Stefano Ragazzo interview Riders on the Storm
WORDS → Chiara Beretta
DATE → 2026-07-17
In Patagonia for a new solo first ascent: Stefano Ragazzo talks about his Riders on the Storm, an extraordinary challenge made of mindset, technique, endurance, and cold blood
Stefano Ragazzo has done it again. The mountaineer and mountain guide has completed a new solo first ascent: Riders on the Storm, a route on the Central Tower of Paine in Patagonia. In 2024, Stefano had already written a page in mountaineering history by completing the first solo ascent of Eternal Flame, the legendary route on the Nameless Tower in the Trango group, Pakistan. Once he returned, he told us that he had long found his strength in his head rather than his arms: “I realized that I can stay rational even in difficult situations, to keep pushing while understanding how far it’s possible to go.” Indeed, it takes a strong mindset to stay alone for days on a wall like Eternal Flame. And it takes mindset, along with considerable determination, endurance, and technique, to replicate the feat on one of Patagonia’s most famous big walls.
Stefano completed the ascent of Riders on the Storm between February 21 and March 7, 2026, facing extremely demanding conditions. The route, which is 1,200 meters long and features difficulties up to 7C+ free and A3 aid, was opened in the early nineties by Kurt Albert and Wolfgang Güllich—the first ascenders of Eternal Flame—along with Bernd Arnold, Norbert Bätz, and Peter Dittrich. Over the years, it has been repeated very few times, and the first free ascent only came in 2024 with Nico Favresse, Siebe Vanhee, Sean Villanueva O’Driscoll, and Drew Smith: if you saw the short film “Riders on the Storm” in the Reel Rock 2025 lineup, you know what we’re talking about.
Stefano, how long had you had this climb in mind? When I got back from Trango, I didn’t want to hear about solo climbs anymore. But there was always someone asking: “So, is Riders next?”. I would say no, but I knew the time would come sooner or later. In between, there was a Pakistan expedition that went very badly [editor’s note: the attempt to open a new route on Yukshin Gardan Sar with Michael Hutchins and Christopher Wright, who got injured]. Once I returned, I felt the weight of six months of preparation that ended in a mess. I needed to find a goal that was completely mine. At that point, I told myself it was time for another solo.
Compared to Eternal Flame, the altitude on Riders on the Storm is lower: a maximum of 2,460 meters. I imagine this made things easier, but what were the other obstacles? Aside from the altitude, everything was harder. When you go to Pakistan or the Himalayas, there are porters, a cook, a whole system that accompanies you to base camp. In Patagonia, however, I was alone. During the first month, I essentially carried gear, no more than 25 kg at a time, so I did many trips. The climbing itself is also tougher. Finding the route is very difficult; especially in the first part, I moved forward without ever having a precise reference. Plus, the rock isn’t great; there’s a lot of loose stuff. And then, obviously, there’s the Patagonian weather: the first week was manageable, the second was really very cold.
Did you get a chance to talk to anyone who already knew that route? The only one who really helped me was Nico Favresse. We had a two-hour phone call and he gave me a lot of pointers.
What style did you use for the ascent? I started with the idea of making a fast attempt, but when I began carrying the gear, I realized that just the first pitches would take much longer than expected. Plus, the weather was never optimal. So I adopted a capsule style. In the first month and a half, I carried the gear to the base of the wall and, when I had some time, I would fix one or two pitches and haul up the big bag. Little by little, in small half-days of work, I managed to get everything up to the ledge. At that point, I waited for a decent weather window and set off.
On Eternal Flame, you faced several unexpected events: bad weather, food rationing, a lost belayer… How did it go this time? Every day had its own problem, big or small. One of the most critical moments was at the eighth pitch. It’s the hardest aid pitch, 7a+ and A3. I went a bit off-route and to get back on track I did a small pendulum: with those 2–3 meters of rope lost, when I reached the top of the pitch, the rope had run out and the anchor was still three meters above me. So I used a piece of tag-line: I connected it to the rope, took off my belay device, and climbed statically on the cord. When I was 40 cm from the anchor, though, the cord ran out. The only solution was to take the two adjustable lanyards off my harness, tie them together with the cord, clip everything, and reach the anchor by taking a step on a cliff and etrier—the last protection was ten meters below. And then there was the snowstorm while I was trying to fix the last pitches, the problem with the portaledge flipping over, the fly tearing…
Right, things got pretty bad there: what happened? It was about 7:30 PM on the twelfth day and I was under the big roof at pitch 25, which I thought was a sheltered spot. There was a crazy storm, with wind gusts up to 100 km/h. The portaledge was anchored both above and below with guy lines, but it was moving a lot. The wind was pushing from below and was so strong that it pulled out the pole that keeps the structure taut. When the pole popped out, the guy lines slackened and the portaledge flipped over. The fly had already torn, it acted like a sail, and in an instant, I found myself upside down, with things that weren’t tied down flying away. I had a couple of minutes where I didn’t know what to do, then I acted. I stopped what was moving. I cut all the points where the fly was attached with a knife, and closed the fly and the portaledge. I put my boots back on and stuffed everything I could into my backpack. I remembered that two pitches below there was a small ledge. The ropes were all fixed in the pitches above; the only one I had was a 60-meter rope. I rappelled with that, reached the ledge, got into my sleeping bag, and tried to spend the night sheltering from the snow, wind, and cold. Every now and then I would fall asleep, but after a short while, I’d wake up with my feet feeling strange. I kept tapping them, massaging my legs to keep the blood flowing. In the end, I had the usual first-degree frostbite on my feet.
What did you feel during those hours? Physically, I was a wreck. I had a minute of—not exactly panic, but one where I recognized that in the middle of that storm, without shelter, you might not survive. I didn’t have a ready solution. The urge to get home, the desire for it not to end like this, was what reconnected my brain. The situation was evolving and I managed it by thinking rationally about what was happening.
Once the night passed, you chose to continue the climb. Was it a difficult decision? I remained in doubt until the end, because that night had drained me. In the morning, I tried to dry off, but it was still cold. I decided to climb back up to where I had left the portaledge, I opened it, melted snow, ate, and drank—I hadn’t done so for almost 24 hours. In the afternoon, while I was trying to sleep, I felt the temperature rising. I knew there would be a window of good weather. I decided to rest a bit more and see how I felt. At 4 AM, I got up and started with the jumars. It was a real struggle. I synchronized my movement with my breathing, slowly, and in a few hours, I managed to climb back up all the fixed lines. At dawn, I reached the bag. I kept only the backpack with a down jacket, food, and water and kept going without thinking about anything else, except eating and drinking something every hour. At the summit, it was really beautiful. The sky was clear, it wasn’t cold anymore. And for the first time, having reached the other side, I saw a completely new view.
And how did the descent go? I didn’t expect it, but the rope was damaged and on the first rappel, the strands exploded in two places where they were already a bit frayed. As I was rappelling, I looked almost by chance below my descender and saw the rope completely open. I tied a knot, moved the belay device, and continued, but after another ten meters on the other side of the rope, there was the same problem. I reached the anchor with a knot on one side and one on the other: I barely recovered 20 meters of rope. I cut it and then, luckily, the subsequent rappels were short and I had the rad-line for recovery, with which I did three or four rappels leaving a few pitons and some gear. I reached the fixed ropes and from there I went down gradually recovering them. At 6:30-7:00 PM, I was at the portaledge. I packed everything up and continued down. I reached the ledge of the first camp between 10 and 11 PM and slept there. The next day I got down around 5 PM, with a couple of ropes stuck and one cut. I lost about 150 meters of rope in total.
What projects will you focus on now? For now, I’m not thinking about other solos and I don’t know if I’ll feel like doing them again. In mid-June, I’m going back to Pakistan with Silvia [Loreggian, ed.]. In the first eight years of our relationship, we did all our expeditions together, then we had a two-year period of separate expeditions and we both realized that our rope team is the one that can aim to do harder things. We know each other so well… When one gives up for a moment, the other is there. And this, in my opinion, works very well.