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    Climbing in the Dolomites - A Collection of Historical Mountaineering and Rock Climbing Articles on the Peaks of Italy
    Climbing in the Dolomites - A Collection of Historical Mountaineering and Rock Climbing Articles on the Peaks of Italy
    Climbing in the Dolomites - A Collection of Historical Mountaineering and Rock Climbing Articles on the Peaks of Italy
    Ebook95 pages1 hour

    Climbing in the Dolomites - A Collection of Historical Mountaineering and Rock Climbing Articles on the Peaks of Italy

    By Read Books Ltd.

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    About this ebook

    Many of the earliest books, particularly those dating back to the 1900s and before, are now extremely scarce and increasingly expensive. We are republishing these classic works in affordable, high quality, modern editions, using the original text and artwork.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRead Books Ltd.
    Release dateMar 6, 2013
    ISBN9781447489559
    Climbing in the Dolomites - A Collection of Historical Mountaineering and Rock Climbing Articles on the Peaks of Italy

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      Book preview

      Climbing in the Dolomites - A Collection of Historical Mountaineering and Rock Climbing Articles on the Peaks of Italy - Read Books Ltd.

      Milner

      LOSING THE WAY ON A DOLOMITE

      THE sensational development of Alpine climbing in recent years has to a great extent depended on the lavish use of what mountaineers in former days would have considered unfair mechanical devices.

      The following true story of what happened to Blanc and myself in the Alps of Northern Italy deserves to be recorded, because the events occurred out of their time—thirty years ago—long before it became fashionable to carry engineering tools. The difficulties we had to encounter were as formidable as those that the rock specialist of to-day is willing to face, even when armed with a complete mechanical outfit.

      In 1909 Pierre Blanc, already well known as a guide throughout the Alps, was spending part of the summer with me in the Rifugio della Tosa, the club-hut which is the chief centre for climbers in the Brenta group. These mountains belong to the geological formation known as Dolomite, and are situated west of the River Adige; they are described by Freshfield as a mysterious range, utterly unlike anything in the Central Alps, and remote from the more frequented Dolomite district east of the Adige valley, but, in the opinion of many connoisseurs, superior to the Eastern Dolomites both in beauty of shape and richness of colouring. Moreover, the difficult rock-work to be found in the Brenta group will satisfy the most exacting climbers.

      The long rough walk over the pass known as the Bocca di Brenta leads from Pinzolo past the Tosa refuge to the picturesque Lake of Molveno through a narrow gap in the recesses of the range, and is perhaps the most beautiful Alpine expedition in Europe. The ascent is through a forest of beech and pine into a high valley of peaceful streams, pine-woods, and rich meadows, leading into a mountain cul-de-sac. When all farther progress seems to be barred by an impassable cirque of cliffs, a path, masked by bushes, is found winding its way up the precipice, and emerging on a platform of Alpine meadow above the tree-line. Here, to quote again from Freshfield’s book, before the traveller’s eyes rise towers, horns, cupolas, columns, and spires, crowded together in endless variety. In the midst of the whole array of fantastic peaks appears the gap that constitutes the pass of the Bocca di Brenta. The Tosa hut where we were staying at the time of the story is on the Molveno side of the watershed, and only a few minutes downhill from it.

      One of the attractions that had brought us to this hut was the celebrated Guglia di Brenta, a peak of over nine thousand feet, reputed to be as difficult to climb as any of its famous rivals east of the Adige. It was among the last summits of its size to be ascended, and had held out successfully till 1899. Its appearance is sensational, for it towers into the sky, some say, like the finger of a god; others less romantically compare it to a factory chimney.

      At the time of this visit it was known to very few guides, for most of the earlier ascents had been made by brilliant amateurs. The only local guide who was acquainted with it was reported to be unwilling to renew the experience, and his services were in any case engaged elsewhere. It seemed, therefore, that we should have to find the route by ourselves, and this might be a complicated matter, because, in the Dolomites, soft climbing-boots are always worn where the rock is difficult, so that there are no tell-tale scratches made by the nailed boots of predecessors to guide the climber.

      Photo: Leo Bahrend (Merano)

      GUGLIA DI BRENTA

      It was on a fine August morning, a few days after we had arrived in the hut, that we set out for the Guglia. The hut-keeper’s wife bade us good-bye rather emphatically, saying she would pray for us; she wished us well, but evidently believed that a foreign guide could not be expected to find the proper way to the top. Her misgivings, which seemed at the time so unreasonable, were destined to be justified. However, once we had started, we lost no time in getting to close quarters with the mountain, walking quickly up a low ridge that disappears into its eastern base.

      The view of the Guglia, especially as we had seen it a few days earlier from the top of its loftier neighbour, the Cima Brenta Alta, revealed how little it resembles any ordinary mountain. It is more like an immensely tall church tower, without a spire, built on a scale that is utterly overwhelming in its effect on the spectator.

      The moment had now arrived when the serious climbing was to begin, and at the foot of the precipitous eastern wall of the mountain was accomplished the familiar Dolomite ritual of removing nailed boots and putting on scarpetti or kletterschuhe—that is to say, rope-soled climbing boots. After we had taken off our jackets, and emptied all waistcoat pockets, I took charge of the rucksack containing a few scraps of bread, meat and cheese, as well as a quart-sized thermos bottle of tea made with lemon, sugar and wine. Blanc was to carry nothing, for on such climbs as this the leader must be absolutely unencumbered. Tying ourselves together with a hundred and twenty feet of rope, we climbed into a chasm that slants upwards from right to left across the base of the east wall. The route is curiously complicated, and before reaching the summit half encircles the mountain. At the head of the chasm, scrambling over a boulder that was jammed in it and traversing a few yards in a horizontal direction, we emerged on the south face. Here we reached the foot of the first instalment of the slabs which constitute one of the two chief obstacles of the ascent. These slabs consist of about sixty feet of perpendicular rock, seamed at intervals of a few yards with horizontal and vertical cracks, offering scarcely adequate holds for fingers and toes. It was consequently essential that the leader should be that expert climber with steady head so often referred to in the pages of Baedeker’s guide-books. Indeed, one place was so awkward that Blanc found my shoulders useful to take off from.

      When at length we had reached the top of the slabs we found ourselves on a notch or shoulder in the

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