Mountains

I don’t want to sound nostalgic, but I am happy that I spent one of my last days climbing in Bardonecchia, at the crag called “Le gare” (The comps). I know, it’s all chipped and cemented, and there is barely a hold that is natural: but come on, this is the place where the first ever international competitions were held, in 1985. I can imagine the stony grounds alive with thousands of people gathered here to watch Glowacz, Godoffe or Moffat climb (although the latter decided not to). There had been nothing like it before, and for a few years, Bardonecchia and Arco were the classic events for the newly born circuit of competitions, that starred all the best rock climbers of the period: Isabelle Patissier, Lynn Hill, Patrick Edlinger, Simon Nadin…

The routes at the crag were not those set by Marco Bernardi, one of the Italian climbing legends of the time, who set the first three events, but date from a little later, 1992, when Marzio Nardi created the routes for the first international youth competition. I find them truly amazing, a work of art in their own right, for you seldom have the feeling you’re climbing on chipped holds. They’re demanding and technical, and require a lot of precise footwork. Very much in the style of the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, obviously.

Last but not least, the scenery is amazing. You breathe the brisk air in the shades of Valle Stretta, while you see the sun - it must be warm, indeed - shining on the ridges on the other side. The sky is a supernatural blue, as always in the mountains. And nobody is ever there. Apart from the cows, I mean.

We hiked in the mountains just before Jaco left, last week. Along the way to the lakes that were our destination, we wondered if all the boulders scattered alongside the trail where ever climbed. The rock looked amazing, beautiful granite, but probably offering just a few, super tiny holds, not enough to lure the normal climber up for an hour walk just to get there. The crack in the picture above was probably the best of all, but it would have required the skills and guts of an highball bouldered…

Simply hiking in the mountains was such a good feeling… When we are in Michigan, where the highest “mountain” is barely a hill 200 metros tall, we sometimes mistake clouds on the horizon with the profile of mountains, and for a moment we delude ourselves.

Mountains are something that we’re so accustomed to seeing here: the city is surrounded by the ridges of the Alps, and as soon as you start driving out of town, you face them, standing still in the distance. This is something we’re missing the landscape that we almost paid no attention to when we lived here.

It won’t be long before we’re back, though…