May is spring time here, which means the whole landscape turns green, yellow and pink with flowers and the weather is still just about cool enough to allow activity, although the shade offers relief in the middle of the day.

The coast is characterised by limestone cliffs with large caverns; some of which are a haven for climbers and others of which a haven for wildlife; inbetween these are beautiful sand or pebble coves, most of which can only be reached on foot or by boat.

Cala Luna is one of the better known examples. Overland it can either be reached by a 1hr30min walk from Cala Fuili near Cala Gonone, or more challanging but more dramatic, from Codula di Luna…the 10km-long valley which leads to the sea from the centre of the Sardinian highlands.

A brown road sign saying “Telettotes 13km” marks the turning point off the main road between Olbia and Cagliari, although if you see more than 3 cars in a day it must be Saturday. A long, windy single-track road leads first through an undulating plain where pigs, horses, cows, goats, sheep and donkeys graize peacefully together…no sign of old Mc Donald’s farm though, this place is remote.

Carrying on ever down now through mediterranean shrub and then forest you finally reach the end of the road in a place which seems like something out of the Lost World. Dense forest, a vigerous boulder-strewn river and 300m-high limestone walls which loom high above. Occasionally a pig or a cow emerges from the bushes and the sound of birds and bees fills the air.

The path isn’t sign posted but a new wooden bridge marks the start of the walk along the river. The valley is narrow and seems almost gorge-like thanks to the limestone cliffs…a climbers paradise still waiting to be discovered. Initially under the shade of uncontaminated forests the path eventually disappears after about an hour’s walking and so does the water in the river, probably swallowed up by the many kilometeres of underground limestone passages and caverns which have been formed here as a result of millions of years of erosion.

The path is now the dry river bed: fine white sand covered by large, rounded boulders of granite, the rock which forms the island’s base. Limestone was deposited on top afterwards and then eroded to re-reveal it. This makes for more difficult and time consuming walking, or boulder hopping. Bend after bend in the huge river reveals kilometer after kilometer of this wild valley but curiosity draws you onwards.

Three hours after setting off the boulders disappear and the valley sides become lower…you can here the sound of the sea…Cala Luna opens up infront of you. A white sandy beach with turqoise waters, no roads and no houses…paradise well earnt!

Crovea is one of these crags. At 800m and south facing it seemed an excellent option for the cool spring northern Italy is currently experiencing. The majority of climbers we found there were German-speaking and had come on a day-trip climbing in Italy from Switzerland.

The crag itself is in a lovely location, with a flat sandy base and trees for shade (when they have leaves), overlooking the nearby villages and snowy peaks. Very relaxing.

The climbing couldn’t be more different in style to what we had got used to during the winter, so it took a few climbs to warm up my head, fingertips and calf muscles to the smooth slabs. Many of the routes continue into a second pitch which, with a 70m rope, can be run into one long climb. These tend to be more varied, including cracks, flakes and overhangs which, when like me you don’t like slabs very much, makes for more fun climbing!

The rock is solid, clean and generally very enjoyable. A new sector has recently been opened near-by but this will have to wait until next time!

By the river bank, nestled amongst brambles and covered in moss an array of huge boulders grow as is from the earth…all inclinations and sizes. Cleaning off some of the vegetation we found that the rock is a solid gneiss, in some places smooth, in others scattered with holds or split by cracks.

Excited by our new discovery we returned a few days later with a group of friends armed with brushes, brooms, crashpads and chalk bags! Our friends were also enthused by this new climbing location and within a few hours the first two problems were born. One involves a mantleshelf reminiscent of bouldering at Fontainbleau, grade around 6c; the other is a beautiful overhang with a series of intense and complex moves on crimps and slopers to reach the top. It awaits a repetition but has been graded around 7b/7b+.

We also cleaned the bottom half of an appealing lay-back crack but the top section requires a ladder or a rope, so it’ll have to wait until next time. Walking back we had a look at the remaining boulders. With some patients and determination we estimated that there must be about 60 boulder problems in all…photos coming soon!

Walking in the alps of Piemonte in spring is one of the most relaxing things I can think of. Here the mountain environment isn’t harsh or dramatic, which of course is part of the spectacular beauty of the higher alps, but gentle, peaceful, conforting and soon everwhere it’ll be buzzing with animal and plant activity.

It’s as if all of nature is in suspense waiting to burst into life. Trees purge their buds skyward and small, bright green leaves emerge timidly onto the still bare winter branches. The grass looks greener, butterflies and ladybirds start coming to life. It’s exciting to watch and I too feel the suspense of spring and summer on the way.

Local farmers and gardeners are busy preparing for the growing season; pruning fruit trees, cutting grass, spreading manure, sewing seeds and planting vegetables.

As we walk higher and further from houses and cultivated land, nature takes over in all her glory. Small streams run gaily down through the forest floor, carving smooth boulders on either side and giving life to trout communities in the bigger pools. Butterflies flutter past and insects still drunk from their awakening land all over the place. Crocuses and primroses beam up at us from the grass, completely carpeting many forest openings. One thing I haven’t seen here in the alps are bluebells…perhaps something that only the lush, slightly more moist climate of the British Isles can offer.

What a beautiful time of year!

There’s one 6a, one 6c and the rest is all in the 7a-7c range, with one 8a and an 8b+…and it’s overhanging. Being our local crag we now know most of the routes back to front but it hasn’t always been that way. When I first started climbing at Donnas 7a was my limit and overhangs weren’t my thing…I once told a non-climbing friend of mine that going climbing there was like going to work!

For some time I tried my best to avoid going but I soon realized that if I wanted to become a better climber I’d have to face my fears and improve on my weaknesses. One of the great things about climbing is that you never stop learning and although it wasn’t an easy task it’s given me a great deal of satisfaction to be able to gain new skills and strength through perseverence and maintaining a positive attitude.

I now happily spend a day a week at Donnas, often doing routes I’ve done many times before but I know it’s all good endurance training. There are still plenty of routes left for me to work on though so the challange isn’t over!

Here at 1700m we were above the low-level cloud cover that was stopping the sun from shining in the main valley below from which we had just come. We walked for about three quarters of an hour up steep zig zags in a pine forest before the trees thinned and the landscape opened out.

Now at 2100m, we were on a high-level plateau surrounded by an amphitheatre of rock and snow forming ridges, peaks and cols. To the east we could see Grand Combin sitting above the clouds and to the west the French Alps.

Ski mountaineers passed us on their way down occasionally. The going was tough as the snow was wind-blown and thus irregular in its consistancy; it was hard to maintain a constant pace. As we gained height the wind picked up and it was bitterly cold, especially near our high point, the glacier of Entrelor, where we had to pass into the shade of the near-by Entrelor peak.

However the way down was relatively quick and it was a relief to get back into the sun and out of the wind, where we ate a well-deserved sandwhich with some hot tea before finishing the descent.

For the first part of the walk, meandering up through a pineforest just catching the first morning sunlight, the going was good and we were hapy with our decision. Snowshoes are very useful in deep, untrodden snow but if used when not needed they make walking unnecessarily awkward.

Gradually however the wide, well-trodden path turned into a narrow, little frequented track which ascended into a very eaceful Monte Mars Natural Reserve up through boulders and eventually onto a saddle. Treading delicately I managed not to sink in too much but had to restrain myself from laughing when Manuel constantly fell into the snow up to his waist and then had to struggle back out.

By this time though our high point was near at hand so we contiued to the top before descending on easier ground…a rounded ridge from which the layer of snow had been thinned by the wind. From here there were wonderful views onto the Monte Rosa massif, we could see the east and west Lyskamm peaks and behind that the Matterhorn basking in the sun. We started dreaming and planning this summers list of alpine ascents and rock routes….

But next time we know not to leave our snowshoes behind!

We drove to Morge, a tiny village above La Salle in the northern-most reaches of Valle d’Aosta, near Monte Bianco. The road zig-zags for several hunded metres up the mountain side, where a small car park and some footpath signs half burried in snow mark the end of the road at an elevation of 1600m.

We were heading for Testa d’Eifra (2818m) via Colle Felita. We put on boots, gaiters and snowshoes and began our walk through a sweet-smelling pineforests which, as I commented to Manuel, will forever remind me of bears in the Canadian forests of Banff National Park!

The air was still and the sun srong, it was very peacful and blissfully silent in the forest. We noticed the footprints of a snow hare which crossed our path and disappeared into the trees. It’s nice to be remindeed that we share the mountains with these wild animals even if they are rarely seen.

Eventaully we came across a group of old stone houses burried almost upto the roof in snow, before rising above the tree line into an open, white landscae dominated by the surrounding peaks. The wind picked up as we became more exposed to the elements but it was a beautiful day. It was hard to believe that just a few kilometres down the main valley it was snowing: we felt very lucky.

A few dots in the distance moved slowly upwards beneath our col. Ski mountaineers leave early in the morning to get the best snow during their descent…leaving it too late would mean skiing through mush. However our snowshoes are lighter than their skis so we caught up with them at the col. From here a wide but corniced ridge led in a short distance to the summit.

The skiers peeled the skins from their skis, put on a few more layers of clothes and waved us a cheerful ‘ciao!’ as they dived off down the summit slopes. Half an hour and they would probably be back at the car…we on the other hand sat down to enjoy lunch and the views before our somewhat slower descent on foot. Monte Bianco’s giant bulk was unmissable, it towers above the other peaks despite being further away, what a mountain.

The 20 minute approach is dotted initially with orange trees and lemon trees as it passes through a cluster of pink houses. The path then winds its way up through a series of terraces where a small cairn marks a deviation from the main footpath, taking a down-turn before making a panoramic high traverse.

Here the first rock outcrops begin to appear, from which you can already begin to get excited at the amazing quality of the compact, grey limestone found here.

Eventually, an apparantly dead-end cave opens up on the right. Just enough light gets in to allow you to make out its strange formations and if you venture to the back of the cave you’ll find a rope leading upwards into the darkness. At the end of the rope a small hole is just big enough to allow an adult to wriggle through and emerge into the world above; this is Grotta dell’Edera (Ivy Cave).

This is a very wide, 40 metre-deep hole in the ground whose walls are composed of excellent rock. Light enters from the hole at the top and through a large ‘window’ onto the outside world on the south side of the cavern.

There are a hand-ful of routes ranging from 6a to 7b+: enough to keep you entertained for a day or two. On one side tufas hang from a small roof whilst on the other vertical pocketed walls make for more delicate climbing. The varierty is great and each route follows its own distinct line. Several new routes have been opened here recently and I think there is still room for more.

As the name suggests a large ivy also hogs a significant section of wall, framing the cavern window. Everything about it is very suggestive and it certainly makes you feel as if you’ve been absent from the world for a day.