Pas de trois

Following the best known pas de deux we head toward the candid white cliffs of Engadin in a hunt for nature and powder.

We start at 5:30 in the morning, fast and arithmetic as soldiers trained to one task. The hours of the morning are worth a lot, and the weight of a minute wasted in chatting at this time equals the weight of a quarter of an hour in the afternoon.

The road is deserted as expected, not many like us prefer sunrises than sunsets, especially on Saturdays. We work side-by-side with shift cars, guys coming back from the disco, some other sporadic skier like us along the road and recognizes thanks to the skis glued to the roof.
Often in these moments I wonder what is the reason that drives others around in these bad times, and I wonder what other worlds and beauties that demand such a sacrifice I have not yet managed to know.

We reach Chiavenna when is still dark, a quick coffee (without sitting down) and in a blink of an eye we are on the hairpin bends of the Maloja. The curtain of low clouds seems to be the master, but the spirit is tempered by the lack of sleep and stubbornly wants to believe in the existence of that infinite blue beyond the clouds. We pass St. Moritz seeing or imagining slight clearings on the horizon and the spirit becomes even more inflamed feeling to reach that dream that now seems to materialize along the white slopes of the mountains surrounding the Julierpass.

We go down first to the La Veduta hospice parking lot, a must for those who frequent the local mountains. Besides us only the indigenous firemen seem to be the only sentient life form in the valley.

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On the first stretch we dive in the low clouds following the bleachy lights of the morning rising in the far field.
Tender sparks enlight the route with a diffuse glow preluding to a higher end in this tour.

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Reaching the plateau below the final cliffy stretch we are blessed by a warm breath of wind that drives all the clouds away, we can finally see our destination and dive in a mixed alpine stretch on a quick open gully.

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The essentialism of these landscapes requires an even greater semplification to transmit their majestic temper, so I forbid colors other than white and we paint our way on this white canvas up to the last, higher, cliff.

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Last for now, or… until yesterday.

 

Stay tuned!

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