Magic Mountains

Jagged rock towers and steep couloirs. Open powder fields and wide corn snow slopes. Mediterranean flavors from the kitchen and deep tranquility. In the southern Dolomites, all this merges into a magical winter wonderland. Ski touring in the Pala range feels like being on another planet. Not like the Sella or Chamonix, those busy classics – here, solitude still reigns supreme. The topography is partly to blame: steep ridges, hidden valleys, a vast karst plateau at 9,800 feet. At first glance, the landscape appears wild and inaccessible. But with the right approach, its treasures are revealed. Mountain guide Eric Girardi knows the region like his own backyard. And the timing couldn’t be better.

What follows is powder, corn, rock and alpine culture, burning thighs and happiness. Florian bursts out laughing. “I can’t believe it!” Luggi, tracking ahead, grins from ear to ear. They had postponed the tour several times – too much snow, poor visibility, avalanche danger. Now, everything is perfect: blue skies, fresh pow, cold nights. The Altipiano delle Pale plateau is buried under meters of snow. Normally scattered with boulders, it is now smooth and white. After a short ascent, the view opens onto a deep couloir – intimidating for beginners, enticing for experts. Eric remains calm. “There’ll be time for steeper descents later,” he says. Then: the first turns in perfect snow. Wide, untouched slopes under a flawless sky.

“There are no crowds here,” says Eric. “Not like in the Sella or the Northern Alps.” The peaks of the Pala range – Cimon della Pala, Vezzana, Cima Rosetta – rise like a fairytale fortress. Their names are pure poetry: Cima dei Bureloni, Tromba del Miel. And down in the valley, San Martino di Castrozza looks like a mix of alpine charm, retro glamour and cinematic nostalgia. You can almost see Roger Moore’s stunt double racing downhill in a James Bond ski chase. But the village has deep mountaineering roots: in 2024, the prestigious Piolet d’Or – the “Oscar of mountaineering” – was awarded here. That same spirit of bold exploration pervades every couloir and cornice. The Rosetta cable car is a controversial topic. “Purists are frowning now,” says Eric.

“But it gets you into the wilderness in minutes.” It saves two hours of hiking. That afternoon, they lay their first tracks in the Valle delle Comelle. A 2,300-foot climb

would lead to the north-facing Bureloni couloir – but the snow isn’t quite settled. “Not today,” says Eric. They return as the sun bathes the rock towers in golden light. Flo and Luggi pause again and again to enjoy the views. The next morning starts with a short climb to Baita Segantini – closed in winter, but perfectly located beneath the iconic towers. A gentle powder run leads to the upper reaches of the Travignolo creek. Then comes the long climb to Monte Mulaz. “A classic route with endless variations,” says Eric. He winds his way through a huge corrie, then stops. “This is the place.” The snow is glistening. Soon, three lonely tracks are drawn in the bowl, smooth and silent. After a quick snack, the group continues to Passo Mulaz.

From there, the big descent awaits: 4,000 feet of joy. Rolling powder fields, tree-lined gullies, bumpy corn snow toward Falcade. But the day isn’t over – a winding taxi ride takes them back to San Martino, leaving them dizzy and smiling. “The only cure?” asks Eric, answering his own question immediately: “Espresso. Always espresso.” Day three. The Rosetta Couloir towers above – 2,600 feet of narrow, steep descent. But the snow has hardened overnight. “Fun?” asks Eric. “Not really.” Decision made: Plan B. They shoulder their skis and head for Val Pradidali. The reward comes quickly: wide corn snow slopes lined with towering domes, glistening in morning light. “That’s the beauty of the

Pala range,” says Eric. “It’s wild and remote, but also calm and gentle. It all depends how far you want to go.” The final act: the exit through a narrow gorge between Torre Bettega and Pala di San Martino. At times, the line is barely wider than a ski length. Then the walls open slightly, and the descent demands every muscle. Their legs burn, their hearts race. “Keep going!” Eric shouts. “These sun-baked rocks can slide.” The avalanche debris nearby tells its own story. One last push, one last sweaty climb – and they reach the forest road. The weather will change overnight. But Flo and Luggi already know: they’ll return. Next winter. Or maybe even sooner.