Hiking over grassy hills and ever inclining, the first day's hike to base camp 1 proved fairly straightforward. Metin led us over hills as he saw fit with only the fragments of path to guide us, him stopping every few minutes to look back and let us catch our breath. Before long, we saw blue dots on the mountain above us: tents. It looked as if we were close to our first stop - though it would prove to be deceptively farther away, always a few hundred metres above where we were. When we finally reached the village, Metin made the introductions. It was a Kurdish village, without roads, electricity or running water. Ağrı Dağı was home to the 50 or so inhabitants of the village and herding goats and sheep seemed to be their livelihood. We were invited into a tent for tea by the grandmother of the village, and from there the slope of the mountain dropped away to a spectacular view of the valley below. The lights and buildings of Doğubeyazıt just in view below. Just in time for a sheep shearing or three.
Back on the trail, we had a few more hours of trekking to get in before the late afternoon sun would disappear and leave us to the colder mountain climate. When we did finally approach the first camp, we spotted a glimpse of snow melting in the afternoon sun. At 3200 metres altitude, the air felt crisp and clear, keeping us on constant alert for the tiniest symptom of altitude sickness. Tea and dinner in the kitchen tent plus some time for admiring the view before retreating to our tents was all we could muster that night.
Base camp 2 was unrecognizable to the comparative comforts of the first camp. It looked as if the camp had been carved out of the side of a mountain: two kitchen tents on the edge of a sharp drop, revealing a landscape hundreds of metres below, with car sized boulders all around and just enough space for a few tents dug out of the rock pile. Surveying our home for the night, my first brush with altitude sickness in the form of a whopping headache, slight nausea followed by a dash of fatigue. First, a massive dinner. Then, we were all asleep by 7pm, wrapped in our winter weather gear to combat the cold and ready to wake up at 1 am for our summit push.
Summit Day
Waking up and shaking the frost off my face, and stumbling down to the kitchen tent, it was the early morning of July 7th. It was time to push for the top of the mountain, and a giddy excitement was evident inside the warmth of the kitchen tent. I was strapped and bundled up: wool socks, alpine climbing boots, thermal underwear covered by waterproof winter pants, a thermal base layer underneath a thin sweater, then a thicker sweater and a water/wind proof outer shell, neck warmer and winter hat buttressed by the hood of my outer shell and waterproof ski mittens on my hands. Metin had been approached by another guide, asking if he could follow us because he "wasn't sure," and sure enough, as we began the careful ascent under cover of darkness, the second group of climbers were a few hundred metres behind and below us.
The first 3-4 hours of early morning as we climbed forced us to go slowly using hands and feet to grasp rock, with our headlamps revealing the path just a few feet in front. Suddenly, Kevin's headlamp faltered. His lamp only managed a dull beam, forcing Greg and I to turn around and shine back so Kevin could see his steps. The bitter cold on our faces began to disappear as the sun rose. The sky brightened but the sun was still hidden behind the domineering mountain's peak, casting a long shadow over the territory of Iran and Turkey behind us. The triangular shadow seemed small from our perspective but must have covered hundreds of kilometers on the ground below.
The climbing challenge was just beginning. The trail at this point was either loose rock, constantly threatening to give way, or a packed icy snow that had been cut by the footprints of someone before. The fear of a slip or misplaced step was constant and the mental concentration exhausting as I made sure I had somewhere to grab with every step. The collapsed trekking pole in my right hand worked as a makeshift ice-axe in case I slipped as a quick downward jab would halt my slide. When Metin didn't like the look of a previous path across the snow, we would cut our own, digging our heels into the icy snow one step at a time. By this point, trees were long gone and only ice, snow and rock remained, prompting the persistent thought: how did I get here?!
By the time we had reached 4500 metres, we were all hurting from exhaustion, cold and altitude. I had totally lost the feeling in my feet below the ankles, from a combination of low circulation and cold, and a jack-hammering in my temples reminded me constantly of the altitude. Greg was facing total exhaustion, as the altitude sapped his strength and caused his concentration to slip. Kevin was now facing his fear of heights (by climbing a mountain!) and only Metin seemed to be fine, although he was growing concerned over our pace.
At 4800 metres, the summit beckoned to us, shimmering under the sun and a blanket of permanent snow. We conferred with Metin, and decided that in his condition, Greg would have to go down - it was too dangerous to slog on to the summit. Kevin and I pushed ahead, leaving Metin with Greg to head back. I'll not soon forget the feeling of walking across the snowscape with the wind whipping over the summit approach, the intense brightness from the reflecting sunlight on the pure white snow. Kevin and I pushed onward at a steady walking pace, yet the extreme altitude meant that my lungs were working at a sprinter's pace. I was unable to catch my breath while slowly walking, triggering borderline panic and draining all my mental energy to remain calm. I looked at Kevin, unable to say much but the look on his face told me he felt the same. We wordlessly decided to sit down and - quickly - put on our crampons. As we strapped the metal braces onto the soles of our boots, we saw Metin a hundred metres below still pushing on. Momentary rage shot through me: how could this idiot leave Greg waiting at such an altitude, with the risk of frostbite or worse?!
Suddenly there was Greg, limp head angled down but refusing to give up, pushing for every meter up the mountain. Kevin and I waited for them to catch up, and together we pushed up the final steep slope. Kevin and Metin on either side of Greg and I ten feet in front shouting encouragement, we were steps away from the summit. When I reached the top plateau a woman I'd never met before, part of a Persian climbing team that had just summited, hugged me while others offered high-fives. Everyone shared in the same physical struggle to get up and now all shared the same mental exuberance. As Greg, Kevin and Metin reached just seconds later, we all realized what had happened: we had made it!
