The hysteric, Father Christmas and the engineer

14 February 2013

Costa della Sentina looks utterly overhanging. It isn't. The start of the route is at the mouth of the Valle Majelama. I walked beneath this face twice in the first 2 months of 2013.
Climbing up to Serra dei Cavalli (Cafornia), it's love at first sight. Massimo is set on climbing this face. A little-frequented face in a new and unexpected setting.
After a base of loose rubble partly covered in snow we reach the mouth of the Couloir della Sentina. In French couloir means “corridor”, and although you wouldn't think so, that's exactly what it is...
The first part of the climb runs up a sheltered corridor between high rock walls, a corridor that rarely fills with snow and which, thanks to the high temperatures in the area, stays bare for almost the whole winter season.

In the first section we have 3  rope pitches on  grade II moves which, done with crampons on your feet, feel a lot more like a run-of-the-mill grade III... (yeah, OK, OK... what on earth is a run-of-the-mill grade III supposed to be?). The crampons find nothing to grip. Little tufts of grass everywhere, on fine and shallow soil, give you no guarantee at all that the points will bite. You have to pull hard on 2 small jugs. In places you're forced to move in opposition (if you manage to plant your crampons anywhere at all).

Massimo leads, he's a real angel and doesn't seem to suffer in the slightest. He climbs belaying off a few small trees growing in the corridor.

Then Fabio goes, and he gets through lightly too. I follow heavily, ranting and complaining. Massimo, who can't see me, feels my  weight on the rope whenever I fall back. My height and a rucksack full of rope pull me off balance backwards. Then I stop and haul myself up by brute force, a bit levering on my crampons, a bit pulling on the rope (Yuck, how embarrassing!). Once past the first step the rest is easier.

I only get my calm back  when we reach the first snowfield. If the point is to have fun, my heavy, battered body isn't helping. To have fun in these inhospitable places you need to turn up with your body “in working order”... The rest of the route is on snowfields hanging over the drop that falls away towards the Valle Majelama.

With the group's calm restored we climb as a rope team, swapping the lead 3 times. It's fun and we climb fast. We reach 1813  metres on a snowpack that alternates soaking slush with almost frozen snow. It snowed only recently and instead of settling, the snow has preferred to melt. My gloves are wet and my hands don't even feel cold.

At the first snowfield keep right, squeeze in between two rock pillars, then bear left. You go through another corridor and come out on a shoulder with a snow cornice hanging over the void. You carry on, belayed, as far as a tree where you set up a belay stand. From the tree the pitch ends near a not very large boulder stranded halfway up the snowfield. From here you carry on and come out on the ridge. A short distance away, a memorial cross. Costa della Sentina is conquered.

Fabio and Massimo are two excellent companions, I can't understand how they put up with my hysterics and my moaning. Father Christmas gave us a beautiful climb, the engineer led with the skill of true mountaineers... the hysteric... that's another story altogether...

The way back is down to Fabio's incredible nose for terrain, which brings us down into the Valle della Sentina among rocks and snowfields. We pick up path no. 9, which winds over Peschio Rovicina and takes us back to the car.

All in all, the day is a great success.

The story? The story is about my usual way of facing things, emotionally and impulsively. I'm at the first move and already I don't feel like climbing, I know I could enjoy myself but I'm lazy, I'm tired, listless and out of shape. Then I have to climb and I give up straight away, losing control.
I rant at the rock, which can't hear me... the rock couldn't care less that you're there, obviously... so I rant and beg for mercy... mercy for what, anyway... for being trussed up like a salami on the end of a rope.

I promise myself I'll never come back, never again... No, never again in places like this. What kind of game is this anyway... never again.
When the climbing comes down to a move that lasts no longer than 5 minutes, you see everything in perspective.
In that moment you realise you've been complaining over almost nothing. You feel silly, ridiculous, and you know that laziness, fear and impulsiveness have got the upper hand.

90% of the climb was excellent, so what do you do… keep your promise to “never come back”... how can you, when in the end, all things considered, you were marvellous.

No excuses... that's why I'm there, for the contact with the rock... but also for the contact with the most unpleasant side of my character. I'm here to file down those sharp edges. Next time I come here... I'll come back fit. Who knows!