Dente del Lupo (2297 m)

With the birth of the Club 2000m, some of us began to enjoy collecting all the summits on the list of the Apennine 2000-metre peaks. Although it isn't a compulsory summit for completing the list, I wanted to treat myself to finding out whether this summit was, so to speak, “doable” and, if it was “doable”, in what way.

The question that arose naturally was whether this was a summit suited to hikers or whether we were already in the thick of mountaineering proper.
But what is the Dente del Lupo? Are we really talking about a summit in its own right? Is it really the top of a well-defined mountain, or are we in one of those ambiguous cases where a common-or-garden tower can end up being mistaken for a summit?
These are all questions to which I couldn't find an answer, neither in books nor on the internet, where I had great difficulty finding correct information about this very peculiar summit.

Among the many vocations of the Gruppo Escursionistico Aria Sottile there has always been that of making technical information available to all users about the climbs, the lines, the itineraries, the paths and the routes for reaching certain summits of the Apennine mountain environment.

So, besides my curiosity to understand the features of this peculiar summit, I had set myself the goal of clearing up all the doubts that were floating in the air, the “hearsays”, the “I believes”, the “ifs” and the “maybes”.
So, in 2010, I decided to put together this exploratory dossier on the “Dente del Lupo”.

The first ascent of the summit of Monte Camicia by the Gruppo Escursionistico Aria Sottile dates back to 1 October 2006; at the time of that first ascent we didn't even suspect that beyond that summit there was hidden a summit far more complex than Monte Camicia itself. We still had to gain a deeper knowledge and mastery of the terrain before we could pick out places that were, even only psychologically, too far away from us.

The only news going round “in the empyrean of our home-grown mountaineering” concerned the possibility of climbing the famous “Gravone”. But such a demanding climb seemed gruelling to us, as well as full of dangers: exposure on the mountaineering passages, rockfall, the impossibility of belaying along the route because of the constant loose rubble. Even the first man to climb all the summits of the Apennines, the very well-known Marcello Ferrazza, can't explain to us exactly how to reach the summit of the Dente del Lupo. Perhaps it was simply an instinctive mental resistance of ours that really kept us from understanding the complexity of the outing.

During the hike to Monte Siella on 1 May 2010 we improvise an exploration of the Dente del Lupo. It's D.R. and me; we climb the ridge from the Siella up to Monte Coppe. Towards the Dente del Lupo the view is astounding. More than a simple “Tooth” it looks to us like a real “Canine”... sharp and pointed as few towers in the Apennines know how to be. Still in an exploring spirit we reached Monte Coppe, at 1987 metres, but we can't make out much. The distance and the height of this low hill didn't allow us a detailed view of the passages that were said to lead from the Sella del Tremoggia to the Forchetta di Penne. On that occasion we took a few photos and then climbed up to the summit of the Tremoggia. Here the snow and the lack of crampons forced us to break off the exploration.

On 18 August 2010 I went back to the Tremoggia with Alessandro to explore the normal passage that, so they say, leads from the Tremoggia to the Forchetta di Penne. We went past the summit of the Tremoggia and start climbing the ridge that leads to Monte Camicia. Too soon we decide to bear right and slip into a narrow gully. We start descending in a stern setting of towers and slabby rock. Certainly not too exposed, but steep, on grassy and at times slippery meadows. But the Forchetta di Penne still remained too far away.
The exposure, the crumbling rock and our disorientation keep us from reaching the goal. We decide to stop and retrace our steps.

Holding firm to the principle that it is easier to go up than to come down, we discover we have an advantage in exploring: every slope we manage to descend, we are sure we can climb back up.
That same day our attempt sees us explore a narrow gully even further west; we go down the gully and in a few steps we find ourselves in the presence of the Forchetta di Penne. We see it, it is close, but the clouds cover everything. The “Dente del Lupo” is less than 100 metres away, but this time too we have to turn back.

When I get home, somewhere between disappointed and disheartened, I immediately rush to read the description of the normal route to the Dente del Lupo in Luca Grazzini's guide published by CAI-Touring. In the guide the short explanation is clear: you have to reach the 2470 m point. Just before that point you start descending over steep open grassy slopes and then go down into a narrow gully with “little steps when there is no snow”.

Thinking back over the exploratory outing, I realise I was off by barely 50 metres. I would probably have reached the Forchetta di Penne if only I had remembered the description and had in any case made the proper comparison between description, map and terrain. It is the classic mistake you make when improvising: misjudging distances and not reading the maps.

On 1 September 2010 we decide, for the umpteenth time, to go exploring, at least to reach the Forchetta di Penne. The plan is the usual one. Climb Monte Camicia by the normal route and go and find the elusive 2470 m point. Alessandro and I are physically in pieces. Lack of training has left us both slow and worn out already after the first 500 metres of height gain. During the climb two little dogs follow us with a quick, sure step: “the advantage of 4 legs”.

When we reach the ridge of Monte Camicia we see a stone cairn... Here it is, at last, this is the 2470 m point. Now we have a precise point of reference. Beyond this point we see a rocky spur that looks frighteningly like the Dente del Lupo. The little dogs, hopping and skipping, reach the spur on their own in a few minutes. I am thrilled, because I have the impression I can almost touch it. For a moment I end up believing I am in front of the Dente del Lupo.
Then I come to my senses. From the 2470 m point I don't see the expected drop: the Dente del Lupo is at 2297 metres. In front of me the spur seems to be at a height of no less than 2450. What is in front of me is not the “Dente del Lupo”. But in my memory I can see perfectly a photograph that had been going round for some time and had mistakenly been passed off as the “Dente del Lupo”, an entirely arbitrary misinterpretation.

With an effort of rationality and cool-headedness I start observing the summits below. From the 2470 m point I pick out the massif that forms the Dente del Lupo. In fact, compared with the main massif of Monte Camicia, the Dente del Lupo is a buttress entirely on its own, and a very well-defined one too. From here the Forchetta di Penne cannot be made out at all.

Alessandro and I decide to go down a few metres towards the Tremoggia (to the east) to take the first narrow gully below the 2470 m point. In fact, just as Grazzini's guide said, we are in the presence of steep open grassy slopes. The little dogs, still following us, seem to move with lightness and agility. Out of caution we move one step after another, driving the pick of the ice axe into the earth where the slippery grass grows. The ice axe is supremely useful: we use it as if it were a handrail. We couldn't do without it. I avoid two big slips precisely thanks to the ice axe. In the grassy gully a fall would be disastrous; if I started tumbling I don't know where I'd manage to stop. The descent is slow and I have to measure every movement.
Going down, I end up moving to the left (west), where from a sharp ridge I can look at the Forchetta di Penne. From here you can see perfectly a stony narrow gully that ends right on the col. I am shaken. The gully is impracticable. You can see perfectly the little steps, and the presence of fine grit mixed with stones, all nicely spread over smooth slabs, makes the place absolutely hostile. We decide to go down on the grassy side (the eastern one), descending to the right of the ridge.
The little dogs get all the way down... we see them, they are on the Forchetta di Penne. It seems we have the goal within reach.
We carry on descending when the truth becomes clear in my mind. The meadow gets steeper and steeper until it reaches an absolutely impassable angle. The outing and the exploration end here. For us this side is off-limits. Neither today nor ever could we come down here in “summer” conditions. Perhaps with a covering of snow and ice it would all be simpler. But here and now, in these conditions of grassy ground, with the grit, the stones, the rocks that once they start falling never stop... well, for us this is a kind of mountaineering we are not yet ready for. We decide to turn back.

Climbing back up, we find again the little saddle that leads to the stony gully, the one considered the normal route to the Forchetta di Penne. We try an approach, but the gully is absolutely impassable. At the little saddle we notice some writing: there is a big red cross with the word “LUCKY”.
In fact, to go down this gully you would need a good dose of luck. And I don't entrust my life to luck. We decide to turn back.

It is finished...

In the third Matrix film, Revolutions, the hero Neo and the Architect have one last confrontation: the Architect reveals to Neo that the First Matrix was perfect but that man did not adapt to that perfect world. The Matrix was reprogrammed to present a programmed flaw that allowed man a minimum of discretionary freedom.

In the light of this incredible day I find that, in my own small way too, an imperfect world is probably preferable. I leave behind me a small “well-made world” to go and meet an inhospitable place. The questions may arise naturally: who makes me do it, being tense to the brink of spasm and not managing to sleep at all? Who makes me do it, getting up at 4 in the morning? Who makes me do it, walking for hours, sweating, panting constantly with stones in my boots? Why walk with the sun cooking your skin, leaving the family at home, the sweetness of a partner waiting for you, worried. Why give up the serenity of a family breakfast, the fun of games with the children. Who, who makes me do it?

Probably it's that I am instinctively drawn to explore an imperfect world...

We set off from Fonte Vetica with all the gear for a small mountaineering climb. The news going round about the Dente del Lupo is all vague, none of it really satisfying.
Two half ropes, quickdraws, friends, slings, helmet, harnesses.

The route Massimo suggests is the one everyone suggests is the “normal” way up. You climb to the saddle of Monte Coppe, where clear traces of path lead onto the northern side of Monte Tremoggia. We follow the low traces, a small mistake that will force us to climb back up some twenty metres along the narrow gullies of the Tremoggia. The trace of path, not very well defined, is however there and was probably much used in the past. It isn't very exposed and it moves through a setting of towers and gullies of loose rubble. This is the rock of Monte Camicia: crumbling stones, little flakes breaking away, loose rubble alternating with grass, earth, dust. Buttressing these gullies are the numerous towers that characterise the whole side.
Following the trace of path you reach the upper part of the Gravone, where a relentless slope of loose rubble marks the climb up to the Forchetta di Penne. The rubble keeps giving way under your feet; the effort of climbing is considerable. The white limestone is reflective and increases the brightness of the sun. It is a climb on loose rubble of 150 metres of height gain that literally breaks your legs.
At the Forchetta di Penne we quench our thirst and get our breath back. A few photos and off again; I am already exhausted, but I know that now comes the complex part of the climb.

You go down on the north-western side of the col, moving over loose rubble of large size. The stones vary in size, as big as a suitcase. You skirt round the base of the Dente del Lupo as far as the foot of the first notch (only afterwards will we discover that the normal route is in the second notch). We ask ourselves the question just once. Is the route in the first notch or in the second (the more northerly one?). In this first notch, which starts from the summit, we see a white rope hanging down, but this certainly doesn't reassure us. We can't rely on this rope to climb.
The first impact is truly impressive. On the first grade II moves the rock offers excellent little slabs and a few good holds. You climb comfortably when suddenly we realise that the rock of this summit is completely unstable. Massimo leads up to a first belay stand. There is a peg with a sling clipped to it. Clipped to the sling is a karabiner through which runs a blue rope. Careful: the blue rope has lost its sheath in the upper part; on no account must you rely on it.
At the stand I climb up; the height and the span of my long legs help me climb without too many problems, but I have to be constantly careful not to trust the stones. At times I move the white rope and down come stones as big as a fist. I dodge a couple, and the smell of sulphur reminds me of hell... perhaps hell is just like this... suspended in a place with no sure holds.
With three pitches we are on the summit. The last pitch is the simplest part and runs over gently angled little slabs, very comfortable and full of holds.
On the summit I let off the tension by playing the fool; I put on a wig, to remind myself that I came up here to laugh and feel good... an effective way of breaking the tension. Two photos, a bite of a sandwich and a few sips of water, and we decide to go down soon...

In the CAI Touring guide by Grazzini and Abbate the route is given an overall mountaineering grade of Facile (F, easy) with little moves up to grade II.

But what does an overall grade of (F) easy mean? Probably a grade of this kind lies in the fact that to climb this summit you don't need any particular technical mountaineering knowledge but... on the whole the climb is really arduous.

Little grade II moves? I'd say not at all. In some places the rock has grade III moves; it turns vertical and, even if it offers plenty of footholds, these are completely unsafe, especially in the lower and middle part of the route.

No danger rating is given, but this is certainly not a safe climb... as perhaps mountaineering isn't either.
I come from the world of hiking and winter mountaineering and I have little experience of climbing in the mountains, so I can't state anything about the difficulty of this summit.
But as Massimo said, in this environment “death doesn't depend on you”...
The descent is a demonstration very close to this definition. As we downclimb, using the fixed rope (in fair condition), stones as big as melons come down from above... I get one on my right arm, another hits my knee, and the last one, bouncing off a nearby stone, bounces onto my thigh, leaving me a bruise as big as a hand.
A volley of stones at every movement of the rope. The Dente del Lupo is a mountaineering summit in every respect, with a truly considerable element of risk. The “normal route” is a line that leaves little room for the pleasure of climbing; it is a summit from which it is essential to flee as soon as possible.

From the Forchetta di Penne we climb back up on the left in a 15-metre narrow gully made of recessed, gently angled slab. Then we bear left, climbing over stable rocks and grass. At last we find ourselves at the famous LUCKY writing, where an arrow shows us the way back.
The day isn't over: we have to get back to the car, and cramp is devastating the muscles of one thigh... and the water has run out, and Massimo has even given me his share. From the 2470 m point we pick up the path coming down from Monte Camicia.
Now we only have to put one foot in front of the other as far as the car.

The water of Fonte Vetica appears to me like a mirage, and I think only of that for the whole way. I am in a state of trance; I am satisfied but not elated by the conquest. Without Massimo I wouldn't have got anywhere.
The satisfaction lies simply in having entrusted myself with humility to Massimo's experience, where improvising a climb would have been nothing but an act of sheer recklessness.

In two hours we cover the whole descent to Fonte Vetica; I am completely dehydrated and I drink almost ½ litre of the spring's ice-cold water. I have to hold back to avoid a stomach cramp.

All this has been my imperfect world... and it fits my fickle character perfectly.

Every now and then we need the pleasure of the thrill, we can't do without it, we have to feel emotions, we have to explore our limits and the boundaries of the physical world and of the mental one.
Some people, in a burst of sublime and horrifying madness, manage to go beyond these limits...
Without denying the possibility of exploration, most of the time, however, I prefer to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.