selva upon seeing the hoards of totally out-of-shape Italians. They were hiking up valley while we descended, and they looked like they were on a death march. We pitied them: we were out having a lovely walk and many looked like they’d have a heart attack before our eyes.
About a mile into their hike, virtually all in the oncoming packs would be drenched in sweat, stopping frequently to rest. Strollers were abandoned on the trail edge while the young families pressed on without their wheels. Clearly sedentary folks would stop in the middle of a steep stretch of path in a way that only Italians do: leaning on their wooden poles and throwing their heads back like they were pleading for mercy from their god.
Others would double over with their faces to the ground, as if they were taking their last breaths. It looked like carnage. We were deeply pained by their suffering and wondered who had told them what about this “family trail.”
I winced while struggling to convince an adult daughter and her father, in English, that there was no restaurant reprieve ahead; all that awaited them were a couple of cow water troughs that were also used by people. She pressed further; she was in total disbelief. I pointed to the rocky prominence 2000’ above us, to Puez Rifugio, saying that it was the location of the closest services. Aggressive tourism run a muck.
A late afternoon hailstorm rolled in at Sassolungo.
Our 3 months in the Dolomites was, well, weird. We again thoroughly enjoyed being in the mountains we know so well. We trampled many familiar trails and discovered new ones. We met our fitness goals by steadily increasing our exertion, still being on track for logging 2500 miles for the year, up from our target the last several years of 2000 miles, and we notched up our elevation gain on the steep trails. Overall, the weather was better than last year, which had an unusual number of “all day” rain events. It was dry enough this August at Passo Sella to take on a hike that was too, too muddy last year, though we learned that it was rough, had treacherously difficult footing, and we wouldn’t be doing it again.
Staying at the foot of Sassolungo at Passo Sella was again the finale venue for our 3 months in the Dolomites and we relished being there. I don’t know how many times a day I said to Bill “I love being here!” We always strive to reserve one of 2 smaller rooms of their dozen rooms to have a balcony and a great view of Sassolungo.
I am enchanted by that mountain cluster. The last night there, we watched its image come and go as night fell and a thunderstorm lit up the sky. The next morning, we impatiently waited for enough daylight to make out its silhouette, and then it played peek-a-boo with the rolling morning fog. The air was especially clear that afternoon and even though there was high overcast, the peaks all around us popped because of the lack of bright sun. The day before, a Sunday, the place was swamped with exuberant tourists and then the next day, we largely had the place to ourselves. Every day there was different, every day was special, and we loved loading our memories bank with such dramatic views our last days in Europe.
We’d be home in a few days but despite the challenges of climate change, we’d be back.