A day to remember

As we stood atop the high sea cliffs, the air was still crisp and damp. The morning dew made the orange-pink granite of Capo Pecora all the more vivid against the gently undulating, blue-green Mediterranean Sea. In the distance, a lone, stunted tree rose above the undergrowth, permanently bent to 90 degrees by the prevailing winds. The sea air carried a whiff of adventure. I could tell that Ulysse was excited: it was our first trad climbing day of the trip.

Just getting there had been a bit of an adventure—the 40 km drive took almost an hour. The road meandered along the steep, rocky coast line, up and down, and around abrupt bends with precipitous drops that would have had my mom closing her eyes. A couple of towns along the way added a few of their own obstacles: pedestrians ambled across the “highway,” heedless of traffic; old men lurched their cars to a stop halfway into intersections; oncoming cars perpetually veered into our lane. Near a beach, soft, white sand spilled onto the road in large drifts, having escaped through gaps in the bamboo fence meant to contain it. I was reminded of snow drifts and prairie blizzards.

We started hiking slowly, our packs feeling heavy, especially Ulysse’s. He carried the bulk of our climbing gear, which this time included a double rack of cams. The trail eventually dipped down from the high bluff all the way to the sea, where we saw two men snorkeling for fish, and then cruelly ascended once more back up to the high plateau. Oh, how much fitter our legs should be! The final descent back down to the sea, to the area where we would climb, was the most impressive. At first glance, it looked impossible without a rope—nothing but steep cliffs. Then, magically, there was a weakness, a natural granite stairway going all the down to the water. After reaching sea level, we hopped from one large, round boulder to the next, startling small fish in the shallow water beneath, until we found the base of the climb.

The rock was unlike anything we’d seen before. Granite, yes, but so old and battered by the maestrale winds that from a distance, it looked a bit like a crumpled sheet of paper. The cracks all had rounded edges; strange blobs and rounded horns rose out of otherwise flat faces, lava lamp style. Ulysse taught me how to make tape gloves so that the backs of my hands wouldn’t be shredded by the rough, crystalline surfaces of the cracks.

The first pitch had a difficult start, made worse by the dampness that was not yet baked off by the sun. I was glad I wasn’t leading it. Even Ulysse, who has probably done a hundredfold more trad pitches than me, seemed to struggle. But we both eventually got into the groove of the place and started to enjoy the warmth of the sun, the sound of the waves below, the panoramic sweep of the sea punctuated by fantastic granite pillars, and the bizarre rock features we used to haul ourselves upward. A lone bird spent a good part of the day perched on a rock tower across from us, eying our antics with what seemed like amusement.

At the top of the climb, the wind was rather strong and cool. Ulysse had begun to shiver as he belayed me, the bearer of the small pack that contained his jacket…and a dark chocolate and hazelnut Ritter Sport bar in honour of Valentine’s Day. I’d managed to sneak it into my pack without him noticing, though at that moment, I suspect he appreciated the jacket more. We rappelled back down to the sunny rock shelf at the base of the climb, the sea only a couple of metres below. It was protected from the wind, and a perfect spot to pause for lunch.

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“I think it’s time!” said Ulysse mysteriously, fishing around in his pack and then proudly producing a surprise Valentine’s Day bottle of wine. No wonder his pack was so heavy!

And so, we sat in the sun, eating, and swigging straight from the bottle, with not another being in sight (except for the amused bird), feeling extremely grateful for that spectacular, wild place, and for each other.

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