The idea was simple: take a similar concept to the ever-popular three peaks challenge from the UK and take it into bigger alpine terrain in the heart of the Dolomites. The reality? As usual, drawing the line on the map proved to be a lot simpler than the challenge itself. The peaks we’d choose were selected not just for their altitude or prominence but for their character. Each over 3000m, we’d need a little more time than the usual 24 hours, but three peaks in three days had a clean ring to it so the three of us headed to North East Italy to see if we could pull it off…
We’d start with the highest mountain first, and as it happened the highest in the Dolomites. As blistering temperatures ravaged the Alps, alarms went off at the ungodly hour of 3am. Yes, who doesn’t love an epic sunrise high in the mountains, but more importantly, this was a decision focussed as much on safety, aiming to be down off the mountain by the time any loose rock or ice could tumble down the mountain.
Marmolada is a beautiful large massif where one of the few Dolomites glaciers remains, and one we’d need to cross in order to climb the final rocky ridge to the summit. It had also been the scene of the deadliest alpine accident in the Dolomites’ recent history just a few years prior, when a huge section of the glacier collapsed during an intense summer heatwave. Naturally, navigating this safely was a top priority, so we kept it moving as the sun slowly started to rise.
With each step, we rise higher and above 3000m. Having not been at altitude since the spring skiing season, every step became slower, not because the ground was especially difficult but in this proper alpine terrain, even the simplest movements would ask a lot from our lungs.
Above the glacier, the mountain changed character once again - we traded steady snow and icy for steep limestone gullies, and although it felt good to be clear of the glacier it was still serious and committing terrain. Reaching the final summit ridge of Punta Penia, the sunkissed views open up 360 degrees across the range and touch the summit cross - the project is now properly under way.
We make pretty quick work on the descent, with spirits high but bellies rumbling opting to stop at the first restaurant we pass just above Fedaia Lake. In order for this ambitious plan to work however, our climbing was far from over for the day. We’d need to approach our next peak to reach the refuge for the night. Legs now beginning to turn weary, the mood is focussed, slow and steady with not much time to chat. I made good on an earlier promise to Ebba for a swim near the refuge, and we gave the legs and sweaty bodies a cold refresh before some tasty pasta and turned in for the night.
CHF 288
Our second mountain, although boasting a lower summit, has a truly intimidating prominence. The North wall rises a full 2000m from the valley floor and it feels absolutely no less of a mountain than the one before. This would be our most technical challenge, with one of the longer Via Ferrata climbs in the range. Originally built during the First World War, via ferrata use fixed cables and ladders to open up spectacular mountain terrain to anyone with a harness and a strong head for heights. This one, however, would be a relentless 1000m climb of vertical ladders and limestone scrambling.
A little weary from the previous day, we headed out before dawn once more, excitement tempered by a quiet sense of apprehension. The route began on a beautiful balcony trail, winding elegantly along the mountainside as it gradually climbed towards the foot of the face. With haresses on and clips at the ready, we settled into a rhythm - through ledges, chimneys and broken limestone cliffs. There were still sections where clipping into the steel cable felt reassuring, particularly through polished and steep gullies where the exposure suddenly opened up beneath.
The enclosed gullies gave way to an exposed ridge where the views exploded in both directions. Looking north across Civetta's immense vertical north wall, the scale of the mountain became almost impossible to comprehend. We stopped briefly for snacks, taking in the silence before continuing upwards, spirits high and convinced the hardest part was behind us.
The summit brought exactly the feeling we'd hoped for. Three friends standing above an ocean of limestone, swapping cameras for the obligatory summit photos while already discussing the next mountain waiting beyond the horizon. But as often is the way with adventures such as this, things didn’t go entirely to plan.
The guidebooks hadn't exaggerated the descent. Loose scree poured from the summit slopes, every step threatening to send rocks crashing into the valley below. Despite moving carefully, I dislodged a boulder far larger than intended, a stark reminder that reaching the summit was only half the battle. What followed was an endless descent: scree gave way to ladders, ladders to stemples, before finally easing onto hiking trails nearly two thousand vertical metres below. By then, all three of us were limping. Years of skiing had prepared us for climbing mountains, but not descending them on foot. My knees ached, Ebba's were visibly swollen, and every downhill step made Mauri wince.
The trail wound through alpine meadows towards tomorrow’s peak Pelmo, its imposing silhouette constantly dominating the eyeline. It looked magnificent, but with our bodies rapidly falling apart, we began to wonder whether tomorrow's objective was slipping out of reach. Before reaching the sleepy village of Mareson, we found a hidden waterfall and plunged into its icy pools, briefly numbing legs now battered by two tough days in the mountains.
CHF 288
Back in civilisation and with a mouthful of pizza, we faced the reality of our swollen knees and conceded that Pelmo was no longer within reach. Another peak with complex rocky terrain from start to finish and no easy way up or more crucially for our bodies - down. I’m reluctant to deviate from the plan, but it was pretty clear continuing on would at the very least, be a little unsafe but also risk more serious ongoing injury. Back to the maps, we found an alternative we'd already spotted from Marmolada's summit: Piz Boè, affectionately nicknamed by Ebba ‘Cake Mountain’.
At 3,152 metres, Piz Boè still promised a worthy finale to our three-peak journey, with a slightly less technical ascent and, more importantly, a much shorter descent that better suited the condition we'd found ourselves in.
By morning, Mauri can't bend his knee properly, yet somehow through bloody-mindedness or stupidity - he continues upwards, poles clicking rhythmically against the limestone. The approach begins gently through flower-filled alpine meadows before steepening into the broad couloir that now surrounds us. At Forcella Pordoi we stumble across an unexpected refuge just as breakfast is being served, an unplanned but perfectly timed stop that restores both energy and morale before we continue across Piz Boè's vast rocky plateau. The terrain becomes rough again, but never quite reaches the intensity of Civetta and soon our final summit cross comes into view.
Standing on top doesn't feel like triumph as much as relief that we'd listened to our bodies, adapted instead of stubbornly making poor decisions but also relief that, despite everything, we'd still completed a journey that only a few days earlier had existed only as an idea etched across a map.
The motivation and excitement for this adventure were rooted in climbing these three specific peaks in as many days, each with its own distinct Dolomiti character. But standing on the summit, the satisfaction came not from following the plan to the letter, but from sharing a journey of all its highs and lows - with two equally ambitious good friends.
Words & Photography by @aaronrolph
Story featuring @mauri_marassi & @ebbaforsgren
