We bade our fond farewells this morning to Villa Kofler - the finest accommodation that any Dolomiti mountaineer could ask for - and began our trek up to the Refugio Alberto 1st Hut, in the Catinaccio group of mountains. That is, after a final coffee at the coolest bar in Campitello. The trek up was as hot and sweaty as expected, but there there was a light covering of cloud that protected us from the glare of the sun.
We made it up to the hut just before 2pm and checked in with the guardian and were delighted to find that she'd put us in a room for two, rather than the big dorm!
At this point, the weather still felt quite stable, so we enquired about climbing our route on the Torre Dalago straight away, rather than in the morning as intended. The Guardian checked the forecast and said it was 47% predicted chance of a storm. Mmm. Not ideal odds, but she also added that they had not had a storm yesterday when one was forecast. We decided to go for it.
From the top of the first pitch, it was clear that the route was equipped for an abseil descent should it be needed, so we continued onwards, confident that we could make a fast retreat should the weather turn.
The climb followed the left arête of the tower and is totally fantastic. Unbelievably exposed, with the west side of the arête, dropping away hundreds of metres below us. And above us, blue skies and a soaring spire summit. And what was most enjoyable, was that we had the route to ourselves.
We were well aware of the need to move fast, and flew up the route taking only fifteen minutes per pitch.
Then two pitches from the summit, this happened:
Cloud built up at an astonishing speed from below in the neighbouring valley, but the sky remained clear on our side.
We had to decide to try and descend now, or push on for the final two easier pitches and take the normal abseil route down. Thinking that it would be much faster to continue to the abseil stations, we fired on upwards.
It didn't take long to reach the top and the view of the valley came and went as the clouds swirled in.
We didn't hang about on top and set about immediately rigging the first abseil which takes you down to a notch between two towers.
As I left the summit, it was clear that things were about to massively kick off. The clouds looked heavy and foreboding. But we are confident that we could be fast and efficient.
That was until half way down the abseil, when I came across the ends of the rope tangled into the most unbelievable twist of knots I've ever know.
As I tried to quickly and methodically untangle the mess, I felt the first hail stones start to fall. After an age, I got to a belay ring, but before I could signal to Clare that I was safe, a huge clap of thunder echoed through the air. Clare, got down to me in time for another deafening peel of thunder and we rigged the next abseil amidst a deluge.
A violent wind had now picked up and the ropes blew horizontal through the gap between the towers as I tried to descend. Hanging in space, I pulled the ropes back towards me until they jammed! 'Really!?!' I though! 'Not now!'. I made the decision to drop down to the next bolted station so that Clare could get down from the exposed stance, thinking that we'd then have to go back up to free the ropes, but somehow Clare managed to free them on her way down. There should have been one more abseil to go, so after pulling through the ropes, Clare opted to go first.
It was then that the intensity of the storm reached a new level of pain. On the far side of the valley, I could just about make out torrents of water pouring down the cliffs and mini landslides gouging out the hillsides.
The hail was almost in indescribable; like buckets of ice being fired at you at high speed and it wasn't long until I was ankle deep in the growing accumulation. A team of Italians had descended from the second tower and we huddled in against the wall until it turned to a waterfall. I fought to get my waterproof on as I waited for Clare, who had now disappeared out of sight on her abseil. By now I was wet to the skin: as if I'd fallen in a river, but the protection of an outer shell was invaluable.
It took longer than normal until the ropes came free, indicating that I could descend. By now I was having to concentrate on making sure my fingers still worked. I was shiveringly cold, but the outer jacket was helping to retain my heat at least.
I'd assumed that Clare was having the same problems with the twisted ropes as the previous two abseils, but I didn't learn of her battle until later.
The abseil led into a gully, which had now been transformed into a raging waterfall of icy hail, water and stones. I got down it as quickly as I could. What I didn't know was that Clare had been stuck, free hanging in the torrent, with knotted ropes below her! She'd had to hang there and sort out the ropes before she could continue, all the while getting blasted by the incapacitating torrent.
She was visibly shaking from the cold of the immersion and punching the air to maintain circulation when I got to her. The 'easy scramble' below us was now buried in a build up of hail, so we had to abseil again. By sheer luck, Clare had managed to locate a big thread and had secured herself to it while I came through the waterfall. While she got her jacket on, it was a test of concentration and cold finger dexterity to rig the final abseil, but somehow we got down to the ledge where we had geared up.
Our next task was to locate our shoes and spare kit which by now had been buried in a snowdrift! As I retrieved the ropes, Clare collected the gear and shook the hail from our shoes. Even though our fingers felt unworkable, somehow our brains managed to make them tie our shoelaces for the hike back to the hut.
Even the short walk back to the hut felt like a bit of an ordeal, with shin deep drifts of hail stones. We kept a close check on each other as we aimed for the refuge of the hut.
As we stepped up to the sanctuary of the building, the door swung open and we were helped inside by the guardian and some concerned friendly Germans who had been watching our ordeal and the drama unfold.
Hypothermic, Clare was sat down and whipped out of her wet clothes and re-dressed in dry ones, including two duvet jackets and a hot water bottle. She was then given hot tea and sat up next to the hut fireplace to thaw out. Even with all the layers on, she continued to cool down and didn't start to re-warm for about 90 minutes.
Having removed my wet clothes, I spent the evening sporting a couple of hut blankets, while our clothes hung about the hut drying.
After a hot meal, we looked outside to see that the storm had abated and the clouds were beginning to lift. There was a big drift of hail stones up against the door for the hut, and all ledges on the cliffs were white.
It had been quite an ordeal...
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