Little Rivers [49]
its fine little glacier, and Rothwand its
crimson cliffs; and southward Misurina gives to the view a glimpse
of water, without which, indeed, no view is complete. Moreover,
the mountain has the merit of being, as its name implies, quite
gentle. I met the Deacon and the Deaconess at the top, they having
walked up from Landro. And so we crossed the boundary line
together again, seven thousand feet above the sea, from Italy into
Austria. There was no custom-house.
The way down, by the Cat's Ladder, I travelled alone. The path was
very steep and little worn, but even on the mountain-side there was
no danger of losing it, for it had been blazed here and there, on
trees and stones, with a dash of blue paint. This is the work of
the invaluable DOAV--which is, being interpreted, the German-
Austrian Alpine Club. The more one travels in the mountains, the
more one learns to venerate this beneficent society, for the
shelter-huts and guide-posts it has erected, and the paths it has
made and marked distinctly with various colours. The Germans have
a genius for thoroughness. My little brown guide-book, for
example, not only informed me through whose back yard I must go to
get into a certain path, but it told me that in such and such a
spot I should find quite a good deal (ziemlichviel) of Edelweiss,
and in another a small echo; it advised me in one valley to take
provisions and dispense with a guide, and in another to take a
guide and dispense with provisions, adding varied information in
regard to beer, which in my case was useless, for I could not touch
it. To go astray under such auspices would be worse than
inexcusable.
Landro we found a very different place from Cortina. Instead of
having a large church and a number of small hotels, it consists
entirely of one large hotel and a very tiny church. It does not
lie in a broad, open basin, but in a narrow valley, shut in closely
by the mountains. The hotel, in spite of its size, is excellent,
and a few steps up the valley is one of the finest views in the
Dolomites. To the east opens a deep, wild gorge, at the head of
which the pinnacles of the Drei Zinnen are seen; to the south the
Durrensee fills the valley from edge to edge, and reflects in its
pale waters the huge bulk of Monte Cristallo. It is such a
complete picture, so finished, so compact, so balanced, that one
might think a painter had composed it in a moment of inspiration.
But no painter ever laid such colours on his canvas as those which
are seen here when the cool evening shadows have settled upon the
valley, all gray and green, while the mountains shine above in rosy
Alpenglow, as if transfigured with inward fire.
There is another lake, about three miles north of Landro, called
the Toblacher See, and there I repaired the defeat of Misurina.
The trout at the outlet, by the bridge, were very small, and while
the old fisherman was endeavouring to catch some of them in his new
net, which would not work, I pushed my boat up to the head of the
lake, where the stream came in. The green water was amazingly
clear, but the current kept the fish with their heads up stream; so
that one could come up behind them near enough for a long cast,
without being seen. As my fly lighted above them and came gently
down with the ripple, I saw the first fish turn and rise and take
it. A motion of the wrist hooked him, and he played just as gamely
as a trout in my favourite Long Island pond. How different the
colour, though, as he came out of the water. This fellow was all
silvery, with light pink spots on his sides. I took seven of his
companions, in weight some four pounds, and then stopped because
the evening light was failing.
How pleasant it is to fish in such a place and at such an hour!
The novelty of the scene, the grandeur of the landscape, lend a
strange charm to the sport. But the sport itself is so familiar
that one
crimson cliffs; and southward Misurina gives to the view a glimpse
of water, without which, indeed, no view is complete. Moreover,
the mountain has the merit of being, as its name implies, quite
gentle. I met the Deacon and the Deaconess at the top, they having
walked up from Landro. And so we crossed the boundary line
together again, seven thousand feet above the sea, from Italy into
Austria. There was no custom-house.
The way down, by the Cat's Ladder, I travelled alone. The path was
very steep and little worn, but even on the mountain-side there was
no danger of losing it, for it had been blazed here and there, on
trees and stones, with a dash of blue paint. This is the work of
the invaluable DOAV--which is, being interpreted, the German-
Austrian Alpine Club. The more one travels in the mountains, the
more one learns to venerate this beneficent society, for the
shelter-huts and guide-posts it has erected, and the paths it has
made and marked distinctly with various colours. The Germans have
a genius for thoroughness. My little brown guide-book, for
example, not only informed me through whose back yard I must go to
get into a certain path, but it told me that in such and such a
spot I should find quite a good deal (ziemlichviel) of Edelweiss,
and in another a small echo; it advised me in one valley to take
provisions and dispense with a guide, and in another to take a
guide and dispense with provisions, adding varied information in
regard to beer, which in my case was useless, for I could not touch
it. To go astray under such auspices would be worse than
inexcusable.
Landro we found a very different place from Cortina. Instead of
having a large church and a number of small hotels, it consists
entirely of one large hotel and a very tiny church. It does not
lie in a broad, open basin, but in a narrow valley, shut in closely
by the mountains. The hotel, in spite of its size, is excellent,
and a few steps up the valley is one of the finest views in the
Dolomites. To the east opens a deep, wild gorge, at the head of
which the pinnacles of the Drei Zinnen are seen; to the south the
Durrensee fills the valley from edge to edge, and reflects in its
pale waters the huge bulk of Monte Cristallo. It is such a
complete picture, so finished, so compact, so balanced, that one
might think a painter had composed it in a moment of inspiration.
But no painter ever laid such colours on his canvas as those which
are seen here when the cool evening shadows have settled upon the
valley, all gray and green, while the mountains shine above in rosy
Alpenglow, as if transfigured with inward fire.
There is another lake, about three miles north of Landro, called
the Toblacher See, and there I repaired the defeat of Misurina.
The trout at the outlet, by the bridge, were very small, and while
the old fisherman was endeavouring to catch some of them in his new
net, which would not work, I pushed my boat up to the head of the
lake, where the stream came in. The green water was amazingly
clear, but the current kept the fish with their heads up stream; so
that one could come up behind them near enough for a long cast,
without being seen. As my fly lighted above them and came gently
down with the ripple, I saw the first fish turn and rise and take
it. A motion of the wrist hooked him, and he played just as gamely
as a trout in my favourite Long Island pond. How different the
colour, though, as he came out of the water. This fellow was all
silvery, with light pink spots on his sides. I took seven of his
companions, in weight some four pounds, and then stopped because
the evening light was failing.
How pleasant it is to fish in such a place and at such an hour!
The novelty of the scene, the grandeur of the landscape, lend a
strange charm to the sport. But the sport itself is so familiar
that one