Monte Canale by the Neviera (Sirente)

Saturday 16 January 2010

While my soul seethes with frustrations suspended between the unspeakable and the unacceptable, my rational mind was instead basking in a plan that was too refined, too ambitious, too... When a plan is born on maps, when a plan is born from vague memories or flights of fancy, the plan ends up being truly too ambitious. The idea was to traverse Monte Sirente along its whole length from Gagliano Aterno to Colle Belvedere (Rovere). The forecasts, as for some months now, are ruining our plans once again. The phone calls between Doriano and me follow one after another, adding up to a grand total of “nothing doing”. We're going, we're not going, where are we going, where can't we go. Then the craving for great undertakings gets the upper hand. I offer Doriano a package of three different options: Monte Amaro, Monte Corvo, the Sirente traverse. I sense something stirring... we give ourselves a few hours to think it over. The last phone call is the decisive one. The Sirente traverse it is. It's a crazy idea but it contains within it a few possible alternatives in case of bad weather.

There are four of us in the car: D.R., L.R., Diego and me, all four superbly prepared to take on a gruelling undertaking of a good 18 km on snow-covered ground with more than 1000 metres of height gain. At Gagliano Aterno there are clouds everywhere. The terrain is unknown to us and any chance of exploring is ruled out by the lack of visibility. We decide to fall back on a classic hike: the marvellous ascent by the Neviera (the “snow store” gully). We don't set limits on Providence. Unconsciously we are all hoping for a change in the weather. From Gagliano Aterno we go back to the Sirente chalet. We leave the car to make the ascent along path number 15, which leads up to the Neviera. It isn't too cold and we're ready in a few minutes. We meet the snow practically straight away. But the rope team looks more like a brigade of bersaglieri. The pace is martial and unhesitating. In just one hour we manage to climb 500 metres of height gain; it's a performance worthy of real athletes and none of us shows any sign of wanting to stop. The beech wood is bathed in a greyish light, soft and surreal, but in this area we recognise every single tree, every single boulder. Path number 15 crosses path number 18 and unclear signage, at this key point, threatens to make us lose our bearings, but Diego's sharp eyes let us pick out some distant marks painted on the bark of the trees.

In these circumstances you realise that to practise winter hiking safely you need no fewer than three qualities: knowledge of the terrain, the ability to find the route and above all a kind of calm concentration. 

At 1600 m a group of ski mountaineers catches up with us: they are the lightning-fast Cavalieri della Polvere (the Knights of the Powder) and, like us, they want to reach the Neviera. We swap a few opinions on the route, half in jest and half joking, as if pretending we had got lost in this wood thick with tall beeches. As we leave the wood, right at the foot of the Neviera, the signs of an avalanche put us on our guard: we'll have to pay attention, this is not a slope to take lightly. My thoughts go back to Antonio C., swept away by an avalanche on this very slope in 2008. The fog gets thicker as we climb. We've already put on our crampons and, given the temperatures of the last few days, we'll probably find ice all the way up the gully. L.R. is on his first outing with ice axe and crampons and copes marvellously. In fact he is amazed at the feeling of security the crampons give him on the snow. Perhaps he doesn't know that twelve-point crampons changed the history of climbing as far back as the 1930s. We climb, driving in crampons and ice axe, following the tracks of the Cavalieri della Polvere, with whom sharing the ascent is becoming more and more fun.

Slowly a glow grows more and more intense; the shapes of the mountain, of the rock and of the ice become more and more defined. The grey of the fog turns into a milky white until it slowly disappears. At 2100 m we come out of the clouds and are greeted by a heavenly light, a dazzling sun. We are on the brink of divine ecstasy. I slow down to savour topping out on the ridge. I'm excited and can't wait to enjoy the view. Below us stretches a sea of cloud, flat and calm like a kind of paradise. There are smiles on our faces. The goal of this day of ice axe and crampons is as good as achieved. Now reaching the summit of Monte di Canale is a mere formality. 

D.R. and I take photos one after another. I can't stop; not even thirst keeps me from taking the photos I have been longing for for weeks. Out of the gully, on the ridge we find no cornice; the snow is icy, with only a vague hint of suspicious layering. On the ridge we turn left and press on briskly towards Monte di Canale. We would like to get as far as the San Nicola but its summit is covered in cloud. It's late and we're already tired enough; we've covered a good 5.5 kilometres on snow-covered ground and it's already extraordinary to be here. We decide to go back to the top of the gully and then decide whether to carry on to the summit of the Sirente or go down by our route of ascent.