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One day, a life in Val Nana

• Dad, I'll return to the jeep.

• wait another ten minutes, Marcello. Let's see how you put your time. Then you decide whether to continue or not.

We Pass Man in val Nana. The val Nana, in the Brenta, is an extensive plateau, the altitude of 2100 m, surrounded on three sides by a sort of mountain range of dolomite rock. I try to accompany this description with a couple of pictures, but I know that does not make it.
None of the images that the public describes the feeling of estrangement from the world, caused by the scents of the vegetation at high altitude, the silence broken by a gentle breeze, the alarm whistles of marmots, the tinkling bells of the goats away. Loneliness is often total. Neither the photograph describes the blue sky high mountain, when will really be of that color, or the flight of the lonely. With maturity, I learned to understand that some people are not sensitive to these things, I came to the conclusion that perhaps it is because they are sensitive, and that's it. About half of the left side of the valley Nana opens a fissure in the rock. It is invisible until you are close, because the crack is not perpendicular to the cordillera, but parallel: we say that the wall formed by the mountain, flat and vertical, there is another, parallel, and further down to about ten meters. Between the two walls, a climb takes you from the share of the downstream portion of the Cordillera: you're in Step Man. I have a picture of 2003 (hot summer) where you do not see what my memory was present in all other years: a block of snow, relatively small, say less than ten meters, preserved because of ' absence of direct sunlight. Once up in altitude, you are between the Andes and what's out there. At this point there is a kind of amphitheater formed by huge blocks of rock.
you can lie on any of them, are very flat. Between one and another of the deep fissures. My friend Paul, when I was a boy, did we fall into the cap of the flask of brandy to my dad. When I returned, Dad was angry a lot. Let's go back to the amphitheater. If there is a theater, there is also a stage here not, here is the void of the cliff, and over 1000 meters down, you can admire the famous Lake Tovel. In short, this is a wonderful place in the mountains. I know a few of the most beautiful, perhaps even none. If you happen to, go there.

My father brought me here so many times that I think I still hear his voice saying the things that always told me when we came here. The beauty of nature, longing for my father who recently passed away, I got to have its place in this combination of adult and transmit knowledge and memories of a boy, creating a combination Heartbreaking and feed the memory. The cross, engraved with the name Penasa, born in 1891. Dad told me he was the father of Mr. Lorusso, who had a hut at Hut Clesera. I barely remember him, died when I was a kid, he smoked like a turkish and his wife, who died too, smoked a lot. When one says "good people" I do the image of people like them. Dad told me that when Lake Tovel is the fog, you have to run away immediately, otherwise you may miss the references of the path, as probably happened to the poor Penasa: lost the trail, tried to take the way back to the case, eventually located on the edge of the cliff (remember? the valley is bounded by a wall formed by the nearly vertical mountains) and from there slid 50 meters down. The voice of my dad tells me this and many other things, tells me about his misfortunes that I may learn from his mistakes. Never, ever go to a lawyer and sue someone. The cases last for decades and cost you a fortune on lawyers.

Today is the mist from the lake, but I decided not to run away as did my dad. I read the predictions on www.meteotrentino.it . I know that they are never wrong, I trust, and the forecast for today is good.

• Dad, I'll return to the jeep.

Marcello wants to go back to the jeep and I would almost agree. The alternative is to move forward on the path of Palete. Trail Palete is classified as severe with some exposed climbing route and suddenly shod. Severo. Among the terms that may indicate that a hike in the mountains could go to end badly, this is the word that strikes me most fear. Do not "risky", not "dangerous." Those are terms from citizens who see a grassy slope with a gradient of 50 degrees and we believe that one can slip down and die. More than dangerous, the mountain is severe, it was also written on a poster of the Alpine Club many years ago. Wants be respected, not likes to play and if you do not behave, can punish you. Woe to those who go on mountain hikes in sneakers or dare to go out in bad weather. Visit any of the many churches in the Alps. All are covered with pictures of young men equipped Ganzi rock at all points, disappeared prematurely. Back to us, we would still all over the trail Palete, it would take eight hours at a good pace and we are slow and late. We would do just a little bit and then went down to the lake. Ultimately, we are citizens and we do not have a preparation of mountaineers. Or we can go back. I told Marc that he will decide.

• Dad, look at the clouds are coming. I will get back to the jeep.

• Come on, let's move on. So you see what's next step, you've never seen.

• But it's a long way?

• Yes, it is long, but it's almost all downhill.

• Okay. Come on.

And so we prepare for the harsh way. Before long, and I see the nightmare the night before. The word nightmare is not considered in the literal sense, since I spent the night in white. But even if you watched, I kept seeing my nightmare: the passage of the trail, exposed on the cliff, which appears before us. From the outside, my behavior is strange, if not irresponsible: I'm bringing my son, relatively fast in the mountains, on a path that scares me so much not letting me sleep a wink all night.

overcome what I consider the point of no return. Now we dance and we dance. My heart was pounding. I focus and do not force me to tremble with his legs.

I am a depressed. A slightly depressed, which means I'm not too bad to ruin the lives of those who are close to me, but still enough to suffer from unnecessary suffering. The depression has exploded a few years ago, I was sleeping 20 hours a day and not eat, I lost ten pounds, then the drugs and psychotherapy have helped me, maybe not healed, but I lead a decent life. My disease is to suppress my feelings, to hide under the carpet so to speak psychic emotions. For some reason, I do not know, since he was young, I decided that my feelings were to be placed in the background, perhaps because disreputable (I wish someone would die?) Or perhaps simply because they made me suffer. But beware, when the depressed repressed emotions, represses all: even the positive ones. I give to my feelings and my suffering little consequence. I think it is very difficult to understand for those who do not suffer from these problems and also for those who suffer without awareness. To make a little 'idea, I'm convinced I deeply love my wife and my children only after many sessions of psychoanalysis. Before I did not think so. I thought a bear, a hard ice that shit. I treat my loved ones with a certain detachment, because it represses the feeling but the feeling exists, is strong and does everything to get out. The depressed

is hostile to himself, so he wants to keep from enjoying the finer things in life. The most difficult periods I've had in my life coincided with promotions. If I go for a holiday, I feel bad. Without false modesty, I have some evidence to suggest, to be more intelligent than average. So I often clever things to say. But when I'm about to tell you my mind is suffering from a kind of cognitive lock and I can not find the words, except when the debate is over and it is too late. I like playing online tresette. I'm not a strong player but I have strategies and a bit 'of experience. Many times, when they are already close to victory, are in a situation such as making a goal into an empty net, that's wrong and I lose. I'm stuck. Playing the wrong card and when I do, that block is less cognitive and I am immediately aware of the error egregious. So at a stroke can ruin something that was giving me pleasure, a deserved win at the game, and create an occasion for anger against myself, in a word, filling up with petrol engine of depression.

The next time I see him with his eyes, and not only with memory, this monster that has terrorized me in the dark of night. I do some 'shots with the camera.

The monster has saved me several times before in his life. The first time I had 16 years in the company of an experienced friend in the mountains, I attempted the crossing. The self-styled expert, just framed the path, melted like snow in the sun, citing muscle problems, and we had to go back.

had to face the monster alone, now man. I found that was not at all a monster. Gave at best a strange feeling to see the corners of the emptiness that follows you, that's all. Then, a bit 'irresponsibly, we also took the old son of friends. So why the fear that seemed to be hoped, that indeed I had never really had, was out when it was time to bring my other son, the firstborn Germano? Even then, as this time, did not sleep the night before. Now that I'm in analysis the reason is clear: given the emotional relationship that ties me to my son, the engine of the depression went into action to ruin the positive emotions associated with that experience.

Germano is very conservative, so to speak, on the edge of the wimp. To do this go there and we both legammo sling rope. From a security perspective, this procedure merely ensures that in case of accident victims are in even numbers. However, even though it is an absurdity climbing, be linked to me and I reassured him followed. He reassured me, too, in that it put an end to the ambitions of my son climbing.

Marcello goes on quietly and unlike me also has the courage to look down.

Depression is always a chance to make something pretty nasty. Depression is arguing with your wife on the day that you promote. Turn a day trip, to a place of breathtaking beauty, in a stressful experience. In fact, I suffered from stress and fatigue, but I have not won on the depression. I'm exhausted, sunburnt, got blisters on feet, calves, pierced by the hooks of the boots, but I am happy, at least today. Who knows how it goes with Anna, in a little 'for years, even if I have the energy to condurcela.

I knew that the crossing is within our reach. It takes only without legs, do not suffer from vertigo and that the weather is good. This is why I decided to do it. The rest is depression.