The Useless Builders

We left without a destination, route or return date. Eighteen days of improvisation, carrying heavy packs and sleeping in bivouacs, shelters, igloos, meadows and wartime bunkers. We crossed valleys, peaks and villages, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. We were free, and perhaps that mattered most. Adventure doesn’t always require distant places, famous routes or the highest summits. In a world where mountains are increasingly mapped and domesticated, it is often defined less by where we go than how we travel. The Alps still hold remote valleys, isolated villages and almost no one around in winter. Often there is no phone signal either – perhaps the price you pay for experiencing the mountains as they are.

We set off from Entracque – Lorenzo, our Austrian friend, Thomas and me. It is raining, but the approach to the winter room at Rifugio Maria Ellena is short. Our packs are brutally heavy, loaded with five days of food. The next morning brings sunshine and a few inches of untouched snow. We climb our first summit, enjoy the descent and return to the refuge, where another friend joins us.

On day three, we cross into France. While climbing the West Peak of Finestra, an idea takes shape: Why not build an igloo and stay right here? How hard can it be? Quite hard, as it turns out. Wanting ours to be big and “beautiful,” we cut blocks rather than dig into the snow. “And to think I came here for a holiday,” someone laughs. “Mornings hauling a 45-pound pack like a porter, afternoons working as a bricklayer!” By sunset, our little castle is finished. We are exhausted but ridiculously proud. We could be sitting in a comfortable winter shelter. Instead, we enjoy steaming soup inside something we built for absolutely no reason. Little builders of the useless. Darkness falls, stars appear, and I step outside to take the photograph I imagined – one where it is not only the stars that shine, but us too.

Frozen boots the next morning are less romantic. The following night at Rifugio Cougourde, winds rise above 50 mph. Without phone reception, we cannot check the forecast. The storm destroys the snow and follows us for days. Our route continues via Valasco and Dahu before our friends leave us. At Rifugio Zanotti, we find the winter room locked and are forced down to Pietraporzio. Once again, the plan changes. We leave the Stura Valley for the Maira Valley, heading toward the Gardetta plateau. Red deer, chamois and ibex remind us how empty these mountains become in winter. With improving weather but no plan for the night, we aim for Becco Nero, where a wartime bunker offers shelter. Sleeping there feels strange. We think of those who once spent nights here not by choice.

By morning, the wind is raging again. Near Gardetta Pass, sleet lashes our faces and gusts nearly knock us over. Another closed refuge forces another change of plan. By now, improvisation is routine. We restock, reach Campo Base above Chiappera and make a two-day loop over Mount Sautron, sleeping at Chambeyron in France. From Chiappera, we continue to the Carmagnola bivouac, buried beneath the snow. Luckily, I know where to dig for the entrance. We leave in darkness, cross into France at sunrise and continue through lonely valleys to Bardonecchia. Sleeping in town feels wrong, so we walk toward Sommelier Pass and bivouac on a meadow. After so many nights in snow, even grass feels luxurious.

Two weeks have passed, and Lorenzo needs to return to work. Instead of continuing toward the Aosta Valley, we turn toward the Valli di Lanzo, a region that means a lot to me. After another long stage, we reach Rifugio Avérole. For our final night, we finish as we began: by doing something completely unnecessary. After climbing Alberon di Savoia and Mount Collerin, we build another igloo at roughly 10,800 feet. Smaller this time, but no less satisfying. Morning brings a spectacular sunrise over Uja Bessanese. We descend to Rifugio Gastaldi, climb to Col d’Arnas and ski its couloir toward Balme. There, my friend Giorgio happens to be ski touring and gives us a ride to Lanzo station. Train, bus and a final walk take us back to our car that evening.

Eighteen days after leaving without a real plan, the circle closes. We crossed borders and valleys, slept in huts, bunkers, snow and open air, changed direction whenever circumstances demanded it and built two completely unnecessary igloos. An unusual, spontaneous and magnificent traverse – precisely because it never needed to become anything more.