The White War: Exploring WWI History in the Dolomites

The conditions on this high-altitude front were unlike anything else on the Western or Eastern Fronts. Temperatures could drop below -30°C. Avalanches, frostbite, and starvation killed as many soldiers as bullets did. Entire battalions disappeared under snow, their outposts swallowed by shifting glaciers or buried beneath icefalls.

Isolation shaped everything. Soldiers lived in snow caves, rock shelters, or bunkers carved straight into cliffs. Weeks could pass without fresh supplies reaching them. Imagine being stuck for months on end on a knife-edge ridge, cut off from the world, surrounded by nothing but rock, wind, and silence — except for the constant threat of bombardment.

The battle lines zigzagged through some of today’s most beloved hiking and climbing spots. Looking at them now, it’s hard to picture the destruction, but the traces are still there if you know where to look:

• Marmolada Glacier was home to the Austro-Hungarian “Ice City,” a frozen labyrinth of tunnels, kitchens, chapels, and barracks that could hold over 200 soldiers. It was a hidden world beneath the ice, warmed by stoves and lit by flickering oil lamps.
• Lagazuoi became the scene of a relentless mine war. Italian and Austrian troops dug opposing tunnels, attempting to blow each other off the mountain from below. Today, the restored Lagazuoi tunnels form a dramatic hiking route through the mountain’s heart.

One of the most unexpected legacies of the White War is the network of via ferrata routes—iron cables, ladders, and anchors bolted into rock. Originally installed to move soldiers and equipment through the vertical terrain, they’ve since been transformed into thrilling climbing paths for adventurers. Today, trekkers clip onto the same cables that once carried armed soldiers across sheer rock faces.

Some wartime structures have disappeared into the landscape, crumbled by frost and time. Others remain startlingly intact in the dry, cold air, preserved like time capsules. Walking through them is haunting: wooden ladders blackened by age, rusted wire, and carved initials from soldiers long gone.

The war also reshaped the cultural identity of these mountains. Before 1918, South Tyrol belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and many mountain huts were built by the Austrian Alpine Club, bearing German names. When the territory was handed to Italy after the war, the Italian Alpine Club took over, adding Italian names to the signs.

That’s why today you often see both languages side by side — a small reminder of the region’s divided past:

• Rifugio Firenze / Regensburger Hütte
• Rifugio Genova / Schlüterhütte
• Rifugio Antonio Locatelli / Dreizinnenhütte

It’s more than just signage. It’s a symbol of coexistence: a place where two cultures, once at war, now share the same summits.

Modern visitors can still trace the line of the old front. The Dolomites are dotted with open-air museums like those at Cinque Torri, Marmolada, and Monte Piana, where trenches and emplacements have been restored. The Lagazuoi tunnels remain open to hikers, their dark passages etched with wartime graffiti. Small local museums display letters, uniforms, and everyday objects left behind.

There are even trails designed to blend alpine adventure with remembrance; the Sentiero della Pace (“Path of Peace”) and the Via Ferrata delle Trincee follow the routes where soldiers once moved supplies and guarded their positions. These aren’t just hikes; they’re living history.

A century later, the guns are silent, and nature has reclaimed most of the scars. Meadows bloom where trenches once cut through stone. Mountain huts now serve steaming coffee instead of sheltering soldiers. The Dolomites stand peaceful, but not forgetful.

Walking these trails is humbling. Beneath the spectacular scenery lies a story of survival, endurance, and human resilience. The Dolomites remind us that even the most beautiful places can carry the weight of tragedy — and that time can transform battlefields into places of reflection.