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Saturday 16 May 2009
The group of peaks of Monte Argatone, Monte Terratta and the Serra del Carapale is also known locally as Montagna Grande (the Big Mountain). In fact this group of summits forms a long ridge, rather imposing but softly rounded along its whole length. Getting to this group of peaks always demands, no matter what, a very respectable effort.
Reinhold Messner writes that: “Most mountaineers are not looking for sporting performance. They are not chasing the sensational record, but rather the experience of being on the move in the mountains. Not only must we be prepared for the undertakings we take on of our own free will, we must also conceive them. We are committed both physically and mentally, though always a little below our limits. And we recognise that beyond our capabilities lies what is impossible for us, but which we might approach with refined skills, with more experience and with great care.”
And indeed a “Montagna Grande” calls for great commitment, great willpower, attention and the desire to reach that physical and mental limit without overstepping it irreparably. Then the experience of walking can become a moment of an intensity equal to or greater than achieving a “sensational record”.
Four months have passed since my last outing. A complicated house move, full of nasty surprises, has worn out my body and my mind. I have lost 8 kilos and become as light as a feather. My mind is still in quite a muddle and I have no idea how to get out of this dark whirlpool.
D.R. calls me, introducing himself as the Devil the Tempter. He suggests an outing to the little-known Serra del Carapale. I think it over... deciding is a matter of a few hours. I realise that if I don't come out of my shell now I'll find it even harder in the months to come. This time too I adopt a method that has often helped me do great things. D.R. offers me his shoulder and I lean on it. I don't want to know anything: where, how or why. All I know is that I have to be ready at 4.30 outside my front door, rucksack on my back and longing to clear my head.
At 6.15 we are near the Miralago agriturismo at the mouth of the Vallone del Terratta. From below we can't see a thing. The narrow valley is covered in tall, thick vegetation. We can only guess at a long climb among the rocks and along the stream.
The air temperature is good, the forecast says rain in the afternoon and perhaps that is my only worry. With us is L.R., a friend of D.R. who has said several times that he would like to try the experience of a 2000-metre peak. L.R. is lean, he runs every morning and that training of his will certainly help him on the climb.
From the agriturismo you follow a short stretch of dirt track that bends left to reach some meadows partly covered in scrub. Here the track drops for about 50 metres to the actual mouth of the Vallone del Terratta. And that is how the magic happens. I forget the lawyers, the debts, the house renovation, the cardboard boxes and the move. The vegetation growing along the sides of the valley is lush, rich, generous. In its lower part the stream is dry. But we know that higher up we'll find water. The karst nature of the ground tends to swallow up easily the water gushing from the springs above.
All around I notice purple orchids shaded with an unreal tint of blue and green. They are tiny and in spite of everything I can't help looking at every single one. The beech wood is made up of trees with rather tall trunks. The colour of the leaves is unreal too. It looks almost fluorescent.
The path winds in sinuous coils through undergrowth that is not tended at all. There are dry twigs everywhere, leaves and rotting trunks all over the place. A deliberate choice by the forestry authority to keep the ground's covering damp and fertile.
When you have a summit as your goal the ascent seems faster than the descent. As we climb, the stream bed, empty before, has filled with crystal-clear water. We knock off the first five hundred metres of height gain in just an hour and a quarter. At half past seven in the morning, when the sun is still struggling to caress the leaves, we reach the Sorgente del Terratta. An unexpected and marvellous sight. From a rock split diagonally gushes the purest, icy water.
The air is saturated with moisture, heavy with the scent of moss and mushrooms. The sound of the waterfall below the spring is a song. We sit down to enjoy a moment's rest.
We set off again, satisfied just to have visited the spring. The path becomes clearer, we find fewer shrubs and more red-and-white waymarks. Leaving the wood, at around 1850 m, is not sudden. We find lots of trees lying on the ground. Probably swept away by some avalanche. Above us the Vallone del Terratta opens out into numerous wide glacial cirques. Ahead, the summit of Monte Terratta; to the left, the two peaks of the Serra del Carapale. Once out of the wood we find a few snow-free meadows covered in the most delicate purple crocuses and in others, white ones, that I had never seen before.
We carry on climbing, crossing wide patches of snow here and there. The temperature up high is still excellent, we keep up a good pace and L.R. is turning out to be a real athlete. He moves at a brisk pace that doesn't seem to feel the effort. The waymarking becomes sparse. But we already know the area and pick out the summits easily. We decide to bear left to gain the long ridge of the Serra del Carapale. At a quarter past ten L.R. bags his first 2000: Serra del Carapale Meridionale (2106 m). His mood is excellent. He keeps teasing me and D.R., as we go at a distinctly slower pace. We are both out of training and perhaps he's quite right to make fun of us, because in some ways we do tend to complain a bit too much.
The weather is settled, a light high-altitude haze covers the Majella, and in the distance the Velino group and the Gran Sasso are covered in cloud. Above us... the kindly smile of the sun. My mood, uncertain before and at times absent, now turns clear. In a few minutes we cover the long Serra del Carapale with a modest up-and-down. At half past ten I reach my hundredth summit over 2000 metres. I'm over the moon, yes, because I'm discovering that it isn't sporting performance or the sensational record I'm after; after so many months of abstinence what I simply needed was to “walk”. I'm fired up like a locomotive. My body still responds well. From the Serra del Carapale Settentrionale (2086 m) I can see the whole ridge of Montagna Grande: Monte Terratta, its fore-summits, and behind it I can make out Monte Argatone.
We reach Monte Terratta (2208 m) in just an hour's walk. I no longer feel tired and that is already an excellent achievement for the day. L.R. keeps up a tremendous pace. D.R., who has already been on these summits, goes more slowly, as if to leave more room for reflection. Partly, he says, he's also a bit more tired than usual. At point 2201 the view opens up towards Monte Argatone; it's still far away and we still have 40 minutes' walking ahead of us. I decide to push things. This time I need to go all the way. I want to visit every one of these summits. Because I don't know when I'll next get the chance to feel this good. And the weather is holding too, and apart from a few stray clouds wandering about the sky there's no sign of the rain that was forecast. Happiness is sky-high.
Once at Monte Argatone (2149 m) we take the customary photos, but soon we have to turn back. We don't know the surrounding valleys well. For the descent we have to take the Vallone del Terratta again. So we are forced to retrace the whole length of the ridge back to the Terratta and from there drop down towards the open grassy slopes and the Stazzo della Terratta (a stazzo is a shepherds' stone enclosure).
We go back into the wood; L.R. and I are running short of water and press on briskly to reach the Fonte del Terratta. The thirst isn't unbearable; partly we are driven by the urge to taste that wonderfully cool water. Being short of water is excuse enough.
At the spring we drink about a litre of icy water each... it's marvellous. We start down again but tiredness begins to make itself felt. I've put on my trainers... a not entirely correct technical variant. In low trainers you constantly risk twisting your ankles. Still, the comfort is undeniable. Stiff high-altitude boots are decidedly unsuitable in the wood. The descent keeps us busy, among stones and twigs, for about two and a half hours.
Just one question remains. Tired as we feel, have we done at least 10 kilometres? I'll find the answer at home. Doing the sums, with a conservative estimate, we covered more than one thousand two hundred metres of height gain and a good 20 kilometres in distance. And that there is something wrong with this race for the “sensational record” I had already sensed on the way back, chatting in the car with my two travelling companions. D.R. and L.R. agree, in tune with me, that what matters is not how many summits you've seen “today” but how you've been in the mountains. We promise ourselves never again to rush so ferociously up and down the mountains. One or two summits will be enough: enjoying the view, the wood, a walk however short, chatting with some farmer or stopping to get to know the place with greater care.
After so much waiting, this outing brings with it, once again, the same reflection. The same as when I climbed Monte Marsicano to conquer 5 summits in 2008. These are big reflections with which I would like to force on myself an epoch-making change in the way I walk. No longer attacking the mountain for a record born of sporting vanity, but living it with greater serenity, paying more attention to our human, reflective side.
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