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The crossing of Mount Baldo

June 20 to 21 2009

What I want to return to the Baldo, the long mountain overlooking the Venetian side of Lake Garda. After the long Tarella 2 years ago, when I went to see its beauty, it's time to propose. We
the usual 15, opps ... No. 14 in the last minute due to illness, with the usual three new faces, including a girl from the unpronounceable name (I tried a time and I had a cramp in language and to recover I had to do a diet of bananas): will call Margot, just to simplify, and comes from Poland. No, not from Poland for this trek, is "only" from Lecce, traveling by train through the night ... you read that right!
Unfortunately, the state railways, despite improved punctuality and service in the North, under the 44th parallel has to work very well: in fact the train from Lecce is delayed up to 3 hours. Exchange of phone calls and text messages to see how do we decide that Margot and eventually we will reach directly to the shelter.
But in addition to Poland, there are Palestinians, Cremonese, vogherini, ex-Puglia and many (too many?) more or less of Milan doc. For ex-Ferrara this "human material" is the best he can offer to put pressure on the glue that held together this diverse band.

We are on the Garda and the lake with us for these two days. Garda lemon and we mean, not to disprove, lemon fruit of electing the weekend to digest lemons, lemons to block the post-digestion, lemons grapefruit also become necessary. I too will be sour like a lemon, but more on that later.

The rotating cable car from Malcesine useless if nothing else helps us to gain altitude without squeezing a drop of sweat. Clear day, cool but with a variety of clouds covering the tops surrounding, taking out just miraculously Baldo, whose crest stands before us.
Ready ... away! You go up, but do not overdo it. Although the path of flowers, where they will cry "Endemic she will!" blooms are at historic low. The snow is gone from a few weeks (just in time to let us pass) and spring is just beginning. The environment, however, is that well-remembered: white rocks under the feet, the lake to the right with the endless waves of ridges (now much obscured), the Adige valley to the left with its shiny green pastures.
proceed while the clouds are condensing around us come from the lake, rise rapidly with acrobatic games and then, reaching the sun, they dissolve. We reach the first peak, that of the cockpit, and then off down ... Today will be all the way, a bit 'of salt and a bit' to get down.
On the path just us and two pairs of foreigners, equipped with hopes-in-god with beautiful maps: you know those tours, where you see the mountains on the horizon? We stop and ask people: "Sorry, where are we now?". The no-comment is merely consequential. We give them information on the trails and go on.

The clouds begin to gather in our own neighborhood. Behind the top of Valdritta, called the diagonal for its unique layers, stands a good dark. I do not like me at all surprised by the storm and I like it even less when you are traveling, as now, along the edge of a ridge. Keeping an eye on the performance of the altimeter (fearing a sudden and unexpected rise in its share), I begin to push the band, with urban methods ("Come on boys, we expected the strudel to the shelter") and even less urban ( "Thud, thud, thud" sound of my sticks ... on other people's heads, especially on that of the "cap" on duty, not in a nano cap, something which I still hold the title). Keeping a steady pace, we spend some nice little features and the remnant of the winter snow field, now reduced to a minimum. I am concerned about Margot: I call on the phone, but here the field is non-existent and I decide to bring the band to the shelter and back again to help her. But that hand? But what help? During a brief pause allowed to take a breather, that's a figure dressed in red mist comes out and joins us. Canon to his shoulder and a smile that leaves no doubt: "Hello Margot." So much of the delay of the train ... Presentations and fast again. The refuge is not far away and lacks only the last salitina, we will do in a thick fog.

the shelter and we will fill the big room for very little change from hikers to guests, the shower is not there, the water in sinks and is frozen, so you just have a sciacquettio fast and a change of clothes just as fast. The anticipation of the dinner is damped by a series of sound cards and readings.

I would not talk about it, but since I do not think get away, briefly mention to my poor performance to trump call, where my table mates and I have repeatedly tightened; my deck to play bordering on the ridiculous.
Dinner is saving and is accompanied by the typical conversation table where you eat while we talk about a kitchen.
We are very fearful to spend the night in perfect communication, which in fact seems to spend almost unscathed, as if the snoring is to be withdrawn in silence ... almost. The alarm

is scheduled for 7 with starting an hour later, but already at 6 feet. Too good an opportunity to climb the nearby summit of Telegraph. I left the retreat and flight, armed only with a camera. On the ridge the wind pulls the goose, but the dawn is clear, very clear, even if the clouds have not gone away. I cry for the wind, but here is the lake, the Brenta, Adamello white, the juggernaut of William, behind the Rose. I see the string of peaks and Legnone Grigne Orobie and behold, here also served at all points.
You go to breakfast and then again, who wants the top. On this occasion, I notice that my voice has gone to the dogs: they are almost too hoarse and too dull ... cold I broke out. Between jokes and jokes

morning, continue the walk and suffered some short fixed rope comes in handy in many delicate passages. We take the military road leading to the Telegraph and, after the coffee break + Chierigo cake, the rock gives way to endless Pratoni. The rugged ridge yesterday (sour like a lemon) now becomes a soft green cake, filled with grazing cows that scanned carefully. We are oriented towards the south and less evil than the sun beats, otherwise we roast chickens. The exhibition has meant that the snow is gone here first, and in fact here the flowers there: from bunches of lilies of St. John, profit arnica, the yellow gentian.

Today we get to

Caprino, where a coach awaits us to line 14. With these appointments pending, my anxiety is growing, since I would never pierce the time. But the hike today is marked by the descent of 2035m (final measurement, GPS in hand), which are not exactly a panacea for various knee and ligaments.
Moral of the story I keep a high pace, but not frantic, and paste the "cap" on my overleaf (Can you imagine a worse punishment?), Spurring him with my soft voice all'Amanda Lear. Let
green ridges, we go down to pools of water inhabited by marmots marmots on, we ran into a few narrow beaten path, with slopes greater heights. Slip at some points is quite probative of our ability, but in the end are the distractions that weigh more. Crossing a dense undergrowth of sweet strawberries and ripe, I can not ignore them and pointing them at a fast part of the collection I end up with hands and feet on the ground. The second slide that I will compete even more spectacular, as I will roll from the side for a few yards. No problem, others leave footprints on the back of the mud.

Caprino is a dream that comes true with the view of the church. In the square deal with a bar and we use the half-hour of leisure to refresh. The girl in the bar, perhaps including our state of despair, we can rejoice with platters of salami and sticks, brush it in a flash.
's almost 14 and we move the bus stop. At 14:10
not see anything except a lady waiting for the bus too. "Strange, never had this delay" is his comment. Call the service center and find that the driver has gone nowhere, skipping our stop (or perhaps, we think, has never missed the party, according to revel in some local). Arrive half an hour late, which will recover with interest, after a tourist route through the center of Verona. The appointment with the train's safe up here and go to sleep like a stone, and coddled by the voices of the band from my senses now completely muffled by the cold.

We go to Milan, where everyone goes back to her things, there are those who fionderà with boots and crop directly to a party who will scrounge dinner and my aunt who, before taking another and much longer train pass through the center of Milan to see the Duomo.
I know of future plans and shared pizza, rides in the mountains, rafting in Val Sesia. I dream only a mega hot shower and a sea of \u200b\u200bhugs, that will help me pass the cold, but that certainly does not do crap. The Baldo

saw the departure