Photo courtesy of sgirolimetto on Flickr

What is Via Ferrata?

The word via ferrata refers to both a sport and to the course on which the sport is practiced. The sport of via ferrata is a type of mountaineering that involves hiking, scrambling, and mountain climbing assisted by ladders, bridges, cables, and stemples (narrow wooden steps attached to the mountainside with iron bolts). The courses where this is done, called via ferrate, are routes leading through rugged and precipitous terrain where difficult areas are made navigable by installations in the rock including ladders, cables, and bridges. This makes via ferrata somewhat safer, and much more accessible to untrained adventures, than mountain climbing.

Although it is easier and safer than mountain climbing, via ferrata still poses a great risk of injury. Although the risk of falling while doing via ferrata is smaller than when climbing, the likelihood of being injured in a fall from via ferrata is greater, partly because one is likely to fall onto the via ferrata equipment protruding from the mountain side and also because, due the design of via ferrate and associated safety equipment, it’s possible for a person to fall much farther than one would when using climbing safety gear and techniques. So, it is important to exercise caution and take proper safety measures.

That being said, via ferrata is rapidly gaining in popularity around the world with courses in at least 18 countries in North America, Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. The sport is most entrenched in Italy and France, and is growing very quickly in Canada and the United States. The highest via ferrata in the world, however, is located at an altitude of 3800 m on Mount Kinabalu (the tallest mountain in Southeast Asia) in the state of Sabah, in Malaysia.

Photo by slipah on Flickr

The home of Via Ferrata: Italy’s Dolomite Mountains

The Dolomite Mountains (a section of the Alps located partly in northern Italy) consist of sweeping valleys flanked by sections of tall spires and precipitous ridges. The valleys are gentle enough to allow one to hike to a very high altitude, but the ruggedness of the higher regions makes them all but impossible to climb without assistance. This makes them ideal for via ferrata.

The home of via ferrata, the Dolomites have more via ferrate than anywhere else in the world. Thus, one may climb these ‘iron roads’ to high altitudes and then follow them along elevated ridges and peaks where they are rewarded with unmatched views of the Alps beautiful vistas and valleys. With the exception of a professional climbing expedition, there is no better way to experience the variety and beauty of the Italian Dolomites than via ferrata. For a taste of what you can expect, check out the photos of via ferrata in the Dolomites below.

Photo by Giustino on Flickr

The History of Via Ferrata

Via ferrata is was borne from Italy’s need to move troops and supplies efficiently through the inhospitable Dolomite Mountains in order to battle with Austria during the First World War. It was probably in 1915 or 16 that the first via ferrate ladders and cables were fixed mountainsides.

Via ferrate back then were much less reliable than they are today. Over the years the wooden steps and ladders and rope have been replaced by iron ladders, metal stemples, and steel cables, and many new routes have been added by the Italian Alpine Hiking Club (Club Alpino Italiano), who are the main caretakers of Italy’s via ferrate. Many remnants of the First World War, such as trenches and dugouts, can still be seen along the via ferrate in the Italian Dolomites.

Photo by janette10 on Flickr

Plan Your Trip to Via Ferrata in Italy’s Dolomites

The most convenient international airport for travelling to the Italian Dolomites is in Venice. From there you can travel by car or bus to Alta Badia or Cortina d’Ampezzo, both of which are in close proximity to numerous via ferrate. Both towns have ample via ferrate facilities, maps, and guides to help you plan tour.

Both towns have accommodations for all budgets. If you want to be pampered after you day in the mountains, you will find plenty of luxury villas in Italy.

Lead photo by Stuart England on Flickr.

Trentino Dolomites Vacations

When Jeremy told me that we were going to hike up a glacier and down the cave that a river had carved through it, I thought it would be an easy hike. I had been on several glaciers before, and they had all been reasonably flat. This one was much steeper.

“I thought you said you hiked this with your little brother and sister before.”

“I did, but I had ropes and two ice axes.” He told me.

We had no ropes and Jeremy only had one ice axe for himself.

I picked up a sausage-thick stick and broke it into two short pieces so that I could use the pointed ends to chisel holes in the glacier’s hard surface. As we began hiking up the glacier we discussed the consequences of slipping. We concluded that even if I slipped I could probably stop myself before reaching the bottom of the glacier where it abruptly ended and dropped ten meters into the lake. Even I slid all the way off the glacier and fell in the lake, the water was probably deep enough that I wouldn’t hit bottom. The iceburn caused by sliding over the glacier’s surface, which was covered in tiny shards of ice-gravel, would probably be the worst thing that would happen. So, there was no danger of serious injury or death, only that of a road-rash like wound and a short swim in a lake filled with icebergs.

Our plan was to climb the glacier to the mouth of the cave, which had been created by a river running through the ice. Here is a picture of the glacier.

We would attempt to climb down the entire length of the cave and come out at the bottom of the glacier into the lake. There we would determine if we could walk out through the lake, or if we would have to climb back up the cave and return the way we had come. Of course, having planned the expedition only hours earlier, we were grossly unprepared. We had only one ice axe between us, and had no ropes and no lights.

I climbed the glacial slope slowly, methodically chiseling out holes with my sticks and then plunging the sticks into them to pull myself up. It was a hot sunny August day and we were sweating, but the occasional gust of wind swept across the glacier sending shivers through my body. The glacier creaked and groaned in the sun, and we heard the occasional loud splash when a large chunk of ice calved into the lake.

About two-thirds of the way up the glacier we began moving towards the edge. We wouldn’t be able to get off the glacier at the top because as it shrank over the summer it had pulled away from the mountainside leaving a gap several meters wide and several meters deep. We found a place where a chunk of glacier had broken off and tilted away from the glacier. We were able to wedge bodies between the two slabs of ice and lower ourselves to the ground.

We continued our climb on the rocky mountainside, which was slick with water from the glacier we had climbed and others above. Eventually we reached the mouth of the cave at the top of the glacier. Here is a picture of the view.

And here is a picture of Jeremy looking down into the cave.

The cave was about two meters tall and ten meters wide. It had been created by a river running under the glacier. Frigid water splashed everywhere as it ran over the steep and rugged surface in tiny waterfalls. We were going to have to climb down the icy river.  Here is a picture of me climbing down the first pitch.

The first pitch was easy to climb down, though the water quickly numbed our hands and feet. At its base was a fork in the cave. We opted for the left, larger, cavern. As we continued our descent the cave became darker. Since we had no flashlights we had to rely on the dwindling light from the mouth of the cave.

The next pitch was much darker, steeper, and longer than the first. Jeremy tried to climb down the right side, and I the left. The pitch was climbable, but after several minutes in the dark groping for footholds with icy water running over our hands, our determination waned. Here is a picture of the water that was freezing our hands.

We climbed back to the top of the pitch to discuss the situation. It was clear that it could be climbed, but without light it simply wasn’t safe. Given that Jeremy had children, and I did not have backpackers insurance, we decided it would be prudent to abandon our hopes of descending the length of the cave and leave the way we came.

We returned to the mouth of the cave and descended toward the lake on the mountainside beside the glacier. At one point we walked under a small ice bridge. When we were about twenty meters past it we heard a loud crash. We turned to see that the ice bridge, which had contained hundreds of kilograms of ice, had collapsed where we had just moments earlier been walking.

On the way down I considered swimming in the lake. I had recently been whitewater rafting. On the trip we flipped our raft in the glacier-fed river and the water, although cold, had been bearable. I thought that a picture of me standing on an iceberg in a lake would be great for my blog.

“If I swim out to one of those icebergs in the lake, will you take some pictures for my blog?” I asked Jeremy.

“Are you an idiot?”

“Maybe.”

I took off my shoes and shirt and, before I had time to think about what I was doing, dove in and sprinted towards the nearest iceberg. This is what I looked like.

The water was freezing, but I wasn’t in it long. I reached the iceberg and climbed aboard. It slowly started tipping over as I stood on it. Jeremy snapped a few pictures before I dove back into the water. Here is one of them.

My body burned in the freezing water as I rushed back to shore. Once out of the water I toweled off with my shirt and we headed home satisfied. In the distance a fly fisherman who had seen my performance laughed loudly, his guffaws echoing across the lake.

How to Get to White Boar Lake

If you’d like to check out this beautiful little alpine lake, first, find your way to Marysville, British Columbia, which is located in the Purcell Mountains in the southeast corner of the province.  Drive north out of Marysville towards Kimberley. Less than one kilometer away you will find St. Mary’s Lake Rd. Turn left (west). Follow the road 16 km (to around the 27 km marker) and then turn left. You will cross a small bridge over the St. Mary’s River. Take your second right onto Hellroaring Rd. and follow it 1.6 km to Meachen Rd. and take a right. Follow the road 14 km (to the 16 km marker). Here you should see a sign for White Boar Lake. Take a left and follow the road to the parking lot. White Boar Lake is a 100 m walk down the hill from the parking lot.

Kimberley Vacations

Stay in an Igloo Under the Aurora Borealis

Have you ever dreamt of living life eskimo-style? Wonder what it’d be like to spend the night in an igloo, watching the northern lights work their magic in the sky above? This fantasy can become reality thanks to Hotel Kakslauttanen, home of The Igloo Village. The Igloo Village is located in Lapland, Finland, near Urho Kekkonen National Park.

In addition maintaining 40 beautiful log cabins, during the winter the hotel offers visitors the option of sleeping traditional igloos made of snow, or a more modern (and comfortable) version made of ‘glass’, where they can drift off to sleep watching the spectacular aurora borealis dance overhead. The glass igloos are constructed of a special transparent thermal material that maintains normal indoor temperatures and does not frost or fog up.

The hotel also offers a ‘snow’ chapel for weddings, four different themed restaurants (including a ‘snow’ restaurant housed inside a giant igloo) and a variety of on-site activities for winter sports enthusiasts

Visitors can entertain themselves ice swimming, ice and snow carving, ice karting, skiing, snowboarding, and snowshoeing along forested trails. The hotel also organizes winter safaris for activities such as snowmobiling, ice fishing, day tours aboard icebreaker ships, and excursions into Norway and Russia.

What Causes the Aurora Borealis?

The otherworldy colors of the aurora borealis are caused when solar wind emits energetic particles that become trapped inside the Earth’s magnetic field. When these sun ions enter the upper atmosphere they collide with atmospheric molecules to create a beautiful portrait of energy emissions and light.

Different reactions occur and different colors are produced depending on the combination of ions and atmospheric molecules. Some particles will create pink and blue displays. Collisions in lower altitudes commonly appear as yellowish-green lights. The rarest aurora color is deep red, which is formed when ions from the sun collide with oxygen at a high altitude. Throughout history, the lights have had many names including “Dance of the Spirits,” as the Cree called it.

Where do the Aurora Borealis Occur?

The aurora borealis occurs in the northern hemisphere and is most frequently seen in northern Scandinavia, the southern tips of Greenland and Iceland, northwestern Canada, Alaska, and northern Siberia, so the igloo village in Finnish Lapland (the northern part of Finland) is a prime viewing area.

When is the Aurora Borealis Visible?

The northern lights are present year round, but the sky has to be fairly dark for people to witness the action. So, it’s best to avoid cities and areas with a lot of lighting to get the full effect. Since the igloo village is far from any major source of light pollution, the viewing conditions are ideal. The best time of year to see the aurora borealis is between September and mid-April, so this is the best time to go on northern lights holidays.

Aurora Borealis Photos and Igloo Village Photos

[Show as slideshow]

Images provided courtesy of (in order) Trodel, bjaglin, savillent, Visit Finland, Visit Finland, Visit Finland, Visit Finland, and Visit Finland on Flickr.

Aurora Borealis Video Clips

Trip Planning Tips

If you would like to stay in an igloo beneath the aurora borealis, you should know the following things:

Name: Hotel Kakslauttanen

Price: Igloos run about $500 USD per night for two people (single occupancy is only slightly cheaper).

Phone: +358 (16) 667-100

Fax: +358 (16) 667-168

Email: hotel@kakslauttanen.fl

Tips: Book well in advance. The Igloo Village is very popular and many dates are sold out early in (or even before) the season.

Don’ forget to book your trip when the aurora borealis is most visible (see above).

Lapland Vacations

ADVENTURES IN MALAYSIAN BORNEO

PT1: Driving at Night With No Lights

PT2: Lost in a Monsoon

PT3: Salvation in Sabah

PT4: A Mountain of Bat Guano

PT5: The Eye of the Elephant

“Don’t drive at night.” The rental agent told me.

“OK.”

It was 4pm. I was in the capital renting a motorcycle that I planned to drive around the perimeter of the state and I was already a day behind schedule. The first thing I planned to do was drive at night. Telling the agent that, however, was not going to get me on the road any faster. So, I listened to his lecture.

“Animals walk on the road at night.” He warned. “And there are a lot of big trucks.

“Very dangerous.” I agreed seriously.

I had been riding motorcycles for nearly seven years in Taiwan where the highways are overcrowded and traffic laws are all but nonexistent. I could handle a bike well, and was pretty good at maneuvering out of tight spots.  I felt that I had good reason to be confident. The agent’s speech was for tourists on vacation who rarely, if ever, rode motorcycles. From the mechanical tone with which he spoke I could tell that he gave the same talk to every renter that came through his shop.

As talented as may I think I am at driving a motorcycle, there is one thing I have long since proven that I truly excel at: ignoring the sensible advice of people who know more than I do.  It’s a bittersweet gift. More often than not it lands me in ridiculous and uncomfortable situations. But every now and again it results in a brilliantly rewarding experience—something that that would not have happened if I’d worried about all the things that could have gone wrong.

This was not going to be one of those times.

An hour later I was weaving between cars on the highway out of Kota Kinabalu. I was going to Kundasang, a village situated at the highest point on the highway that crosses Mount Kinabalu, the tallest mountain in Southeast Asia. Kundasang was only 100km away, but the trip would take me about six hours partly because, as I quickly learned, Malaysians don’t care much for road signs, and also because I would have to climb around 1800m over the last 60km. That is to say, the last 60km of road would have an average 33.3% grade.

Around dusk, after missing a few unmarked turnoffs and backtracking, I arrived at the base of Mount Kinabalu. I had passed the last town before Kundasang forty-five minutes earlier. From here to Kundasang the mountainside would be too steep for any settlements.

The road consisted mainly of switchbacks, which is to say it would ascend several hundred meters in one direction across the face of the mountain before turning nearly 180 degrees, and then climbing in the opposite direction. Zigzagging this way is the only way most vehicles can climb such a steep surface.  However, this makes driving very slow because drivers have to slow to a crawl to round the sharp curves and then try to accelerate uphill on the short straightaway, only to slow down again for the next curve.

It didn’t help that the road was still wet from rain earlier in the day.

Darkness crept across the mountain. The trees along the side of the road became muddy blobs, and the lines on the road grew faint, so I switched on my headlight. It was then that I realized the real reason the agent had warned me not to drive at night: the headlight on my bike was about as bright as a five-dollar flashlight.

I watched the road closely as I fiddled with the light switches. High beams. Low beams. Lights on. Lights off. I tried over and over, but no matter what I tried, the headlight did nothing to illuminate the road. Needless to say, I was less than pleased by this turn of events, but I was not concerned. It was manageable.  I just had to drive slowly, and navigate carefully by the faint white line on the shoulder of the road.

Cars zoomed past me as I crawled up the mountain. At first I tried to follow them, watching their red taillights, but I couldn’t keep up.

“It could be worse.” I thought. “It’ll take a while, but I’ll get there eventually.”

Then I drove into a cloud.

In the grey haze I almost couldn’t see the ground at all. Sometimes I could vaguely make out the white line on the shoulder of the road, but not consistently enough to be sure that at any time I wasn’t about to drive into the ditch, or worse, the oncoming lane. I slowed to nearly a walking pace.

“Nrrrooom.” A car sped by me so closely I could feel the wind off of it on my bare arm. I began to shiver. At sea level the weather had been hot. I had started my journey wearing flip-flops, shorts, and a sleeveless shirt.  As night fell and I rose in elevation the temperature dropped dramatically. I was freezing in the dense wet air, but there was nowhere I could safely stop to take clothes out of my bag. The shoulder of the road was just one or two feet at its widest.

Then, I began to worry. At the pace I was driving crashing into the ditch would not cause much damage. But what if a car came up behind me in the fog and didn’t see me until it was too late? The last one had been very close.

There was no other option open to me, so I continued. After a while I finally drove out of the cloud. Encouraged, I sped up. “Alright!” I thought. “Here we go!”

Then I drove into another cloud.

I tried to calculate how far I had already travelled, and how far I was from Kundasang. Then I calculated how long it would take to cover the distance at the speed I was driving. It would take at least several hours.

I mentally summed up my situation. I was alone in a strange country, freezing cold, riding a motorcycle up the side of the tallest mountain for thousands of miles, at night, in the fog, with no headlights, and there was no end in sight. A lump of discouragement turned over in my stomach.

I’m not sure how long I drove like that. One tends to lose track of time when one is berating oneself for one’s own stupidity.  Eventually, though, salvation arrived.

Salvation comes in many forms. Mine came in the form of an 18-wheeler carrying a cement ball the size of a small house. I heard it growling up the mountain behind me, gears grinding as the driver tried to maintain what little momentum he had. The truck crawled past me, allowing me to see close up the enormous concrete sphere strapped to the bed. It was at least four meters high, perfectly round, and smooth.

After the truck passed me its numerous taillights illuminated the road.  I could drive again! Under the weight of its load the truck was driving only slightly faster than I had been, but at least now I could see the road and didn’t have to worry about getting hit by a car.

I have a second personality trait (in addition to my inability to take advice) that often lands me in ridiculous situations. I am mentally incapable of just leaving well enough alone.

After following the truck for twenty or thirty minutes I became impatient. The truck was too slow. Now that I could see, I wanted to go faster. Cars were passing us every few minutes.  I knew that I couldn’t keep up with a car, but I wanted to get out from behind the truck.

Then a bus came roaring past.  Perfect. “I should be able to keep up with a bus,” I reasoned.

I was wrong.

The bus driver was a maniac, careening around the hairpin corners at speeds that I couldn’t match without risking sliding off the wet road. So, after a short vain effort to keep up with the bus, its taillights dissolved into the fog and I was once again alone in the thick grey.

So, once again I slowed to a walking pace and, eventually, the 18-wheeler caught up to and passed me. This time I stayed behind it until we finally rose above the clouds onto a mountain ridge beneath a glorious bowl of stars the that looked to me to be the size of Christmas lights and a moon the size of an orange. Without the clouds the sky provided more than enough light for me to see, so I zipped past the enormous truck and its enormous cement ball and sped off into the night.

A short while later I arrived in Kundasang and stopped at the first hotel I saw. Shivering and exhausted I checked into a room, took a long hot shower, and climbed into bed. “Well.” I thought. “At least the drive can’t get any worse. The worst must be behind me for sure.”

I need to learn not to think things like that, because the next day things got worse—much worse.

Continue to follow my trip in Adventures in Malaysian Borneo Part 2: Lost in a Monsoon

Compare and book from a range of Malaysia hotels on Wotif.com when planning your next trip.

Dunn, a former financial planner, distinguishes herself from other travel bloggers (in both practice and writing) with her thriftiness.  In addition to writing about ways to stretch a dollar, she stretches them herself—remarkably well—by traveling slowly and saving money through novel methods such as house sitting and caretaking.  I e-mailed Dunn in Australia, where she had just arrived after finishing a the pilot for a travel TV show in Nepal, to ask her about solo travel, saving money, and inspiring books.

Matt Gibson: You’ve been working on a pilot for a TV series recently. Can you tell me about that?

Nora Dunn: Well, it’s pretty top secret stuff (no really, it is!), but I can tell you that in September I filmed a travel TV series pilot in Paris and Nepal, and we stopped traffic (literally). It’s for a North American broadcast audience, and I’ll be sure to share more on that as soon as there’s news to share!

MG: You started traveling with your boyfriend, but later continued alone. What was your first solo trip?

ND: My first solo trip was a six month streak through New Zealand and Europe. I got my solo travel groove on, and I’m having a blast now.

MG: Most women are warned not to travel alone. Were you frightened?

ND: One of the things I’ve discovered through travel is that 99% of the people out there are fundamentally good. There are heaps of awesome female solo travelers! I’ve never been frightened about it, beyond getting butterflies in my tummy (which I actually quite enjoy – it means I’m doing something good).

MG: You use several unique strategies for saving money on the road, such as house sitting and volunteering.  What have you found to be the most effective ways to save money on the road?

ND: My money management techniques are less about saving money, and more about making full-time traveling financially sustainable. With a freelance writing income I don’t earn a huge amount, but I write what I want for whom I want which is well worth it. In order to get by on this income, I volunteer in trade for my accommodation in many of the places I go (house-sitting, caretaking, etc). This keeps my expenses low and allows me to travel slowly, often experiencing a slice of local life wherever I go.

MG: Your writing appears in many places. May I ask what proportions of your income come from books, articles, your blog, and other sources?

ND: Most of my income comes from columns I write for Wise Bread, AmEx, Care One, Transitions Abroad, and other one-off articles I write online and for magazines. I also make some money from affiliate sales, my blog, and even the occasional donor.

MG: What non-monetary benefits, professional or personal, do you get from blogging?

ND: Being part of a community as tight-knit as travel bloggers and writers has many perks, which include the occasional chance to meet up on the road – a very rewarding experience. There’s also lots of moral and professional support when I need it, which can be comforting in the sometimes isolated world of travel.

MG: What’s the most popular post on The Professional Hobo?

ND: I’ve had a couple of popular posts, including “Is Full-Time Travel an Act of Withdrawal”, and “What to Pack for Full-Time Travel”.

MG: Has traveling alone as a woman ever limited your travel experience?

ND: I’ve actually found solo travel to be more liberating than limiting. It’s easier to meet new people, easier to get invitations for homestays (whereas putting up a couple isn’t always possible), and it becomes more necessary to interact with others (ideally locals), which often creates a more authentic travel experience. The sense of accomplishment I get from pushing my boundaries as a solo traveler is brilliant. The only limiting factor is a constant consideration for safety, and not getting into a situation I can’t get out of.

MG: You are now a role model for solo female travelers around the world. Who inspired you?

ND: Rita Golden Gelman wrote a book called Tales of a Female Nomad, which was a great inspiration for my own solo travels.

MG: What equipment do you carry for working on the road?

ND: I have a laptop, iTouch, unlocked cell phone, camera, and external hard drive for back-ups. I also carry a slew of cords and chargers for everything, as well as a few extra parts just in case.

MG: Is there a particularly good book, article, or author that you read recently you’d like to recommend?

ND: I’m currently reading The Patagonian Express by Paul Theroux, where he hops on a train in Boston and rides it to the bottom of Patagonia. It’s about the journey rather than the destination, the writing is superb, and it further stokes my love of international train travel.