Granita and sheep shit

I had already written off the weekend due to work commitments, but this didn't count on a call from Richard at his most persuasive. Actually I had been sitting down far to long and the opportunity to do something active was just what I needed. Richard's proposal was for a route on Medale overlooking Lecco, a fine cliff reaching 450m at its highest point and hosting climbs of 8-11 pitches mostly in the easy to mid grade range.

Over an early breakfast we choose the Anniversario route; a friend had done it the day before. We hoped to make a quick ascent but an early error left us on steep, loose and vegetated ground. It had already taken us 2 hours and we were out of position. Like goats we made a descending traverse before finding the large well defined path that most normal people choose to take to the start of route.

Our route looked good from below, the first pitch of 5a took a slender pillar. Richard had calculated that I was to go first, this way I had the 6a+ pitch higher up. From the start the pitch was more difficult than I had expected, well protected but thin moves just before the belay made me think how difficult the harder pitches would be. Richard's theory was that Medale was in fact a testing ground between the two Lecchese clubs of Gamma and the Ragni, and therefore the routes were graded somewhat competitively. Richard led through and we arrived under a small roof. My lead, and I took the obvious line around the roof, Richard followed and we stood together under a steep slab.

At this point we realised that we should have made a significant traverse left. We were off route with a competitive pitch of 6c above. Richard helpfully remarked that my feet were smelling like sheep shit, an accusation I am sure made to make light of our situation. Fortunately we could traverse left from this point, my lead again. Back on route, and at the foot of the crux pitch. My lead, somehow Richard's calculations still applied despite our errors. The pitch was fair until the final 6 metres. By now the heat was telling, I may as well have swallowed a scuttle full of charcoal for my throat no longer conveyed fluid, my tongue stiff as stone, my lips welded tightly shut. And my feet were uncomfortable. I looked woefully around before slumping onto the protection. Things didn't improve. I had lost hope completely. Finally I aided up on the gear, frustrated and angry with myself, and of the mountain. I wanted to go down, it was no fun anymore.

Richard came up looking surprisingly untroubled. He gleefully told me he was accustomed to aiding, and then, after glancing at the next pitch politely offered me the lead. The idea of the overhanging 6a above didn't really appeal to me at the time. The only thing I could think of was a cool granita by the lake shimmering below. We stood around on our little ledge until it became apparent that Richard was as unlikely to go down as he was to go up, my lead. In fact the pitch actually was ok, significantly easier than the previous, even if i did pull on the sling through the overhang - I was in no mood for messing around and I had already lost my bella figura.

We were now in a fabulous position surveying the full extent of the cliff. It was really steep, and looked even bigger than from below. We now had 3 easy pitches to the summit, just as well because we were out of water. The pitches were not of the same quality as the rest of the route. The rock had become a little shattered.

We slumped on the summit, exhausted, dehydrated and dreaming of granita.