Monte Rosa is the “Big Mountain” of my homeland, a majestic massif straddling three valleys, three provinces, and two countries. For me, it’s far more than a mountain: at its base, I learned to ski, lived unforgettable adventures with friends, carved its snowy slopes, climbed its glacier-smoothed rocks, and wandered the trails that crown its ridges. I’ve rested on the meadows overlooking its walls, streaked with towering seracs, and there I’ve met people, forged friendships, and listened to local tales and legends. This mountain has left an indelible mark on my life.
Reaching its summit, with peaks over 4000 metres perpetually cloaked in snow, remains one of my greatest dreams, but its allure is already captivating enough. Its beauty—the glistening glaciers, the alpine lakes mirroring its form—is a delight for the eyes and, why not, for a camera too. Yet, what truly sets Monte Rosa apart is its name, tied to a phenomenon that unfolds each dawn.
Even after witnessing it countless times, the magic of those fleeting moments still grips me. At sunrise, the east face—resembling a Himalayan slope—flushes with pink, igniting hollows and crevices in a rare mosaic of rose and twilight blue. You don’t need to climb it to see this wonder: from the Novara plains, the Varese pre-Alps, or the heights of Vergante, Monte Rosa looms majestically, framed by a landscape that enhances its imposing presence and that fleeting hue that makes it legendary. It’s a sight to behold at least once in a lifetime.
