North ridge of the Piz Badile - Iain "The Cheese" Rudkin

Whilst not being the highest mountain in the Bregaglia region, the Piz Badile is without doubt the the most alluring due in part to its illustrated history and picture postcard appearance. It towered above the GUM club campsite at Bondo and as such became an objective for many of the people assembled on the Swiss Italian border last summer.
There are a number of routes up the Piz Badile, varying in difficulty, though the easiest route from the north was via the north ridge. It was essentially no more difficult than severe apart from a few VS pitches, but at 800m it was not a short route so we were preparing for a decent day out.
Four of us set off from the campsite one afternoon; Andy and Tom had their sights set on the harder Cassin route whilst Waz and I were aiming for the north ridge. I won't dwell on the walk in, because it was wank. We reached our bivi site in the early evening and watched the sunset as we lay in the shadows of the monolithic north face, cooked pasta and set our alarms for 6 am - sod alpine starts.
Getting up from a bivi in the Alps is not normally hard for me as I'm usually freezing and ready for some kind of movement. I don't remember being that cold, but the morning rush from paying punters staying in the hut soon had me and the beast rapidly forcing food down our throats and gearing up simultaneously. Despite mastering this skill relatively quickly we still found ourselves behind five or six parties on the route, most of them guides and two clients, and thus slower moving than us. It was seven-o-clock when we started climbing and conscious of time I suggested to Linz that we alpine style the initial easy sections to try and get past some of the muppets who were pitching it.
Climbing alpine style is one of the most refreshing ways to do a route. As you move together neither is inactive for any long period and you also get this amazing pleasure in burning up past people. Such was the case on this day as we raced a guide up before he grudgingly had to let us overtake him, as his clients were to slow. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel smug.
The climbing was on amazing granite and the sun was shining down on us as we motored up the route. Moving together, pausing only to swap leads, we overtook party after party, but the ridge kept coming and soon we were out there in front on our own. We had the ridge to ourselves and with exposure increasing with every metre gained I have to admit it is one of the most exhilarating experiences I have ever had in the hills (apart from maybe slinky lizard at Auchinstarry).
After what seemed like an eternity of climbing we saw the summit cross ahead and shortly after were stood looking into Italy on one side and Switzerland on the other.
"What time is it Waz?"
"Fuck, its only half ten, we've done it in three and a half hours" she replied.
The guidebook said five to seven hours. It is true to say we felt like mountaineers at that point. We had outpaced everyone on the route, climbed quickly and confidently and more importantly thoroughly enjoyed the whole mountain experience. We ritualistically shook hands with each other, and in doing so committed a mountaineering faux pas.
After eating bars of chocolate and drinking most of our water we turned our minds to descent. It had only taken us three and a half hours to get up; descent was via the north ridge which we had just ascended. We knew the way and we had just become mountaineers, besides getting down is the easy bit, isn't it?
After some tricky downclimbing and ridge straddling, we encountered the first party behind us still on the way up. They told us that the first abseil ring wasn't far away. A short while later we reached it. Easy, just follow these all the way down. I don't see why the guidebook makes such a big deal of the descent.
I for one had become complacent, the route was in the bag, and the descent was just a series of abseils, what could possibly go wrong. The answer nothing, as long as we don't get the ropes stuck….
The high abseils were straightforward, and we sped down them in good style, pausing to exchange pleasantries with the guide we had overtaken at the start of the day. About half way down the ridge we came to a ring belay, but being unable to see the next bolt we assumed it must just be hidden from view. The abseil crossed a scree ledge and then descended a chossy gully. We never did find a bolt and in pulling the ropes through we had to do a bit of rock dodging as all the shit of the day followed us down the gully.
Looking about we could see that we had strayed off the north ridge onto the north face and we would have to traverse across a narrow ledge system to regain the crest of the ridge. Even with protection, the traverse wasn't straightforward and we were both relieved to be at the next bolt and back on track. We had lost time and were eager to make that up, so without further ado we both abbed down the crest to the next bolt. The bolt was in an odd position but the reason for this didn't become apparent until we tried to pull on the ropes. No movement, not even an inch.
Bugger, is a word which sums up the moment for the purpose of the journal, though I believe I used rather harsher language at the time. We tried everything in the book to get the ropes down culminating in an attempt to prussic back up the rope, spinning in mid air over the void of the north west face. It is fair to say we had now been stuck there a while and progress was effectively non-existent.
"How's it looking cheese" called the Wazzer.
"It's all fucking shite" was my restrained reply.
Then came one of those moments that only happens in make believe stories where an angel floats in from above and performs a miracle. It started with a voice from another world
"Is that you down there cheese". There is a god and his name is Tom.
"Maybe" was my humble reply.
After some negotiation and not an insignificant amount of piss-take, Tom freed the ropes and we waited for him and Andy at the belay station so that we could descend as a four to speed things up. Once again out of the woods, but with a bit less of the youthful exuberance that we were exhibiting earlier. Anyway, you learn more when things go wrong, and it is character building.
So when the ropes got stuck for the second time we should have been glad. This time Andy gallantly led up on half a half rope to free them whilst Beasty and I set about setting up the next ab. This led us to a bit of old tat attached (?) to the rock. No ring bolt in sight so once again we appeared to have gone off route. Meanwhile to our left our guide and his two clients happily abseiled passed and whilst I can't speak Italian, I believe he said "haw, ya fanny" whilst clipping in to the bolt that was sadly way out of line with our descent. Some interesting down climbing and some shorter Abseils later we were back at the col.
"What time is it Waz" I enquired optimistically.
"Fuck, its seven-o-clock, It's taken us eight hours to get down" she replied.
The guidebook said four to five hours.
If I had a tail, it would have been between my legs. The mountain had taught us not to be so cocky, and also to remember not to shake hands until the route and the descent are in the bag. We were too cool for school; though sadly not cool enough to go into higher education. A lesson learnt.