Climbing
Travel via ferrata in the Dolomites, Italy
Three days. Three peaks. Countless metres of climbing. In the heart of the Dolomites, an ambitious mountain traverse becomes a test of resilience, friendship and knowing when to change the plan.
Mauri, one of my expedition partners, plants both trekking poles ahead of him before dragging his left leg forward. The movement is awkward, but it’s the only way to keep moving. Around us, towering limestone walls funnel into a broad couloir that climbs towards a high saddle. By the third and final day of our journey, none of us has much left to give. Sleep has been scarce, knees are swollen, and every incline feels steeper than it should.
As we stop to catch our breath, I turn instinctively towards the horizon. Across the valleys, glowing in the first light of day, sits Marmolada. The Dolomites’ highest peak, its glacier stands out starkly against the surrounding limestone, exactly where we’d left it two mornings earlier. Looking back at where this all began, it’s hard not to smile at how much the journey has differed from the one we’d imagined.
Matt Ray and expedition partner Mauri grind through the final kilometres
© Aaron Rolph
The plan sounded straightforward enough on paper: climb three of the Dolomites’ classic summits – Marmolada, Civetta and Pelmo – over three days, stitching them together with glaciers, via ferratas and long valley crossings to create an epic journey across the range. The reality is a different story.
Loose scree pours endlessly from the summit slopes, every step threatening to send rocks accelerating into the valley below. I manage to unearth a boulder, and watching it gather speed as it disappears down the mountain is a sharp reminder the climb isn’t over simply because we’ve reached the top
Having started our expedition from the shores of Fedaia Lake at 3:45am, we reach the Marmolada Glacier by 8:30am – long before most people have finished breakfast. The snowpack on the ‘Queen of the Dolomites’ crunches reassuringly beneath our crampons as we thread between the few visible crevasses, the rope between us offering quiet reassurance more than anything else. This is proper alpine terrain, where every step becomes slower – not because the ground is especially difficult, but, at more than 3,000m in altitude, even the simplest movements demand a lot from our lungs.
Pink Light Over the Dolomites
© Aaron Rolph
Above the glacier, the mountain changes character once again. We trade steady ice for loose limestone gullies that continue to test us, carefully weaving through crumbling rock chutes before scrambling the final metres onto Punta Penia, the highest point in the Dolomites at 3,343m. As the first sunlight spreads across the landscape, jagged peaks emerge one after another from the morning haze. Somewhere among them sits the next two mountains on our list. There isn’t much time to celebrate – Punta Penia is far from the finish line – but it feels good to have the project underway.
Back at the glacier’s edge, we pack away ropes and crampons, keeping only our harnesses and via ferrata equipment before descending towards Monte Civetta. Originally built during the First World War, via ferratas use fixed cables and ladders to open up spectacular mountain terrain to anyone with a harness and a strong head for heights.
Rest Stop Beneath the Dolomite Walls
© Aaron Rolph
A gondola spares us a few hundred metres of climbing, but the approach to Rifugio Coldai still feels long on increasingly tired legs. Below us, Lago Coldai shimmers in the evening light, and within minutes we abandon our boots, plunging into the icy lake. The water is cold, but in the best way, and by the time we’re out there are no complaints of sore legs. It’s the perfect reset before dinner and tomorrow’s challenge.
Mountains reward judgement over stubbornness and flexibility over ego
The refuge buzzes with hikers following the Alta Via 1 hut-to-hut trekking route, swapping stories over pasta and beer while preparing for another day on the trail. Our table looks slightly different: harnesses, helmets and via ferrata lanyards lay spread across the floor as we organise kit for an entirely different kind of day.
Climbing Into the Heart of Monte Civetta
© Aaron Rolph
Breakfast appears well before dawn, and the first two hours unfold along one of the most beautiful traverses of the trip – a balcony path contouring beneath towering cliffs as daybreak slowly paints the Dolomites pink and gold. It takes longer than expected, but nobody minds. Eventually the traverse gives way to what we came for.
Above us rises almost a thousand metres of continuous via ferrata. We’d expected relentlessly technical climbing on this route, rated ‘difficult’ and the second-hardest grade. Instead, we settle into a rhythm, passing through ledges, chimneys and broken limestone cliffs. There are still sections where clipping into the steel cable feels reassuring, particularly through polished and steep gullies where the exposure suddenly opens up beneath our feet, but much of the climbing rewards careful movement over outright strength.
Crossing the High Limestone Ridge
© Aaron Rolph
Looking across Civetta’s immense vertical north wall, its scale becomes almost impossible to comprehend. We stop briefly for snacks, taking in the silence before continuing upwards, spirits high, convinced the hardest part is behind us. The guidebooks, however, all warned about the descent, and they aren’t wrong. Loose scree pours endlessly from the summit slopes, every step threatening to send rocks accelerating into the valley below. Despite moving cautiously, I manage to unearth a boulder. Watching it gather speed as it disappears down the mountain is a sharp reminder that the climb isn’t over simply because we’ve reached the top.
What follows feels like the world’s longest descent. After nearly two thousand vertical metres below, all three of us are limping. Years of skiing had prepared us for climbing mountains, but not for descending thousands of vertical metres on foot, exposing weaknesses we probably knowingly ignored. My knees hurt. Ebba’s are visibly swollen. Mauri’s have deteriorated to the point where every other downhill step makes him wince. But there isn’t much to do other than keep walking. Our final challenge, Pelmo, dominates the skyline, but none of us can ignore the growing doubt that our bodies might have other ideas.
Summit Steps Above the Dolomite Sea
© Aaron Rolph
Instead of forcing Pelmo, we opt to change the objective of our third peak to Piz Boè, one we clocked from Marmolada, which Ebba had nicknamed “cake mountain”. At 3,152m, it still promises a worthy finale, but one that respects the condition we’ve found ourselves in while retaining the character of our goal: three epic Dolomiti peaks.
By morning, Mauri can’t bend his knee properly, yet somehow, through bloody-mindedness or stupidity, he continues upwards, poles clicking against the limestone. The approach begins gently through flower-filled alpine meadows before steepening into a broad couloir. The terrain becomes rough again but never quite reaches the intensity of Civetta, and soon our final summit cross comes into view.
Ascending the Via Ferrata Face
© Aaron Rolph
Standing on top doesn’t feel like triumph as much as relief from listening to our bodies. One final look back towards Marmolada ties everything together. Three days earlier, we stood on its glacier, thinking that the challenge was about linking three famous summits. Instead, it became something far more compelling. Mountains have little interest in carefully drawn itineraries; they reward judgement over stubbornness and flexibility over ego.
Refilling Water High Above the Valleys
© Aaron Rolph
We didn’t stand on every summit we’d planned to climb, but that no longer feels important. Looking back across the Dolomites towards the mountain where it all began, it’s clear the journey was shaped by the decisions and unexpected moments shared between three ambitious friends. Sometimes the best adventures don’t follow the line you first draw on the map; they bring you full circle.
The Dolomites: Europe's Climbing Playground
© The Red Bulletin
The Dolomites, a mountain range in north-eastern Italy, are home to roughly 600 via ferrata routes of varying difficulty. The best time to visit is between mid-June and October, and there are direct flights from the UK to nearby airports in Verona, Venice and Bolzano.
The Dolomites Three Peak Challenge, made possible by Stubble & Co. featuring the new Motion Adventure 38L Backpack
Aaron Rolph is an adventurer and photographer based in the Alps, and the founder of the British Adventure Collective; britishadventurecollective.com