WONDERLAND OF THE DOLOMITES

Press, Volume CII, Issue 30028, 12 January 1963, Page 8

WONDERLAND OF THE DOLOMITES

Unparalleled Beauty Of Mountain Scene

[SperiaUp written for TM Press” by R. M. CARR] '■’HE clouds swirl among craggy pinnacles, the winds sweep over jagged cols and whistle around sheer, forbidding faces. At any time one expects the clouds may be rent asunder to reveal a fairy-tale castle in the sky among this unique world of rock peaks, stark and commanding.

Mountain streams sing their symphony of peace, chuckling and tumbling in merry frolic as they weave their devious paths to the valley floors far below. And from the distance is carried the soft tinkling of the cow-bell, borne upward on the breeze through tall trees and over a natural rock garden bewildering in its variety and colour.

Perched high in the shadows of one of the most spectacular rock groups in the wonderland of the Italian Dolomites is the Refugio Auronzo—a mountain hut hanging between earth and sky and ■ seeming doll’s house against its backdrop of rock—tower and precipice. It was to this hut that we made our way last summer to see at close quarters examples of the difficult face climbs which have made the Dolomites world famous in the annals of mountaineering. Nor is this area at Northern Italy the exclusive domain of the rock climber. Each summer, thousands of tourists make the journey from Lake Misurina along the steep and dusty mountain road which clings tenuously to the slopes and leads to the foot of the Tre Cima (Three Peaks) range. From the hut there awaits a breath-taking vista of rock needles thrusting skyward as far as the eye can see. Here and there a hanging glacier shimmers among the higher peeks and a mountain tarn mirrors the deep blue of the sky. Accustomed as we are to the unparalleled scenes which the scaling of a high mountain can reveal, this was something quite different, almost unreal, and strangely moving.

In the first of these articles, I wrote how we travelled to Innsbruck and found that the late snowfalls in the Stubai range of Austria spoilt our attempts to climb tn that region. We had met with a young German dfanber who had done his best to convince us that we should go to Southern Germany and climb on the Watzmann at Berchtesgaden or in the area of the Zugspitze. But the heavy snow, we reasoned, would be general throughout the Alps, and we chose instead to strike south across the Brenner Pass.

The journey south was made in a powerful Italian Fiat of “Europabus” which was travelling from Innsbruck to Venice by way of Cortina d’Ampezzo. The way in which the driver handled this giant at high speed on the busy road over the mountain passes was a revelation. By midday, having passed a good deal of slower-moving traffic to an accompaniment of vigorous klaxon hooting and a stream of Italian vitriolics, we reached Lake Misurina.

Military Activity On the journey, we had noted surprising military activity on the Austrian border —the Italian carabinieri all carrying sub-machine guns at the ready. The South Tyrol, in which the Dolomites lie, was received by Italy from Austria through the Treaty of Versailles after World War L and friction still exists. German is the predominant language of the mountain peasants, and sporadic outbreaks of nationalism originating on both sides of the border often results in the sabotage of Italian military installations and equipment Austrians say the Italians are treating the

German-speaking people badly, claiming that German is being dropped as the main language in South Tyrolean schools and that Italians are being offered substantial government grants to take up farms in the area. The argument for the South Tyrol being handed back was retold to us many times by Austrians and Germans before we left the area. The Italians scarcely acknowledge the fact that there may be high feelings, and prefer not to discuss the matter. In the waters ot Lake Misurina were mirrored the high peaks of the area, and the hot sun beat down from a cloudless sky as we shouldered our heavy packs and began the trudge up the mountain road towards the refuge. Under ordinary conditions, we should have been able to take a jeep-ride to the hutdoor, but with heavy snow down- to tow levels, transport updhe valley was now out ot the question. Soon we were in snow up to our knees and with the hut Still far above us, it Kerned climbing might also be impossible here. The snow became still deeper, and before long we were involved in the

tedious and time-consuming work at ploughing a track through snow up to our waists. When we finally reached the hut, it seemed deserted, but we soon discovered the hutkeeper trying to unfreeze water pipes. He was highly delighted to see us, and by speaking a horrible mixture of our very limited German and Italian we managed to explain who we were and where we were from. He, in turn, managed to explain painstakingly that the only other climbers in the area were two Swiss, who were waiting for good conditions to climb the north wall of the Grosse Zinne (9853 ft The refuge—if one can stretch the term to include a mountain hut approaching hotel standards—and the nearby Refugio Locatelli, of the Italian Alpine Club, are the starting points for many an enterprising climb, and this area of sheer rock buttresses and overhangs has submitted to the exploits of climbers from all parts of Europe. The rock walls of the Tre Cima (or as a German will urge a foreigner to say, Drei Zinnen) were at one stage considered impossible and unjustifiable, yet they now yield almost annually to the complex modem mechanised flanks and bastions studded with the metal teeth of pitons. Wann, Soft Rock

In obliging weather, nothing is more satisfying than to scale these wonders of nature, with the warm, soft rock abounding In secure hand-holds and foot-holds. But in more severe mood, the elements vent their fury on these very same rocks, turning them a numbing cold which chills the fingers and demoralises the mind to the stage where the climb becomes more basic—degenerating into a hazardous fight for survival There is simply no margin for safety if the weather turns traitor on these faces. There can be no hasty advance or withdrawal, no snow cave in which to shelter—just the prospect of hanging from a piton on vertical rock until the weather improves. These climbs may not be ranked in the same breath as an Eiger north wall, but memorial plaques in a poignant little chapel at their foot bears testimony that the peaks have not succumbed without inflicting an inevitable toll.

No other area of the great Alpine chain can claim quite such nobility. True, France can boast Mont Blanc and the Aiguilles, Switzerland has the v snow peaks of the Valais and the Bernese Oberland, Austria has its interesting and scenic Zillertal, Otztal and Stubia, yet the Dolomites retain a majestic individuality of soaring cliff and yawning chasm. Bold and startling in outline, these three Angers of the Tre Cima offer reasonable routes to the enterprising climber on the east, west, and south, but to the north they plunge from their summits in perilous cliffs for thousands of feet, with some parts overhanging. It- is as though some giant had hacked them down with one blow. As the techniques of rock climbing have progressed greatly in the last 30 years, so have the ambitions of its participants, so that even the most difficult climbs are now well-accustomed to playing host to man. New Zealand climbers who frequent the Southern Alps find a vast difference in the Dolomites. The rock composing our major mountains can seldom be trusted, shattering easily and affording few reliable finger and toe holds. But Dolomitic limestone, which owes its decay in large extent to solubility rather than mechanical weathering agents, is fashioned into ridges and shelves which abound in sure holds. Friction holds become simple, and rock fingers provide a host of natural abseil points on all but the face routes. Bence the area has a reputation second to none for good rock, and angles of slope which are difficult under New Zealand conditions are relatively easy. This, then, is the Mecca of the rock-climbing specialist, but even to those of us more versed in snow and ice work.

it offered wonderful enjoyment- ~ Yet In this world of nature’s rugged beauty, one is constantly reminded that other wars besides those of climbers against the peaks have been waged. In the First World War there was hard fighting in the Dolomites, with forays raging high up. The Austrian and Italian forward lines became fixed among the jagged crests, and there were reached only by cableways or mule-paths. Beside the usual dangers of war, there was the added risk of stonefall and avalanches. Only with accurate knowledge of the mountains and skilful mountaineering were both sides able to maintain their positions. Today, on the cols and hewn into the rock walls are thinly-disguised barbed wire and foxhole, bunker and gun shelter. Memorials to the Italian Alpine troops are freuently met, and in the valleys below can be seen Mussolini’s massive concrete gun emplacements, built at a time when he was deciding which horse to back and when he still lacked trust in the Fuhrer’s intentions. Now they lie broken and crumbling into history like the Fascism which spawned them. We climbed several peaks in the area and were fortunate to have as companions the two Swiss experts. We shall always be grateful to these friendly and enthusiastic rock gymnasts—Alfred Brunner and Kurt Marugg. Their confidence on the vertical rock was stimulating, and we quickly learnt techniques which we put into practice on later climbs in other parts of the Alps. By mid-June we were ready to return to Innsbruck, and it was with reluctance that we turned our backs on the Tre Cima. In September, in the course of a journey from Oslo to Rome, I returned for a last glimpse of these peaks. But this time things were different. The snow had completely disappeared, the mountain road was open and packed with ears, and tourists swarmed everywhere with transistor radios blaring. The mountains had lost their glamour in the invasion, the spell was broken—it could return only when the winter snows once more turned the mountains to an area of solitude and fairyland beauty. Overlooking all, the peaks stood resolute and unbending, aloof and apart. . . . To be continued)