Growing up in Scotland, I had gone on treks in the Highlands, and in 2020 I rode the length of the UK for charity. But this trip was on an altogether different scale, and nothing could have prepared me for what lay ahead.

After scouring Italy for a horse (it had to cost less than €4,000), I found Sasha at a stud in the Apennines. He was strong, wilful and incapable of going in a circle; ideal for a trek headed west. We set off on a clear spring morning, and the thrill of travelling by horse came alive: an electrifying sense of boundless possibility. Using the ancient Via Francigena trail, we passed Monteriggioni, Montopoli and Lucca. After a week, we reached Ceparana, a town in the foothills of the Ligurian Alps. This marked the end of the smoother contours of Tuscany and the beginning of rock and mountain.

In the months leading up to the trip, I had tracked down two locals who were keen on long-distance horse trekking, Serena and Lara. I told them what I hoped to achieve, and how unprepared I was for the Alps, and they agreed to help me make a plan. They had been wanting to make an officially recognised horse trail into France since childhood – would Sasha and I consider becoming guinea pigs for this route? On behalf of both of us, I agreed.

For three days we planned the Alpine crossing in Serena’s house, with the help of local wine and a warm fire. Using a mixture of local tracks and an existing hiking path – the Alta via dei Monti Liguri – we fashioned a route we thought passable by foot and hoof, pinpointing remote villages for possible refuge. The enormity of the challenge became clear to me. Trails neglected due to the pandemic; mudslides; fallen trees; wolves. Most of all, I was concerned about feeding Sasha. Through a combination of local stables and grazing, we’d managed through Tuscany. But it was April (I wanted to reach Spain before the scourge of summer), snow was on the way and there would be nothing for him to eat.

Fortunately, my younger sister, on a break from university, offered to come out to deposit feed at designated points along the route. With a raincoat to cover me and the horse, a tent, a handsaw and the uncharted route, I said goodbye to Serena and Lara, and began the crossing with Sasha – into the mouth of the wolf.

We journeyed 70 miles in four days and ascended 4,479 metres. We were now alone with only rivers, gulleys, peaks and dark forests for company. Dependent on each other, a unity quickly formed. On the fourth night, we found my sister at a mountain hostel near the village of Giaiette, 40 miles east of Genoa. These rifugios can be found all over the Ligurian Alps, reachable only on skis, foot and (now) horse.

The landlady looked out of the window and mentioned wolves. “Are they a danger?” I asked. “Not for you, but they will be for the horse,” came the reply. I decided to camp. With Sasha tied up next to me under the cover of a pine tree, snow fell and I heard boars barking all night. In the morning I found pugmarks in the snow. The wolves had been enjoying a nocturnal game: circling horse and man.

In these conditions, riding a horse each day would only get us so far – its back may become sore and feed must be regular – so I decided to continue on foot. Walking alongside, mounting only when needed, would allow us to travel for weeks. I now headed to Cabanne and then on towards Ferrania; 110 miles to cover in four days.

Looking lost is the best way to make friends. That and being with a horse. The kindness we received from people all over Liguria was fierce in its candour, raw like the mountains from which they came. They offered what they could of the little they had: food and shelter; hay, wine, water, a stable and sometimes even a bed. Each morning I would say goodbye, and the mouth of the wolf softened.

After 10 days spent with Sasha, a young woman from the Netherlands joined me with her horse, Istia. She had heard about my journey through a friend and, managing a personal loss, sought an escape – or perhaps a beginning. She found me after Pontinvrea. We forged a bond through our duty to our horses and the dangers of each day. We made it to Nava, a village in a valley. Ahead of us, one day away, was France.

The final crossing was bitter. We began at seven in the morning. Ice-rain fell and a rolling mist smothered everything. Surfaces were clotted by mud and snow. After seven hours we crossed the invisible frontier. Soaked to the bone, we descended the mountain to La Brigue at 7.30pm. A hotel, food, wine, beds and showers awaited. The horses slept soundly nearby, in the shelter of a local muleteer.

The trek across the Alps took 14 days, 230 miles, and in total we ascended 17,000 metres. With the help of others, Sasha created the first officially recognised horse trail across the Ligurian Alps in modern times. But we still had a long way to go. As a newfound team of two horses and two humans, we continued west.

Soon the weather warmed. We cantered along poppy fields, climbed the steps of Arles’ amphitheatre, travelled with flamingos in the Carmargue, and crossed the Pyrenees. We followed the Camino de Santiago de Compostela along the north coast of Spain until there was nowhere else to go but Finisterre. Shimmering in the sun, only the Atlantic lay before us.

It was hard to let go of the adrenaline. The exhilaration of riding into new places, meeting new people, and cultivating an arcane, silent understanding with a horse; becoming a herd – I couldn’t conceive this ever ending. Finally I had found a sense of peace, with no need to escape. Upon returning to the UK, I began to form the Big Hoof, a charity dedicated to creating adventures for others, reconnecting with the land, and helping individuals realise new possibilities – with Sasha and Istia leading the way.

The journey took 111 days in total. Many months have passed since then and recollections blur, but it is the Ligurian mountains that I remember most vividly. They were transformative. The silver mountains, the storms, the echoing isolation, the stalking wolves that pushed us on: we found answers in each other, and through a faith in the unknown way that lay ahead.

Louis D Hall is the author of In Green: Two Horses, Two Strangers, a Journey to the End of the Land (Duckworth Books, £18.99). To support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply