Today was the day for me to head for Switzerland. I had originally planned to meet my folks in Saas-Fee, but I decided to leave a day early because of rain and the surprise factor. What should have been a simple travel day, however, turned out to be a frantic race against time to catch the last train.

Michael, Carlos, and I leisurely packed up our things and departed late from our suite, around 10am, for Bolzano. I’d catch the 12:30 train to Zurich, and Michael and Carlos would drive north for a quick hike before heading back to Munich.

We arrived at the Bolzano train station with plenty of time to buy a ticket.

First things first, I go to fetch my passport from the usual place – it’s not there. Immediately, a flash of worry comes over me. I never put my passport any other place when I travel. I have a system. Otherwise, things start to disappear. Where is it? Instantly, I know – it’s in San Martino!

See, Italy has this absurd anti terror law which requires you fork over your passport if you want to access the internet. Every time you want to check your stupid hotmail account, you hand them your passport, they copy it and they either hand it back to you, or they keep it. This time, at the hotel across from our suite, the receptionist kept it (which she usually didn’t do), and didn’t give it back. It slipped my mind to ask for it back when I left. OK, so it’s partly my fault, but still. Somehow, I think this law has done nothing to prevent terrorism.

I announced to Michael and Carlos my theory. “Let’s try to call and see if they have it” was the suggestion. We found a pay phone and I started pumping in Euros. Between the sudden “out of order” messages that would appear after I’d made a call and the difficulty in finding the number for the hotel across the street (we’d gotten a fax number from the hotel we stayed at), we made no progress. We checked the train schedules; the last train was at 4:30pm. I had about 4 hours to catch it. Obviously, I had to get my passport; I knew it was there, even though we had no confirmation. So, we decided I’d take Michael’s car, go retrieve the passport, drive back, park the car, meet Michael at 4:30, hand over the keys, and catch the train. If I missed it, I could always leave in the morning and race to Switzerland. I really wanted to go today; otherwise, much worrying would ensue.

So, I left Bolazano like a bat out of hell. In retrospect, this probably wasn’t the best idea, but I made it work. I raced quickly, miraculously avoided the traffic we experienced on the way in, and made carefully calculated passes around numerous busses on one-laned mountain roads multiple times. Listening music couldn’t be audio books or even thunderous Wagner; I had to drive to the shredding of Racer X. I was back at the hotel in under two hours. I ran in and immediately the receptionists started up, handed over my passport with numerous apologies (no condemnation was in order, we bothed messed up and were victims of the laws of terror). I then repeated the process backwards, this time perhaps even faster than the last. I opted for the Autobahn on the way back outside of Bolzano which, I believe, gave me a extra few minutes. I parked the car, memorized the parking spot number (107!), and ran to the ticket office. While still breathless, Michael showed up. I’d bought a ticket in just enough time; I had about 4 minutes to catch the train. I bade farewell, jumped on the train and tried to relax.

There was one problem. My ticket showed one train change – in Innsbruck, Austria. I made that one no problem. However, another one, not listed mind you, was needed in Feldkirk. When I arrived in Dornbirn, I asked the conductor who informed me of the truth. At this point, it was about 9pm. I caught the train going back to Feldkirk, but it was a slow one, stopping numerous times. By the time I reached Feldkirk, around 10:30pm, I’d missed the last train to Zurich. The next direct train was at 6:46am. OK, that’s manageable. There was nothing to do now but sleep in the train station or find a hotel. Since there were revelers crowding the train terminal chanting some sort of sports anthem, I decided on the hotel. Just kidding, I’m not that cheap. Really.

It was pouring out, but I had my crappy cheap white umbrella I bought in Italy for about 7 times the price of one in China. I walked a few blocks and found a place. It was a small dingy joint and the office was the smoke-filled bar. I said, “Hotel”, and the bartender went into the back The manager, I assume, then emerged and sold me a key for 50 Euro (thankfully, Michael didn’t want me to pay him back yet otherwise I would have had to hunt down a money machine; I only had 55 Euro on me and they only accepted cash). The room was comfortable and clean enough. And the internet connection was great for once (actually, I don’t think it was theirs). And, I didn’t have to turn over my passport! I set the alarm on my razor thin (this fact is important) mobile phone for 6:00 and went to sleep. I awoke at 6:51. The razor thin battery has very little life and search all night for a signal had sapped the battery. Damnit!!!

It was still raining as I made my way to the train station. There was no direct train until 10:46 and everyone in Zurich was planning to leave for Visp at 11:00. That obviously wasn’t enough time. Thankfully, there was a slower train leaving around 8:30. I had to make about 4 changes, but they were all printed out for me. I timed it nicely; showing up at 10:23. After wandering about the Zurich station for less than a minute, I saw my dad and Pat. Surprise!!!

There was no way I was doing any more hiking or climbing after the Grand Pilaster. I was so happy to lay my head on the Rosetta Hut’s pillow; all I could think of was sleep. We all awoke the next day to explosions. I barely heard them actually; eventually I did stir and Michael announced that the explosions were from a construction project. A team was laying some pipe between the hut and the lift. I stirred slowly, but contentedly. Completely refreshed, but with a desire to just relax and hang out. Carlos and I planned to take the lift down, sparing our knees a 3000 foot descent. Michael, soldier that he is, elected to take a hike back to the area for some views of the route and to play on a via ferrata and then hike down. He did get some good pictures, notice the various shots of the route one the Grand Pilaster post.

Carlos and I gladly volunteered to look for a comfortable hotel. We’d leave a message for Michael at the tourist office or pick him up at 4:30pm. After arriving at the base of the lift, we hopped in the car, only to be stopped at the entrance for 30-45 minutes while the cyclers of the Tour of the Alps zipped by. Not being in a hurry for once, it was a delight to just sit there and watch the cyclers.

We later found a sweet apartment for the day that was well-priced, roomy (a separate suite for Michael), with a pool and all that stuff. Oh yeah, a kitchen too – we ended up cooking tons of spaghetti that night. Top notch relaxation. Carlos and I went by the local church to attend Mass and give thanks for our safe passage over the Pala.

(above) The Tour of the Alps. I reckon the big dogs were at the Tour d’ France.

I awoke to the sounds of folks stirring and chattering. I soon gave up trying to ignore it, rolled over and opened my eyes. The folks who had been sleeping in the van fifteen to twenty feet from me were up and had a portable table set up and were eating breakfast. Michael and Carlos were sitting up. It was about 7am. Michael ran up to the lift and discovered that we had been sleeping under the very lift that we needed for our climb, the “Grand Pilaster” on the Pala di San Martino. We ate, packed, then waited in line for a few minutes for the lift to open. Then we were off…

At the top of the high lift is a huge and high rocky plateau. On this plateau is the Rosetta Hut, our bit of comfortable civilization after completing the climb. To get to the beginning of the route, we crossed part of the plateau and then began descending down about a thousand feet to a traverse to the talus and small meadows beneath the towering buttress. This climb is rated grade IV, a European measurement which translates, I believe, to something around 5.4 to 5.5. That’s a very easy grade, and I supposed none of the climbing got harder than that, maybe a move in a corner to get to a traverse could have been called 5.6. Still, the climb is quite serious. It’s sustained 5.4 and 5.5 and dead vertical for very long stretches. It’s hugely exposed. It’s committing. It’s 20-pitches.

(above) Behold this wonder of nature! Our route roughly follows the steep and shadowed right hand skyline. Photo by: Michael Stanton

Beneath the route, we gawked and admired; it promised to be a great climb, and it delivered. We followed paths up through the talus to the base of a small snowfield at the base of the route. Here, we put on our harnesses and helmets. We moved left and crossed the snow at the most narrow spot for easy access to the face. Then we scrambled steeply up fifth class terrain to the base of the long chimney, which would occupy us for the first half of the climb.

Most of the chimney was in shade and we were all hoping that the sun would come out and warm us. We couldn’t complain, however; the air was much warmer here than on the Fuenffingerspitzen. We climbed quickly, spurred on by fears of other climbers joining us and jamming up the route. However, this wasn’t remotely a problem. Though there were others on the tram intent on climbing in the mountains near the Pala, almost all were outfitted for via ferratas. We saw several other climbers passing below us on the trail. None of them joined us on the route. I believe we were the only ones that day.

We climbed smoothly and efficiently. None of the climbing was very challenging, but it was invigorating. The views opened up, became grander and grander as we steeply continued up the wide chimney. At times we enjoyed stunning hand traverses. Other times, steep walls for stemming. And only once do I recall a little bit of slimy wetness emerging from the chimney.

(above) Me somewhere on the lower part of the chimney pitches. Note the plethora of holds! This is what the Dolomites are famous for. Well, that and the hgih vertical walls. Don’t worry, that’s coming. Photo by: Michael Stanton.

The sun beams marked the end of the long chimney. The final move was a delicate escape from a corner, an open-book, really, on to a knobby face. Carlos and I climbed in tandem to meet Michael in the warm sun. We were working hard to remain moving the whole time. With three people, this becomes easier actually. For example, it takes one person to belay the leader. That leaves the third person free to take care of various tasks: putting on sunscreen, eating, or filming (we did plenty of this, look for a movie in the future).

(above) Looking down on Carlos climbing up the chimney, which is, not surprisingly, off to the left. Photo by: Michael Stanton

A short traverse to the left set us up to finish the climb on the spectacular face. High, long, and exposed, this half of the climb was unquestionably the highlight. The steepness almost never relented and was sometimes completely vertical. I didn’t like the idea of leading these; I kept expecting to run out of holds. That never happened; the climbing, assuming you stay on route, is always moderate. There is almost always a bomber hold. Like the Fuenffingerspitzen, protection is sparse and Michael ran it out quite a bit.

(above) 1) A shot of Carlos showing the steepness of the route. 2) Michael and Carlos are having fun.

Maybe a pitch or two into the steep upper section, the clouds began swirling again. The views were spectacular: outrageous exposure down to the low snowfields and talus, and even further below – the outskirts of the town of San Martino. The clouds began to thicken disturbingly, however. We continued to climb fast for fear of foul weather moving in. This would not be a good place to repeat the hail and sleet storm that we experienced on our last via ferrata. Within a few minutes, I felt moisture. I prayed that it wouldn’t get harder. Then the sleet started. I felt that I was almost willing the sleet and rain to stop. Then, miraculously, it did! There was no more precipitation that bothered us this day, we only had the wet clouds being ripped below us by the lower towers. We climbed on.

(above) A wide view from our exposed face. See the town in the distance?

There were around five pitches of grade IV climbing on the upper face. These were all rated that way because they were dead vertical. Pitch after pitch, we finally finished the last grade IV pitch and only had two easy pitches of grades II and III in front of us. We breezed up those and emerged on the top in a fog.

“Is this the summit?”
“I think I see a higher shape in the distance.”

The clouds cleared and we could see that we needed to scramble further. We went on past another tower, then climbed the final summit slope to the long and flat summit. On top is a red bivouak shelter with four bunks and blankets. Michael was the first to check it out: “Oh, you’re going to like this, Theron.”

(above) 1) As the Godbeams illuminate the way, Carlos emerges on the summit. The sloped peak in the distance is the mountain that the lift is on. It’s down the slope on the right a ways. 2) A view of our route from the distance.

I made my proposal to Michael: “Let’s sleep on the summit.” The suggestion was met with a look of trepidation. So, I followed up with, “We can enjoy an awesome sunset amidst these clouds, and do the descent in the morning.” That convinced Micheal, but we also needed to make sure Carlos was OK with it.

Carlos was more nervous about it than Michael. Both were worried that because we were light on food, that if it were raining or storming in the morning, we’d probably be in trouble. But, I lobbied hard: “It’s been clear every morning. That’s the pattern – clear morning, afternoon storms.” But, it was not enough. We opted to make the descent.

(above) Fantastical views during our descent

While the descent was not nearly as involved as the descent off Fuenffingerspitzen, it was still fairly involved and required lots of careful downclimbing. There were a few rappels as well. The clouds made it quite enjoyable – a weird and fantastic backdrop for us. I was a little worried that the clouds would open up on the descent. If it was to rain, it would be now, not in the morning. But, we had no weather problems. We made it to easy ground just as the sun was going down. Now, all we had to do was traverse the plateau to the hut – if we could find it. I remembered the general direction since I was able to recall the mountain that the lift was on, and the hut wasn’t far from the lift. So we marched in a general direction. Eventually, the sun had completely set, but we were aided by a bright half moon, we never even needed headlamps.

We pulled into the hut around 10:30 or 10:45. As Michael and I were taking off the ropes and harnesses (we kept it all on for the hike to the hut…we didn’t even unrope!), we noticed the staff turning off the lights. I bounded inside to announce our presence. “May we have some soup…or tart?”, asked Michael. They welcomed us, and fed us, but it was obvious that they wanted to be done with their duties. Every expression of gratitude to one particular girl only resulted in a smirky laugh. Quite funny, actually. But, we savored the food and drink and enjoyed the relaxation. It was especially good after such a fantastic climb, which, I announced, makes it into my top five. We later crashed in our bunks and slept deeply.

(above) Savoring the sweet soup.

• Michael’s trip report can be read here.
• Here’s a pitch-by-pitch description of the route.

Our hike the day before was quite long (I think we estimated 18 miles and over 5000 feet of elevation), so we rested well. The food (and foosball…right, forgot about that), helped rest us quite a bit. While we had originally planned a long multi-day hike, the temptation of good weather was too strong. We pestered the owner of the Pension with questions about weather around the area and eventually concluded there was a good chance the Dolomites would have good weather tomorrow (Thursday). After that, it looked like foul weather returned. We decided to hike in a different direction and catch a taxi back to Bormio (now referred to as “Boromir” or “Borax”) and then drive back over the pass to the Dolomites to the Pale di San Martino area where we’d attempt the “Grand Pilaster” route on the Pala di San Martino.

OK, let’s do it.

Before going directly to pick up the taxi in the village, we decided to contour around and climb a small point for views. We figured that we had all day. True, but these late nights of driving and searching for a place to sleep had a way of happening over and over. “Bah!” was the attitude and we continued hiking. It was, in fact, another long day. Getting to the high point took longer than expect, but the views were good.

(above) Michael munches on an apple on our high point. See the little dilapidated shelter on the left?

We began our descent, hoping to arrive in the town before 4pm so that we could hopefully arrive in Borax by 5pm. Then, we’d make our drive to San Martino, throw down our sleeping bags in a convenient spot, then wake up in the morning for the Grand Pilaster. But, of course, fate would not have it that way.

(above) One of the many waterfalls that we passed during the descent.

We did find our way back to Bormio without too much effort, and though we had returned three days early to the parking garage, we still had to fork over a TON of coin to get out of the parking garage: 45 Euro! That’s nearly $75 for 36 hours. The chart had said 50 Euro for 5 days, but I supposed that because we were there for under two days, they calculated by the hour. Curse Bormio! We jumped in the car (which was beginning to smell due to the food stuffs in the back seat) and headed up Stelvio Pass.

We arrived at the top of that monstrous pass about an hour later and noticed that the road was closed! “What!?” We turned off the car and investigated. It turned out that there was rockfall on the other side of the pass and the road would be closed for at least two to three days. If we were going to climb in the Dolomites tomorrow, we now had a much longer drive in front of us. Fate had spat upon us again.

After more frustrations of not being able to find a decent place to eat, we pulled into a pizza joint at some small town. While the sun was going down and our pizza was cooking, we pulled all the gear out of the car and resorted and packed. Later, during the drive, I started to feel ill, no doubt due to fatigue. I believe everyone was feeling a little upset and frustrated. Here we were again, trying to get to some place in the middle of night just to sleep, with a big climb in front of us. Why couldn’t it go smoothly? Fortunately, those feelings would be short-lived.

Finally, finally…I don’t recall what time it was. 11:30? Midnight? We pulled into the town of San Martino. One of the first structures we saw was a ski lift. “Hey, these are good places to sleep. Let’s just go there”, Michael suggested. We went to the lower parking lot and parked in the corner. I pulled out my tiny, one-third-sized, sleeping pad, threw it on the asphalt, and prepared to go to sleep. There was at least one other car, a van, in this parking lot with folks sleeping inside. We’d have company in the morning. Thankfully, we all agreed to not wake up too early. We decided to just take the lift up when it first opened (most likely 8am) and save ourselves the physical effort needed to be on the route first (waking up 3 hours earlier and hoofing it up 3000 feet of elevation). This turned out to be a very wise choice.

I awoke to the sound of Michael and Carlos chattering…I heard them say “It’s 5am”. Dang, another 5 hours of sleep, or less. Apparently, there was some sort of farmer’s truck that came by the park. The occupants eyed us curiously while the truck idled and puttered. Seems like we drifters t’weren’t welcomed in these parts anymore. So, we drove back to Bormio to stash the car at a parking garage and catch the bus out to the village of San Antonio (there was actually a lot of effort involved in developing this plan), where we’d begin a hike we’d read about in Michael’s “Walking the Alps” book. The first day would be a long one, at least 1600 meters of elevation. We weren’t sure about the mileage, at least 12 miles though. We caught the 8am (or 8:30) bus for one Euro out to San Antonio. From here, we hiked across the street along a creek into the farmland up the valley.

(above) 1) The streets of San Antonio, a little village in the Tyrol region of Italy. 2) I believe this is San Antonio’s likeness overlooking the fountain. These fountains are always running and provide clean drinking water. Very convenient.

(above) St. Goddard’s Church, I think, in San Antonio. He helped drive The Gout away from San Antonio many years ago.

We hiked a long way along road passing farms and pastures. We were occasionally reminded by hiking signs adorned with an eagle symbol. Eventually, the valley turned in the right direction and we could see the pass far in the distance. Our plan was to hike over Zebru Pass to a hut on the other side where we’d most likely stay the night and calculate our plans for the next day. We were still on road which detracted from the wilderness feel. In fact, a small truck came by with three Italians in the front. We thrust our thumbs into the air for a ride (why not?). They waved and kept going.

Around late morning, we were about halfway up the valley and we came across a comfortable homestead where we stopped for expensive maps and tasty cappuccino and apple tart. The owner proudly showed us his Ibex horns. They only spoke Italian and it was sometimes possible to communicate in Spanish, except I was still thinking in Chinese. My Spanish grammar is all messed up now and I’d have to speak for a couple of days until I’m in a “Spanish” mode. Anyway…

(above) Good food a few hours into our hike. We’re really roughing it.

Slowly, we rose above the trees. I eventually got a second wind, no doubt due to the prospect of big views at the pass, so I motored ahead and didn’t stop until Zebru Pass. I planned to take a break there and wait for Michael and Carlos, but it was a little windy and cold. I continued down. The hike getting to the pass was long and monotonous. The trail traverses past lots of talus hills, and scree-filled ribs. Towards the top, I had to cross several wet snowfields. On the other side, I did get the views that I was waiting for:

(above) A view of the Ortler range. If you look in the left hand quarter of the image, you may be able to see the hut (look below the curving glacier).

I headed down to a comfortable grassy area and relaxed and waited for Michael and Carlos. Michael showed up thirty minutes later. We could see Carlos still exploring high on the ridge. He’d found some World War I ruins that he enjoyed investigating. Michael and I went down to the Hut and checked on prices. It was very expensive: 42 Euros for the night (dinner and breakfast was included) if you had an Alpine Club membership (I didn’t have my card on me) or 58 Euros if you didn’t. OK, dealbreaker. We decided to continue hiking out the other side of the pass. There were two other huts lower in the valley. We could reach them easily in a couple of hours and we still had at least four to five hours of daylight. When Carlos returned, we told him the plans and we continued on.

The hike out the valley featured big views and a comfortable trail that wended through high alpine meadows pockmarked with large boulders that we frequently stopped on for pictures and general goofing around. Michael and Carlos enjoyed setting up various bouldering routes.

(above) Bouldering around, lovely views looking back up the valley

Some of the areas featured more World War I ruins. The Italians and Austrians fought it out here resulting eventually in Italy claiming this area and much of the southern Alps from Austria (I actually need to brush up on my WWI history). We continued down past more idyllic farms until we arrived at the Forni Pension. At a price tag of 39 Euros per person, it was much more reasonable and also more comfortable.

(above) World War I ruins

(above) Carlos and Michael at chow time. Italy is ruining our ability to go back to freeze-dried meals with this superb salmon and roasted potato dinner. Oh yeah, I forgot that they brought back extra soup and lasagna to us. Funny to think back to the time that Michael, Aidan, and I traversed the Picket Range and loved those freeze-dried meals so much.

The previous night featured lots and lots of rain hammering the range. By morning, the rain had stopped but the thick swirling clouds remained. It wasn’t a good day to climb, so we opted to hike. We used the map and hunted down a loop hike that featured a via ferrata. Being in the hotel, we slept great and enjoyed a large breakfast (where we also prepared fresh sandwiches for the hike). We navigated the hairpin turns down the pass and went to another small village, caught the lift to the top of the ridge where we started our traverse.

(above) Along the ridge, View of the mountain with the via ferrata (we climbed up and over the righthand buttress)

(above) Heading to mountain

The ridge hike was an easy stroll along paths bordered by deep green foliage. I’ve gotten to the point where I enjoy every type of outdoor hiking activity and it didn’t matter that this hike was a piece of cake; the views were impressive. To the west, we could see the huge north face of the Marmolada rising up towards the clouds.

(above) Panorama looking west. The massive north face of the Marmolada is on the left side of the photo.

The beginning of the via ferrata was easy to spot. This side was quite easy; we may not have even clipped in, I don’t recall. Very soon, we were on the top enjoying our fresh sandwiches and goofing around.

(above) Michael plays air guitar on the summit while Carlos looks on.

We started the via ferrata descent down the front of the mountain, which was visible from the gondola as we were ascending. Immediately, it was steep. There’s special gear for via ferratas nowadays – two clips attached to lines that, if you fall, are designed to pay out more line such that nothing snaps. We didn’t have this gear, nor did we want to spend the 85 Euro on it, so we used standard harnesses with our daisy chains. Our attitude was basically, “We’re climbers and, as is the case during simul-climbing, we’re not allowed to fall.” On a vertical via ferrata, the shock from a direct fall of about 10 feet catching on an iron pole is quite immense. Not a problem though; we’ve downclimbed lots and lots of hard ground.

(above) Beginning the downclimb of the via ferrata. Immediately, the terrain is steep and doesn’t relent for a long time.

We were enjoying ourselves quite a bit. Then so suddenly, it seemed, the rain began. We started moving more quickly. Then the small hail started. We were on a vertical ladder, which overhung in sections, during the most fierce part. Well, no one enjoyed this, but it was never desperate – in fact, I went back up the ladder part way for Michael to snap another picture. He made me hang there for a long time – my wimpy, no-recent-climbing arms got tired!

(above) I snapped this shot of Michael looking down the ladder during the hailstorm.

Thankfully, the weather moved on almost as quickly as it had come, but the route was soaked and a good bit more slippery. We were cautious the rest of the way down, relying on via ferrata “rappel” technique to aid our way down. At the bottom, we concocted another plan: The weather was due to be lousy for another day or two in the Dolomites, so let’s leave, go west to drier ground, and do a multi-day hike. OK, though it’s aggravating to change plans so suddenly, this capricious weather didn’t leave us much option. We decided to head to the Piz Badile area near Switzerland. I was totally into that, wanting to get a good look at that fabulous north ridge. But on the way, Michael had another revelation and we opted for the closer Ortler range. While Carlos napped, I piloted Michael and I up the ridiculously steep and high Stelvio Pass (40 switchbacks) to the tunes of Richard Wagner (the spectacular overture to the third act of Sigfried comes to mind). In the distance, set against bluish eerie moonlight, we could see the massive hulk of the Ortler looming over us with tremendous relief. The town of Trafoi provided a wonderful backdrop and I doubt I’ll ever forget that view with the town’s church steeple in the foreground. Though the setting was amazing, it was getting very late. We were due for another late arrival and struggle to find a place to crash. At the top of the pass, we changed the music to weird experimental synth music that Michael was fond of. The mood changed and we talked of zombies and dead things that most likely occupied the abandoned huts that we passed on our way steeply down to the town of Bormio. In Bormio, we drove here and there looking for a place to sleep. Eventually, after rationalizing that we should leave town, we steeply climbed one of the valley walls and took an improbable turn at a bar and soon found ourselves at a small and quiet park. The ground was soaked and we bedded down as best we could. Though it appeared it would be not too well-traveled, I remember multiple motorcycles and one car with stereo blaring driving right past us as I fell asleep.

We had an excellent spaghetti dinner after climbing the Fuenffingerspitzen and, more importantly, were able to “wash up” in the bathroom in preparation for sleeping by the car again. We knew the weather wasn’t going to cooperate the next day so climbing wasn’t an option, but we could always hike. What’s a little rain (and thunder and lightning)? We picked out a lake to go visit and set off around 9 or 9:30 pm for our destination. As was to be the pattern for the trip, we searched and searched, trying to balance the need for sleep against the speed of the car going around the hairpin turns. By 11pm, we were at the lake, crossed over a dam, and Michael pulled in to a horrible parking lot that was doubling as a construction site. Both Carlos and I were set on looking a little harder despite our exhaustion, but Michael had had enough and collapsed into a state despair. Carlos took over piloting the car and doggedly took us down another street to a fantastic little parking lot with a small green area overlooking the lake. Here, we crashed and slept hard until past 8am the next day. I don’t even remember turning over.

We pondered over several plans for the day and beyond. The weather wasn’t cooperating on this trip, so we were changing plans constantly which made for arguments, expressions of pros and cons, and differences of opinions. Well, eventually we settled on making plans for the day. We had been sleeping on the northern side of the Marmolada. We could catch a cable car and go do a via ferrata there, or, I pointed out there was a lovely green ridge that we could hike along the southern end of the valley. It turned out that Michael had hiked part of that ridge before, which featured old World War I ruins, and vouched that it was a great hike. Eventually, we settled on hiking the green ridge. However, we went in the other direction and made towards a refugio. Along the way, we passed tons of people coming down. Eventually, we were one of the few parties high on the ridge.

We made it to the refugio in a little over an hour having also spent some time on the edge of a buttress with a lazy meadow on top. We saw approaching rain and made our way to the refugio as the rain caught us. But inside, we enjoyed some apple strudel and cappucino. These Europeans do know how to comfortably enjoy the mountains. Having come from the North Cascades, this didn’t feel like a hiking and climbing vacation. After the snack, Michael volunteered to go back and pick up the car and drive it to Pordoi Pass while Carlos and I would continue on by foot.

(above) Looking east at a cairn high on the ridge

(above) Looking west towards Pordoi Pass somewhere in the distance

The three of us walked together to a small col. Michael went right, back to the car. Carlos and I turned left for Pordoi Pass. But, before we were separated completely, we paused for lots of pictures among the dramatic clouds. The north side of the ridge was engulfed in roiling clouds while the south was unobscured. We hiked our own directions and were soon out of sight of each other. Carlos and I turned constantly to take pictures and video of the amazing cloudscapes. We were treating the day very leisurely; every time we’d arrive at a new vista, we’d take off packs and suck in the scenery. We were perhaps being a little too leisurely when the clouds finally conspired and pulled together a little storm that scared us down the ridge. Carlos and I were hiking quickly as the rain and wind intensified. The rain was driving hard against our faces and we sought refuge against a large boulder where we quickly adjusted our jackets to cover our packs. As we began down the trail towards the next refugio, the thunder and lightning started. We marched fast and made it to the hut, which had powered down in the face of the storm. That didn’t stop us from getting some more strudel though. As the storm raged outside and our wet gear slowly dried, we enjoyed the strudel and talked about the various bolts of lightning we’d seen. Some minutes later, the refugio was closing and we decided to make the quick run to the next refugio, only a hundred yards away or so. This one was “certainly open”, according to the owners of the refugio we were in. It wasn’t. The rain was coming down hard so we continued. We pondered stopping under the ski lift, but then realized it was entirely metal. So we hiked down in the rain. The good thing was that the brunt of the thunder and lightning was finished. Also, the pension (hotel that includes dinner and breakfast) that Michael had picked out was quite comfortable. After two car camps, this place felt like a palace and the food was excellent. We made plans for the next day. Though it called for more bad weather, we weighed our various hiking options.

(above) Carlos celebrates the good weather

Michael, Carlos, and I drove out to the Dolomites in Italy on Friday evening arriving at Sella Pass around 10:30pm. We searched for about 10-15 minutes for a place to sleep (much tougher than in the US…and the worse was yet to come) and eventually settled on a small parking lot above a refugio with the dark silhouette of the Sassalungo above us.

(above) Fuenffingerspitzen (center) in morning light. It’s hard to tell the scale from here, isn’t it?

We awoke early the following morning and set out around 6:30 for the refugio at the base of the 18 pitch climb. It would have been nice to take a lift, but we wanted to be on the route before most other and opted to make the hour or so approach. We were the first to begin the climb. Two other parties were close behind but they turned right at the refugio instead of left; they were intent on climbing the Sassalungo, it seemed. The first pitches to gain the ridge were easy, then the real fun began. On the ridge proer, after a short pitch or two, the climbing became classic Dolomite – very steep but with plentiful and solid holds. I hadn’t climbed in nearly ten months and felt a little unsettled. The protection was too sparse for me, so I opted to bring up the rear. Carlos climbed about fifteen feet above me. We had a similar arrangement on Slesse, with me climbing about 15 feet above Aidan whenever I wasn’t leading. Being in the last position was certainly more challenging because the last climber has to set his pace to the climber above him. Eventually, I warmed up and felt comfortable on the climb.

(above) Steep Dolomite climbing on the arete

(above) Carlos is enjoying it.

The first section of the climb, the detached “thumb” towers was the most thrilling. Almost always very steep, but with good holds for hands and feet. There was one tricky move that, in reality, wasn’t hard at all. The key, as usual, was just small and deliberate foot movements. At the summit of the thumb, while trying to find the descent, we got a little off route and were passed by two parties. A jam was developing at the rappels, but we moved efficiently and dropped into the col.

(above) A very fast guided party is behind us.

The second part of the climb began ascending a vertical wall on the index finger for two pitches before traversing left across the face along an ascending ramp. At the same time, on the tower we just came from, two Italian climbers had started to pull their rappel rope when, after the critical end of the rope was out of reach, they realized they had left a knot in the rope! A terrible mistake made very serious since they still had one more rappel. To my shock, the man, who was at least in his 50’s began soloing up the rock to retrieve the rope. He was on tough terrain and had to use a cam to aid his way up the wall. After some tense moments and heavy, nervous panting, he made it…but what a risk! The best would have been to wait for another party to descend, but I suppose there were no more. Watching that ordeal helped to cement the lesson into our heads – always check the rappel rope for knots before pulling it!

(above) The Italians trying to retrieve the rope. The free climber is in the upper left. Look closely and you can see the knotted rope dangling on the right.

The rest of the climb has become a bit of a haze for me. After the traverse, we crossed the face on easy terrain (passing a couple of Italian parties along the way) and then upwards towards the niche between the middle and index finger towers. At the niche was a large chockstone wedged above the niche which we had to climb through and then turn left and up the middle finger for one or two pitches to the summit where we ate and took pictures…the usual summit stuff.

(above) Here’s what the first pitch on the index finger looks like, Carlos on the index finger’s ramp which will take you to a traverse across the face.

The descent was a pain. The rappels are very awkward. On at least three, we had to push ourselves in different directions in order to arrive at the proper descent platform. On one rappel, over a very exposed cliff, we had to push at least 15 feet against the direction of the rappel to land on the platform. I pushed at one point but my loose pack got caught or something and I ended up spinning and slipping a bit. I had to call out for my partners to grab the rope and pull me back. It was unnerving and I was now not having a good time on the climb.

(above) Carlos on one of the awkward rappels. He’s traversing the cliff on rappel to get to the right platform on a “fireman’s belay” (where someone below is holding the ends of the rope. Note the chockstone out in no-man’s-land. It’s a long way down out at that point.

We still had a good bit of downclimbing remaining. We had to finish traversing the final fingers. The downclimbing was slow and tedious. Finally, we were above the final rappel leading into the snow gully which would eventually lead us back to the main trail. Again we ran into a common difficulty: we couldn’t tell how far the rappel was and it was apparent that the beta wasn’t accurate. So, we pulled out the 7mm line and took one long double rope rappel to land in the niche. Everyone was nervous on this rappel (it appeared to be awkward and overhanging), but in reality, it was straightforward. Back on “solid ground” again, we prepared to downclimb the snow. It was fairly steep and we were without ice axe or crampons, but they weren’t needed. There were already good steps kicked into the snow and we each picked out a long rock that sort of functioned as an ice axe. Eventually, the angle lessened for comfortable plunge stepping and walking. We then skidded down on scree back under the Fuenffingerspitzen to regain the hiking trail which we followed back to the car. It was about 8:30 pm and now the task before us was finding a place to eat and then sleep.

(above) I managed to take a hero shot of Michael.