Picture a traverse of the Brenta. This range above Madonna di Campiglio is a world of its own – rock towers, scree gullies and small glaciers. And right across the Brenta runs one of the oldest protected climbing routes: the Via delle Bocchette. If you want to cross the whole range from north to south, it'll take you at least 4 days, during which you never drop below 2,200 metres, with climbing on rock and ladders, steep descents over scree and several glaciers and snowfields along the way.
You could set off in ankle-high hiking boots. They'll be fine on snow and scree. But climbing the via ferrata up to 3,000 metres on Spallone dei Massodi in them gets tiresome. So do the 150 metres of ladders on the Sentiero Oliva Detassis. Then again, you're hardly going to carry a second pair of shoes for four days in the mountains. And that's exactly the kind of trip the Asolo Freney Low GV is made for.
These low trekking shoes – or approach shoes, or via ferrata shoes if you prefer – are derived from Asolo's featherweight mountaineering boots, the Freney XT. In fact they share almost the same construction; they just lack the high cuff and the rear crampon welt. Otherwise they keep the beefy rubber rand all the way round and the maintenance-free Kevlar fabric from Schoeller.
And it's these two things that turn the Asolo Freney Low GV into a tank that scree fields or sharp limestone certainly won't hurt. Add a waterproof Gore-Tex® membrane and you can move straight onto a snowfield and carry on to the seemingly unreachable Bocca d' Ambiez pass at almost 2,900 metres above sea level.
Before you reach the pass, though, there are several protected climbing sections. Naturally, this is home turf for the Asolo Freney Low GV. The soft Vibram® Mulaz sole grips even on small footholds, and thanks to lacing that runs right down to the toe you get a completely different feel for the rock than in heavy hiking boots.
But what the soft sole gives you on rock, it pays for on strolls through the streets of Madonna di Campiglio – walking on tarmac shortens its life. That's simply the price of grip.
Next comes a steep descent down a glacial moraine. In early summer it's usually still under snow, which you can happily slide down. But by August and September there's often just ice covered in stones and fine scree. You have to pick your line carefully, but the hiking-boot tread and sturdy construction of the Asolo Freney Low GV will keep you steady in these neck-breaking moments. Then it's just a matter of hopping across boulders that the glacier diligently dumped here over thousands of years, and soon you're kicking off your shoes on a little meadow above the Rifugio Brentei hut. And tomorrow morning, heading back down to the valley, you'll skip over roots and rocks as nimbly as a chamois – 490 grams is a breeze.
The Brenta is behind you. Without a single pang of longing for high boots. So where next in the Asolo Freney Low GV? A similar trip springs to mind – crossing the Julian Alps from Vršič to Triglav. Or climbing the Johann via ferrata up the Dachstein. Really, they suit any trip that promises genuine mountain conditions – rugged paths, climbing sections, protected routes, the odd snowfield or small glacier. That's why I also took them for two weeks in Kyrgyzstan.
To be fair... I didn't originally want to take it. But I found out that I simply couldn't fit all my camera gear, tent, sleeping bag, glacier kit, food and two T-shirts for 14 days into my 19th pack. So the lads sent me this Lowe Alpine Altus with a volume of 52–57 litres, and minus five bars, two instant porridges and one pair of socks that ended up staying at home, I made it all fit.
Phew! I'd rather go hungry than leave my telephoto lens at home.
Actually, I can't stand it at all. Having gear dangling off the outside of my pack. I want a nice, compactly packed bag. Partly so I don't look like a scarecrow. And partly so nothing distracts me with its swinging when I'm walking and climbing. That would drive me round the bend. And after flying halfway round the globe, barely half my stuff would have come out on the baggage belt in Bishkek.
So when I checked in my pack at Václav Havel Airport Prague, the only thing strapped to the outside was my sleeping mat. I even stuffed the ice axe inside. All good, then. I'm happy. Let's hit the mountains!
"For heaven's sake, get this 20-kilo rat off me. I'm not going any further. We're pitching the tent!" True, after 20 hours on the road, with the time difference robbing us of most of the night, I was absolutely dead. On the other hand, that wide hip belt took a fair bit of weight off my shoulders. Thanks for that! And for the anatomically shaped back. We pitch the tent, I pull my sleeping bag out of the bottom compartment, shove the Altus under my head and good night. Tomorrow brings a bigger helping. 1,400 metres of ascent to the Hotel Korona. Yellow tin huts on the edge of the glacier at 4,000 metres. I won't get any sleep there either, with my head pounding.
Because this shot is made for a telephoto lens. Except it's stuck, buried under a water bottle, a down jacket, energy bars and spare clothes. Hmm, putting heavy stuff low down against your back is great for the right centre of gravity, but when you need to get to it without throwing half the contents of your pack onto the snow... Well, look at that! That's what the zipped side entry is for. I drop the pack, pull out the lens, take the photo and pop it back in its place with no fuss. Clever bit of design.
I hate scree! Grrr! And here I am, stuck halfway up the slope, everything around me starts moving the moment I touch it, and we've still got 200 vertical metres to go to the col. If only there were something to lean on. True, I've got an ice axe on my pack. That would do. But in this mess I'm glad just to be standing. Taking the pack off as well? No way. And hey... hand behind my back, thumb and forefinger unhook the clip from the axe head... and it comes off the pack even while I'm wearing it. Clever thing, this Altus.
The Tian Shan is really toying with us. First we shelter from the rain under the firs, then a moment later the sun starts blazing at full steam. Just as we're slogging up that brutally steep bit. Fine, off comes the jacket. Quick as you like. Into the stretchy front pocket it goes. Lowe Alpine really thought that one through. Besides the jacket, it even fits a bag of rubbish from the last three days here in no man's land.
And now that we've scrambled all the way up here – to Lake Ala-Kul (completely frozen, by the way) – it starts snowing. So what now? We flee downhill! It snows and snows. I don't even bother with the rain cover, because I'm too lazy to stop and faff about in this muck. I'd rather keep going. And I'm right to. This pack can take a beating. Even this two-hour snowfall. My stuff inside is still dry.
... is how quickly I can pack it every morning. True, I'm a minimalist, I don't carry much and I've had plenty of practice packing. But this Lowe Alpine Altus is so well designed that everything has its place. It has neither too many nor too few pockets. Just the right amount. And the top opening is exceptionally roomy. What more can I say, ladies and gentlemen. My 25th pack may well be my last. This is what lifelong love looks like.
"Fine, you've got a point. It'll probably get a proper beating in Georgia anyway, so let's not go easy on it." Take-off! Crammed inside this bag is everything for 10 days of freeriding in the East. Ski boots, avalanche kit, crampons, an ice axe (yep, even that fitted), a 30-metre rope, a few karabiners, a bottle of slivovitz, clothes of course, and plenty of food. A whole box of energy bars. When I had it all spread out on the floor at home, it looked pretty hopeless. But in the end it all went in. With room to spare.
The weight is respectable, mind. I hope I won't go over 20 kg. But before I lug it from the Jeseníky mountains to Vienna on three buses... with skis over my shoulder too, naturally. You really appreciate that the bag has shoulder straps and can be slung on your back. Quite comfortably, too.
"Guys, I thought we were going freeriding. It's T-shirt weather here. Let's hope it's better up in the mountains. The taxi's waiting!" So, Georgia. As you can see, not even Wizz Air – the cheapest of the cheap – managed to chew through our bags. And without any cling film. Still, I'd rather lock the zips together with a little combination padlock. Since they went to the trouble of adding loops for one.
So once again I pull out the shoulder straps – tucked away in a special pocket during the flight – bag on my back, and we pile into a minivan. Ugh, a 6-hour drive into the mountains. If we even get there. "Hey mate, I was only sighing. We're happy to ride with you all day. Just please stop overtaking on blind bends."
2 tours, 3,400 metres of ascent, one pair of soiled boxers and not a soul in sight the whole time. That's exactly how I imagined it. You look at a mountain, pick a line, find the safest possible way up and... wow! Simply divine. And now it's time to move on. Our next base camp lies in a no man's valley.
Only I hate the endless packing. I'd just got nicely settled in here. Luckily this is a quick job. I just chuck everything in, zip it up and shape it neatly with the four compression straps. Look at that, what a beautiful piece of luggage. Even the cows in Adishi are taking an interest. But careful, girls! Licking is fine, no biting. Though you probably couldn't bite through this bag anyway. If it survived Wizz Air...
We sleep in the attic. And it's glorious here. No running water. It froze. Probably back in November. Our hosts put us up in their living room. On skis we whizz through the lanes right up to the house and our tiny little room. We don't even unpack. There's nowhere to put anything. So everything stays in the bag. Which, luckily, is so easy to rummage through. Better than any old suitcase.
Or rather, I had a dream. And sadly it didn't come true – to ride a horse with my skis. And get a cracking photo of it. Unfortunately, instead of horses everyone here drives a Mitsubishi Delica van. Because where a horse would drop dead of exhaustion, this car is only just shifting into 4x4. Our stuff is thrown in the boot, which isn't exactly roomy for five people with skis. So the rest is spread over the seats. Which we're also sitting on. An unbelievable journey. We ford rivers. We drive over avalanche debris. We claw our way up.
Anyway, at least I imagine how nicely my bag could be loaded onto a horse's back by its three sturdy grab handles and tied down with rope. They're so great for hurling it into vans, yanking it off the airport carousel and dragging it up the stairs to our little attic den. Simply brilliant. I'm not travelling with anything else now.
With this Lowe Alpine bag on my back I travelled to Austria on three buses and a train. With a sleeping mat, sleeping bag, a small daypack, climbing gear and camera kit inside. It spent 5 days with me in a Volkswagen Caddy with a bed conversion on a ski touring trip in the Dolomites. A private wardrobe you can stuff everything into – as long as you can find it again. And I took it on the train to Liberec for a photo shoot. Laptop inside, wallet and headphones to hand in the little side pockets. Also good.
In short, what more can I say. Travel is a joy.
