Monte Rotella - Perpendicular traverse

Saturday 5 February 2011

Monte Rotella, and I say this with no false hypocrisy, is not a particularly interesting mountain. In terms of its relief it looks like a very long ridge running from Rivisondoli to Rocca Pia and beyond, towards Sulmona. This long ridge, which can be walked even in a single day, rises from the Altopiano delle Cinque Miglia as a feature standing apart from the surrounding mountains.

The Altopiano delle Cinque Miglia, easy to reach even in winter (the roads are kept open for the ski tourists), lets you climb 2000-metre peaks even in deep snow and, all things considered, without too much effort.

The advantage of this mountain, not very attractive in itself, is the chance to look at Monte Porrara and Monte Amaro from close enough to let you plan new hikes.

This, by and large, is the attitude that has taken hold over the years. Every peak, every mountain, every ridge becomes the pretext for looking beyond... further and further away.

The idea that had taken shape was to tackle the climb up Monte Rotella from near the Strada Napoleonica (a disused stretch of road close to the last tunnel leading onto the Altopiano delle Cinque Miglia).

The ascent of Monte Rotella had to happen in winter conditions, so as to enjoy the snowy landscape as much as possible too.
So as not to do the usual up and down by the same side, I came up with the simple perpendicular traverse from one side to the other.

Coming up from Sulmona, you leave the first car on the stretch of Strada Napoleonica and take the second car round to the opposite side (the Pescocostanzo side, so to speak) near a white gravel track leading to a small cluster of farmhouses.

The day is one of those with a clear sky, bright and full of strong contrasts. In front of us the eastern side of the Rotella. The wood covering the ridge is broken in only one place and we decide, just as I had originally planned, to cross the wood at that point and climb on snow, hoping it is frozen enough. In the group of friends we all more or less leap to hasty conclusions, saying... “is it just this ridge to climb? How hard can it be...” the usual foolishness of hiking super-machismo.

As the sun comes up, the snow that had been fairly crunchy immediately starts to soften, and along with the snow our legs go soft too...

The slog uphill turns out to be more relentless than expected. Me, G.D.S., D.R., L.R., we all seem to be suffering a little. We take turns breaking trail in the insubstantial, barely transformed snow.

In the end the climb turns out to be just a small test of strength and stamina. I often stop to take photos but I can't find subjects curious and interesting enough. The landscape on this ridge is fairly monotonous. Only the panoramic shots give me some satisfaction and I take lots of them.

Once on the ridge I allow myself a few extra moments of rest to enjoy the sun, the sky, the fresh wind and the good chat with G. (as he calls me too … my most illustrious namesake...ehehhe!). I feel honoured to walk alongside him because from what he tells me I sense he has a great deal of mountain experience (much more than he would have you believe). At last we reach the summit, where a large cairn of cemented stones wears a metal hat shaped like the Alpini's. On the summit there is a cross too. We take the customary photos and shelter downwind to have a bite to eat. The view over the Abruzzo, Lazio and Molise National Park is total. You can admire almost all the peaks. All that's missing is a good bottle of wine... to warm us up, to brighten the atmosphere of a day that has already gone very well.

After a short rest we set straight off down the opposite side (the western one).

Coming down the western side you can feel somewhat disoriented because of the many humps buttressing the whole ridge. Below the summit, a hollow with a stone cairn on its edge acts as a safe reference for the descent. Past the cairn, the slope falling away towards the Strada Napoleonica gets steeper. The snow is wet and treacherous and I start to feel uneasy. I raise a route problem, opening the map.

I say that I don't feel at ease on such a slippery slope, so I would like to turn off into a more sheltered little valley. I am completely ignored. Nobody takes my worry on board and everyone carries on towards the steep slope.

The slope is relatively steep, not too exposed, of course, but certainly slippery, and with a bad fall here who knows where I would end up. I am left on my own while the others let me go by myself. On the ridge we scatter in disorder.

I go down the gully in complete safety, then get back onto the ridge where it becomes less steep but... nobody on the horizon. I decide to sit on a big rock; I rest, waiting for someone to pop up from somewhere. And while I wait I feel a perfect idiot.

I needed to change route and I was left on my own. After twenty minutes of waiting, here come the others hurtling down. From here the descent will be all rush-rush, run-run... as if someone were chasing us. The sun is still high but it seems there is nothing left to enjoy among these mountains. I struggle to keep up with the pace.

None of this matches my way of hiking. Haste, no attention to companions, the group splitting up. In the cauldron of my thoughts there is a lot, there is too much... What I see is that in these years I have not managed to strengthen the group spirit. And the more I appealed to shared, common-sense rules, the more of a void opened up around me.

So it really is me... then... it's me who's getting it wrong.

Modernity rules, performance, competitiveness, freedom, global superficiality... all in the name of an exasperated individualism.

It was one of those outings in which my detachment from the rest of the world, and from those who had once been my companions on trips, was by now plain to see (and lonely). All this for having believed that the simple gesture of accompanying, step by step, a companion, a friend or even just an acquaintance had ever had any kind of value. All this for having merely dared to think that listening to a rope mate might have had some kind of importance.

This was what my world had become in those moments. A world with nothing left to count on, a world with nothing left to believe in. Only emptiness and loneliness, emptiness, nothing more... except perhaps, still, the need to start again from scratch...