MONTE ROSA - VINCENT PYRAMID

It seems strange, in January, to think of last summer's 38°C temperatures. It seems equally strange, in January, to see the slopes of the Veneto mountains completely free of snow. What seems strange now is normality, the same coin with its two sides. We'll notice it when the water that hasn't accumulated as snow on the mountains disappears, when snow is absent even at 4,000 meters, and high-altitude mountaineering, practiced in the summer, becomes the only way to experience winter.

38°C in Bologna. I pass quickly in my car without air conditioning. I immediately head up towards the hills; Luigi lives where it's warm: at high altitude . It's obvious to talk about the weather when you go to the mountains; the weather is a determining factor. They put the freezing point above 5,000 meters above sea level. A few days earlier, I was in the Pale di San Martino, and someone, someone with experience etched on their face, told me they couldn't remember exactly when it had happened before. It's hot: that's a fact.
Luigi and Sandro are on the couch, and I could tell from the chat messages that something wasn't right: they're predicting bad weather for the coming week across the entire Alpine region, across all of Northern Italy. I'd been told that the first of July wasn't a good time to go to Monte Rosa . The person who told me this was also informed by experience, which, with changing weather patterns, isn't exactly helpful.
Sandro talks about Gran Sasso, he seems convinced, perhaps the only one.
It's not so much about the refuge reservations —make them in time! —but if we go and it's bad, we'll also lose the gas money and do nothing.
Impeccable, but unheeded. We haven't seen rain in over a month , I don't even remember what rain is anymore. In short, Luigi, Gigi, and I don't listen to him.
- Let's go and then we'll see.
When you go to the mountains, it's always a good idea to try . At least there, nothing is certain, on both sides of the coin.

Never been to Aosta Valley before.
Never been to Aosta. - Which is nice, far from the Rosa, which borders Lombardy. - If it's bad, we could take a trip there.
Gigi laughs, I know we'll never do it. And in hindsight, I can tell you that I've never been to Aosta yet, but I want to go even more.
Sunday evening we're in Gressoney and then further up to Staffal. From here on, forget about the weather, the weather of the days, otherwise it wouldn't be a vacation from constraints. But don't forget about the weather, the forecast, which predicts rain for the next day in the early afternoon.
I've been to the mountains a bit; I live below them, but I have no experience at high altitudes. I do know something, though, because I've been told so or because I've experienced it. Once I was at the refuge above my house, in the winter, alone —you don't go up in the mountains alone . I may have been no more than 100 meters from the refuge, but I was completely lost. It's as if you couldn't reach the bar in your own square: whiteout . A big problem if you're in a totally unfamiliar place, maybe above 4,000 meters , and maybe there's a hell of a wind blowing, and your companion is five meters away, and you can't even hear him—but you can't even see him anyway, so it's more of a presence, an Alpine Santa Claus, a rope pulled toward the fog. In short, if the weather's bad, it's better to stay in the refuge, or even better, go to the bar or the movies . There's a reason why humans don't live in the mountains: it's an inhospitable place, they don't care, without good or bad: a fact .

Punta Giordani . Just a name. What is it? Who was Giordani? I don't know. I'm the least experienced of the group. Gigi and Sandro have already been there; they're the guides. One spring day, Gigi called me:
- Are you coming to Rosa?
My first impulse is always to say no. I'm always hesitant to cast off, but it was a hectic time, and Gigi reassured me:
- It just takes a bit of energy. Let's do easy things.
But I'm not completely inexperienced. I've already put on my crampons, I know how to tie knots and maneuvers , I just had never done them up there. I know that you go to the mountains to return to the valley, and I know that's not a given : it's a fact. I download the reports of the routes we want to do, I download the GPS tracks, I read the map and I know that others have done the same and even better than me. Especially Sandro. I'm happy in the morning when we take the lifts and that enormous massif begins to take shape. Not by fair means , since we use the lifts , but the Western Alps are not the Dolomites, they are larger in space. In the end we can only see Punta Giordani from below, the weather is not good and I learn that at 10:00 in the morning the snow seems more like mud and the glaciers even less safe. Every now and then you hear explosions, thunderous crashes, you look up and you see waterfalls of soft snow: avalanches .

We arrive at Mantova , lighten our backpacks, and practice rope maneuvers as we climb up to Capanna Gnifetti . A €4 cup of tea—I'd checked the prices so we wouldn't be disappointed—a chat with some guys we saw in the parking lot—guess what about?! The weather—and we're ready to head back "home."

I have a keen eye for mountain gear, and outside the hut door I see a guide wearing AKU Croda DFS GTX boots , the same ones I have. I can't resist, I go back and ask:
- How are you doing?
- Very good.
- Why did you choose AKU?
I was fed up with other brands. I know AKU specializes in hiking footwear, but I'd also heard good things about their new mountaineering models.
I only discovered later that having "other brands" meant wasting precious time in the mornings in the "boot and stuff room" trying to find your own boots, hoping to find them. I'm really enjoying them and I'm already fond of them; they took me to my first 4000-meter peak.

" She's obsessed with 4000 ," says Sandro. "And if it's 3999, that's okay? What if we had a system other than metric?"
I don't even know how many feet 4000 meters is, counted in steps it's a lot.
I find that same slightly narcissistic obsession again in the morning, very early in the morning, at night... when a guy shoulder-bumps me in the bathroom, and doesn't even turn around. They all seem like robots already out on the mountain, even if they're still in the bathroom . I like to enjoy my toilet in the morning, or at night.
Departure at 4:00 . At 4:10 we're on the move, and Gigi is already pissed off about the delay. It's no big deal, because due to the weather—rain in the early afternoon—we're no longer going to the Capanna Regina Margherita, the highest refuge in Europe , but "only" to the Piramide Vincent, at some 4,200 meters above sea level. Anyway, above 4,000 meters, so we can collect another—my first. I admit it was awesome . I'm more used to placing Friends in rock, but I've found another activity that I don't want to give up, but rather cultivate.

I thought, as soon as I woke up in the morning and then in the tumult of the refuge preparing, that there was no point in being there, doing that thing . The 3:00 alarm didn't bother me; despite the high altitude, I managed to sleep well and deeply. In the refuge, dreams often come to me, so vivid they seem like a second life. During breakfast and preparations, I was happy, carefree, curious about what was happening around me but focused on being ready at the appointed time. I remember Gigi and Sandro as if in the continuation of a night dream: a few glances, a few words. I wanted to go out onto that first plain near Mantua, put on my crampons, tie up with my companions, and go .
The guy's shove woke me from my dreams, and I seemed to see so little enjoyment in the other climbers that I wondered why . Thinking back, perhaps they were all focused on an internal goal, a desired goal that is more internal than external. I still wonder if it's right to climb where there are so many people, if the impact we have on the mountain is ethical and responsible. In the darkness of the dawnless night, the lights of the roped parties ascending the beaten tracks formed a choreography of illuminated lines, like summer garlands adorning the snowy slope. We were doing something aesthetically beautiful. We climbed calmly: Sandro, the most experienced, in the lead; Gigi in the middle; and last, the weakest, me. One foot after the other, unhurried, dawn finally arrived and I was able to turn off my headlamp. A few small crevasses, glimpsed more than anything else, and the crampons that solidly attacked the frozen snow. The ice axe like an alpenstock.

Arriving near Colle Vincent (4,088 m above sea level), we veered sharply right toward the Pyramid. A relatively gentle slope (grade F) took us to the summit. As I climbed, I experienced the same sensations I'd felt during childhood winters, in the snow-capped mountains behind my house. Last winter, for me, was nonexistent. It didn't snow in the small town at the foot of the Dolomites , nor was it even the classic dry cold. A year without winter, and I didn't expect to find it instead, for a few hours, in the middle of summer. A diachrony that the mountain, as a different space, gifted me. The panettone, Piramide Vincent, where we arrived allowed us to shake hands—in the purest classic style—drink, refresh ourselves, joke, and take photos in comfort. They even asked us to move, for other people's summit photos, so they would appear to be alone, when in fact there were many of us: the lie of the solitary mountain.
I also suggested extending to the Balmenhorn and then to the Colle del Lys , but I was outnumbered, so we began descending along the same trail. The weakest climber went first, followed by the one who had to deal with two taut ropes, and finally the most experienced, ready to hold a fall. I wanted to extend to see how my body would react; it still seemed so full of energy, but only up to the Gnifetti. It's well known that when you're close to "home," you lose concentration, and I, too, felt my strength abandoning me. It's time to stay focused, listen to your body and its movements , remain totally in the action you're performing: a meditation in motion. Going to the mountains is always a step back.

Before untying ourselves, my companions and I looked for each other again, to confirm the success of Plan B and the all-too-obvious ability to know how to give up . It's strange to think that by 9:00 we had already "made our day" and all that remained was to descend to the valley floor. It was wonderful to return to the Mantova and find it in the quiet of the refuge keepers' work , now with the time, the time the owner counted, to exchange a few words. I made peace with the refuge, finding it so quiet , with just a few calm people, just as one would imagine the mountains to be, an increasingly rare thing.