I often fall in love with neglected places where you never see a living soul. Especially in winter, when seeing white lines among the woods of the Carnic Alps means (for me) exploring, more often than not. To explore, a verb that has become extinct. I first saw this line in the woods in 2012 while I was wandering around looking for other icefalls. I saw just a bit of ice on the line and immediately felt the urge to climb it. No queues, no waiting about, no noise, nothing. Ice fans are somewhere else. So what are we? Fans, in our own way. Giving a chance to our mountains is worth far more than climbing a famous line in the area, and the idea that it’s absolutely exclusive makes it even more exhilarating.
We leave the car in Paluzza, near Torre Moscarda, and proceed on foot to the white line. It’s still there where I left it that day and it seems to be in great shape. We leave the cycle path after crossing the spectacular bridge and head into the woods. Vestiges of ancient rural life are mixed with traces of the Great War. We cross the slopes of the Tenchia, the witches’ mountain.
Once we get to the bottom of the icefall, Marco acts as my belayer while I lead-climb the first pitch. The ice is thin, I can see the liquid flowing through the veins of the fall, it captivates me. The pitch isn’t particularly difficult, it’s fun. I belay Marco, who climbs up quickly, removing the anchors as he goes.
Then we proceed on the vertical section. We’re in the sun and it’s warm after a long, icy period. The heat is melting our icefall, it’s sweating and getting thinner, it resounds like a big drum. We move a short distance, passing the obstacle of a few rocks on our way, and reach another frozen elevation. The last part has a pure soul. I look at the woody ridges opposite, over towards Mt Paularo there’s a hint of spring.
It’s time to return home.
We name it the Piccoli Pellegrini (“little pilgrims”), a carnic icefall with a heart as reserved as the land that generates it.