Full Moon and Hoarfrost at Monte Scaletta

The anticipated thunderstorm arrived very late but was all the more intense. The wind nearly blew my tent away. And the thunder followed immediately after the lightning. I was right in the center of it all. I gained some confidence from the fact that my tent was at least the lowest point of the surrounding caravan colony. After half an hour, I thankfully survived the ordeal. I'd prefer not to experience such a spectacle while camping on a pass.

The next morning, I wanted to quickly refill my supplies and move on. Bersezio simply did not have the charm for a longer stay. The supermarket opened promptly at half-past eight. But there were no baked goods available yet. 'They're delayed today,' said the cashier with a shrug. So, with a growling stomach and increasingly bad mood, I waited until I was finally relieved shortly after nine. And then the adventure could finally begin.

The next leg took me first on a busy mountain road under the penetrating noise of motorcycles to the Col de Larche, the border with France. After yesterday's storm, a freezing cold wind was still blowing through this mountain pass. I seriously doubted whether it was a good idea to spend the night above 2400 meters again today. Well, if worse came to worst, I would just have to head straight down to the Valle Maira. So I put on my windbreaker and kept moving to stay warm.

Just 300 meters above the pass, you enter a different world. Deep blue sparkling mountain lakes lined up next to each other, sheltered by the surrounding rugged mountain giants and overseen by the towering Monte Oronaye. A scenery almost too perfect to be true. At Lago di Roburent, I hid my bags behind a rock. A wonderful place for a campsite. But it was still only noon, and I had yet to summit Monte Scaletta.

I had found a description for the climb, which described crossing this peak with a bike as a 'crazy tour' but certainly achievable. The only comment under this report was that it was life-threatening and should be avoided at all costs. So my interest was piqued. However, I would not attempt the crossing but rather take the descent route up so that I could turn back in time if needed.

Without bags, I could easily carry the bike with my carrying system, and off I went. According to the description, there were exposed sections at the top where it was better to push at times, and it was supposed to be S2-S3 down below. My impression was quite different. Although there were rideable sections in the lower area, these were constantly interrupted by smaller landslides that required me to hoist the bike over them. It was already clear when going up that there would definitely be no flow feelings on the way down. It did not get any better. On the contrary, at a height of 2500 m, the path steepened further and would cross the slides again after a bend. I gave up; it just didn't make sense to ride anymore. However, I still wanted to reach the summit on foot. That turned out to be a nice scramble at T3 difficulty, where hands were also necessary, and it was a bit airy. With the rugged, repelling rocks and tower-like peaks, it felt like being in the Dolomites. And since this was in the border area with France, I wasn't surprised to find a small bunker again at the summit. I wondered how anyone could have built it back then without a helicopter. And I'm equally baffled as to how this could be published as a mountain bike tour. Sure, if you actively participate in the Red Bull Rampage in your spare time, you might have fun at a few points. For everyone else, it would probably be a rather senseless test of courage to haul their bike up there and back down again. Back with the bike, I then took the direct route over the scree field for the short descent instead of the path. It went quite well somehow.

The campsite was then dreamy. To my left was the mighty Monte Scaletta, adorned with a small blemish thanks to the summit bunker. In front of me, Lago di Roburent shimmered like a natural infinity pool high above the Valle Stura. In all the excitement of the afternoon summit ascent, I had completely forgotten that it was supposed to be cold. But the sun did its work in the second half of the day. Just before it disappeared again, I enjoyed the last warming rays. Then it turned chilly. That night, I really had to use up all the warm clothing I had brought. Even the long underwear came into play. Well, with my summer sleeping bag, the comfort temperature is only +5 degrees. And that night, the temperatures dropped for the first time so low that hoarfrost formed on my outer tent. Brrr. But the bright shining full moon, which watched me shivering with indifference and reflected in the lake, was incredibly spectacular.