Rounding a bend in the dirt road, the Vallata di Lanaitto stretches out before us. On either side huge, mostly virgin walls jut out of the landscape. Sheep and goats graze between the haphazard rows of olive trees, and we are quickly lost, both in the beauty and literally lost of the maze of roads leading (hopefully) to some semblance of a trailhead. At last the road gets too much for our low strung rental car and we ditch it in the weeds. Setting out on foot, we head into a canyon that at least feels right and soon meet a trail dipping in and out of a rocky wash. 

An arrow etched into a boulder points the ways. And we have lunch in a meadow, contemplating the sketchy weather that has come up out of the west. The minstrel winds are gusting hard again, and our multi-pitch plans are slowly being dashed to the fast-changing Sard weather. We should have been here hours ago. Or yesterday. 

From our climb two days previous we had looked down on the Nuraghic village of Tiscali, and now with the weather being unsettled I prevail upon Caroline that a cultural detour might be a good thing. She’s reluctant. She has a whole ticklist of climbs to do. Adding to the urgency is the fact that we must leave tomorrow and catch a flight to rainy Berlin. She wants to squeeze as much Sard limestone into one last day as she can. And I honestly can’t blame her.