At the gold prospectors' festival (Gold prospectors??) in Vermogno (Biella), Nicolò Polidori approaches me suspiciously. We had climbed together a couple of times on the crag and that day, together with Carolina, we did a little climb in the Champorcher Valley. That was enough to spark an understanding: ‘The temperature is going to drop for a couple of days, then it will be nice and stable for three days: shall we go to the Pilone Centrale del Freney?’ ‘Eh... of course we'll go.’ The usual search for reports, photos, information, mountaineering gossip, checking the weather forecast and choosing the best equipment and logistics begins. Nico takes holiday leave, and with my luck, I manage to take a trip with friends to the Cresta del Soldato to get my body used to a little more altitude with something easy. So, on Thursday 10 July, we find ourselves behind the ice cream parlour in Pont-Saint-Martin, a place very dear to all of us. Destination: Val Veny. Every time the red rock of the south face of Mont Blanc appears in the car windows, the road becomes a secondary detail and it's always something of a miracle to get to the car park without hitting a tree, but once again we emerge unscathed.

Boots on, rucksack on, and off we go towards the Monzino Refuge, which we reach after two hours. A short break, information from the refuge keepers: no one has climbed the pylon after the snowfall, but a rope team has climbed Pic Eccles. We find their tracks (thank you!) and meet them on their way down. At 4 p.m., we are at the bivouac and start to prepare for dinner. A rock covered with snow melting in the sun provides us with litres of water, making the Jetboil unnecessary. So, in no time, we fill our water bottles and a pot for dinner and breakfast. We eat something, take one last look outside and at 7:30 p.m. we are under the covers, together with our wet socks and boots. The temperature in the bivouac is ideal and, before falling asleep, I think back to when I was here for another climb with Fabio and the discussion we had because the bivouacs were full and someone told us that we absolutely had to descend. Today we are alone, which is better: I really don't understand arguments in these situations. The alarm clock rings and at 2:30 a.m. we leave the bivouac, descend into the channel that leads us to Colle Eccles, find the first abseil to descend into the upper basin of Freney and descend into a dreamlike environment, provided your dreams are made of rock walls, hard snow and crevasses. We decide to reach the start by traversing above the terminal and at the first light of dawn we are at the base of the Pilone.

We tackle the climb together with a rope team of Spanish ‘bulls’, who set off from Val Veny earlier in the day and are determined to reach the summit of Mont Blanc and then descend to Chamonix, all in the same day. We, of course, hope that their tracks will make things easier for us and, feeling calm, we proceed at our own pace in the magic that only climbing at these altitudes can give you, and by magic we mean, of course, slight hypoxia. The pitches up to the Chandelle are a succession of blades and cracks, dihedrals and traverses in search of the most logical line, which, with a little bit of eye, can be found without too much difficulty. The tracks of the rope team ahead of us confirm our choice of route, but we marvel at how they managed to pass certain points without touching the snow. “Magical,” we say to ourselves repeatedly. We arrive at the base of the Chandelle and here the real amazement begins: the pitches up there are each more beautiful than the last, with perfect cracks and a repulsive chimney that, if they were on a crag, would be greased from repeated climbs. Here Nico seems to be faster and he goes ahead, clearing with some difficulty steps that make us wonder how Bonington and his companions managed to get through there without the modern equipment we have (shall we open that chapter? 😬 But no, maybe another time, at the bar, with a nice beer, where it's easier to think).

A few easier pitches and we're at the top of Chandelle! We write home to say that we're out of the worst of it and we're fine, while we watch the rescue helicopter approach and the two Spanish guys standing still, ready to be picked up. ‘What happened, guys?!’ ‘A rockfall broke his leg!’ What bad luck! We get ready as they take them away and descend to the notch with the sound of the helicopter fading into the distance. Reading the reports, it seems like we're already at the top, but in reality we find ourselves having to navigate snow-covered slopes and unstable rock, but by now we're in flight mode: time no longer passes and the usual gestures flash before our eyes: climb, stop, retrieve the rope, “attach yourself here”, “pass me two friends”, “see you at the top”. So, after an indefinite amount of time, I see the ridge leading to Mont Blanc de Courmayeur a few metres above me and then the summit of the French peak. At that very moment, however, I feel something strange under my foot. I look down: a broken crampon. Great, we're not missing anything today! Tactical stop, Nico catches up with me, sees the ridge and lights up, sets off, the snow is hard and there is a bit of ice, he puts in a screw and comes out onto the ridge. I catch up with him, we're out now but there's still a bit of way to go before we can lie down!

The full moon illuminates the ridges and, above all, the tracks: we had seen at least three rope teams on the Cresta del Brouillard. As we climb, we see the headlamps of those climbing the Italian normal route, and the spectacle is special. Nico is quite tired, and I only have one crampon, so we proceed cautiously to the summit of Mont Blanc, which we reach shortly before 3:00 a.m. ‘Cumbree!!’ We hug, take a photo and, practically without stopping, begin the descent that takes us to the long-dreamed-of Capanna Vallot in just over an hour. We enter as many others are leaving and burrow under the blankets that smell like a stadium. At 8:00 a.m., we wake up, eat something and begin the long descent from the Italian normal route. We are tired but calm and arrive without haste at the Gonella Refuge. Gourmet sandwiches, Radler and, in the meantime, we chat a little. Sore feet and muscles, together with the eternal doubt ‘to go or not to go?’, accompany us along the Miage glacier to the Val Veny road and then, with a pace worthy of the best pensioners, to the car. What a wonderful sight!

It's done! We stop in Courmayeur to buy food at a mini-market where I am introduced to the great taste of Capricciosa pizza, and then we head towards Biella where we go straight to the restaurant! ‘This time we're going to bankrupt the sushi restaurant.’ When we arrive at the car park, Aisling and Carolina say goodbye to us, then look at my feet with disgust. In fact, a couple of my toes are a little swollen: ‘First of all, let's eat!’ and then we'll go to A&E. ‘Beginning of frostbite,’ they tell me. Great! Oh well, a week's holiday being waited on hand and foot in hospital doesn't seem such a grim prospect. It shouldn't be anything serious, I just need to be patient and write the story of this climb that I read about in books and blogs and finally achieved, on the same day that Bonatti's tragedy began in 1961. Oggioni, Gallieni, Mazeaud, Kohlmann, Guillaume and Vieille, a coincidence that gives us pause for thought, and not just a little.