Marcello Bombardi makes first repeat of Ego Land in Marmolada, Dolomites

I'm one move away from the end of the difficulties of the entire route. The next hold is just centimeters above me, but I'm screwed; I'm not in the right position. I haven't removed my little finger from the left edge, and this prevents me from twisting my hand into a slightly more vertical position to make the final decisive reach to the good right-hand hold. I'm stuck, fully aware of being so close and yet so far from success. "Take!" I shout down to Edu, who is belaying me from the stance below, frustrated by this tiny detail that makes all the difference. "One more try," I think to myself, "one more good try and I'll do it," before a combination of time, energy, and skin runs out and prevents me from completing the route.

I had arrived at the base of Marmolada a week earlier, in the middle of a summer where, for various reasons (the years pass by, motivations change, but that's another story...), I had committed to various multi-pitch projects. After 20 years of concentrating on climbs less than 40 meters high, the world of multi-pitches had suddenly opened a sea of new possibilities, stimuli, dreams, and goals. Ego Land was one of them, as soon as the news of this new route came out last year. So when Edu Marin wrote to me, inviting me to try it with him, I immediately accepted with enthusiasm. I knew it would be a great opportunity to try an important project and at the same time deepen our friendship.

Edu had been in the area for a week already. He had started trying the route, figuring out the sequences, chalking the holds, and fixing static ropes in order to facilitate the days on the wall and allow for filming for his video project. On my first day on the route, I quickly realised the immense work he and Juan Pablo Caballero (his photographer friend) had already put in — work that I, consequently, had skipped — but at the time I didn't give it too much thought.

Ego Land is one of the newest multi-pitch routes on the legendary south face of Marmolada, forcing the huge overhangs of the pillar known as the "Dorso dell'elefante" (Elephant's Back). After two "approach" pitches on somewhat friable yellow limestone, with difficulties around 7b+ and 8a that serve as a sharp wake-up call, the route kicks in with  its two crux pitches. The first, graded 8c/+, is a long endurance battle on pockets, with holds and moves that would be the envy of many routes in Ceüse. The second, 8b/+, is shorter, with the difficulties concentrated in a couple of moves on small edges. From there to the top the difficulties gradually ease as the wall becomes a bit more vertical and the characteristic pockets of this incredible grey limestone wall improve considerably.

Taking turns on attempts, we worked the sequences, motivating each other and exchanging beta, finding our way with a mix of English, Italian, and Spanish. We spent three days on the wall, interspersed with an equal number of rest days. While I complained about not being able to hold the pockets (notoriously one of my weaknesses), and alas, the first of the two hard pitches is an endurance test on pockets..., Edu struggled with the sequences on tiny edges. Every evening we returned to Rifugio Falier hut where, after a few days, the Spanish duo Edu-JuanPi had managed to win over the hearts of the hut wardens, and had finally make themselves understood on how to get their morning cappuccino served just how they liked it: "muy cargado y muy caliente" (very strong and very hot).

With my time running out and feeling better on the two hard pitches, we decided to rest for two days and then make a redpoint attempt. The evening before, I found myself gazing at the wall, observing the niche with the last stance we had reached days earlier, barely halfway up the face. We hadn't tried the upper pitches but were confident the difficulties would be more manageable and that we'd figure them out on the go. I still had the sequences, and the effort needed, clearly in mind. The excitement for the ground-up redpoint attempt was immense, as was the uncertainty of the outcome.

So there I am, hanging on the rope. I double-check the correct finger positions in order to grab the last hold. "Down," Edu lowers me back to the stance of the 8b/+. A few minutes earlier I'd managed to redpoint the 8c/+ pitch first go, giving everything I had, "a muerte" style, so as not to be outdone by my Spanish climbing partner. Edu had unfortunately fallen twice at the end of the pitch; with a bleeding finger, a couple of screams that intimidated the tourists walking peacefully in the valley below, and with his spirit visibly tested, he was frustrated at not having the chance to send the route that day. I empathise with him and feel less enthusiastic about having the chance myself to redpoint all of Ego Land. Attempting a route isn't a competition against your partner, but nevertheless I fully understand the feeling of regret Edu must rightly feel after all the effort spent equipping the pitches with quickdraws, belays, and marking the holds.

I take a short break and set off for another attempt. After a few quickdraws I'm back on the two small edges of the crux moves. I grab the intermediate; this time, I manage to  remove my little finger and twist my wrist slightly more vertically; the pressure goes entirely onto my index finger, I feel the rock digging into my flesh. "Good, that's it," I think to myself, as it helps me keep my body closer to the wall. I raise my foot and lunge for the final hold — this time, I stick it. I reach the anchor and a wave of conflicting emotions overwhelms and unsettles me. I feel pumped after sending the pitch, sorry not to be able to share the joy with my climbing partner, satisfied with my performance and for not giving up when my forearms were pumped solid on the 8c/+ pitch, and somewhat guilty for not having taken part in the hard work Edu put in during those first days. However, it's getting late, some clouds are threatening to roll in with some bad weather; there's no time to find solace in the emotions or enjoy the moment. We need to get to the top quickly. We climb the last pitches, which we hadn't even looked at the days before, as fast as possible, swinging leads. Reaching the final anchor of the route, exhausted and grateful for the long day, I take a moment and quickly take in the panorama at dusk. To my right, the peaks of Civetta and Pelmo, seen from a perspective different from that of the many rest days down at the hut, now seem incredibly level with me. We then abseil down quickly, reaching the base of the wall in the lights of our headlamps.

I have never seriously played a team sport. Although I have formed strong bonds with training or climbing partners, I don't think I have ever fully experienced that quintessential spirit of camaraderie typical of team sports. However, in various recent experiences on multi-pitch routes, I have been struck by the strong presence of this aspect and the dynamics, relationships, and emotions that derive from it. And once again, I'm surprised by how this sport, in all its facets, can impart such powerful life lessons. I'm super grateful to Edu for inviting me to try Ego Land, for sharing this project that he had started as his own, for the days spent together, for supporting me all the way to the top on send day, and for forging a closer friendship. At the same time, I feel like a player who comes into the game in the final minutes and scores the decisive goal after the rest of the team has worked hard throughout the match. I thank Ego Land and conclude this experience, aware that for my next project, I will want to start from the very beginning in order to fully share all the toils, sufferings, and final joys.

- Marcello Bombardi, Pont-Saint-Martin, Aosta, Italy