In the open mountain you can find anything, and every step leaves a piece of your shadow behind.
One of the most important lessons I have learned hanging with people sharing the common love for hiking and climbing, is that the mountains are not made of any mystical thing, and all of these “only through climbing you can find yourself” are often just common blabberings between THC fans and new age hobos.
But there is a hidden strength, which slowly pulls you up as much as you walk, as much as you sweat and become one with the stones and trees. Now let the soundtrack begin.
Woke up at 4.30 a.m.
Drove for ~1 hour
At 6.45 a.m. reached the top.
And this, this is why I decided not to sleep.
(Yeah, I wasn’t the earliest)
Decided to sprint to the top in order to get the last rays of golden ligh, but Fantozzi’s cloud decided to follow to keep me company and don’t make me feel alone at this altitude.
At the top (which I’ll be hitting again tomorrow evening) there is a metal cross dominating the scene from its uncomfortable position. It is oriented facing the city of Lecco from one side and refuge Brioschi (top of Grigna settentrionale) from the other one, the structure is partially filled with embed stones and a bunch of nepalese flags wave constantly.
Fantozzi’s cloud kept higging the bivouac, giving this silent-hill atmosphere, brightened up by the sound of the local churches waking up the mountain communities in the lasy saturday morning.
As a ray of sun pierced the fog, this channel opened up connecting the peak and the ascending path. The call of the golden route
Why should you put a red (doesn’t render in B&W) metal cross on top of a thin, tall, uninviting piece of stone?
The ascent now becomes a journey to the top, which is not made to be done with sharp and easy moves, but needs to be carefully studied and balanced between straight ascents and humble turnarounds. The stone turns into a proving ground for patience and suffering, with the sweat being reabsorbed as consciousness of our own limits.
What is it then at the cliff? What is the prize for such efforts?
There is no prize as there is no effort, the movements are a stream of existence and the upper limit is just the final step of the climber transformation in the mountain himself.
The presence of flowers (?) on top of the mountain, with the grass sprouting from each and every crack in the stone is one of the most beautiful pictures of the enmity of the mountain, and even in these forbidding conditions life always find a way.
As always, all these thoughts are probably harsh for some, while otherc could embrace these words as theirs. The experience of one could be the inexperience of the other, but at this level of expression there is no more right or wrong.
Photography, at this pace, is becoming more of a journey through myself rather than an experience of technical growth. The composition becomes the search for the synthesizing proportion of voids and occupied states, the black and white (which is becoming day by day the preferred medium) serves as balance between these regions and highlights or overshadows the focus, a human element shatters the nature with the violent awarness of our existence in this world and changes the ridge, the balance, and the meaning of this beauty.