I knew going up Ağrı Dağı would be a physical challenge. I expected it. I prepared for it. I wanted it.
Traversing the cap.
What I didn’t know is that coming down the mountain would freight my inexperience with a new load.
Wooly Covers
The Summit Pole
The steel pole impales the ice. But it too suffers, leaning hard to one side. That the wind is responsible for this awkward state of affairs is obvious enough, though the flags do not show it. Their fabric is all knotted and stiff; frayed ends alone are permitted to dance in this spacious arena. The colors of these standards-of-triumphs-past are are warm, even when frozen. They are a welcome contrast to the palette of blues visible in every direction, including down.
A Frozen Apron
Excursus: Patterson's Climb 4
Roped together, we move slowly. That drop-off to our right is more ominous by the minute. Fortunately the sky is still clear. The glare makes my face feel like it is sizzling on a griddle. At last we are past the place of danger, above the first hump. Now all that remains is that last hump. We catch a glimpse of a spike or cross or something that marks the top, just before the wind picks up and the clouds suddenly enclose us. Everything is now obscured.
Living Ice
Decision in the Dark
Two o’clock in the morning is a time unknown to sensible people. Those who do know it can be counted on three fingers: the profane, the pious, and possibly, the summiteer. The nine men who walk out of High Camp belong to at least one of these three groups already. Before the day is over, regardless of outcome, they will likely belong to one more.
We Can, We Will
Excursus: Patterson's Climb 3
The next day, I awaited some sign of my party. By evening it became clear that I had been “stood up” at the foot of Ararat. I contemplated the long trip back to Ankara–a total of 2,500 miles–for nothing at all. I looked up at Ararat. I had no special equipment for the climb and the mountain scared me to death.
Pee Bottles
Mustafa works his magic in the mess tent and dinner is served. Good appetites, for the most part, pull up to the table. The exception is Wilkerson, who was already reduced to fluids before we reached High Camp. Greg now follows suit. He talks of nausea, grimaces at the sight of food, and picks at Mustafa’s offerings on his styrofoam plate.
Excursus: Patterson's Climb 2
Bow in the Sky
The afternoon passes in High Camp. We observe, lethargically, as the scattered clouds race past. One energetic system arrives overhead, threatens, and releases its moisture. It is not a heavy rain and is over nearly as soon as it begins. Afterwards, the sun reappears and peeks through the western sky.
One of the guys shouts, “Look, a rainbow!”
Excursus: Patterson's Climb 1
I return to my office to contemplate the document, “An Ascent of Ararat,” by Ward Patterson. Ward spent a decade between the late 1950s and late 1960s traveling Asia. In that decade, he logged some 65,000 miles on the road, visited 40 countries and exhausted at least three motorcycles. Later, he served as a campus minister at Indiana University and professor at Cincinnati Christian University.
My Bad Crampons
We assemble outside the mess tent at High Camp. Uraz wants to have a look at our ice gear before dinner.
So far on Ağrı Dağı, the challenge (apart from my perverse need for more air!) has been to stay upright while scampering up steep slopes of broken scree. The gravel is thick and ubiquitous. At times, even the sturdiest trailmaster can (for reasons that I cannot yet predict) spontaneously break into a furious dance: he runs in place, feet at times on the mountain, at times in the sky. Gravel sprays in all directions. It is cartoonesque. Such displays are always entertaining when others do it; less so, of course, when it happens to me.
Excursus: An Accidental Discovery
The Hazards of High Camp
Tents are pitched on the graveled slope of High Camp. Tommy sorts out the arrangements: I will bunk with Greg; Brad with Keith; Tanner with Tommy. Wilkerson, who continues to struggle, will have his own tent. We bend the poles, stretch the nylon, and lasso the rain-fly to large boulders. In the process, we discuss domestic strategy.
Ararat in the Hebrew Bible
Do-rags and Do-overs
“Guys, lit’s gooo.” Celîl’s lilting voice sends us into motion.
Tommy and I are on the same wave length. We eye our alpinist and mimic his every move. When he pulls on a fleece, we rummage for ours. When he twitches, we jump. When he zips a flap, we look to see if we have one. While in Doğubeyazıt we discovered that our new Turkish friend has climbed many peaks.
Sips and Trickles
I awake in the Low Camp to the sound of rain. The droplets collect, trickle down the fly of the dome and drip where a zippered door should to be. The clothespin fix that I had hoped would secure the door has failed. The door flaps freely in the wind, occasionally brushing me with a sloppy kiss. I look up. My socks sway from the overhead pole. I, and everything I own, am soaking wet.