Emilio Comici: Angel of the Dolomites: Passion, Pitons, Politics and the First Big Walls

by David Smart

Winner of the Banff Mountain Book Climbing Literature Award

The first English-language biography of one of the most renowned Italian climbers, Emilio Comici, who bagged over 200 first ascents in the Eastern Alps prior to his death at 39 years of age in 1940.

Between 1925 and his death in 1940, Emilio Comici was the pre-eminent climber in the Eastern Alps, the hotbed of global rock climbing at that time. He made first ascents on some of the highest and most notorious walls in the Alps, including the northwest face of the Civetta, as well as dozens of other climbs.

Comici invented many modern big-wall techniques and the big-wall idiom itself that later took root in Yosemite Valley. Comici also made solo ascents of some of the hardest routes in the Alps, including his climb on the north face of the Cima Grande. He also designed the first artificial climbing wall that was ever actually built.

This book explores how family tragedy and growing up in working class Trieste under Austrian occupation shaped Comici’s complex personality and attitudes toward climbing. He was loyal to his friends, deeply concerned about the vulnerable, including his fellow climbers, and yet highly competitive, a born vagabond and yet also a dandy, irresistible to women, and yet unable to settle down, devoted to his mother and to the mountains, and finally, like many other Italian climbers of the period, a member of the Italian fascist party although he was profoundly anti-German and opposed to racial persecution.

Genres: Biography, Climbing

303 pages, Kindle Edition

Published September 1, 2020

Reviews

[Chris Ellis · Rating 3 out of 5]

An account of perhaps the greatest inter-war era climber. This book gives insights into what drove Comici and reveals something of his personality. The book places all this within the context of the political turmoil of the day.

[Andrew Szalay · Rating 5 out of 5]

As an American, I still have this myth in my head that Americans created rock climbing in Yosemite. Now that I have been tinkering with climbing and it’s books for nearly 30 years, I know that this is not true, but there are still subtle undertones in stories of legends that indicate that to be so. Last weekend I finished David Smart’s latest book, a finalist at the 2020 Banff Mountain Film & Book Competition, Emilio Comici: Angel of the Dolomites from Rocky Mountain Books (2020), which includes the first desert rock climb, years before Shiprock’s ascent, and free soloing big walls. No, it didn’t start in Yosemite.

The book is a climber’s biography, not the story of one gallant ascent, which means it’s about facing one challenge at a time while rebelling or going with the times. For Emilio Comici, that means overcoming his urban impoverished life through spelunking initially and later rock climbing, to the societal trappings of Italian fascism in the 1920s and 1930s. Emilio Comici handled life the way you and I do, which is he made it up as he went along, learning and making adjustments, and hoping for a big break.

In 1920s Europe, rock climbing had been established separately from mountain climbing. The rock climbers were living in the legacy of Paul Preuss, the greatest rock climber and free soloist of the day. Preuss climbed by strict edicts: Climb only what you can climb down and the use of climbing aids invalidates a climb, except under special circumstances. His legacy were climbers opposed to the use of pitons and other aids. Preuss was gone before Comici ever started climbing, having fallen to his death while climbing. Smart wrote what amounts, in the context of Emilio Comici: Angel of the Dolomites, a prequel in Paul Preuss: Lord of the Abyss (2019), which I reviewed last year. However, because of the Great War, and the environmental abuse from the war in the Dolomites, leaving pitons in the rock seemed negligible and petty. In fact, the rock climbers of Eastern Europe adopted piton use much earlier than Western Europe, and Comici was the person who demonstrated what was possible.

David Smart discovered some of the origins of Comici’s chosen routes. He started spelunking, and after a daring rescue, he started climbing rock walls. He applied his spelunking skills with ropes and aids to the mountains. On the mountain walls, not just any line would do, it had to be a direct line from the base to the summit, or as he described it, as following the water drop from the top. Comici claimed that an English climber first used the water drop description, though he did not know any Englishmen or Englishwomen, and the reference hasn’t been found anywhere else.

Before reading this book, I was less familiar with the Eastern Alps and the Dolomites, and I appreciate Smart for not talking down to me; I enjoyed looking up maps and images of the routes. And I have to hand it to Rocky Mountain Books for knowing their audience so as including a map with the collection of unique, relevant photos, was not critical for the book’s success. The book documents Comici’s progression on rock from the North Faces of Sorella di Messo, Dito di Dio, the West Face of Croda dei Toni, the Northwest Face of Civetta, and the peaks of Tre Cime di Lavaredo, which was Comici’s nemesis. Cima Grande, it’s central summit, now stands symbolic of Comici’s vision, boldness, and his lifelong journey with rock.

Cima Grande was the biggest wall yet climbed. And it was all about the rock wall, rather than the mountaineering ascent with a single piolet per climber. Comici made the top of the overhanging wall as he had learned on the previous climbs with pitons. It was criticized by the older climbers, and ignored as an ascent altogether by others. Yet, it was merely another milestone in Comici’s progression. He would return to climb it’s neighboring peaks, and one day, free solo his water-drop line in the style of Paul Preuss.

David Smart’s research provides a depth of context for what made Comici’s life challenges in many ways just like our own and in others very different. Comici grew up in Trieste and worked in the shipyards. His climbing trips were limited to reaching Val Rosandra, a few hours away on his motorcycle. He wanted to climb more and the only way he felt he could was to move to the mountains and guide. After his elders tried dissuading him, Comici moved to the Dolomites, though he contrasted with the guides with steady work. The local guides were local farmers, rigidly Catholic, and were more than a good rock or mountain climb, they were an authentic piece of the Dolomites. Despite Comici’s accomplishments on rock, his local in-authenticity, and his reputation for daring climbs, prompted Dolomite visitors to ask for his autograph rather than his services.

Comici was also smitten by the stereotypical roles of a fascist hero, popular of the day. Such heroes were awarded and paraded for their rescues, accomplishments, bravado, and immature wanderings such as Comici’s forays from Trieste to Val Rosandra. Of course, Comici had some challenges to overcome; he still received funds from his mother and lived at her home in Trieste when injured or retreated, and as one romantic partner complained, he wouldn’t be an adult with this climbing. As Smart’s research points out, Comici did grow in his self image and his affection for Mussolini’s fascism was all an attempt to fit in and be recognized as a masculine hero. Comici had Jewish and ethnic friends, and Smart presents evidence that he did not believe the fascist racist statements would ever be taken seriously or that a concentration camp would be in his home town. Among other changes, Smart points out, after Comici saw Mussolini speak in person for himself, he may have been disappointed and even disturbed because he never mentioned the Duce in his journal again.

One of the traits of a fascist hero Mussolini projected was the awarded man that could be paraded as an example for all particularly children to aspire. Comici wanted this validation of his being for most of his life. Yet, Comici was passed over at various opportunities through his life, including a rescue while spelunking and his proud first ascents, by anyone not just an Italian, of Cima Grande. It wasn’t until after his early death from a fall during a climb done in haste, that he was awarded a title posthumously, and for a lesser climb. Still, as Smart points out, Comici clearly understood that Preuss’ achievements survived his death. Comici’s accomplishments survive his own.

Having read extensively about Cesare Maestri’s Compressor route on Cerro Torre in Patagonia, where Maestri irresponsibly bolted a line up Cerro Torre with a compressor drill, David Smart surprised me with a reason Comici’s climbs were brought up after Maestri’s infamous route-making. Smart explained that some critics looked for precedent and connected Maestri to Comici. Smart draws a clear distinction why this isn’t fair, but you’ll have to read the book to learn why. As well as the earliest form of dirt baggers I’ve found (they were German,) and how Comici was haunted and saved by spirits on his climbs. I highly encourage you to read Emilio Comici to see what climbing was before you even thought there was real rock climbing in the world, because there was and it was serious, committing, and intense. I loved it. I know you will too.

This review was originally posted on SuburbanMountaineer.com

[Clara Mazzi · Rating 5 out of 5]

David Smart, canadese, è alla sua seconda prova di biografo: dopo il magnifico lavoro su Paul Preuß, si è cimentato con Emilio Comici, un altro climber e un altro europeo. Ancora una volta, la grandezza del lavoro e del suo autore è misurabile dall’abilità di inserire il personaggio in un contesto (per cui, lo si capisce dalla ricca bibliografia finale, Smart non si è lesinato nella documentazione) restituendoci così una persona a tutto tondo, fondamentale nel caso di Comici notissimo per le sue vie, ma molto di meno a livello personale – e conoscerlo per intero aiuta a capire ed apprezzare meglio le sue scalate. Chi è allora, Emilio Comici, Trieste 1901 – Selva di Val Gardena 1940? Oltre ad essere il climber italiano che per primo ha fatto storia a livello planetario dopo il primo conflitto, oltre ad essere uno dei membri della rinascita del glorioso alpinismo italiano degli anni Trenta (che ha visto nomi come Tissi, Soldà, Cassin, Gervasutti, Castiglioni), oltre ad essere colui che ha preso il testimone dell’arrampicata dalle mani di Preuss per poi passarlo ai suoi connazionali (che però, a cominciare da Maestri e da Cassin, recisero il cordone ombelicale col nonno Paul per cimentarsi invece in un’arrampicata con uso anche di chiodi), oltre ad essere quello che per primo ha pensato a divulgare l’arrampicata anche attraverso manuali, è stato anche fondamentalmente un uomo prone alla depressione, un cocco di mamma e un fascista. Partendo dal fondo, l’etichetta di fascio, che si applica sempre mal volentieri, specialmente quando qualcuno è molto bravo a fare qualcosa, necessita degli aggiustamenti: si dice che Emilio non sia mai stato antisemita né che avesse mai appoggiato il progetto di alleanza ed unione con la Germania, un paese (e/o un popolo) che a lui non piaceva poi molto (forse perché si competevano duramente sulle Dolomiti e i tedeschi disprezzavano un po’ gli italiani). Il Duce però gli piaceva molto, senza troppi giri di parole. Ora, se noi oggi dobbiamo dire che Emilio era “fascista-anche-se-però”, quella prima parola tuttavia pesa - ma per i suoi contemporanei, Comici non lo era abbastanza! Ed è per questo che Emilio, a dispetto delle sue imprese e della sua fama, non verrà particolarmente lodato, onorato né ricompensato adeguatamente dal PNF – Partito Nazionale Fascista: non riceverà mai medaglie dal CONI per le sue imprese leggendarie (come al contrario Cassin, Castiglioni, Gervasutti, tanto per fare qualche nome); non diventerà podestà di Selva di Val Gardena (un incarico dei tempi del fascismo, che durava cinque anni molto ben retribuito) ma gli affideranno l’incarico di prefetto, un subordinato al podestà e un incarico non così ben retribuito. Verranno trascurate le sue grandi imprese, verranno rifiutati i suoi articoli perché non abbastanza “virili” per la stampa fascista – che si era subito impossessata del CAI; verrà lasciato al grado di caporale di riserva persino quando verrà chiamato ad Aosta per fare l’istruttore dei corpi speciali degli alpini.
Insomma, questo suo essere prone alla depressione, questo essere così attaccato alla mamma, che lo rendeva un po’ un cocchino, era un modo di fare che rendeva difficile la vita ad Emilio per quanto concerneva farsi degli amici nuovi, creare un giro di nuove conoscenze (soprattutto se pensiamo che aveva lasciato Trieste, la sua città natale per andare a trasferirsi a Cortina – luogo dove raccoglierà un distanziamento tale dai colleghi, da spingerlo ad andare a trasferirsi sul lago di Misurina) e questo ovviamente a cascata si rifletteva sul suo lavoro perché faticava a trovare clienti, faticava anche a fare il maestro di sci (anche se intuiamo che l’insegnamento, fosse l’arrampicata o lo sci, gli piaceva molto), faticava a creare una relazione di coppia profonda e duratura. La depressione poi agiva su di lui come un cane che si morde la coda: per Emilio l’arrampicata fungeva da antidepressivo ma a patto che si andasse a scalare in aree poco note, poco frequentate e dove ci fossero ancora tante possibilità per aprire nuove vie. Se all’inizio della sua carriera questa condizione la si poteva soddisfare facilmente, ecco che col passare degli anni e con il popolamento delle montagne da parte di un numero sempre più consistente di climber (chissà cosa penserebbe dei tanti che ci sono in giro oggi!), Emilio comincia allora a preferire andare da solo, come il suo maestro Paul Preuß, a fare cioè free solo.
Ora, come si diceva prima, Comici prende il testimone dell’arrampicata da Preuß ma se ne distacca perché fa uso comunque di chiodi (molto moderato!). Secondo David Smart, l’autore, se in Italia si conosce poco di Emilio è perché gli viene imputata quest’onta dei chiodi. Io non credo che sia per questo. Io credo che Comici sia stato messo un po’ da parte per più motivi: il primo è il fatto che nessun italiano abbia mai voluto prendersi la briga di fare il lavoro di Smart (né forse ci sono stati editori che fossero in grado di apprezzare un lavoro così da parte) e questo è un peccato e una vergogna allo stesso tempo perché tutto quello che gli italiani hanno avuto a disposizione e sapevano di Emilio Comici fino a questo libro era “Alpinismo eroico”, che più che un libro, era una raccolta di relazioni delle sue vie più famose – un testo fondamentale per gli addetti ai lavori ma che sicuramente non raggiunge (comprensibilmente) un grande pubblico; il secondo motivo per cui Comici è trattato un po’ con le pinze (a meno che non si parli strettamente delle sue arrampicate) è proprio per questo suo legame col fascismo, che dalla fine della seconda guerra mondiale in avanti agisce come un’eredità pesante (anche in questo caso, comprensibilmente). Infine è possibile che di Comici si sappia così poco perché dato il suo difficile carattere, ha avuto troppi pochi amici che abbiano voluto occuparsi della divulgazione della sua memoria.
Meno male, dunque, che ci ha pensato il canadese David Smart. Un ottimo lavoro (anche se con qualche sbavatura, come il fatto che secondo l’autore sia Emilio che suo padre, nel tempo libero suonassero il mandolino…) scritto veramente bene e che ci restituisce finalmente un ritratto di Emilio Comici a tutto tondo e che è disponibile in italiano per Solferino editore.

[Kaitlyn Zeichick · Rating 4 out of 5]

So cool to read this while climbing in the Dolomites, we’re heading to Misurina right now! Great writing that gave a lot of historical context (Mussolini era) to the climbing, and went into the complexities of Emilio (depressed, womanizer, fascist but not rewarded by the fascist regime, fascist but not anti-semetic, ushered in the era of aid but also loved free soloing). I especially liked the account of him solo climbing the north face of cerro grande, aiding the first half by himself, tossing the rope off the ledge for the second half, and catching the wall as a ledge gave way beneath him.

[Davida Oostlander · Rating 4 out of 5]

Although the writing style was not my favourite the book does give a very interesting inside into the early days of alpinisme in Italy and it's connection to politics

[Evan Hurley O'Dwyer]

Pros: good climber
Cons: fascist egomaniac

Felt more like hagiography than biography at times when the author played down Comici's fascism. What a grim time for humanity.