I learned two fundamental things about the Swiss Alps on our trip to Ticino. The first is that geologic activity is violent and cataclysmic even when it occurs in slow motion. The Alps formed over several tens of millions of years, through a combination of tectonic collisions, glaciation, and erosion, and the steep upward thrust visible in the rock strata demonstrate that this was hardly a gentle process. The second thing is that the Alps provide abundant adrenaline-overdosing opportunities for
acrophobes like me.
On Wednesday morning, we left the most comfortable beds we've slept on in years behind us in Airolo and drove up the mountainside to Lago Ritóm. We drove instead of taking the funicular tram: while the narrow, occasionally guardrail-free road cuts back and forth along switchbacks, the tram goes directly from bottom to top along an 87% grade. It's the steepest funicular in Europe. And let's face it, who wants to ruin a perfectly fine day by risking one's life on a cog train that's been described effusively by the ADAC Tessin (Ticino) tour book as "ein grossartiges Wunderwerk Schweizer Ingenieurkunst!" ("a splendid feat of Swiss engineering!")?
We parked near the Lago Ritóm dam and hiked partway around the lake, then over a ridge to another lake, Lago Tom, and then up another ridge to gaze over the peak to the mountains and lakes on the other side. I only made it about four fifths of the way up to the peak--something I attribute to my
keenly evolved self-preservation instincts--but carefree Elias and Stefan went all the way to the top, where they played in the snow and enjoyed being on top of the world. Then it was back down to Lago Tom, over another ridge to Lago Cadagno, and around the other side of Lago Ritóm. Getting back to Lago Ritóm required hiking down a steep, narrow trail with the mountain on one side, a direct plummet down to the far-below lake on the other, and two roaring waterfalls providing accompaniment as I clutched at the sparse grasses and tried not to freak out. On the bright side, every bridge we crossed and every narrow trail we traversed after that was a cinch.
I learned two fundamental things about the Swiss Alps on our trip to Ticino. The first is that geologic activity is violent and cataclysmic even when it occurs in slow motion. The Alps formed over several tens of millions of years, through a combination of tectonic collisions, glaciation, and erosion, and the steep upward thrust visible in the rock strata demonstrate that this was hardly a gentle process. The second thing is that the Alps provide abundant adrenaline-overdosing opportunities for acrophobes like me.
On Wednesday morning, we left the most comfortable beds we've slept on in years behind us in Airolo and drove up the mountainside to Lago Ritóm. We drove instead of taking the funicular tram: while the narrow, occasionally guardrail-free road cuts back and forth along switchbacks, the tram goes directly from bottom to top along an 87% grade. It's the steepest funicular in Europe. And let's face it, who wants to ruin a perfectly fine day by risking one's life on a cog train that's been described effusively by the ADAC Tessin (Ticino) tour book as "ein grossartiges Wunderwerk Schweizer Ingenieurkunst!" ("a splendid feat of Swiss engineering!")?
We parked near the Lago Ritóm dam and hiked partway around the lake, then over a ridge to another lake, Lago Tom, and then up another ridge to gaze over the peak to the mountains and lakes on the other side. I only made it about four fifths of the way up to the peak--something I attribute to my keenly evolved self-preservation instincts--but carefree Elias and Stefan went all the way to the top, where they played in the snow and enjoyed being on top of the world. Then it was back down to Lago Tom, over another ridge to Lago Cadagno, and around the other side of Lago Ritóm. Getting back to Lago Ritóm required hiking down a steep, narrow trail with the mountain on one side, a direct plummet down to the far-below lake on the other, and two roaring waterfalls providing accompaniment as I clutched at the sparse grasses and tried not to freak out. On the bright side, every bridge we crossed and every narrow trail we traversed after that was a cinch.
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