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Still intent on learning mountain techniques, and in the same spirit that marked the last months of 2009, I signed up for the introductory course in ice progression techniques organised by the members of the Associazione Alta Quota.
We're no longer talking about “fresh water”: this time we pushed ourselves to taste something more electrifying, hoping to liven up this winter, so full of heavy snowfalls but also of soggy, short-lived snow.
This winter season opens with a January that keeps us all in suspense, stuck, shut up in our cosy little houses waiting for the sun. The weeks go by and the weather buries us in snow for four, maybe five Sundays in a row. Then in February the bad weather seems to want to calm down. But the days of bright sun, clear skies and a cold north wind are slow in coming.
On the first day out with the large and enthusiastic Alta Quota group, the sun peeps shyly through muddled, uncertain clouds (just like me). Snow covers the whole of Capricchia and you can't even get into Preta by car. There are ten of us in all, scrambling about up in the “Laga”, where not even the usual Sunday tourists dare come near to bring a wreath of flowers to the Madonna del Sacro Cuore. Our Guru, Massimo, is loaded like a yak: ropes, karabiners, ice screws, crampons and some spare kit for the last-minute forgetful. His beard and his mild, smiling gaze betray a gentle human nature, perhaps more mountain than city. Here he is in his natural element: measured movements and sure footing, he moves on with his load of toys.
We spend the first day at the Cascata di Trecene Bassa, in a remote, half-inaccessible corner of the Valle di Selva Grande at the foot of Monte Gorzano. It is a waterfall at a relatively low altitude (1420 m), tucked fairly deep into a rocky gorge in the mountain. This year, though, the icefall hasn't fully formed, and it's already a fine thing to find some ice formations that can hold us and allow a few interesting exercises. Getting to grips with crampons and ice axe is not the simplest thing in the world. Some fall over, some slip, and some, like yours truly, need a long time to understand how ice behaves under the sharp bite of the crampons. Some of the traversing manoeuvres turn out to be even harder than the climbing itself. Still, in the end we are all amazed at the peculiar texture of the ice and at how well it holds. The day passes pleasantly in the discovery of a world made of this new material, ice, nothing more than a solid variant of water but far tougher... The place is enchanting and enthusiasts like me never stop taking marvellous photos of the ice, of the icefall, of this dark gorge that grows darker and darker as the clouds draw near. Monte Gorzano shields us for most of the day from a weather front coming in from the east; in mid-afternoon a sprinkling of snow cheers up the atmosphere, but nothing more. As far as the teaching goes, the day ends with a beautiful climb with two ice axes. The experience thrills everyone, even the most reluctant and the most sceptical about how much fun this new discipline could be.
On the second day of the course (barely seven days have passed since the last time) the warm weather, the scirocco wind, has devastated the landscape. Among the Laga mountains you can already hear the loud roar of meltwater. The icefalls are wasting away. The ice has turned brittle, the snow soft. The water in the streams flows ever more abundantly. The approach through deep snow is more tiring, but still evocative for the landscape and for the character of a place that is still very wild. We decide to climb higher to carry on with our exercises where the cold has still held on to a few slender icefalls. We find a little wall of a few square metres on which to continue our learning. Once there, we have to clear the snow off the slope to bring out the ice. The exercises are still about getting a feel for crampons and ice axe.
There isn't enough ice to set up an ice climbing route, and anyway there are still plenty of things to learn. For the first time we learn to place an ice screw. Each of us has a go; with patience some manage to place a few screws. Ice screws look simple to use but they aren't... some give up at the ice's first resistance, others want to see the end result. For some of us, one day, a screw well set in the ice may perhaps be a moment of salvation. With all this, and a good dose of patience, some also have a go at building an anchor. The last big test is making an Abalakov thread.
February still doesn't leave much hope for the unlucky Sunday hiker-mountaineers. For the third day the mockery is twofold: on the Saturday we are granted a day of sunshine and clear skies like we hadn't seen for months. The snow immediately turns into a soft, soggy mush. On the Sunday the group meets for the third and last Sunday on nearby Monte Terminillo. The morning approach is a lucky one: we walk on a solid snow crust, and in less than an hour we are close to the Rifugio Sebastiani. Some quench their thirst, some get ready for the climb; the stop is full of expectation and emotion. The north-east side of the Terminillo is clear; the clouds coming from the west roll over the ridges and summits without covering the mountain.
It's the most important day: there are a great many things to learn. We climb along the crest of the direttissima using the French technique (flat-footing). We compare it with front-facing progress and understand the difference in terms of effort. For some mysterious muscular reason, moving sideways is less tiring and faster. It's fantastic.
We cross over the crest downwards, climbing up and down off the cornice. The snow is crusty enough (but, alas, not icy), it holds, and it's really interesting to understand how the crampons-plus-French-technique system reacts on such steep angles. Up high we decide to traverse a not-too-icy slope as far as the little saddle beneath the Terminillo's main gullies. Two of us lose their balance and grip and slide down the slope. Once you're falling there's no remedy: you reach the bottom of the traverse safely, but then you have to climb the whole thing back up.
I have fun carefully performing the ankle-flexing technique, keeping my foot flat on the slope and all twelve crampon points fully anchored in it. It holds, and I move quickly along the trickiest traverse I have ever tackled.
We set up camp beneath the Terminillo's central gully. Crampons and ice axe at the ready, we practise falling and the self-arrest manoeuvre. The starting positions are many and get harder and harder: kneeling, standing, face forward, sideways, or simply improvising the fall. With every variation the difficulty keeps growing. The reality of a fall is very different from all the theory I've read over the last few years. I follow my Guru's instructions to the letter and discover that it's the only way to learn quickly and effectively.
The day ends with the most important exercise, the one I'd been waiting for all my life. Moving together roped up, with a fall and the belaying of your rope partner. It's the key to everything I've learnt so far. Now I have the clear feeling that all of this takes on a sense and a precise meaning.
When a companion falls into an abyss, his only chance of survival is in our hands. It takes concentration, attention, quick reactions, reflexes, and the feeling of the jerk on the rope, in spite of everything, is horrible. You feel a blind terror, something that forces you to make the rescue at all costs.
The manoeuvre doesn't work equally well for everyone, but here, now, what matters is not learning to do it perfectly but beginning to understand what it really means. The day ends to the tune of repeated exercises. We throw ourselves into the void trying to simulate a fall, once, twice, three times in a row, to understand what it means to fall and be caught. A very successful day. Fun, important, truly satisfying.
Learning to crush ice is just as important as learning to pour yourself a good glass of whisky, yes... because it's the best way to enjoy the mountains “On the rocks”.
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First day
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