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“An appalling mountain: 1600 meters of rotten, black and slippery rock interspersed with hanging glaciers that continuously discharge rocks and avalanches directed along the ascent route by an enormous hourglass. [...] On the morning of August 6, I started. I had with me a macabre description of the route: you start where Sandri and Menti died, you cross where Kurz died, you reach the “Death Bivouac” and so on until the summit. [...] The wall looked like a war cemetery: remnants of hasty retreats, shreds of clothing, a boot embedded in the snow, abandoned backpacks, ropes hanging like ghosts. [...] Then the weather suddenly changed. It started to snow, and the wall became not only macabre but deadly. I realized that on that mountain, it wasn’t enough to be prepared with stubborn willpower; it wasn’t enough to have traversed kilometers and kilometers of vertical walls. And I, who always relied on technique, couldn’t put myself in the hands of the blindfolded goddess.” Discover the review
“An appalling mountain: 1600 meters of rotten, black and slippery rock interspersed with hanging glaciers that continuously discharge rocks and avalanches directed along the ascent route by an enormous hourglass. [...] On the morning of August 6, I started. I had with me a macabre description of the route: you start where Sandri and Menti died, you cross where Kurz died, you reach the “Death Bivouac” and so on until the summit. [...] The wall looked like a war cemetery: remnants of hasty retreats, shreds of clothing, a boot embedded in the snow, abandoned backpacks, ropes hanging like ghosts. [...] Then the weather suddenly changed. It started to snow, and the wall became not only macabre but deadly. I realized that on that mountain, it wasn’t enough to be prepared with stubborn willpower; it wasn’t enough to have traversed kilometers and kilometers of vertical walls. And I, who always relied on technique, couldn’t put myself in the hands of the blindfolded goddess.”
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