The old wooden bridge sits behind the newer one. It is no longer used for its intended purpose but is now home to a few plants and the occasional tree. From this perspective, from the lakeshore below, the two bridges appear to blend together.
This little corner of the lake was where I spent the best moments of a sleepless weekend at Mascioni in Abruzzo.
Close to the Rifugio Racollo is a small pool of water whose size varies across the seasons. It bears no physical resemblance to any of the lochs I have come across in my native Scotland or the stunning High Tatras. Tiny, muddy, shallow, full of cow-dung, barren surroundings, it struck me as bereft of the misty mysteries, drama and intense vegetation I’m accustomed to. Weather so mild that the thermals were hardly justified. But as the sun went down and the warm glow began to fringe the mountain tops, and in spite of the continuing breeze that blurred the reflections, it dawned (!) on me that comparisons are pointless.
As the sun rose, the mountains fired up, and the icy lake too.
Not my first time here, probably not my last.
Ice along the way, but the walk up to the Castello di Rocca Calascio in the early morning twilight was warming enough.
A piece of broken wall that seemed to be waving across to the distant mountains.
Crepuscular photographer at work.
The sky on the other side.