Climbing in Italy

Although there is a Col de Bos, the name also applies to the big wall that overlooks the Falzarago pass road opposite the Cinque Torri, in the Dolomites. The Alvera route goes up the right hand side and as it was on our tick list, we were enjoying its wonderful rock on this beautiful sunny morning.

Stripped down to our base layers and thankful that the overnight rain had cleared the air, we looked forward to the challenging twelve pitches ahead. We had warmed up the previous day on the Cima de Lago, an easy touch, but a reminder to us of what the Dolomites are all about.

Five pitches up and the first crux completed, I looked around at the views whilst Sue emerged from the 'gnarly' chimney. Clouds had gathered and it looked as though rain was imminent. I wasted no time in getting up the next pitch and when Sue arrived at the stance , her first words were to get our jackets on. Two more 3+ pitches and an easy traverse would take us to the upper 5+ crux. I reckoned if we were to get any shelter it would be under the headwall, so I declined the chance to layer up and set off again in light rain.

Everyone knows that wet limestone is not conducive to safe climbing, so I had serious thoughts as I belayed Sue up the pitch- my base layer and trousers now completely soaked. The worst of the storm centred on us with the usual thunder and lightning and thick black clouds swirling across the sky. On two previous occasions, we had finished routes just as the weather broke bringing stinging hail and driving winds to accompany our descents; once on the neighbouring Tofana di Roces first pillar.

This was a different kettle of fish! No-one down in the valley could possibly see us, not the walkers passing below us earlier on, or the climbers on the Cinque Torri now presumably running for shelter to the huts. It is not unusual for us to be alone on a route. On numerous occasions we would wonder why no other climbers were about in always fine weather. Even on our subsequent climbs, the classics, Cima della Madonna and the Brenta's Campanile Basso, only two other parties were present. It was apparent this time, however, that having seen the forecast, folk had headed for the bolts.

I was dreading to see the look on Sue's face and tried to disguise my fear of the forthcoming epic, but it was hard to, with chattering teeth and shivering body as the rain turned to sleet.

But, true to form, Sue knocked me over with her grasp of the situation. On arriving at the belay, I was duly admonished for not putting my jacket on which I duly did, over my soaked base layer, then to complete the picture, a thin fleece over the top. Sue quickly produced a survival bag which turned out to be a foil blanket which we wrapped around ourselves whilst fumbling for our sandwiches. All thoughts of climbing were put on hold whilst we concentrated on fuelling up and maintaining warmth.

The Marmolada seemed to get off lightly with dappled sunlight on its glacier. It wasn't long before the cold rain eased and blue patches appeared. We peered out and surveyed the next pitch. I didn't fancy the 'dirty groove', so edged out on to the exposed arete and toddled up to the belay. We watched in amazement as the rock dried before our eyes. Our spirits had recovered, even if we were soaked...the prospects looked good for the final pitches.

An easy traverse to below the slabs. I found a good spike belay and a wonderful surprise- three shining new bolts heading across to the cave. On such a sparsely equipped route, this was a bonus, maybe it would extend to the cave pitch ! No such luck. A true 'sting in the tail' (guide book) ! The rock wall out left of the cave was drenched, so with no protection would be too serious. Sanctuary was sought in the gap between the huge flake and cave wall that formed a squeeze chimney. It was enticing, but led to pain and humiliation and very nearly a jammed helmet. At least this contortion revealed a well placed peg, which encouraged movement out left and below the constriction. Then a bold swing around to face into the cave and a quick knees up to lodge on a good foot hold on the very edge of the flake. Once achieved the pitch was completed in a few easy moves.

A few nervous moments as the bags were hauled up and Sue prepared to undergo the same torture. She tried with all her might to squeeze through but the helmet stubbornly refused to comply. I lowered a loop of rope down and what followed resembled a drunken trapeze artist's last act, but she did the business and was soon by my side .

An easy chimney disgorged us on to the top of the plateau and with the return of the rain we quickly de-geared and searched for the way down. It was easy and with a warm feeling of relief at having escaped a bad situation and joy in finishing the route we headed down for some dry clothes. (Phil was now enveloped in the silver foil blanket and resembled a cunning wizard.)

By Phil Wilkinson

I added the last words, Sue Greenwood