When it was over, we were on an escarpment which dropped steeply on both sides into two different worlds. On the one side the view extended for miles, range after range disappearing into the haze and clouds. On the other, a series of small, steep sided valleys surrounded the towering peak of Lombarducco . They were pitted with deep green circular lakes. The main valley ran away to the north-east, and was rapidly filling up with cloud.
Figure 24: Deep green circular lake about to be flooded by the rising tide of cloud
It was a gorgeous spot, and the appearance of the sun, and the sudden warmth that it provided made us decide simultaneously that it was time for lunch. There is nothing better for putting you off your food than it being too cold or wet to stop, and this was one of very few days that we had had when it was neither. It would also give Martha and Alf an opportunity to catch-up. We stopped, sat down, and opened our lunch rations. The sun went back behind its cloud, the temperature dropped ten degrees, and big fat drops of rain fell solidly out of nowhere. We closed our rations, got up and moved on.
The sun came out again, presumably just to make it too hot for us to walk in our ponchos. But we were made of sterner stuff. Even as I put mine on, I realized that it was a waste of space. Never enough material even when complete, the bib that I was left with just flapped in the breeze, or maneuvered itself until it covered nothing except the view to my feet, so that I couldn't see where I was putting them. I put it away for the last time, swearing that no matter how hard it rained, I would not bother with it. I just got cold when I stopped to deal with it. Claudia plodded on in her poncho, too wise to remove it for such a brief respite. For another half hour we picked our way along the side of the hill. Then the path turned to go straight up the side and over the top. After that there was a level patch, then a steady decline home. Our guide (he'd taken to proffering us advice by now) gave us our last hints as his group stopped for a breather before the ascent. We would have done the same, but the going looked slippery, and besides it was starting to hail rain again, and since I was now committed to enduring the elements in just a t-shirt, I felt more inclined to keep going than to stand there getting soggy and cold.
The rain did not help matters. The slippery surface was very slippery in places, but the only way it was going to get any better was if the sun came out, and that was clearly out of the question. We made it up in one twenty minute "dash". At the top the col was more of a saddle-a hundred meters long, and nearly as many wide. Perched on a ledge in a huge lump of rock were three Englishmen, crouching over a stove. If it wasn't for the bright orange cagoules they were wearing, and the fact that they were clearly enjoying themselves, it would have been easy to mistake them for the three witches in Shakespeare's Macbeth. The three witches and I exchanged old war stories for a few minutes while they stirred their hubble bubble, then, since the thunder, lightning, and rain were looking an increasing probability, we wended our weary way.
A shepherd materialized out of the landscape. We had heard his calls, and seen his sheep for several minutes before we spotted him, surprisingly close to us, further down the slope. He looked more like a German tourist with the felt hat he was sporting, complete with feather, but he clearly knew the terrain as well as his dog and sheep.
Finally we were over Col de la Haut Route (2206 m), and the path dropped away gently, following the other side of the ridge. The hillside was completely barren, not even tufts of grass to provide the occasional splash of color. Claudia finally started to slow down a little, and since we knew there were several groups just behind us, she started to worry about the refuge. We agreed that she would stop for her usual break, but that I would carry on and grab whatever sleeping accommodation I could.
