Trip Report (of sorts) Dolomites September 2012 - Tony McKenny

Tom and I  got our butts kicked on the Mariakante a couple of years ago when a sudden storm blew in from the Atlantic so this time we poked Les and Pete up it and toddled off round the corner to another reputed “classic”.  Les fell off the second pitch and went to the pub but that was alright as we were already long gone by then.

South Face Route - Pordoi

So we went to the South Face Route. Judging by his description, the guide book author had never been near it but eventually we found the start. Following the trail of tat and manoeuvring up past the loose blocks, the “death on a stick” traverse led us over the steeply sloping shards of razor-sharp rock to a belay out on the wall.  Retreat was probably not going to be much of an option but then the sun shone and we had some food and the long corner was sensational up to a chimney.

 
Pitch 8-9 Corner Crack

There we prevaricated.  It said “through a hole” but there wasn’t one, just that horrible dark, dirty chimney, and neither of us wanted to go that way, so we argued a bit. But eventually I gave in - the alternatives were even worse, if that was possible - and we pushed the sacks through in front of us till we tumbled out onto a steep, juggy wall that revived our spirits.

Tom on juggy wall, 1st chimney behind-- Pitch 10

A long corner followed, steep, open and airy but then, darn it, another chimney. Again, “through the hole and pop out” the oracle said but as soon as you got inside, you blocked off the light and it was stygian gloom and Tom was too wide to get through.  After some more animated discussion, a lot of disgracefully bad language about Guide Book editors et al, and some faint hearted excursions out on to the loose walls nearby, we resigned ourselves to the inevitable. Into the bowels of the earth.

Speleology 500m up on a big face, headlamp on in the dark – But soft! What light through yonder chimney breaks? (Sorry, Will). And there it was, a tiny hole, maybe 20m above. Sack off, helmet jamming, I indeed “popped out” onto the plateau, like a meerkat blinking in the evening sunlight.  A rock from the edge skittered down, missing Tom but leaving behind on the ledge a small, weathered, lens case that had been hidden under it.

Tom exiting the “hole” – Pitch 12

And there, bizarrely,  just metres away, was the telepherique station.  Tom squirmed and fought, and the oaths from underground were personal and colourful but eventually he morphed thin somehow and squeezed out as the attendant urgently gesticulated to us to move our arses if we wanted a ride home in the last cabin.

Back in the pub with a slightly bruised and battered Les and “grosse bieres”, we opened the old lens case and for a moment stopped being our usual raucous and macho selves, unusually thoughtful really.

 For there inside was the oddest thing.  Carefully folded was a beautifully written votive offering, a climber’s letter to his “Seigneur”, asking for his sweetheart Sylvie back, a poignant plea from a sad man to his god to salve his broken heart.

Moving the note weighed on our minds over the next couple of weeks, although of course being blokes we didn’t talk about it, and eventually we hiked it up the Alvera Route on the Col de Bois and left it in its case under a large rock on the summit.

Hope you came good, “Seigneur”.

PS.  The rest of the trip though was a hoot, heaps of long, classic climbs and via ferratas, great weather and good company. There is enough rock there for several lifetimes.

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