When I was about 15 years old I was introduced to fantasy literature. A common thread in many of the books were jagged, saw-tooth mountains that had to be traversed in order for the hero to defeat the evil doer. Many of the authors were quite descriptive about these mountains, but until yesterday, I had never seen anything in real life that matched my imagination about jagged, saw-toothed mountains.

Our week-long bus pass includes three routes that extend out of Bressanone and into some neighboring towns. Earlier this week we visited Luson on one such bus trip, and saw some of the higher peaks to the north of us. They were appropriately mountainous, with bare, rocky tops, and forested slopes. Sibylle had read about a 45-minute hike available from the end of another bus route, to “Schatzerhuette“, a remote refuge or hut, with a few rooms for rent and a restaurant to the south and east of Bressanone. Yesterday we took that bus, and made that hike.

The ride up to Schihütte started on the narrow, but still two lanes wide road.

Well, a lane and a half, with an occasional wide spot approaching two full lanes of width. There was heavy pine forest on both sides of the road, and incredible vistas at every turn. The second to last stop, Palmschoss, was the end of the “wide” road, and the start of a much narrower mountain road. The bus, a full length city sized model, now needed the entire width of the road to make it around the corners. This is not a road for the squeamish, or those afraid of heights. Both Sibylle and I agreed that driving these roads ourselves wouldn’t be enjoyable. Neither of us would want to be a passenger, and neither of us would feel entirely safe as the driver either. We placed our trust in the repeated laps the driver had made prior to our trip.

Midway up the narrow road we rounded a corner and saw the Dolomites for the first time. These are young mountains, unworn by time and weather, yet. Jagged, abrupt, imposing, and beautiful. The rest of the ride provided tantalizing glimpses of these saw-tooth peaks. And the end of the road, at Skihütte, gave a tremendous view of three ridges of these stunning peaks, fading off in to the haze to our south.

The trail up and around the mountain was actually a fire road, so it was wide and comfortable for walking. After going east for a bit, and then south, we rounded the mountain and turned east again, and we could see the length of the valley, perhaps 10 miles, all of it boarded to the south by the Dolomite peaks. We were perhaps 6000 feet in elevation, which put us just below the tree line. The peaks opposite us were nearly vertical from the valley floor, which was a good 2000 feet below us. The lower Dolomite slopes were covered in some trees, which then gave way to what I thought was snow or glacier, but later decided was loose scree and rubble from the mountain. The vertical sides were full of fissures and cracks, and the numerous peaks were sharp and jagged. Even the relatively young Rockies aren’t as utterly daunting in appearance as these peaks. Imagine a giant hand made of rock and stone, thrusting upwards with each finger a different peak.

The refuge was a beautiful place, surrounded by an Alpine meadow, overlooking the deep valley to the south, and the stunning Dolomite peaks beyond.

We enjoyed surprisingly good food for lunch, and took our time resting there, enjoying the peaceful quiet. Venturing further along the path, which eventually leads to the next village down the valley, we came across a beautiful cottage, built over a small stable, and a meadow with half a dozen cows grazing. All the cows wear bells, and there is a constant background music as the cows move about.

We returned to the refuge for more food, and a little nap for me and some post card writing for Sibylle, before making our way back down the mountain to the bus home.