- SIMON GIETL -

SHIVA'S ICE

L'arrampicata su neve e ghiaccio ha un suono peculiare, un ritmo tutto proprio. Fai oscillare l'attrezzo, senti come la piccozza morde il ghiaccio, fai oscillare di nuovo. Respira.

Pianti il primo rampone, le punte grattano la roccia, pianti il secondo rampone. Respiri. E ora da capo. L'arrampicata su neve e ghiaccio ha un mantra particolare. Scali una montagna e intanto la tua mente, con l'accompagnamento di un ritmo che si ripete, si rischiara e si purifica. Questo tipo di effetti collaterali viene definito “serendipità”, ovvero un caso imprevisto e felice. Lo scrittore inglese Horace Walpole inventò il termine dopo aver letto una fiaba persiana, in cui nel corso dei loro viaggi tre principi di Serendip continuavano a scoprire cose che non cercavano. Stai cercando di scalare una via mista e mediti. Alcune montagne attirano l'attenzione più di altre. Chiunque si sia trovato sotto il Cimon della Pala, simbolo delle Pale di San Martino, Punta Sorapiss o il Cervino, ne è ben consapevole. Quel che le rende straordinarie non è tanto l’altezza, quanto l'aspetto assolutamente suggestivo. Spiccano solitarie, isolate e distanti, stagliandosi nel cielo, circondate dal nulla.

Simon Gietl and Andrea Oberacher are climbing over an impressive roof, right under the arête after which the wall turns west. They are making the first free ascent of “Das Erbe der Väter” (The Heritage of our Fathers), the route that Simon opened with Vittorio Messini. It’s bold and traditional, ground up, protected with trad gear and pegs  and involves sport climbing difficulties up to UIAA 9-. This is the way Simon likes it: modern routes climbed free. Pure alpinism, similar to the ethics of our forefathers. You just have to watch him climb. Just look at the topo. Just look at how the route picks its way up through the sea of yellow rock. Respect. Simon grew up just outside Luttach, in the Aurina valley. He has always been a hard worker, first on his family’s farmstead, then as a carpenter. His first contact with climbing, fifteen or so years ago, was totally by chance. He was hitchhiking from Dobbiaco to Brunico, and a climber gave him a lift. After chatting and listening to the stories and tales shared during that drive, Simon decided to give climbing a go.

Simon Gietl and Andrea Oberacher are climbing over an impressive roof, right under the arête after which the wall turns west. They are making the first free ascent of “Das Erbe der Väter” (The Heritage of our Fathers). It’s bold and traditional, ground up, protected with trad gear and pegs  and involves sport climbing difficulties up to UIAA 9-. This is the way Simon likes it: pure alpinism, similar to the ethics of our forefathers. You just have to watch him climb. Respect. Simon grew up just outside Luttach, in the Aurina valley. He has always been a hard worker, first on his family’s farmstead, then as a carpenter. His first contact with climbing, fifteen or so years ago, was totally by chance. He was hitchhiking from Dobbiaco to Brunico, and a climber gave him a lift. After chatting and listening to the stories and tales shared during that drive, Simon decided to give climbing a go.

Simon Gietl and Andrea Oberacher are climbing over an impressive roof, right under the arête after which the wall turns west. They are making the first free ascent of “Das Erbe der Väter” (The Heritage of our Fathers). It’s bold and traditional, ground up, protected with trad gear and pegs  and involves sport climbing difficulties up to UIAA 9-. This is the way Simon likes it: pure alpinism, similar to the ethics of our forefathers. You just have to watch him climb. Respect. Simon grew up just outside Luttach, in the Aurina valley. He has always been a hard worker, first on his family’s farmstead, then as a carpenter. His first contact with climbing, fifteen or so years ago, was totally by chance. He was hitchhiking from Dobbiaco to Brunico, and a climber gave him a lift. After chatting and listening to the stories and tales shared during that drive, Simon decided to give climbing a go.

Anche lo Shivling rientra in quella categoria. Il nome fa riferimento al suo status di simbolo sacro, lo Shiva Linga. Lingam è la parola sanscrita che definisce una rappresentazione della divinità induista Shiva sotto forma di colonna, espressa nel culto dei monoliti verticali. Shivling è il “lingam di Shiva” perché visto dal Gaumukh, nell'estremo nord dello stato indiano dell'Uttarakhand, ha l'aspetto di una piramide che punta verso l'alto. 25 settembre: Simon Gietl e Vittorio Messini raggiungono il Gaumukh, nell'Himalaya del Garhwal. Si dirigono verso lo Shivling. Hanno in programma di scalare la Shiva's Line, la spettacolare via aperta da Thomas Huber e Iwan Wolf nel 2000. Ne hanno parlato per mesi, leggendo e studiandone la topografia e le foto. Nel dirigersi verso Tapovan, campo base per gli alpinisti e i pellegrini in viaggio verso la sorgente del Gange a 4.300 metri sul livello del mare, continuano a parlarne. Ricordano la prima spedizione per raggiungere la vetta, organizzata dalla polizia di frontiera indiana negli anni ‘70, discutono la salita dalla cresta orientale, l'impresa di Hans Kammerlander e Christoph Hainz sul pilastro nord e la discesa in condizioni meteorologiche terribili. L'avvicinamento non è così semplice. Ha nevicato parecchio e la salita risulta praticamente impossibile. Nel salire in altezza, Simon e Vittorio cominciano ad avere dubbi. C'è fin troppa neve, il freddo è intenso e tagliente, più di quanto sia normale in questa stagione. La salita si prospetta molto più ardua di quanto si aspettassero. Nell'avvicinarsi, le imponenti pareti di roccia si rivelano in tutta la loro gelida, solenne maestosità. “Simon, siamo nei guai”, mormora Vittorio, abbassando il binocolo. “Guarda quei cornicioni: è tutto instabile, pronto a venir giù non appena lo tocchi”. “Mm, mi sa che hai ragione”, risponde Simon accigliato. “Non c'è modo di passare da lì, a meno di non essere del tutto pazzi o aspiranti suicidi. Però... passami un attimo il binocolo...”. Simon non guarda la via che si proponeva di scalare con Vittorio. Guarda invece oltre, sulla sinistra, dove un'enorme cascata di ghiaccio pende sulla roccia scura. “Vittorio aspetta, guarda là a sinistra... controlla le foto, non ti sembra una cascata di ghiaccio?” Vittorio tira fuori delle carte, le sfoglia cercando. “No, non c'è nulla qui. Ti sembra solida, per caso?” La faccia di Simon cambia improvvisamente. L'espressione tetra svanisce come una nuvola d'aria gelida. Ora appare deciso, curioso e avido.

And he’s been climbing ever since. It didn’t take him long to decide that climbing, or rather, that specific way of climbing, was what he wanted to dedicate his life to. Or at least part of his life. He is also dedicated to Sandra, Iano and Iari, his wife and two children. This is why he inspires such admiration and respect. Simon is a man who understands the consequences of the choices he makes. He knows that his life is not only about himself. Every decision, including electing to open a route of that difficulty, from the ground up, on that rock, is tempered by a great sense of responsibility. The sun is starting to set behind Cima Ovest. Simon and Andrea are out of sight. They’ve reached the great ringband terrace and then the summit. The wind carries an exuberant shout of joy far towards the distant meadows of Misurina. A small flock of choughs flies past with complete indifference, heading towards who knows where. Das Erbe der Väter is a unique route. Without a doubt. It’s an innovative feat, opening a line of that level of difficulty using a traditional approach. It’s more than just a route, it’s a tribute to the climbers who laid the historical foundations of alpinism and a prophecy of the climbers who will envisage and create its future – on this same mountain – in years to come.

It didn’t take him long to decide that climbing was what he wanted to dedicate his life to. Or at least part of his life. He is also dedicated to Sandra, Iano and Iari, his wife and two children. He knows that his life is not only about himself. Every decision, including electing to open a route of that difficulty, from the ground up, on that rock, is tempered by a great sense of responsibility. The sun is starting to set behind Cima Ovest. Simon and Andrea are out of sight. They’ve reached the great ringband terrace and then the summit. The wind carries an exuberant shout of joy far towards the distant meadows of Misurina. Das Erbe der Väter is more than just a route, it’s a tribute to the climbers who laid the historical foundations of alpinism and a prophecy of the climbers who will envisage and create its future – on this same mountain – in years to come.

It didn’t take him long to decide that climbing was what he wanted to dedicate his life to. Or at least part of his life. He is also dedicated to Sandra, Iano and Iari, his wife and two children. He knows that his life is not only about himself. Every decision, including electing to open a route of that difficulty, from the ground up, on that rock, is tempered by a great sense of responsibility. The sun is starting to set behind Cima Ovest. Simon and Andrea are out of sight. They’ve reached the great ringband terrace and then the summit. The wind carries an exuberant shout of joy far towards the distant meadows of Misurina. Das Erbe der Väter is more than just a route, it’s a tribute to the climbers who laid the historical foundations of alpinism and a prophecy of the climbers who will envisage and create its future – on this same mountain – in years to come.

“Sarà dura, ma penso che potremo scalarla. Sì, c'è un modo per passare. Partiremo da sinistra, scaleremo in diagonale, poi attraverseremo... guarda!” Vittorio afferra il binocolo dalle mani di Simon. Studia con attenzione la parete, seguendo le indicazioni del compagno. Metro per metro, riesce a vederne il potenziale. Anche il suo umore cambia. “Ma pensa, Simon. Ci preparavamo a ripercorrere una via, ma la neve ce l'ha impedito. Così, invece, ne abbiamo aperta una nuova. Non è roba da poco”. Simon annuisce, strofinandosi le mani per il freddo e per l’emozione. Il 9 ottobre, dopo due giorni trascorsi a issare gli attrezzi, i due cominciano ad attaccare la vetta. Partono prestissimo, mentre è ancora buio. Continuano il mantra con attrezzi e ramponi per tutto il giorno. Recuperano energia fermandosi a un bivacco a 5.500 metri. Il giorno successivo ripartono, sempre molto presto, per andare ancora più su. La neve è compatta, il ghiaccio solido. Raggiungono i 6.000 metri, arrivando al pilastro nord di Kammerlander e Hainz. Il terzo giorno raggiungono infine la vetta, percorrendo la via giapponese. Shiva's Ice, la nuova via di Simon e Vittorio, è costituita da oltre 1.500 metri di roccia e ghiaccio con grado di difficoltà WI5, M6. È ben più di un gran colpo di fortuna. Sta a dimostrare come un dato approccio e una mentalità attenta e aperta possano trasformare scontentezza e frustrazione in nuove, fantastiche possibilità. È mezzogiorno. Simon e Vittorio siedono sui 6.543 metri dello Shivling, felici e ansanti sotto un cielo così blu da sembrare quasi nero. Ripensando alla loro arrampicata, sono d'accordo che serendipità è un parolone che, in conclusione, non significa altro che questo: sogna, cerca e insegui il tuo sogno. Non dimenticare però di soppesare con attenzione tutte quelle possibilità che possono spuntare lungo il cammino.

Just before Paul starts the engine and before he takes off for this new adventure Ken appears, still a bit sleepy. The American discretely knocks on the fuselage, he strokes it. “We definitely did a good job with this bit of scrap iron from ’59, didn’t we? It looks impressive now.” Paul comes out of the cabin, he steps down, and nods. “Well, you did a great job, I just acted as your busboy. Ken, I just don’t know how to thank you enough. You are an amazing person, and a friend.” Ken minimizes, sneers then mumbles, he doesn’t like receiving compliments. “Listen” Paul urges on, “why don’t you come as well? It’s been a while since we’ve flown together.” Ken strokes the shiny blades of the Supercub’s rotors, lost in his thought.  !I would love to come. Fly with you, teaching you how to fly over Alaska was awesome. I think… when you show someone the place you live in, it is like having the opportunity to see it with a fresh look. Well, I might have taught you a few bush pilot tricks, but you’ve reminded me why I am so in love with this darned ice.” Ken furrows his eyebrows and curls his lip “...and today I need to go to Anchorage for the monthly shop, and I have to go by car.” Paul and Ken laugh as accomplices. Pats on the back, farewells, and Paul back in the cabin is ready to take off. Ken walks lankily back home.

Paul pulls the window down. “Hey, Ken!” The shaggy Alaskan turns around, and stares at the Austrian. It could be the light of dawn, but he sees something more than a simple pilot, and something more than an adventurer. He sees a man who had no fear to take a new road, to follow a dream, to understand the true spirit of Alaska, beyond the rhetoric of the last frontier. He sees someone who flies to fly, someone for which air is not only what your wings, or your sail fly across. Someone for which the never ending kilometers of tundra, lakes and mountains are not a distance to merely fly across, but a space in which to express oneself. It could be the light of dawn, but Ken is almost touched by the thought. “Ken, I wanted to say…no, forget it. Thanks, you are awesome, see you in four days. Buy some beer!” Ken lifts his thumb. Paul turns on the engine, taking off with elegant precision from the narrow strip which by now he calls air field. He gains height, while the intense morning light starts to caress Seward’s Folly. Four hours later his plane is parked on the edge of a nameless valley, somewhere east of Peter’s Dome. Paul is running fast; behind him the paraglider inflates, and his feet lose contact with the ground beneath. Around him a never ending expanse of new and incredible places, there is no sign of a person, a house, or a trail. “Flying to fly” he giggles happily, fixing himself in the saddle. “Yes, this is exactly what dreams coming true taste like.”

- SIMON GIETL -

SHIVA'S ICE

Climbing up snow and ice has its own sound, its own rhythm. You swing your tool, feeling the pick bite into the ice, swing again, and breathe.

Climbing up snow and ice has its own sound, its own rhythm. You swing your tool, feeling the pick bite into the ice, swing again, and breathe. Kick in your first crampon, points scrape against rock, kick in your second crampon, breathe. And repeat. Climbing up snow and ice has a mantra all of its own. You climb a mountain, while your mind, accompanied by the repeating rhythm, clears and cleanses itself. These kinds of collateral effects have a name: “serendipity” (a fortunate or happy unplanned coincidence). Horace Walpole invented it after reading a fable, the story of The Three Princes of Serendip, who during their travels keep discovering things they weren’t even looking for. So, you’re trying to climb a mixed route and you’re meditating. Some mountains attract more attention than others. Anyone who has stood below Cimon della Pala, the symbol of Pale di San Martino, Punta Sorapiss, or the Matterhorn will know this. What makes them so impressive is not their height, but their striking appearance. They stand alone, isolated and remote, projected into the sky, with nothing surrounding them.

Shivling also falls into this category. Its name refers to its status as a sacred symbol “Shiva Linga”. “Lingam” is the Sanskrit word for a representation of the Hindu deity, Shiva, which is often a column-like form and symbolized in the cult of vertical monoliths. Shivling is the lingam of Shiva because when seen from Gaumukh, in the extreme northern part of the Indian state of Uttarakhand, it looks like a pyramid pointing vertically upwards. 25 September: Simon Gietl and Vittorio Messini reach Gaumukh, in the Garhwal Himalayas. They are heading for Shivling. They plan to climb Shiva’s Line, the magnificent route opened by Thomas Huber and Ivan Wolf in 2000. They have been talking about it for months, reading up on it, studying the topos and photos. As they head up towards Tapovan, base camp for alpinists and for pilgrims heading towards the source of the Ganges, at 4,300 metres above sea level, they continue to talk about it. They remember the first expedition to reach the summit, in the 1970s, organized by the Indian border police; they discuss the ascent from the east ridge, the achievement of Hans Kammerlander and Christoph Hainz with their North Pillar and the descent in terrible weather conditions. The approach is not straightforward. It has snowed a lot and it’s almost impossible to ascend. As they gain height, Simon and Vittorio start to have doubts. There’s far too much snow, and the cold is sharp and intense, more than what it should be for the season. The ascent will be a lot harder than expected. As they get closer, the imposing rock walls show themselves in all their icy, majestic grandeur. “Simon, I think we’re in trouble,” Vittorio mumbles, lowering the binoculars. “Look at those cornices, it’s all unstable, ready to come down as soon as you touch it.” “Hmm, I think you’re right,” Simon answers unhappily. “There is no way through there, unless we’re totally out of our minds, or wannabe suicide victims. But…pass the binoculars over...” Simon is not looking at the line that he and Vittorio had planned to climb. Instead, he looks further to the left, where an enormous icefall slants up the dark rock. “Vittorio, wait, look…to the left…check the photos, do you think there’s an icefall?” Vittorio pulls out some sheets of paper, he leafs through them, searching. “No, there is nothing here. Simon, do you think it’s solid?” Simon’s expression changes. His gloomy face disappears like a cloud of icy breath. Now he looks determined, curious and hungry.

“Vittorio… It will be hard work, but I think it’s climbable. Yes, there’s a way through. We’ll set off from the left, climb diagonally, then traverse… Look!” Vittorio grabs the binoculars from Simon’s hands. He studies the face carefully, following his partner’s directions. Metre by metre, he can see the potential. His attitude changes too. “Just think Simon. We set off to repeat a route, which we can’t do because of the snow. However, instead we get to open a new one. I think this is a great deal”. Simon, nods, rubbing his hands from the cold and in anticipation. On 9 October, after two days of hauling up gear, the pair start their summit bid. They leave very early, while it’s still dark. They continue their mantra with tools and crampons throughout the day. Biviing at 5,500 metres, they recover some energy. Next day, they set off again, another very early start, moving up. The snow is compact, the ice is solid. They make it to six thousand metres, and the north pillar climbed by Kammerlander and Hainz. Day three: finally, they reach the summit, joining the Japanese route. Shiva’s Ice, Simon and Vittorio’s new route, is more than 1,500 metres of rock and ice with difficulties up to W15, M6. It represents more than good fortune. Ultimately, it shows how a certain approach, and a careful and open-minded attitude can transform dissatisfaction and frustration into new and wonderful opportunities. It’s midday. Simon and Vittorio sit on Shivling’s 6,543-metre summit, happy and gasping for air under a sky so blue it almost seems black. When they think of their climb, they agree that serendipity is a complicated word, in the end though it just means: have a dream, look for it and follow it. But don’t forget to carefully consider any opportunities that might crop up along the way.