Accidentally Walking to Middle Earth: Summiting Ischia’s Highest Point

Written by Joshua Geer. Edited by Genevieve Redgrave.

Humans are obsessed with getting to the highest points of places, regardless of whether it is the best place to be. Take, for instance, the thousands of tourists who every year flock to climb Wales’s tallest mountain, Snowdon, despite there being arguably more beautiful and quieter peaks nearby.

A desire to be the highest and seek out the good view that normally comes with it, conjoins humans happy to part with £32 to go up London’s tallest skyscraper and those willing to spend upwards of £60,000 to climb (and queue) up Mount Everest.

I, like the rest of them, am a sucker for such heights – particularly when I find myself in a new place.

Last summer, while on holiday on the Italian island of Ischia with my girlfriend Esme, I was drawn to the highest point of the island, Mount Epomeo. What I found there was something I never could have expected.

Nestled in the northern reaches of the Gulf of Naples, Ischia provided a serene respite from the bustling chaos of nearby Naples, just 19 miles away. Famed for its local wine, hot springs and luscious hilly landscape, Esme and I enjoyed its simple tranquillity.

Known as Pithecusae to the Greeks and Aenaria to the Romans, Ischia boasts a rich history as a vital trade hub, a retreat for Roman elites, and a pirate fortress. Having spent two days lounging in a beach club next to the island’s stunning Aragonese Castle, I felt the pull to explore more of the island, drawn by that innate human instinct to conquer the highest point.

However, getting to the base of  Epomeo was more challenging than the hotel receptionist had promised. She claimed it was easy on the bus, and her charm made her very believable. But the bus that was supposed to take me to the town of Fontana, the starting point for my hike, was nowhere to be found.

After trudging several miles in the sweltering heat, I decided to hitchhike. Thankfully, an elderly gentleman in a Fiat soon pulled over. Despite the language barrier, he gestured that he was headed in the right direction and graciously offered me a lift. His driving style was at odds with his slightly docile personality. Maybe his fast and furious driving was one of the few things that kept him young. The narrow roads, hairpin turns, and steep drops made for a nerve-wracking ride, but the breathtaking views managed to distract me from my fears.

When I arrived in Fontana, proud to have not soiled myself, I picked up a Fanta from a shop – mainly because a Fanta in Fontana sounded catchy – and started following the signs to Mt. Epomeo. After navigating a steep tarmac road, I veered left onto beaten tracks. The path was quiet and deserted, and I passed an abandoned Vespa outside a spooky cave that looked like the ghost set of an Italian mafia film.

I emerged onto a wider track where a fruit seller was parked with his old truck, hoping to catch tourists in need of refreshment on the two-mile trek from Fontana. I think I was his first punter based on the warm welcome he gave me. The going was steep but manageable. I bought a peach with the spare euros in my pocket; it was delicious and hit the spot.

The next section was a small path and it was littered with lizards, small to large, catching the morning sun. Thankfully, the lizards were timid and quickly scurried away with each step I took.

Nearing the top, I encountered the surprise: a bizarre sign claiming the summit of the mountain was a portal to Middle Earth. It listed this location along with others around the world, such as Kentucky’s Mammoth Cave and the Nuclear Bomb test site, as places where one could enter the land of advanced races. As wacky as it all seemed, the sign did say: “whether the myth is true or not is irrelevant”. This resonated with me despite being a sceptic of astrology, alternate medicine and all things mystical.

And as any good portal to Middle Earth should have, there was naturally a cafe at the top. I enjoyed a lemonade, which tasted extra good in the heat, before scrambling up to the pinnacle. I suppose it makes sense to have a refreshment before going to Middle Earth, I thought.

The final stretch to the top was a rocky outpost atop a chapel built into the rocks. Emerging at the peak, the views were absolutely spectacular. As the top was situated in the middle of the island, I could see its entire edge and the beautiful blue coast below. Maybe I did find Middle Earth. It was tranquil, I felt calm, and I was in a position where I could see it all. From that vantage point, the entire island lay at my feet.

The metaphor of Middle Earth felt fitting: a hidden world accessed only by those willing to venture to the heights.

As I descended back into the woods, the day became hotter, the clarity of the summit fading into the shadows of the trees. The descent was a return to the ordinary, but the memory of that peak lingered. I managed to thankfully find that bus on the way back.

Back on the beach with Esme, I cherished the experience. Laying there, now enjoying the warmth of the sun, it made me think that often the journey to the top is worth it. The highest point often leads to somewhere special. And looking at a great view can give clarity; a Middle Earth of our own making.