Slabba Dabba Doo

There is something very comforting about the dull thud sound given off when clipping the first bolt of a pitch you are leading, after enduring the mental torment of relying for safety on small pieces of soft metal placed into shattered and broken rock as you climb.  The dull thud sounded and made me feel like I was clipping into the very bedrock of the earth, compared to the chossy friable rock of the Dolomites.  It sounded safe, secure.  When in fact, all we had done was swap one mind game for another.

Four days of inactivity ended with a sensational slab climb.  Saturday was a rest day at Colfosco.  Sunday we made the decision in a hurry to come to Arco.  Monday we attempted a slab climb and were rained off.  Tuesday it rained, and rained, and then rained some more, before finally clearing in the late afternoon and offering some hope of a climb the next day.

So today we wake to clear skies after four days of physical rest and mental recovery after an exhausting week of climbing the Dolomites, to attempt a multi pitch bolt protected slab climb – for fun – after the ardour of the final climb in the Dolomites.

We were at the caf by about 8:00, leaving about 8:15, the time not so critical today with the forecast of good weather and the possibility of retreat from the top of any of the pitches.  We walked at an easy pace up to the climb so we started climbing about 9:30.

What followed was 9 pitches of engrossing, absorbing, very pleasant slab climbing.  The 10th pitch, my lead, being wet & slippery in critical places and then degenerating into grassed terraces before the belay, was not so good.  But the first 9 pitches were sensational. The rock mostly sound and with great friction.

Across 300m of climbing on easy angle slabs there will always be some easy ground, where two solid holds can be used in unison: some, yes, but very little. What made this route so absorbing to climb, was that every piece of ground on every pitch needed to be thought through, with precise foot work required and careful balance to unlock each sequence.

Careful, deliberate movements are not the only thoughts occupying your mind – added focus comes from the lack of protection and the potential for big falls – the mind game.  Sure there where bolts, some of them were even new.  But carrying 10 quickdraws on a 40m pitch was hopeless optimism.   There was generally a bolt where you needed it, but not when you wanted it.  Discomforting for me, many of the pitches started with a long run out, eg 8m straight off the belay, meaning if the leader fell, they would fall past the ledge the belayer is on, exposing the whole system to the worst type of fall.

Not by design but by good luck, the crux pitch fell to Warwick …., which he led clean: I had some difficulty on the grade 6c slabs.

It was on the 7th pitch, an airy traverse under a roof that moved onto brittle rock, when things really started to get interesting.

Just as I started to move across the traverse, padding across the smooth rock on no holds, relying completely on the friction of my feet and hands on the rock, I heard a thud thud thud.  A helicopter roared towards us – and I mean – towards us.

Comparing notes afterwards it is uncanny how alike Warwick & I were thinking: being some distance apart we were unable to communicate as the situation unfolded.  Initially, we each thought it was a tourist trip.  Then as it got closer we both thought it was maybe a rescue helicopter, doing a training drill.  Then, there was a realisation that maybe they are here to rescue us, especially when it came alongside with it’s open side door pointing towards us.

Warwick, who has spent a bit of time in choppers doing heli skiing and other things, was fairly certain he knew the signals; crossed arms mean rescue me, both arms out waving mean I’m OK (kinda counter intuitive for me).  Anyway, he wasn’t 100% sure, so instead he improvised by firstly doing an exaggerated salute (as an acknowledgement), and then leaning back and with both arms wide stuck both thumbs up – like the Fonz.

It seemed to work, the helicopter moved on, but only about 100m, just out of sight due to the bend in the cliff.  And there it effected a rescue.  First one climber, then the other.  All in a matter of minutes.  Dropping each of them to an ambulance we could see waiting on the dirt road we had walked in on.

Simply amazing.  Incredibly efficient.  Clinical.

We continued climbing, and at 2:30 topped out.  The descent is by abseil: eight of them.  We hit the ground at 3:45.

That was a day to saviour.