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Sometimes you just don’t know that you have reached the end – the last time you see a friend or change a nappy or hold your small child’s hand – but I think both Tom and I knew that this would be our last major climb together. Nothing was said, we just sensed that the times they were a-changing.
Not just the times, but the seasons too - both the seasons of man and the actual seasons. I had passed the biblical three score and ten and Tom wasn’t far behind, both of us heading, as Shakespeare had it, to dotage and death …. well, not quite yet but you get my drift. The summer in the Dolomites was also rapidly slipping away from us, with crashing thunder and lightning and heavy snow, a portent of the end of our climbing season. We had been staying with an old school chum at a small hotel on the western edge of the Rosengarten plateau (famed for its rose-red rocks). It was a brief stop-over and acclimatisation before we walked round to the Rifugio Vajolet. Now this is a very comfortable “hut” indeed, sitting up boldly on a small hill, looking up at the southeast face of the Punta Emma with the Val de Fassa far below. It was very crowded, but had a lovely warm restaurant where we were served a delicious meal, complete with wine, and afterwards, schnapps. Two slightly tipsy climbers wended their way to through the storm to an early bed, ready for the ascent in the early morning. |
Typical mountain track in the Dolomites (Photo Credit: Tony McKenny)
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ABOVE: Click to enlarge photos and read caption. Photo Credit: Tony McKenny.
By the morning, a white, frozen wilderness greeted us - quiet, no wind, and a perfect blue sky. The night’s storm had blown itself out, and we scrunched our way up the goat track.
Our destination was one of the most celebrated of all European alpine climbs, the Delago Arête on the Vajolet Towers. The Towers are an iconic destination for climbers, stunning rock architecture, relatively easy access, and a complicated descent…and crucially, some of the route on the skyline of the left-hand tower could be in the morning sun, fingers crossed, melting the first of the winter’s snowfall.
We stopped at the Rifugio Alberto, nestling in under the towering peaks, and had a bowl of coffee. The rifugio had already officially closed for the winter but had remained open for one last weekend, much to our appreciation.
Our destination was one of the most celebrated of all European alpine climbs, the Delago Arête on the Vajolet Towers. The Towers are an iconic destination for climbers, stunning rock architecture, relatively easy access, and a complicated descent…and crucially, some of the route on the skyline of the left-hand tower could be in the morning sun, fingers crossed, melting the first of the winter’s snowfall.
We stopped at the Rifugio Alberto, nestling in under the towering peaks, and had a bowl of coffee. The rifugio had already officially closed for the winter but had remained open for one last weekend, much to our appreciation.
The Vajolet Towers. The SW Arête of the Delago Tower is the left-hand skyline. (Photo Credit: Tony McKenny)
And then the climb.
It was perishing cold. Out of the sun the ice was frozen hard, slippery with last night’s hail and snow. But, we survived without crampons or an axe – which was lucky really, as we didn’t have either.
We teetered our way across to the base of the Southwest Arête, a perfect line, cutting a sharp divide between the deep blue of the early winter sky and the white of the limestone. The bigger ledges had a covering of white stuff, but once we were moving on the south facing wall, the sun reached us and we still had enough warmth to keep us from freezing. It was chilly work, the rock very cold to the touch, but any discomfort amply discounted for by the increasing verticality.
The crux was unexpected.
The climbing moved back and forth around the arête as we picked the easy way where possible. Then, suddenly, there was a move off a belay up and round to the left. It was out over a staggeringly steep, cold, wall - hundreds of meters of space beneath your feet down to the valley floor. A glorious climb up on the very edge of the sky, then back into the sun and warmth, and on to the top. If the climb has a fault, and this would be a tiny one, it is the lack of a discrete summit. The top is marked by a “cheval” where you sit with one leg out over the edge to the north, the other to the south - not terribly comfortable or conducive to posing for photos.
It was perishing cold. Out of the sun the ice was frozen hard, slippery with last night’s hail and snow. But, we survived without crampons or an axe – which was lucky really, as we didn’t have either.
We teetered our way across to the base of the Southwest Arête, a perfect line, cutting a sharp divide between the deep blue of the early winter sky and the white of the limestone. The bigger ledges had a covering of white stuff, but once we were moving on the south facing wall, the sun reached us and we still had enough warmth to keep us from freezing. It was chilly work, the rock very cold to the touch, but any discomfort amply discounted for by the increasing verticality.
The crux was unexpected.
The climbing moved back and forth around the arête as we picked the easy way where possible. Then, suddenly, there was a move off a belay up and round to the left. It was out over a staggeringly steep, cold, wall - hundreds of meters of space beneath your feet down to the valley floor. A glorious climb up on the very edge of the sky, then back into the sun and warmth, and on to the top. If the climb has a fault, and this would be a tiny one, it is the lack of a discrete summit. The top is marked by a “cheval” where you sit with one leg out over the edge to the north, the other to the south - not terribly comfortable or conducive to posing for photos.
View from halfway up the route. Rifugio Alberto to left. (Photo Credit: Tony McKenny)
And then it was down... a series of abseils leading first down the walls and into a vertical, snow- chocked gully. It was impossible to descend without snow filling your boots or going down your neck. This would not be a good place to jam your abseil ropes: bitterly cold, like being in a vertical freezer, and everything covered in a rime of ice. There was palpable tension in the air each time we pulled the rope down, and relief each time it fell clear.
The gully eventually led back out into the sun. We made our way cautiously in our slippery rock boots, across the snow slope to pick up our mountain boots, and then back to the Rifugio Alberto for a welcome bowl of hot onion soup with crusty bread… and a celebratory glass of wine, of course.
The gully eventually led back out into the sun. We made our way cautiously in our slippery rock boots, across the snow slope to pick up our mountain boots, and then back to the Rifugio Alberto for a welcome bowl of hot onion soup with crusty bread… and a celebratory glass of wine, of course.
ABOVE: Click to enlarge photos and view captions. Photo Credit: Tony McKenny.
It was the Last of the Summer Wine… a chilled champagne route and a fitting end to our trip.
It did indeed turn out to be a final toast to our long climbing partnership, a partnership that had taken us over the years around the world, from Tasmania to Victoria, New Zealand, Italy, France, Nepal, and Antarctica.
And so home - back first to pick up our gear from the rifugio, then a long drive west across the plains of Lombardy, and into France through the Mt Blanc tunnel. We finished with a couple of days of valley cragging near Tom’s house outside Chamonix to wind down before we sadly split for the last time. Tom headed off north and west to a new home in distant Scotland, while I went to meet my partner at Geneva Airport for a mountain trek before we turned south for the long return journey to Tasmania, our island on the other side of the world.
Another chapter in the book of life closed. Tempus fugit.
It did indeed turn out to be a final toast to our long climbing partnership, a partnership that had taken us over the years around the world, from Tasmania to Victoria, New Zealand, Italy, France, Nepal, and Antarctica.
And so home - back first to pick up our gear from the rifugio, then a long drive west across the plains of Lombardy, and into France through the Mt Blanc tunnel. We finished with a couple of days of valley cragging near Tom’s house outside Chamonix to wind down before we sadly split for the last time. Tom headed off north and west to a new home in distant Scotland, while I went to meet my partner at Geneva Airport for a mountain trek before we turned south for the long return journey to Tasmania, our island on the other side of the world.
Another chapter in the book of life closed. Tempus fugit.
Tom climbing in the Sella Group. (Photo Credit: Tony McKenny)
The “Delagokante” – SW Arete of the Delago Tower (2790m)
IV+, 100m
4 pitches (bolted), 6 abseils (bolted rap stations)
FA: Piaz/Jori/Glaser, 1911(!)
IV+, 100m
4 pitches (bolted), 6 abseils (bolted rap stations)
FA: Piaz/Jori/Glaser, 1911(!)
About the title:
In the United Kingdom, wine made from the summer fruit (not grapes) is called country wine. It is intended to be consumed in winter. When devoured, the last bottle - called the summer wine - was gone.
The name "Last of the Summer Wine" was used by poet Bill Owen (now deceased) and later in a song and an 80's UK television series.
In the United Kingdom, wine made from the summer fruit (not grapes) is called country wine. It is intended to be consumed in winter. When devoured, the last bottle - called the summer wine - was gone.
The name "Last of the Summer Wine" was used by poet Bill Owen (now deceased) and later in a song and an 80's UK television series.
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The last of the summer wine,
The sweet bouquet of memories, Of you and I, as time goes by, I still remember these. The last of the summer wine, When passing shadows still recur, Of golden days, we count so many, And that's the way we were. |
We have all had our dreams,
To climb for ever, As people will, But now we're known as the folk, Who live on the hill. The last of the summer wine, A vintage friendship, a vintage brew, And now my friend this toast I give, Thank you for being you. |
Twenty-five years ago (2000), Tony and Tom did a first ascent together deep in the wilderness of the Sentinel Range in SW Tasmania. They named the climb Last of the Summer Wine.
Last of the Summer Wine, 45m (16/5.8)
An exposed climb on superb rock following a traversing line close to the top of the main orange face. Climb up the right hand side of the gorge until above a large chock stone, with a small "cave" belay site. 1. 30m. Traverse out left, gradually ascending until a deeper vertical groove in hard, glassy, quartzite is reached. Climb this for 3m and then traverse left with difficulty to an airy stance. 2. 15m. Climb the crack above the belay to gain the ridge.
T. McKenny, T. Meldrum, Dec 2000.
Last of the Summer Wine, 45m (16/5.8)
An exposed climb on superb rock following a traversing line close to the top of the main orange face. Climb up the right hand side of the gorge until above a large chock stone, with a small "cave" belay site. 1. 30m. Traverse out left, gradually ascending until a deeper vertical groove in hard, glassy, quartzite is reached. Climb this for 3m and then traverse left with difficulty to an airy stance. 2. 15m. Climb the crack above the belay to gain the ridge.
T. McKenny, T. Meldrum, Dec 2000.