I hurried out of the hotel in the morning and left P to do the dirty work of checking out. She later said they never asked why we were leaving, but the ultimate answer would have been “we want to be closer to the center of town.” It might not have been all of the truth, but it would have been enough. Last night, when we realized it was the best answer, the simplicity of just telling the truth shocked both of us.
It’s revolutionary.
After checking into the new hotel, we downed a quick cappuccino and purchased water for our packs. We then walked to the cable car that whisked us up to the top of Mount Faloria, which had been the site of the men’s giant slalom event in the 1956 Winter Olympics (n.b. the Olympics are coming back here in 2026).
The cable car to Mount Faloria has two separate runs, between which a somewhat confusing transfer takes place halfway up, but we just followed the masses. The first car dangles relatively low to the ground, traveling on a gentle slope, as it works its way up the first part of the mountain. The second, however, makes the bulk of the precipitous lift to the mountain top, carrying it well away from the ground below.
The view at the top was phenomenal.
Under an overcast sky, we found our hiking route for the day just above the cable car headhouse, where it began with a steep, exhausting, climb upward along a gravelly ski slope. The grade was intense and we were already gasping for air, even though the day had barely begun. We were relieved that the worst of the climb seemed to be done when the route veered left.
Time for a confession: one of the things I’ve learned about hiking is that, no matter who says the route is well marked (and this one was supposed to be), they are usually speaking from the point of view of somebody with experience. In truth, there are always times when the path isn’t clear at all to the novice hiker, and that’s where the phone becomes indispensable.
This, of course, depends on interpreting the phone correctly. Just after that first hill I managed to get us lost, leading us even further up a second, crushingly steep, slope, all the while wondering “why do they call this a moderately difficult trail?! This is hard!”
In due course, however, we found our trail and were truly on our way. But the experience influenced everything that came after, because following this P would always double check my navigation.
Today’s hike took us from an altitude of about 7600 ft, circling along the eastern part of the valley, and back to town at around 4000 ft.
Along the way the views of the mountainside and valley below were spectacular.
The hike carried us mostly downhill, with a few uphill segments. The trail wasn’t always easy, with some larger steps down. I’m much taller than P, so at times she had to sit down to navigate these steeper segments. This was nice – it gave me a break.
Although numerous trails cross this region, we saw only a few other hikers, as September is the very end of hiking season. We tried to be industrious and the markers, we often resorted to the apps on our phones to double check our location.
Today’s trail is generally reasonably maintained, but trail was interrupted at times by rockfall, or in the case of this photo, I think it was probably washed out by the spring thaw. In moments like this, we searched for signs of other hikers and the routes they had taken.
As we continued on, we stopped to eat at a restaurant about 2/3 of the way through. I had game ravioli, delicately spiced with aromatic juniper. Very much of the region, it was delicious.
Following lunch we had to detour away from some construction, following which we were left with a precarious river crossing. It wasn’t very wide, but it was wide enough. I managed to find a boulder that we could step on without getting our feet too wet, and soon enough we were on the other side.
Continuing down the slope, the path meandered onward, at times woody, at times rainy, and at times (perhaps too often) rocky and craggy.
And so the day continued, with us gradually descending the rolling path to the floor of the valley, always glancing over the next rise in anticipation of what awaited below.
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