July 3rd, 2013
By the time our heavy climbing boots hit the dusty tarmac in Van, with two months of preparation under our belts, we were ready. A heavy, scorching heat made the aquamarine water of nearby Lake Van beckon, but this was no beach vacation after all: we were here to climb a 5165 meter mountain of biblical proportions.
I was there solely for a mountain, as were Kevin and Greg, two friends of mine from Istanbul. Kevin, an American my age full of positive energy, had never climbed a mountain like this. Greg, a British guy with enough wisdom to sink a ship, had never climbed a mountain. My only "mountain" had been the 890 meter peak of Mt. Carleton, New Brunswick climbed with my brother a few years back. It was time for us to get our new climbing boots dirty, I suppose.
There we were in Van, a city in eastern Turkey. Van is a city that requires a wide angle lens to picture. One of the largest Kurdish cities in Turkey, it seems to run parallel to Turkey and has seen its fair share of tragedy throughout history, the most recent being a devastating earthquake in 2011. Historically significant though it is, Van was not where we needed to be. We needed to get to Doğubeyazıt, a tiny city near the intersection of Turkey, Armenia and Iran. It was time to fill up on hot food - something we would get less of in the coming days - so a soup, lamb and chicken stock up was on the menu at a small street corner eatery.
A two hour bus ride through the sparse eastern province of Ağrı, with idyllic fields, poppies pocking up from the dusty roadside and the occasional shepherd and his flock as our scenery, kept us giddy. But it wasn't the remote beauty that had us on lookout, it was the possibility of seeing our mountain around every corner. As signs for Doğubeyazıt began to appear, we knew it would be mere moments before we first glimpsed the mountain that we had all mentally and physically prepared ourselves for.
Suddenly, reaching from behind the horizon and stretching into the clouds: Ağrı Dağı (Mt. Ararat). In a flash of realization, I could suddenly see how it inspired the setting for the final resting of Noah's Ark. Its wide base seemed to steadily rise until it narrowed into a monstrous point of snow and ice and rock. The towering megalith could surely be the only thing left under the waters of a great flood.
Stepping off the bus in Doğubeyazıt, we met our guide Metin and quickly set up in our hotel room. From our balcony, Ağrı Dağı beckoned, its slopes rising ever steadily into the clouds. We waited, hoping for the clouds to part to give us a glimpse of even a sliver of the summit. When they did, we couldn't have known that what we saw was not yet the summit, but only the approach to the top. At dusk, we walked the dusty streets looking for an internet cafe to send out an update or two before we left internet, electricity, showers and everything else behind.
At an elevation of 1625 meters and in Turkey's most eastern district, Doğubeyazıt certainly felt a long way from Istanbul. A Kurdish city just 35 km from the Iranian border, Doğubeyazıt has a long history of owners: the Ancient Armenian Kingdom of Urartu, the Persians, Romans, Arabs, Byzantines and Ottomans. However, like much of Kurdish Turkey, its prosperity has waned as the Turkish state has left it to get on as it pleased. It seemed Doğubeyazıt had been left to stagnant, with dusty broken roads and half built buildings throughout the city. Cab drivers were quick to - vehemently - point out that they were not Turkish, but Kurdish, and that their language was Kurdish, not Turkish. The red of the Turkish flag certainly did not fly anywhere in this town.
Waking up the next morning we gathered our gear and met our guide and van. On a tight budget, the three of us had spent the prior few weeks in Istanbul frantically searching for all the gear we needed. We all played a part in getting what we needed, borrowing gear from friends, having visiting parents bring some, buying second hand and as a last resort, buying full cost. The only thing we all bought at full price were our climbing boots and trekking poles - though Greg's stellar Turkish and smile got us a discount.
On the melting hot morning of July 11th, we headed down to the hotel lobby to meet with our guide, Metin. Throwing our gear in the back of the old van, it was time to go. We headed on down the road in the direction of Iran before veering onto a dirt road leading towards the base of the mountain. Our van began to slow down and weave to avoid the massive cracks and the potentially axle snapping potholes in the road. Spirits were high amongst the three of us as we got to know the fourth climber in our team, Jason, an American living in Pakistan. Kevin passed over some multi-vitamin cocktails and supplements. As we got comfortable in the bouncing van, we downed plenty of water to keep away the slight elevation headaches.
Small talk filled the silences and kept us from thinking about the fears in the back of all of our minds. A sharply inclining and winding road lead us to a small stretch of flat ground where we abruptly stopped. Our pack horse, camp supplies and cook were waiting for us. Looking up, one hell of a mountain beckoned. Large boulders, sparse grass and dust. The summit of Ağrı Dağı was 3000 meters above. We were 2200 meters from sea level and this was it. This was the start.
