Monte Crepacuore with the cardiologist

Wednesday 14 December 2011

The Monti Ernici barely reach 2000 metres, but that doesn't make them any less interesting. For hikers in central Italy, and for people from Rome in particular, they are a mountain group that is easy to reach and not too demanding physically.

Campo Catino lies at an altitude of about 1800 metres, an altitude that makes a big difference when you consider that the net height gain to the highest summit is no more than 250 metres. Such a fairly modest height gain also lets young hikers, children from 8 years up, conquer, with a bit of patience, summits like Monte Crepacuore (“Heartbreak”) itself or Monte La Monna.

For the more hardened walkers, linking La Monna with the Crepacuore can be a demanding hike in terms of the distances to cover, but not in terms of height gain.

Drago is a hardened hiker. He calls himself a Jolly, a wild card: he goes out with pretty much all the hiking groups of the Apennines, we run into each other many times on this or that forum until finally we manage to organise an outing together. Actually, the credit is all Drago's, who in his outgoing way manages to rope in a great many friends. For this hike there are five of us. Mr Spit, Oracolo, Drago and two other friends, Francesco and Daniele.

We arrive at Campo Catino around 8.00, all of us raring to walk and also to get to know each other. The first impression of Campo Catino is negative: the neglect and decay of the area are typical of the ski resorts of the central Apennines. I get myself into the frame of mind of not letting environmental-ecological considerations ruin my day, hoping that this mountain, like others, has a few surprises in store for me.

We leave the car near a brick-red building; it isn't the ideal place to start the hike, but that's the beauty of adventure... improvising where you don't know the area.
We launch ourselves down a path that drops too steeply. We stop and reconsider the option of climbing up to the ridge to look at the mountain from above and get an overall picture of the terrain and the route.

Nobody likes steep slogs, not even my knees, and yet there is a particular charm in climbing straight up the mountain, maybe using hands and feet... in English they'd call it “scrambling”. Finally on the ridge everything is clearer: after spotting the Crepacuore we manage to picture a fairly precise route.

In autumn, when the mountain is dry and lacking colour and contrast, it's hard to estimate distances. Without strong contrasts the mountains seem squashed one on top of the other. The Crepacuore seems very close. At first I feel a strange disappointment. I imagined this area as more complex. From the ridge we decide not to climb every summit but to move along the contour lines of the mountain, which seem to take us straight to the Crepacuore.
Wrong: after crossing a wide valley overlooked by three tall towers we find ourselves on a saddle that opens onto new landscapes. The first impression is immediately turned completely on its head. Behind the ridges hides a side that is still fairly wild and little touched by people.

There are paths everywhere, it's true, but the vegetation rules the roost: the beech wood climbs up to 1800 metres and the rocky sides of the mountains are interesting as landscape.

The size of the towers and of the surrounding summits is of course in proportion to the altitudes; we are not talking about inaccessible bastions. It is true, though, that the look of it all is decidedly pleasing.
Drago too is amazed by this side. After a short stop at the saddle we set off again towards the Crepacuore.
The path is marked and clearly visible, the waymarking obvious and the signposts look new, as if they had just been put up. There is little risk of getting lost  and even in fog the path is clearly visible. As always when there is snow cover, on the other hand, the risk of getting lost is the same as anywhere else.

We take it very easy; everyone seems to move in unison and at the same pace. Even so, we keep going steadily and in just two and a half hours we are on the summit of the Crepacuore. The place is very interesting: set in a decidedly inaccessible geographical area (except from Meta or from Campo Catino), it enjoys a truly curious landscape.
Monte Viglio doesn't look particularly elegant; its best profile is certainly the north-eastern one. It is true, on the other hand, that from the Crepacuore you can see  Pizzo Deta and Monte Passeggio very close up and at the same time with a wide and interesting panorama.

My imagination flies straight to winter hikes, when the area and the environment take on a completely different look. I picture the lights and contrasts of the snow-covered mountain, of the rocky ledges covered in snow. I am literally thunderstruck by the view  you get from Monte Crepacuore and I am already dreaming of coming back on a winter hike. What excites me is the idea that you can reach such an interesting place without much physical effort.

On the summit there is an icy wind that freezes the sweat on our skin; for a refreshment break (water and a sandwich) we decide to go down a little lower and find shelter from the wind to enjoy the timid winter sun. The weather  is miraculously giving us a day of clear blue sky such as we would never have expected.

The return, more or less by the same way, holds no other major surprises; rather, it leaves me with the hope of coming back to conquer the summit of La Monna, which they say is very interesting too.

The hike ends around one o'clock, perhaps too early for the great thirst for adventure that fills me and for the good Oracolo's desire for catharsis, as he had long been looking for a somewhat more demanding hike. But we are happy all the same; all things considered the season isn't one of the best, and snatching another day of hiking from the whims of a climate gone mad is already a lot to gain.

The winter season is late in starting; getting back to walking to find the right path is always a special moment. As with everything, you always have to start from the bottom.