ALPINE REFUGES

Facing away from the steep rocky face, I manage to place a crampon high up the crack and reach out to secure my axe over my left shoulder, eventually finding some high quality névé that should have enough purchase to hold my bodyweight. It feels like a pretty advanced rock climbing move to be doing solo, especially with this impossibly heavy pack which is doing everything it can to drag me back to the small glacier below. With a deeply overwhelming sense of relief, I awkwardly shimmy my way over the crux, meaning I must be only 100m or so from the impossibly remote Bivacco Tita Ronconi now, my only hope for some comfort tonight. 

We’re deep into May now, conditions neither suitable for skiing, nor for alpinism yet but I’m here with a job to do. The vision of photographing my favourite refuges and bivouacs became a reality when big time global publisher Gestaalten gave me the nod to create Alpine Refuges. The caveat? They need all 30 to be photographed and written-up over just one winter season. Quite honestly, the pressure of it all intimidated and excited me, but some of these huts were plainly not designed to be accessed in winter. Being the last, it felt fitting that the ascent itself was a final test -  a physical and metaphorical crux in what had been a long, challenging, and incredible journey to complete this book. 

The ridge above was lost in white, wind tearing at the spindrift and needling my face raw with snow, until at last the dull shape of the Bivacco surfaced against the rapidly dulling sky as night was beginning to fall. I can’t help but chuckle to myself aloud about how much of an ordeal that was, while elated to have made it to safety. I secure my backpack to one of the cables that anchors the hut to this snowy ridge, barely wide enough to cradle this tiny box on the spine, before starting to dig out the door from snow. I hack at it with numb hands, gloves now so wet they’re doing nothing at all. I carve through hardpack snow and fatigue, and when the door finally gives, I collapse inside - only with the sound of my racing heartbeat keeping me company.

Whilst I would never advise to head into the high Alps in bad weather, it is these exact moments that motivated me to want to create this book in the first place. Outside, the world has a white fury of wind and snow, a place no one belongs for long. And yet inside, this tiny metal sanctuary stands boldly, offering a place of warmth; a small stove, the hiss of melting snow, and a moment to breathe, to be still. It is this comfort, in uncomfortable places, that captures the essence of why these refuges matter - small testaments to resilience and humanity, clinging to the edges of impossible landscapes. 

The next morning, after a long rest, I photographed the hut just as I’ve done many times before. Its simple interior, attempting to capture its unlikely character in this wild space, before making three long rappels back down the cliff I’d climbed the day before. It felt like the final piece of a long, improbable puzzle. 

The process of visiting, photographing, and writing about these huts became something far bigger than I expected. Each trip carried its own rhythm of exhaustion and reward - early starts, whiteouts, frozen lenses, and those rare, golden mornings when the light hit just right. What struck me most wasn’t just the architecture or the history, but the sense of continuity: every hut, no matter how remote, linked by the same purpose of offering warmth and welcome in places that ask so much of us.

In many ways, finishing the book felt like the final piece of a long, improbable puzzle. I hope, in turning the pages of Alpine Refuges, you find the same quiet awe that carried me through this journey - and maybe it’ll inspire you to seek out a few of these remarkable places for yourself. Because while the photographs and stories can take you close, there’s nothing quite like hearing the wind outside, feeling the cold in your hands, and realising just how much it means to have a roof over your head in these impossibly high places.

Get the book here! 

✒️ 📸 Aaron Rolph