Conquerors of the mist

But for setting off the reference point is clear. The gravel road off the Strada Statale 17, we're in four cars, there are Jon, Valentina and their little Chiara, Fabio and Valeria and their daughter Azzurra, Davide and Venada, there are Elisa, Gabriele, Valeria and Giorgio.

On the gravel road leading to Vado di Corno we start walking relatively late. Everyone keeps up a good pace, especially the children, who are over-excited by the adventure they're heading into. They feel it, even more than the grown-ups, it's the excitement of the mountains, it's the fresh air, the new surroundings that put the frenzy of discovery into their legs.

We adults, enthusiastic as we are, all live it through the joy of our children. I'd made myself a promise with an "atypical manifesto" to take along people who don't usually go to the mountains... true... because it's easy to go with people who already live the mountains with strong involvement. It's harder to persuade people who aren't used to the mountains to take on long walks and pre-dawn alarm calls. You have to make an extra effort, it's a difficult job of persuasion that has to be done gently, you give it a go... then one day you end up putting together a fine group of 12 people, no fewer than 4 of them children.

We reach Vado di Corno quickly, there's a figure coming down, he looks familiar, it's Giorgio D.S., lovely to see him moving so lightly over the mountains, he's alone and I greet him straight away, shouting "Giorgio!"... He's already on his way back, he got up early in the morning and walked in the dark and in the mist. We exchange a few words, a goodbye and set off again.

From Vado di Corno the traces of path lead us, contouring along the slope, onto the southern ridge of the mountain. The goal is Pizzo San Gabriele... but the clouds are already trying to spill over from the Teramo side and cross towards Campo Imperatore.

As we gain height the clouds keep building but we carry on undaunted in the hope that the sky will open. But the higher we climb the more the clouds seem to advance.

I'm a bit disappointed, I'd have liked to set Davide and Venada's eyes dreaming before the immense bulk of Corno Grande, and yet everything is covered and grey.

We keep an eye on the children on the trickier stretches of the path, a few moves more exposed to the slope, a few more little rocks to clamber over.

The path has no particularly difficult points but we know it, they're not mountain children, their feel for this inhospitable environment is still all to be developed.

Azzurra leads the children's group with a commanding spirit, Chiara follows her father, proud of this adventure with her family, Elisa is already used to these long, demanding walks, Gabriele has holed up in the child-carrier rucksack and watches the landscape perched on my shoulders.

Valeria, to my great satisfaction, has improved enormously, she feels at ease on the path, if I think back to her pace a few years ago I can see how much she has improved, she walks like a little hare.

The ascent of Pizzo San Gabriele can be a long hike but at the same time a gradual climb but... the higher we go the deeper we get into the clouds. We stop at a small pass of loose rubble. We sit the children down out of the wind and decide to take a break. Out come the rolls, the chocolate, the sandwiches. We eat, thinking over what to do.

But it's a place with no name and no horizon. We're immersed in the mist and it's not clear how far it still is to the summit. The altimeter shows no sign of life, the watch battery has given up... so every reference point is lost.

When I get near the end of the pass I notice a little grade I traverse move. I picture the ascent... no problem... then I picture the descent, with this mist, with the children, with the chaos that comes when everyone is together, and I realise that now is no longer the time for joking. In less than an instant I realise that the hike is over.

Jon and Fabio go ahead to scout how tricky the move is and also to see where the path leads. They reach the foot of a fairly relentless slope, the path is clear but the mist keeps coming down along with the temperature and the children already seem tired and a little chilled. We have to think about going back and we all agree that it's pointless to keep walking in the clouds. The higher you go the more the visibility seems to shrink.

We can still consider ourselves satisfied and, as we'd said, wherever we got to under our own steam we'd put a full stop.

We stay a few minutes in the mist eating and chatting until we start to feel cold. The damp of the clouds seems to get inside our windproof jackets.

It's time to go down.

On the quick descent, though, the children struggle on the last stretch leading from Vado di Corno to the cars, and only the incentive of a plate of pasta at a hut seems to lift their spirits. In a few minutes we're all in the cars heading for the Rifugio del Lago Racollo. But the Racollo is closed so we fall back on the Mucciante refreshment point, which as usual is packed with people. There are motorcyclists, mountaineers, hikers and last-minute tourists. There's a festive air, as always, the atmosphere is fun and rowdy.

We put 50 arrosticini on the embers to cook, there's bread, cheese, two nice bottles of wine and ciambelline. We spend a good hour of pure conviviality nibbling away with that healthy, genuine hunger that only the effort of a good hike can give you.

What did we conquer this time? Nothing, absolutely nothing, the indefinite outline of a ridge line lost in the vaguest nothingness. Only the friendship of being together... because... the mountains can give you the surprise of an unexpectedly "agile" and "quick" Jon, of a Valentina as "determined" as an arrow just loosed, of a Venada "attentive" and “sensitive” to the children, of a contagiously "unruffled" and “calm” Davide, of a Fabio already a "mountain man" in a way you didn't know he was, of a "light" and "smiling" Valeria and of a second Valeria finally "at ease" among the mountains.

All this for the ideal of giving children the right enthusiasm for a simple act: walking.