Blog Day 5, The Summit and Near Disaster.

Traditionally, summit day on Ararat starts at 1:00 in the morning. At this point the thermal winds have lessened and the rocks are frozen solid, minimizing the potential for rock fall injury. Dragging out of the rack into that cold dark wilderness at 1:00 AM is one hell of a shock to the system. Breakfast consisted on some sausages, cheese, and some sort of sweet crumbly cake. I was not too sure what it was.

Due to adrenaline and nervousness, my appetite was not very good ad I ate little. Just a few cups of Cey (tea) to hydrate. I spent the hour while everyone was eating fidgeting and looking up at the stars. The sky was entirely black .. like the view I’d imagine that one would have from space. I fitted and refitted my boots – they didn’t feel right, I felt clumsy in them. 

Finally, at 2:15 AM we headed out, and the teams gradually began to stretch out along the rocky ridge. It was an eerie sight to see those headlamps stretch out - - not horizontally – but almost vertically along the very steep ridge. At my guide’s recommendation, I left my ice axe behind and went with ski poles (n crampons – not yet fitted to my boots) only. That was another decision I’d come to regret. 

The ridge was almost unbelievably steep with only the faintest remnants of a trail – like climbing Mt. St. Helens, but at 14,000 instead of 6000ft. Almost immediately we hit an icy rock and snow band and I struggled mightily to keep my footing .. and this was up-climbing. Down climbing was going to be much worse. I was clearly a bit worried. Musa set a moderate pace and all of the tam except for one of the Polish guys-Merrick, were able to keep up. He eventually dropped out and headed back to Camp II. 

As we climbed the movement turned from less and less hiking to more and more rock climbing, with hands required to ascend in a lot of places. When we hit the mixed snow and ice my boots began to slip all over the place, and I stumbled badly several times. Once grabbing on for dear life. My worry escalated a bit more. I’ll never use these boots on mixed alpine again, it was like trying to rock climb with casts on both feet. 

Finally, we cleared the rock band an got onto firm snow. That was where we put crampons on, and I once again felt comfortable. Past 16,000 ft we climbed into the clouds and the wind howled ferociously. The summit at 17,000 feet was a near white out. Although the final 15oo feet was very steep, it was not exposed and the rest of the climb to the top was mostly uneventful. It felt good to be on top and done with this obsession (so I thought). I tried calling from the top, but could not get a cell signal. So we all snapped a few pics and held out a polish flag (I forgot my Utah State flag back at the hotel), and began the long arduous trek back down.

"Selfie" n Summit.

The Summit Team!

The climb down to the rock band was simple, and felt very secure with the crampons on. But while we’d ascended the clouds had dropped down and covered everything with Verglas – sort of like the kind of ice that results from an old un-defrosted refrigerator. So everybody just started picking their way down the class 3 rock field. Because my boot were so unstable I spent a lot of time chimneying between boulders and crawling on my butt! Then near the very end of the rock band where we’d drop onto a snow chute, I’d gotten a bit ahead and stopped to wait for the others. As I looked back, a big gust of wind hit, I slipped, grabbed for air and started tumbling.

 

Down Climbing The Rock Band to Camp II -- Waaaay Below.

 Sheesh, that! is a sick feeling. I bounced a couple of times on rock and then hit the snow headfirst. Once I hit the snow I accelerated like being shot fro a cannon. I used my ski poles to self-arrest and right myself, head-up. Bot by now I was going too fast for my si poles to stop e and was sure wishing for an ice axe. I knew that threw s big cliff “down there” somewhere, and out of desperation I stuck out my legs to catch a big boulder in the middle of the ice field. I missed with my right leg and only hit with my left leg. The impact was so huge that it drove my left knee back into my jaw, and I felt a distinct “popping” in my left knee. I toppled over the boulder – but it did stop my fall. 

Getting hit in the jaw by my knee stunned me, and the “pop” hurt like hell. So I just lay there fr a minute to assess my situation. I could move my toes, good! I could move my arms, good! I stood up on my right leg, good! Then, as I put weight on my left leg it simply crumpled under my weight, and I fell to the snow in agony. Not good! 

Okay, I was flying at 14,00 feet and my plane had lost power, and my main chute was fouled. Big problem. I was starting to get worried. It was still a thousand feet of vertical down to camp II, another 3200 feet to camp I, and another 3500 feet down to the trailhead. I was really screwed!

Our guide Musa and  two of the gals from the Polish team worked their way down to me, not completely understanding how really injured I was. They tried to get me to my feet an off the snow over to rock band. As soon as I put pressure on the leg, I collapsed again. The pain was excruciating. How was I ever going to navigate that mine field of boulders to get off this mountain? Following from what they taught me at Air Force flight survival school, I tried to remain calm, and I did outwardly. Inwardly I was screaming in mad panic. 

Then Musa had a great idea. He radioed his cousin, who was leading another team, who took out packs and gave Musa an Ice axe. Then like a bobsled team I wrapped my legs behind him and held on for dear life as we Bonsai-ed down the snow field, bypassing Camp II and heading for Camp I 4000 feet below! Good thing I’d ridden that bobsled at Utah Olympic park before! Apparently, all of the Kurdish kids near Ararat grow up using their bodies as sleds as an improvisation for not being able to afford real sleds.

The slope was at first only about 25 degrees and at first we were able to easily control speed with Musa glissading on the right, and me dragging my ski poles together on the left. Can’t say this was a joy ride though as every now and then my left leg would catch on the snow, and it was like being shot in the knee. But I was starting to become optimistic I’d live thru this adventure. 

Suddenly we came over this rise and the snow dropped away very steeply, like a double black diamond ski slope. We screamed down the slope, swaying together and almost losing control and tumbling. The slope was littered with rocks and if I’d have hit one of them with my leg it would have been unbearable. But steering together we managed to miss every single rock, and just like that ..less than a half hour we were down to within 1500 feet of camp I. We’d bypassed nearly 2500 feet of attitude.

At this point, Musa and one of the other Kurd support guys drug me off of the snow and over to the trail, or at least what passes for a trail on Mt. Ararat. We used a leather strap and an old Ace bandage to stabilize my knee as best possible. Using my bent and mangled ski poles as crutches, Musa and I started to walk. It was like trying to tap dance in a mine field. Every rock was a life threatening menace, and every switch back was a knee busting wall of pain. 

Musa was very heroic, and stayed by me all the way even though I’m half-gain as heavy as he is. He lended me his shoulder when I could not navigate an obstacle. It literally took us 4 hours to walk the remaining mile and a half to Camp I. I fell several times, and when I di it was agony getting back onto my feet again. Once I got to Camp I, I fell into a pathetic heap of organic tissue. But at least now I knew I was going to survive this mess. All of “this” had happened and it was only 10:30 in the morning. When I got to Camp I, I drank a ton of water – I was exhausted and severely dehydrated – and slept for about two hours. I was warm again and was nice sleeping on the soft grass. 

About 2:00 Musa’s and his cousin came over and said “come you go.” So I grabbed my passport and wallet, struggled to my feet, and headed off with them. To my horror they were standing by a little Arabian mare horse, with the same kid we had picked up on the way in. The horse was part of the pack train for another group headed down and they doubled up the loads to make room for me. The horse only had an old style Arabian bareback addle with no stirrups. Sheesh!

Riding bareback is hard enough, try ding it with a strange horse, and bum knee, a partially separated shoulder, and multiple cuts bruises and abrasions. My Reptile brain wanted to run away screaming, but logically I knew that this was the best, possibly the last way down. They maneuvered the horse up to a big rock. I crawled up onto the rock, and managed to stand up with my ski poles. I lunged onto the saddle with my right leg, and miraculously landed upright. Wow! OK I can do this. 

My Rescuers!

So the kid and his younger brother and I set off; the older boy (I need to get his name) leading my horse and his little brother managing the other horses. And if you think this was some sort of Travel Channel Equitrekking pleasure ride think again. The old trail was littered with boulders and stream crossings, and at each stream crossing the horse would streak across like he was afraid of water. If I’d had fallen off, there was no way those two small kids could have gotten me back on with no adult help. Staying on was – quite literally – a life or death proposition. 

Two or three excruciating hours later we finally reached the drop off point where the 4WD would meet us. The only way I could get off of the horse is for the kids to support me and then just let me drop onto the ground sideways. The kids were really embarrassed, but I’d lost my dignity hours earlier, so it was no big deal. Then the truck arrived and all was good. I was going to live thru this trip. 

Day 6: Preliminary Medical Diagnosis.

I got back t the hotel and fell asleep in all of my dirty clothing –I was too tired to change. After getting cleaned up, the next day Musa took me to the local hospital where his brother works, and they got me I right away to see the orthopedic surgeon. He popped my shoulder back in, and then sent me for x-rays.  The x-rays showed nothing broken but some sort of misalignment with my knee, and so it was back to the basement for a Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) scan. The MRI clearly showed a ruptured quadriceps tendon. This injury could not heal itself and requires surgery. The doctor was quite competent and did what he could to heal me.  

So here I am, waiting to fly back to the USA tomorrow with a Sunday evening arrival in Huntsville. I bought a Pharmaceutical knee brake to stabilize my knee for the trip home. If all goes as well, I be meeting with Dr. James Andrews on Monday, with surgery scheduled likely Tuesday if all looks acceptable. Thanks to Debbie for pulling off this minor miracle.

Dr. Andrews is one of the leading sports injury orthopedic doctors in the South. I’m lucky that he just happens to work for the excellent Huntsville medical center, and that he has no appointments next week. His big time is in the fall wher4e he repairs busted up football players from the Tennessee Titans and the Alabama and Auburn football teams. I think he was intrigued by my story, and wanted to see first-hand what a mountaineering injury was like. 

That’s all I have for now. I’ll try to wait until after the surgery, and after I’ve swapped pictures with the rest of the team to write a concluding chapter to this saga. Here’s to a safe uneventful series of flights, and s successful surgery ad rehab.

Blog Day 4. Arrival at Camp II:

The climb up to camp 2 at 13, 500 ft took only about 3 hours ad was actually easier than day one. When we arrived there were already several teams there and space was quite limited. The camp was situated on a narrow steep ridgeline between two enormous steep snow fields. The wind was howling, and setting up camp became quite a chore. Also, the jovial mood from Camp I changed significantly. Climbers were becoming a bit more serious; sorting and resorting gear for the summit push tomorrow. 

In my case I had a stupid mistake and packed my helmet with the headlamp so that is was switched on during transport, and the batteries had drained. Man what a panic. Glad I discovered it the day before and not “morning of.”  I scoured the camp and managed to come up with the three triple A batteries I needed. Seems I’d left my spares down at the hotel in my computer bag. Another chain of stupid mistake I’d make on this trip. 

The Angry Looking Summit.

The other bad mistake was my choice of climbing boot. I ended up bringing along my SCARPA Omega plastic-shell double mountaineering boot for the summit attempt. Although the SCARPA is a good boot, it is intended purely for alpine conditions – that is purely ice and snow climbing – and not for class three rock climbing. The boots big clunky boots – although very warm and comfortable -- are very non- dexterous, and are especially poor on mixed rock and ice. The Grivel “newmatic” auto-binding crampons I’d brought only fit those boots, and would not fit the excellent Brooks-RockyBoots S2V trail shoes I’d done the approach with. 

I knew from the Ecuador trip, and from various short climbs in Utah that the SCARPA boots were going to be a problem on mixed ice rock conditions, and did bring along another of old strapped crampons that would fit the S2V shoes. But to save space – my packs were completely filled – I decided to leave the second et of crampons back at the hotel. As it turns out the RockyBoots shoes were sufficiently insulated that they would have been perfect for the climb. They would have been perfect for the mixed alpine climbing, and I use those shoes regularly for rock scrambles in northern Utah. That! was a bad decision I’d come to really regret the next day.

 Blog Day 3 The Approach In:

Monday, June 22 began the climb. We were all pretty excited and “champing at the bit” to go. With more than 25 iles of beaten up , barely drivable – we would call them 4 Wheel Drive Roads in the USA, the drive in to the trail head was an adventure in itself. Of course, out ride was a 2WD passenger van, and there were a few times that it looked like we’d be stuck for sure. The road passed thru multiple Nomad villages along the way. These were mostly rock and mud huts with no signs of the 21^st century world, except for the obligatory satellite dish on a few of the nicer houses. Along the way we picked up a smallish 15-16 year old Kurdish boy. He wore nothing but a tee shirt, beaten up jeans, and a pair of rubber sandal-like moccasins. He was wearing a Los Angeles Lakers hat and I kept high fiving him saying “Kobe Bryant.”  I had no idea at the time how important he’d end up being to me about three days later.  

 

The approach in is a long rocky slog that starts at 6500 ft and then climbs to 10,650 feet in about 4 miles to camp 1. Each team member carried one pack with essential personal materials like sleeping bag, clothes, water, hygiene items, camera, etc, while horses lead by Kursish nomads pack the climbing gear and support stuff like mess tent, stoves, etc. The closest thing I can compare to them is the Sherpas that Himalayan climbers employ in Nepal. That approach allows an incredible amount of stuff to be hauled up onto the mountain. 

ONe of the Few Stretches ith a Defined trail.

Kurdish Nomad Camp at 9500 Feet Elevation.

The grade is dang steep with a surprisingly undefined trail .. just a lot of rock scrambles with the occasional crossover of a remnant graded road. There even two broken down bulldozers about half way out to camp 1. Like everything else here in eastern Kurdish turkey, if something breaks there is no money to fix it, and it is abandoned in place. Looks a lot like a NASA field center in that regard!

There are a lot of nomadic Kurdish shepherds here, and as we passed camp, we were obliged to stop and drink “cey” a strong Turkish tea with them. That was sort of a blessing in that we were able to get well hydrated without having to pack that extra water. Every seemed to know our guide Musa Saltik and he was a big hero to all the kids who aspired to grow up and be a mountain guide.  

I’ll say one thing, Musa – like all of the Kurds -- was as tough as nails. He was carrying two packs – his own and one of the team member packs (she was a bit fatigued), smoking a cigarette and he still set a pace that was clearly uncomfortable for me. I faked like I was having a good time. The whole trip for day one took about 4 hours, and got us in to camp I by about 3:00 in the afternoon. The camp was incredibly green and beautiful, but there was not a single tree on the entire flanks of Mt. Ararat. The foliage was mostly just scrub, grass and thistles. There were also a lot of pretty wild flowers. 

Musa Taking a Smoke Break During Trek into Camp I.

Once camp I was set up, it became a miniature city. As far as I could tell here were three climbing groups there; the Polish-American group (what we named out team), a Russian  group, and a mixed German Romanian group. The Russian group also had a couple of American Ex-pats working for a humanitarian 

The Polish Team Taking a Break.

aid group in Iraq on their team. Every one was very cordial, and the camp spirit was quite buoyant, not at all like the camp attitude in Ecuador which was all quite somber. The Russians even packed in a couple of cases of beer, and were pounding them back pretty quickly, with the rest of us looking on in envy.

That night we all sat in the mess tent after dinner, and the local Nomads supporting the climb all started singing Kurdish folks songs and chants. The chants sounded like the well-known Arabic hymns, but with a slightly different edge. I don’t think they were religious songs. Then they asked the climbers to sing a traditional song from their country. When it became my turn I started belting out a really bad version of “Born n the USA.” With the Russians there, my Polish teammates looked a bit nervous until one of the young Kurdish guides clenched his fist in the air and shouted out “the Boosse,” and Obama.. Meaning, of course, the songs composer and singer Bruce Springsteen, and Barak Obama--the American President. Seems both are very well loved in this part of the world. Everyone had a big laugh at that one, and for a fleeting moment I’d never been more proud to be an American. 

Singing Kurdish "Folk Songs".

As soon as the sun set it gets really cold at that altitude, and the thermal wind pics up with cold air rushing down the mountain to the hot valley below. Thus, it was very early to bed and try as hard as you can to find a comfortable spot with no rocks under your sleeping pad. One just hunkers down in your bag and wait till morning hoping a few fleeting hours of sleep come. 

 

Day 2

Well .. day two did not disappoint. The adventure got even a bit stranger. Couple of scary times .. but are funny now in retrospect. As it turns out, I ended up with te wrong climb group leaving the Van Airport for Dogubayazit ... the portal town for Mt. Ararat. Lot's of yelling and confusion at the airport .. and no one seemed to know anything for sure .. so I just jumped onto the first van to away from Van .. so to speak. 

Everything went well for about a half hour .. but as my driver was checking his list and found out I was with the wrong group ...  he got a bit upset and was worried he'd left his real passenger at the airport. We were almost to Dogubayazit then, and he just put me out on the side of the road about a mile from town to head back for his client. Saying something like "don’t worry your guide find you!"

Ararat from Near Iranian Border

Wow! That was one heck of a pickle. I had no idea how to dial the trekking company... since all of our correspondences... and could not find a local number anywhere. So I parked myself under a shady cottonwood tree, and used the Android smart phone I borrowed from Deb to set up a mobile hotspot. Then linked my laptop to the internet and sent the manager of the trekking company Joanna Saltik to explain my predicament.

To my amazement she replied almost immediately, saying that my real group and my guide Musa was only about an hour away. Ya! Right! Sure enough about an hour later (a really long hour!) This van pulls up and the guys sticks his head out the window "Tony?”... Yup that's me and I'm damn glad to see you. So I got in and we headed on like nothing ever had happened. 

The amazing thing was here I was, sitting on a military grade green duffel bag under a tree with a laptop out... and 100 cars passed by and did not pay a bit of attention to me! I'm grown my beard out long just to fit it... so maybe they thought I was another Jihadi on my way to Syria!

On a bright note ... I got to meet the other members of my group... all from Poland, and 4 of which are very attractive, single, thirty-something adventurous Gals. Three of which speak outstanding $English, and another that is fluent in French ... so they are being great translators for me. Hope to get each of the group's "story" and post here before the blog is done. Things are definitely looking up!

Trucks Queue up at Iranian Border

Guard Tower at Iranian Border

 Day 3 was much tamer as we hired a driver to take us sigh-seeing... with the obligatory "cultural experience" before beating ourselves up on the mountain. There was where I had another mild scare. Our driver was taking us to see a local attraction... a big hole in the ground caused by an impact meteor. The signs saying "Iran Border" kept getting smaller and smaller numbers... until there we were right at the border crossing... and he just kept going ... "hell" I thought ... we’ve just been kidnapped.  Then all of a sudden he makes a sharp left turn ... not 5 feet from the gate... and heads out into the middle of the desert on this beaten up dirt track. Whew!  I’ve got to say my pulse got above 100 for just a little bit. 

Noah'S Ark? Sorry Lou, no Holy Water yet!

 After the meteor crater, we went back north and up into the mountains on the other side of the valley from Ararat, headed out to see the "Noah's Arc" site that a lot of Evangelical Christians have been pushing as "the place" on Mt. Tendurek for years. I even remember a National Geographic from back in the late 80's or early 90's about the site. The place was way up in the middle of nowhere, the poor old tourist van overheated on the way.  There was even on old, now rundown and more or less abandoned visitor's center at the site. One old Kurdish man... had to be in his eighties.  Acted as the caretaker. We'll I've attached a picture of the site ... you tell me? sorry looks like a big rock to me! I've seen similar if not identical formations near Fossil Falls in The Owen's valley of California. Heck! Maybe Noah landed there too!

Ararat looking back from the Mount Tendurek Site.... Ark must be up there? Somewhere!

Finally, headed back down to Dogubayazit on some old dirt back roads passing through a bunch of Kurdish Nomad villages. Looked a lot like the April in the desert terrain near the Poppy Park in northern LA County of California. Complete with lupines and poppies. Except these poppies are big and red, and contain opium! Domesticated fields of these Things in Afghanistan are used to produce most of the heroin that ends up in Europe and the USA. 

 We stopped off to see a late 18th century Ottoman fortress … Ishak Pasha palace build by built by the Pasha ruling family .. . Between 1685 and 1784. Classical example of Ottoman style architecture. Interesting place complete with harem rooms and dungeons. Those dungeons were pretty amazing. Once you went in there... it was for sure... you weren’t coming out!

Ishak Pasha Palace

The group of us are walking downtown Dogubayazit tonight to catch some of the after-dark Ramadan activities. I just heard the 7:30 call to prayer at the Mosque. So sundown, and the feast of ... are soon to begin. I feel totally foreign here .... but its an interesting culture and I might as well learn what I can. To quote Mark Twain  ... "travel is fatal to misconception, self-righteousness, and bigotry." Hope he's right!

Tomorrow, we begin the climb into base camp... so if I can get cell reception, the blog will be pretty brief. But will try to update.

Well .. I finally made it here .... been a long time wanting to do this -- climb Mt. Ararat -- and almost as long planning the trip.

Took advantage of the 2015 RAST conference to present a paper on the interesting work in "green propulsion" we are doing at Utah State. Gave me a "semi-legitimate" professional excuse for getting over here. 

The flight over here was a bit of an adventure. Weather delay brought us into Washington, Dulles about an hour late and I missed my connecting flight. So I ended up having a nearly 24 hour layover there; but, I gotta admit the airlines put me up in a dang nice suite. Normal rate was $450/night! Next day Iflew through London Heathrow and then onto Istanbul. Unfortunately, my baggage which included ALL of my climbing gear stayed behind in Washington. Glad I brought an emergency bag with a change of clothes.

The Istanbul airport was a madhouse and no one in "service" seemed to know anything. When I called United, they could not find any information for me at all. Fortunately, my best bud in Huntsville, Debbie Brooks got on the phone with United from the USA end and must have raised some real "Caine." Miraculously, suddenly United "found" my bags in Washington and they were on the plane the next day. Finally, got all of my gear -- and a change of clothes -- over here on Wednesday night.

The RAST conference was quite enlightening. I'm used to American professional conferences with all of the industry fat-cats hanging around and smoozing the NASA and USAF big whigs. This conference was much more youthful; mostly, made up of Turkish university students presenting their Thesis research. Very little in the way of corporate sales itches. Very refreshing. One of the highlights of the conference was the Wednesday evening Bosphorous Straight harbor tour. Lots of history, with an interesting juxtaposition of Old Byzantine and Ottoman structures contracted with ultra modern suspension bridges spanning the straight. If you took out the old castles and Mosques, it would look a lot like San Franciscoat Fort Point by the Golden Gate Bridge. Some cool pics of the cruise below.

   

 I sat with my friend and colleague Arif Karabeyoglu during the harbor cruise. Not only is Arif a world-class expert on hybrid rockets and one of the ten smartest people I've ever met; he is also an amazing historian. His presence was like having my own personal tour guide on the trip. I learned amazing things about the Ottoman empire, Mustafa Atarurk, and the formation of the Republic of Turkey. Amazing stuff. Thanks Arif!. I also learned about Raki ... a traditional Turkish drink. Like Ouzo with a bigger kick. From now on I'll be careful with that stuff!. If all else fails we could use it as a monopropellant in place of Hydroxyl ammonium nitrate! :-}

Ararat (Agri Dagi in Turkish) is a dormant volcano, and is the highest peak in the middle east. the summit altitude is 5137 meters -- or right around 17,000 feet. If I make it .. it'll be the second biggest peak I've climbed next to Cayambe in Ecuador.  The big draw for Ararat is that it  is also the landing point of Noah's Ark in the Old Testament Biblical legend. Image below shows the surrounding terrain.The physical scale is amazing! Its one darn big peak. The top 500 meters are glaciated and snow capped year round. The approach is from the Southwest starting near the city of Dogubayazi. The figure below the terrain map shows the final 2000 meters (6400 ft) of the climb route from the Yesil "Green camp" at 3200 m (10, 500 ft). That's about 4000 feet higher than my condo in Park City!

I'm headed out to Van in Eastern to meet up with my climbing group tomorrow. The group is being lead by the Saltik family, typical Kurdish mountaineers who have lived in the mountain area – the Ararat slopes for many generations. Their web link is http://www.ararattrek.eu/en/about-us/team. I'll have my cell phone ... and if its within cell range you can reach me at ...  (256) 483-0222. In Emergency please get a hold of Debbie Brooks in Huntsville at ..(256) 740-7599. See you'll on my blog tomorrow.!