A long-term perspective from a mountain guide who has spent four decades working in the Dolomites
The Dolomites are not worse than they were. They are not “ruined.” But they are not the same. Over the past forty years, after thousands of days spent guiding on these mountains, I have slowly come to see how they have changed — often in ways that are not immediately visible to visitors.
When I began working as a mountain guide in the Dolomites in the 1980s, I had the quiet impression that these mountains were stable, almost unchanging. The rock faces were what they were. The seasons followed a rhythm we thought we understood. Certain routes had characteristics that felt predictable.
Mountains do not transform overnight. They shift slowly, often without drama. But when you work in the same landscape year after year, decade after decade, you begin to notice patterns that others might miss.
This is not a nostalgic reflection, nor an alarmist one. It is simply the perspective of someone who has spent more than forty years reading these mountains — through their rock, their seasons, and the people who move through them.
Classic routes and the hardware we trust
When I began guiding in the Dolomites in the 1980s, the classic routes were already part of a long tradition. Lines opened in the 1930s, 40s or 50s were repeated every summer. The pitons placed by earlier generations were still there, and in most cases they were considered reasonably reliable. You clipped them, you trusted them, and you kept moving.
Today, I look at those same pitons differently.
Many of them have now been in place for forty, fifty, sometimes more than sixty years. Metal ages. It corrodes. It weakens. But the change is not only in the metal — it is also in the rock.
In the Dolomites, freeze–thaw cycles work quietly but continuously. Water enters cracks, freezes, expands, and slowly widens the fissures. It happens millimeter by millimeter, season after season. A piton that once sat tightly in a crack may now move slightly. A placement that felt secure decades ago can no longer be taken for granted.
Many climbers repeating a classic route for the first time tend to trust the fixed protection they find. If the pitons are there, it is natural to assume they are reliable. Their presence creates a sense of continuity and security.
Experienced alpinists, however, know that this is not always the case.
Experience today sometimes means knowing what not to trust anymore. When you remember how solid those pitons once were, you begin to reason differently. You place more additional protection. You test more carefully. You do not assume that what held in the past will necessarily hold in the same way today.
These are not dramatic changes from one season to the next. But over decades, they become significant. For a mountain guide responsible for other people’s safety, they change the way you think, the way you protect, and sometimes the way you decide.
Seasons that feel less predictable
When I began guiding, the seasons in the Dolomites had a rhythm that felt more defined. Spring progressed gradually. Summer often brought longer periods of stable weather. Autumn was frequently one of the most reliable times of the year.
Today, that rhythm feels less clear.
Thunderstorms are more violent. Periods of intense heat can arrive suddenly. Weather patterns shift more abruptly than they once did.
Winter has also changed. Snow tends to arrive later, and often in smaller quantities. When I started guiding, many via ferratas were already free of snow by May. Today, it is not unusual to find some of them still inaccessible in June.
In some years, it feels as if spring barely exists anymore — we move almost directly from winter conditions to summer heat.
The Dolomites do not have vast glacier systems, yet even here the change is visible. When I first climbed the normal route of Marmolada forty years ago, we put on our crampons well below Pian dei Fiacconi.
Today they are worn much higher. The glacier has retreated dramatically within a single professional lifetime. For many people, this retreat has become one of the most visible signs of Dolomites climate change.
According to recent research by the University of Padua and the Italian National Research Council (CNR), the Marmolada glacier could disappear within a few decades.
I am not a climate scientist. I can only speak from experience. But when you return to the same mountains year after year, you begin to see that what once felt stable now requires closer attention — and greater humility.
A different relationship with the mountains
Perhaps the most noticeable change over the past forty years is not in the rock or the weather, but in the way people approach the mountains.
When I began climbing and guiding, most people who came to the Dolomites had followed a gradual path. They started with smaller objectives, gained experience step by step, and slowly built a relationship with the mountains.
Today the situation is often different. The mountains are more visible and accessible than ever before. Images circulate instantly through social media, and certain places quickly become destinations that people feel they must experience.
It is not unusual to hear someone say that a particular place is “a must.” The decision to go there is sometimes driven less by a personal journey in the mountains and more by the feeling that this is a place everyone should visit at least once.
This dynamic, combined with many other factors, contributes to what is often described today as overtourism.
I still meet many climbers and hikers who approach the mountains with curiosity, humility and respect. But overall the pace has changed. Experiences are often shorter, expectations higher, and the desire to reach iconic places stronger than the desire to gradually learn the mountains themselves.
For a mountain guide, this means that part of the work today is not only to lead people through the mountains, but also to help them understand the environment they are entering.
Mountain huts and the changing atmosphere of the mountains
Over the years I have also noticed a quieter cultural change in the mountains — one that concerns the character of some mountain huts.
In the past, many huts in the Dolomites were simple places. After a long day in the mountains you could stop for a bowl of soup, a plate of pasta, a beer, and a few words with the people around you. The atmosphere was informal, sometimes almost like entering someone’s home.
Today some of these places are evolving in a different direction. A few huts have gradually become refined restaurants or lively après-ski venues, where music, cocktails and curated menus play a central role in the experience.
For many visitors this transformation may feel natural, even appealing. Yet for those who have spent much of their lives in the mountains, it can sometimes feel like a subtle shift in the spirit of these places.
Another change concerns the expectations of some visitors. Not everyone realizes how difficult it is to supply a mountain hut. Food, drinks, and basic ingredients often have to be transported by helicopter or carried up the mountain. Yet it is not uncommon to see people expecting the same variety they would find in a restaurant in town — strawberries, elaborate desserts, or a long menu of choices.
In the past, a hut offered something simple: a warm meal, a drink, and shelter. And for those who had spent a full day in the mountains, that was more than enough.
A mountain hut was part of the mountain environment itself — a simple shelter where climbers, hikers and guides shared the same space after a day outside.
Perhaps this change reflects a broader transformation in the way people experience the mountains today. The mountains themselves remain the same, but the atmosphere around them is slowly shifting.
Climbing skills and mountain skills
Another change I have noticed over the years concerns the background of the people who come to climb in the Dolomites.
Forty years ago, most clients who hired a mountain guide to climb a classic route already had some experience with multi-pitch climbing in the mountains. I am not referring to the grade itself, but to familiarity with the environment.
A climber with a modest technical level — perhaps climbing around UIAA grade V — often moved quickly and naturally on easier terrain. Fourth-grade sections were climbed efficiently, and traversing ledges, loose rock, or broken ground was simply part of the movement through the mountain.
Today I often meet climbers who are technically stronger, especially those coming from sport climbing. Many are comfortable climbing 6a or harder at the crag.
Yet when they arrive on a long Dolomite route, the situation is different.
Even on easier sections — fourth-grade terrain or exposed ledges — climbers coming from sport climbing often move more slowly. Movement on loose rock, route finding, or simply walking confidently through complex alpine terrain are skills that are less familiar to many modern climbers.
I remember guiding a client last summer on the Costantini–Apollonio route on the south pillar of Tofana di Rozes, a demanding Dolomite classic. She climbed the route very well. But on the descent, which mainly involves walking on steep scree slopes, it took us almost three times the normal time.
In the Dolomites, climbing is only part of the journey. Moving efficiently through complex terrain — both up and down — remains an essential part of the mountain experience.
Reading the mountains: how the Dolomites have changed
After more than forty years of guiding in the Dolomites, I would not say that the mountains have become worse. But they are certainly different from the ones I first climbed as a young alpinist.
The rock slowly changes. Seasons feel less predictable. Glaciers retreat. And the way people approach the mountains continues to change. Taken together, these changes tell the story of how the Dolomites have changed over the past forty years.
None of this happens suddenly. Mountains rarely transform overnight. The changes reveal themselves only to those who return again and again, over long periods of time.
For a mountain guide, this means learning to read the mountains continuously. Experience is not only about knowing routes or techniques; it also means recognizing when familiar places behave in unfamiliar ways.
In the mountains, experience is inseparable from safety and decision-making — subjects I explored in another article about mountain safety in the Dolomites.
Perhaps the greatest lesson these mountains have taught me is that nothing in the alpine environment can ever be taken for granted. And maybe that is exactly what makes them so fascinating.
