Our summer trip to the Dolomites crept up on me. I was too busy enjoying my hard earned fitness on the Scottish crags to notice it coming. Well now it is here, and I feel unprepared. On the journey from Scotland, the team (Iain Hutchinson, Stephen Richardson and Andy Yuill) discussed the plan. I listened as Steve and Iain discussed which routes to do, in which order, and in which clothes. It's clear they had been thinking about nothing else.

All I knew about Dolomitic climbing is that it's long, always vertical and if you climb too slowly, you get caught in thunderstorms. I've got plenty to learn. I'm starting to worry but I tell myself it's OK, this time I can get away with being unprepared. We are meeting our Italian friend Mirco (an Italian student who spent last year in Glasgow) out there, who will climb with us and drive us around his favourite areas in his Punto.

>> Dave and his Italian climbing companion Mirco

I can’t wait to see Mirco again. A big character with a big haircut. It was a pleasure to spend many hours last year training with him at the wall, watching him throw himself at our boulder problems with determination and self belief only an Italian could have, his bulging eyeballs poking out from behind a massive lump of curly hair. He is a great person to climb with, always up for the craziest of climbing plans and entertaining to be with. He learnt almost all his English while staying in Glasgow, which is a great thing, for all the Glaswegian phrases he picked up, he seemed to pick them up in a Glaswegian accent too. His flowing Italian accent would suddenly change out of the blue with an "aye right" or "take a drink!"


After an age, my mind slows down to a more normal pace for 2am and I drift into shallow sleep. Soon after, I jolt awake in what surely must be a crazy dream? Water is coming from everywhere! What’s going on? The rest of the team are up as well and fighting their way violently out of sleeping bags. Is it a rainstorm, which can defy the laws of gravity? Is it the Italian police ejecting us from our doss with a hose? No, we’ve received our night watering courtesy of the park sprinklers.

With clothes and rucksacks completely soaked, we spend the rest of the night thawing out on some benches with the local alcoholics. It feels like epic number one of the trip and we haven’t even looked at a rock face yet. The rest of the first week isn’t much better. The logistics of getting around without a car are a nightmare and after six days we have done one route (a semi epic on our warm up route), I have spent more than half my money and feel completely worn out. The idea of going home early flickers in the back of my mind.

However, we do see some amazing mountains and begin to wise up a little about our logistical problems. We also meet Mirco but only briefly, as he has exams still to finish. A plan is hatched to skip some of the areas we had hoped to visit such as the Marmolada and Sella areas and head straight for the magnificent Tre Cime Di Lavaredo. This way we hope to get to know one place well, avoid days off for travelling about and hence get down to some serious ticking at last. A good decision!

The Tre Cime have become the picture postcard image epitomising the Dolomite range. Their north faces are truly awesome in their scale but mainly for the uncompromising verticality. The smooth silvery yellow walls rise straight out of the screes and snowfields and stretch like castles into the sky for 600 metres, ending in sharp peaks.

>> Mirco on the legendary Comici Route on Cima Grande See larger pic

On our first day in the range, after completing a short route on the south face, we wander round and walk along below the huge bastions of the Cima Grande and Cima Ovest. Trying to pick out lines on these walls is almost impossible. It’s like staring into an ocean of yellow. I imagine myself crimping my way upward on one of these great routes on the face that we intend trying, peering into a yellow desert in a search for the next peg, countless pitches behind and in front. I turn and walk on, staring at the ground, frightened to look up again in case I provoke my imagination once more!

All too soon, it’s time to actually do one of the north face routes. I’m terrified of going up there, not used to the feeling of being a novice in a new and very different style of climbing. Mirco and I do the legendary Comici Route on Cima Grande as our "real" warm up. Thankfully, Mirco oozes confidence and is somewhat baffled at my apprehension about a route that should theoretically be no problem. Our ascent was smooth and without any troubles apart from one small upset when my headtorch battery failed in the dark on the crux pitch. Bizarrely, this was exactly what I needed to get some confidence together. Realising that I could lead E2 in the dark with no torch, without getting into trouble, made me realise that I could do this sort of climbing after all.