esercito - Karpos Outdoor

CHAPTER 3 – A BITTER TASTE IN THE MOUTH

With the new period of unstable weather, the usual routine resumes at Lo De Trivi, the small blue-and-white hostel where I’m staying — which is more like a typical Greenlandic house than the buildings usually found in small Argentine towns.

After a couple of weeks, a one-day window opens, albeit with overcast skies. The ice that formed during the winter should still be in good condition, but there’s not enough time to plot out a concrete plan for the new route on Fitz Roy. In Patagonia, maybe more than anywhere else in the world, you have to learn to minimize frustration about the limited time available. This is now my third expedition here, and I feel like I’ve learned to live with the risk of returning home without even having had the chance to attempt the main objective.

On this third ascent, the cards will again be reshuffled. Matteo is out, busy with the Eagle Team, as is Alessandro, who decides to climb with his very strong wife, Claudia. Francesco Ratti is in. Fra is an incredible mountain guide and climber who has made history on the Matterhorn, his home turf, as well as leaving his mark around the world. In 2023, he established “Wake Up” on Aguja Guillaumet after a 32-hour push. A true mountain professional with a body that’s a machine.

We decide to take advantage of the overcast sky to climb an ice line. The route in question is called “Exocet,” on Aguja Standhardt, a must for every ice climber.

After the long approach to Niponino, our camp near the Torre group, we set our alarm for 2 a.m., and in a few hours we’re already at the attack point of the route, which involves skirting the east face, climbing the long icy couloir for almost 300 meters. After that, another 250 meters of mixed climbing toward the summit’s ice mushroom.

We begin climbing the first pitches along the sharp crest, surrounded by a chilling wind. After a few hours, the clouds seem to thin out, so we skirt the Aguja Standhardt on the east face, staying sheltered from the wind. The state of the mountain, which had been perfect until now, changes drastically. The temperature soars and the sun melts the snow that had remained encrusted above us. We haven’t yet reached the final couloir, but our expectations are quite low.

Just a few steps from the last ice wall, we stop to consider the feasibility of the climb. The ice couloir has now become a waterfall. At this point, we need to remain clear-headed. The euphoria of the climb is not proportionate to the risk we might run by venturing into this water. The cost is too high, and we opt for the only sensible decision. We descend.

At the base of the wall, we meet another team that had started the route a little over two hours before us and managed to complete the ascent.
Our disappointment is compounded by the awareness that if we had started a couple of hours earlier, things would have gone differently. And here I thought I’d amassed enough experience already!

CHAPTER 4 – CINCO GRINGOS, TREINTA AÑOS, UNA LÍNEA

We go back to the hostel with our tails between our legs, empty-handed. At that moment, the regret at having lost the first battle against time was undeniable. But to be honest, only a few weeks after returning home from the expedition, the realization that we had attempted another aesthetically stunning route, in one of the most challenging corners of the planet, gained the upper hand.

The next three weeks of constant rain only put me further on edge. As soon as I wake up, I immediately check the forecast, hoping for a good window of opportunity — even if only for a few hours — on the horizon. Some friends have chosen less-demanding routes to keep their motivation high, while others have opted for an early return. Meanwhile, I’ve been in bed for a week with the flu, and my fitness is suffering. It’s the most challenging moment of this adventure, but I’ve learned that things can change, even if not as quickly as elsewhere.

In mid-February, the sky clears more or less, with a strong wind that doesn’t compensate for the disastrous conditions caused by the previous month’s rainfall. Despite the clear risk of not completing anything at all, I can’t deny myself the slim chance of having one last dance on these granite walls.

Alessandro and Francesco are returning to Italy as scheduled. My plan for mid-February was to find someone to climb with, and the guys from Eagle Team were the ones I had in mind. Once again, it was a chance event that gave me a choice. In an ironic twist, two of the guys from Matteo Della Bordella and Dario Eynard’s team had gotten injured. At 21, Dario had already completed several solo ascents, including the first winter ascent of the north face of Presolana. Now 23, he too has earned the opportunity to share the rope with Matteo.

The goal is to complete a route that was started and almost finished 30 years ago by two great mountaineers, Maurizio Giordani and Luca Maspes. A line that cuts across the center of Cerro Piergiorgio, a wall as smooth as a blackboard, almost 1,000 meters high.

I’d already tackled Piergiorgio in 2018, together with some other expert climbers, but the impossible conditions prevented us from advancing beyond the very first pitches.
When Teo suggests that I join them, I hesitate a bit, considering the daunting nature of that mountain, its smooth face, and the risk of giving up a more achievable objective — because my time in Patagonia is running out.

A project this ambitious requires working in blocks during the short windows of good weather, crossing your fingers and hoping to be both capable and lucky. I take Matteo’s call as a sign of fate. From spectator to main character, on my nemesis, together with two champions. I don’t think about it for long.

As we wait for the window, we have a few days to prepare and decide on our plan of attack: try to get as high as possible during the first interval, placing fixed ropes, and climb back up to that point during the second interval, trying to complete the route.

We reach the base of Piergiorgio after a long approach of about 10 hours, and Matteo starts. His confidence helps Dario and me shake off the awe this face inspires. I take the second pitch, which may be one of the most challenging in the initial push due to a smooth, unprotected 10-meter section preceding the only bolt, which has been there for over 30 years.

Over the next few days, we each complete two pitches, alternating free climbing — with difficulties up to about 7a+ — and aid climbing, which requires great mental stamina. When the sun sets, we return to base camp to bivouac.

Proceeding in this way, we manage to complete 14 pitches, placing all the ropes we had with us, as we’d planned. We’re halfway there, but we’re forced to return to El Chaltén because storms are approaching. In about seven hours, we’re back at Lago Eléctrico, where the taxi to El Chaltén picks us up.

We’ve decided to go all in. If a window of good weather doesn’t open up in the next two weeks, we’ll have to go back in the storm (or rain) to collect our gear and say goodbye to Piergiorgio from up close. That would be a cruel joke.

Our patience is rewarded once again. We have just three days left to complete the route before our flight home. Seventy-two hours to complete the adventure started in 1995 by Maurizio and Luca. After five days on the wall, with the equipment of that time, they had opened nearly 800 meters of the total 1,000 meters — 21 pitches, to be precise. The project remained dormant for 30 years, perhaps due to the difficulty of accessing the wall, or the lack of a window with several days of good weather. Or perhaps due to the fear this rock shield inspires.

With the window approaching, Maurizio catches a flight from Italy and arrives in El Chaltén. With his usual thoughtfulness, he gives us his blessing. Another good omen for the alignment of influences.

In the days leading up to the big event, I manage to keep up my training. I climb pitches up to 8b and boulders up to 7c in spots near the village. The tension is palpable, and we all have serious expressions on our faces because we know that this is truly the last climb before the summer ends.

We go over the plan one last time: day 1, arrive at the base; day 2, reclimb the completed pitches and start on the next ones; day 3, finish the climb and reach the summit; day 4, backup if we’re slower than expected, and descend off the face; day 5, return to El Chaltén.

We set off for the last time. As we walk, the sight of the other snow-covered walls gives us serious doubts about whether the ropes we’ve fixed will have held, as well as how climbable the rock is. Finally, shortly after our arrival, the sun peeks out, melting the snow and drying the wall. Through our binoculars, we see that the ropes are still in place. We’re ready!

We reclimb the first part faster than expected, and Dario puts up another pitch. On the next one, though, we’re forced to stop because the wind is very strong, and a waterfall has formed above us from the melted snow. But we find a small terrace a bit below, where we secure the portaledge and take shelter. Meanwhile, the satellite weather update arrives. Bad news: very strong wind is forecast for the fifth day. No backup day.

We decide to try it anyway. Despite the bitter cold, the sun is still shining and the wind seems quiet at the moment. Dario sets off, literally dancing on the cliff, and completes the pitch that looked quite difficult from below. This is probably the turning point that allows us to advance. Matteo strings together four pitches in no time, and then I take over and surpass the highest point reached by Maurizio and Luca.

By this point it’s getting dark, but the worsening forecast leaves us no choice. We can’t stop — we’re not descending until we reach the summit!

I continue, giving it my all. I complete two more pitches by willpower alone — my energy has been used up for hours. I pass the ball to Dario, whose task it is to finish the last three pitches and reach the summit ridge. He climbs with great confidence and reaches the end of the 27th pitch. Teo and I join him. It’s 3 a.m. and we don’t even have the energy to scream, but we’re at the summit of Piergiorgio!

At that moment, we don’t realize that getting down will be just as complicated. We descend a bit toward a terrace where we set up the portaledge and can melt snow for water. After just three hours of sleep, we’re awakened by the snowfall that’s about to envelop us. We pack up our gear and descend at full speed.

It’s 3 p.m. when we finally reach the base, with our faces relaxed at last.
This time we don’t have to argue about the route’s name. “Gringos Locos” was the name Maurizio and Luca chose, inspired by the nickname the manager of the Piedra del Fraile hostel had given them, meaning “crazy foreigners.” It’s a story that has lasted almost 30 years and now unites us on a beautiful thousand-meter route. A fitting finale to more than two crazy months of Patagonian chronicles.