Return to Cilo: A Climb Not to the Summit, But to Life – 2019

This was my second winter mountaineering adventure in the Cilo Mountains. This region holds a special place in Turkey’s climbing community. In 2013, I had been part of a team that made headlines for completing the first winter ascent of Reşko (Uludoruk) — Turkey’s second-highest peak — after a 32-year gap. Pre-expedition Media Briefing/

In the Shadow of Symbols: Cilo’s Hidden Majesty

There has long been a whispered claim within the mountaineering community — one rarely voiced officially, yet deeply etched in collective memory: The rising silhouette in the old, iconic logo of the Turkish Mountaineering Federation (TDF) was actually that of the Cilo Range, Turkey’s second highest peak.

For those who speak the language of symbols, Cilo represented the purest and most technical form of mountaineering. But times changed. The old symbol gave way to the political and geographical weight of Ağrı Dağı, Turkey’s highest peak. Choosing Ağrı for the new logo may have been a declaration of “number one,” yet for us, Cilo has always remained that proud, hidden silhouette from the old emblem.

And so, staying true to the spirit of that old logo, we set out on a journey toward the real majesty beyond the symbols — to the heart of Cilo, among Turkey’s most technical, rugged, and untamed peaks.

This was not merely a climb. It was also a quiet quest for justice/recognition of that forgotten silhouette…

In March 2019, I flew from Istanbul Sabiha Gökçen Airport to Van with three climbing friends. Our plan was to continue from Van to Yüksekova by intercity minibus, which departed hourly. While the other eight members of our team flew directly from the European side of Istanbul to Yüksekova, we chose Sabiha Gökçen because it was closer to our homes. At that time, there were no direct flights from Sabiha Gökçen to Yüksekova. Still, our route was budget-friendly and relatively convenient. When you live in a metropolis like Istanbul, which side of the city you live on becomes just as important as cost when planning a trip.

On the day of the flight, I boarded the plane with excitement, stowed my carry-on, and took my seat. From the last identity check until boarding via the jet bridge, I had been walking absentmindedly, staring at my phone. In my hands were my phone, fleece jacket, wallet, and boarding pass. While slipping the boarding pass into my wallet, I opened it in a daze — my ID was gone. It felt as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured over me.

Heading to Cilo Without ID: Divine Warning or Simple Forgetfulness?

I tried to calm myself, thinking I must have put it in my bag. I sat in my seat pretending to be relaxed, but an overwhelming anxiety pushed every other thought aside. I checked all my pockets. I probably dropped it while boarding after the final ID check, or maybe I had stuffed it somewhere in my bag. When the plane landed in Van, I searched my carry-on more carefully, but it wasn’t there. After everyone had disembarked, I explained the situation to the cabin supervisor. He told me to wait in the baggage claim area and that if the ID was found on the plane, they would bring it there. I waited for a while, but no one came. Meanwhile, I somehow found the ground services phone number for Sabiha Gökçen Airport, called the lost and found office, and asked about my ID. The answer was negative…

Arrival in Van city and the Taxi Driver’s Justified Concern

With nothing left to do at the Van airport, the three of us took a taxi to the city center. When the driver loaded our bags into the spacious trunk of his Doblo car, he immediately realized we were mountaineers. When we told him we were heading to Cilo, he looked worried and said:
“What are you doing up there in this weather, brother? Something might happen to you.”
He spent the entire ride trying to dissuade us. He offered to show us around Van and even invited us to his home as guests. We politely thanked him for his sincere invitation and said, “Maybe next time, God willing.”

Journey into the State of Emergency (OHAL) Region Without ID

As soon as we landed in Van, my friends and I had only one thing on our minds: reaching Yüksekova as quickly as possible. There was just one major problem—I didn’t have my ID on me. To make matters worse, a state of emergency (OHAL) had been declared in the region due to recent events, and we knew all too well that we would encounter frequent checkpoints along the way.

In search of a solution, we headed straight to the Provincial Directorate of Population in the city center together. I explained the situation, showing them the only thing I had: my Turkish Mountaineering Federation (TDF) license. The chief official stated that a formal investigation would be required and that he couldn’t issue a temporary ID. We left empty-handed.

While brainstorming our next move, we thought of going to the local police station; perhaps an official police report could get us through. There was a massive queue at the entrance. I stepped into line and waited. Noticing the line wasn’t moving an inch, I turned to the guy in front of me with the clueless bewilderment of Kemal Sunal—the legendary Turkish comedic actor—and asked, “Brother, what is this queue even for?” It turned out they were people released on judicial control waiting to sign in, and since the station was on lunch break, everything had ground to a halt. I stepped out of line, signaled the situation to my friends, and walked toward the entrance. As my backpack passed through the X-ray machine, the police officer spotted my drone and instantly grew suspicious. After a brief interrogation, he informed me that population procedures had been transferred to provincial directorates and advised me to call the official helpline. We walked out of there empty-handed, too.

I had never experienced entering a state of emergency zone without an ID before, but there was no turning back now. Driven by that stubborn mountaineer spirit and backed by my friends’ support, we pushed forward toward Yüksekova together, with nothing in my pocket but that climbing license.

The Journey to Yüksekova Begins: Eastern Hospitality

While wandering the streets of Van, the time for the last minibus to Yüksekova (16:00) was approaching, so we reluctantly returned to the ticket office. We bought tickets for the final departure and set off with my three friends. The journey passed quickly with conversations. As darkness fell, we stopped at a roadside rest area. A young man ran out from inside without a jacket in the freezing cold, opened our van door, and warmly welcomed us.
We entered the facility as oddly dressed strangers from the west. People inside were watching a football match with interest, but they didn’t hesitate to chat with us. When we tried to pay for our tea, they refused, saying, “You are our guests.” These were things we weren’t used to in the west.

The Mountaineering License as a Lifesaver

As we approached Yüksekova, the expected identity checks by gendarmerie and police began. The smallest problem would mean failing to catch up with the team and the cancellation of the entire expedition for me.

This “boiling water pouring over me” feeling was not unfamiliar. Whenever real danger had approached in my life, the same alarming warning had risen inside me. This time, it was particularly strong. It felt as if an invisible hand had touched my shoulder and whispered in my ear: “Brother, you have no idea what awaits you on that mountain — maybe it would be better to stay home and watch a mountaineering movie.” The universe seemed to have pressed the “stop” button.

Yet the stubborn mountaineer inside me refused to yield even to such a strong warning. With only my TDF mountaineering license in my pocket, I continued toward Yüksekova, where the strictest security measures of the OHAL region were in effect.

At every checkpoint, I would take out my license and hand it to the officer, feeling a bit like James Bond — except “007” was replaced by “Mountaineer 001 – The Identityless Edition.”

The thought “Will they detain me this time?” hit me like a punch in the stomach at every stop. It was more than enough adrenaline even for thrill-seekers. Of course, I didn’t give up. Because real courage is not just reaching the summit, but being able to say “I’m still going” while the universe keeps shouting “Stop!” at you.

Fortunately, we were allowed to proceed every time and reached Yüksekova without issue. This adventure taught me a very valuable lesson: From now on, I will carry my spare ID, passport, driver’s license — even my mother’s ID card — in separate bags.

I didn’t take any chances for the return flight either. I asked my family in Istanbul to ship my driver’s license to the hotel. When the expedition ended, my license was waiting for me neatly at the reception desk. At least this plan had worked more flawlessly than the games the mountain had played on me.

Meeting the Team and a Memorable Evening in Yüksekova

The friends who had flown from the other airport had already settled into the hotel. They had joined a welcome dinner organized by the Yüksekova Nature Enthusiasts group at a nearby venue. We left our gear in the hotel lobby and joined them. We came together with Klos Mountaineering Board President Sönmez Erkaya, our other climbing friends from Istanbul, and the Yüksekova Nature Enthusiasts team. After dinner, we sang songs and folk tunes together. We spent a wonderful evening playing the saz, singing türküs, and dancing halay with great young people.

Day 1:
Yeşiltaş Military Post and Avalanche Terrains Reminiscent of the Karakoram

At the first light of morning, our full team of two minibuses arrived at Yeşiltaş military post. The Turkish soldiers welcomed us with warm hospitality in the freezing cold. The commander’s encouraging speech further ignited the climbing fire within us. When I had come in 2013, the procedure had been completely different — each of us had been asked, “Did you come here of your own free will?” I understood the security measures, of course, but for a team carrying heavy mountain loads, motivation was everything, and this commander gave us exactly the morale we needed. After taking a group photo shoulder-to-shoulder with the soldiers, we shouldered our heavy backpacks with high energy and took our first steps into the endless white.

But nature was not smiling on us. Until we reached Serpel Plateau, we advanced through waist-deep wet snow and relentless snowfall. As we passed through endless avalanche-prone sections, a heavy silence fell over the team. The landscape was no different from the merciless Karakoram ranges in Nepal or Pakistan. If the first stage was like this, what kind of hell awaited us higher up?

The Cilo Mountains are not only home to Turkey’s second-highest peak but also serve as the westernmost representative of the massive Himalayan Mountain belt. This is why the ‘Karakoram vibe’ we felt during the climb is no coincidence; it is a genetic heritage of the geography itself. Although the region resembles the Alps in its general appearance, it hosts the largest glaciers in Turkey.

Small Mistakes, Big Prices on the Mountain: Frozen Fingers

I had three pairs of gloves with me: inner, mid, and outer layers. Thinking that only the mid-layer would suffice at the start was the kind of arrogance the mountain does not forgive. By evening, my wet gloves began to freeze my fingers, while the dry ones waited in a hard-to-reach corner of my backpack. Saying “We’ll reach camp soon” and postponing the glove change out of laziness, the light numbness in my hands turned into a knife-like pain with the increasing wind. I almost paid for this mistake by frostbiting my fingertips. It taught me a vital winter mountaineering lesson: There is no room for laziness on the mountain, and life-saving gear must always be within easy reach! In Cilo’s freezing glaciers, choosing the right equipment is not a preference but a survival strategy.

While local pack animals can help carry gear partway on summer climbs, no such support exists in winter’s harsh conditions. All the camp load and technical equipment was on our shoulders alone. We completed the grueling 6.5-kilometer route in exactly 10 hours and reached the Serpel Plateau camp at 2100 meters. However, the area’s topography offered no absolute safety; every slope carried potential avalanche risk. With a strategic decision, we chose a line where an avalanche had already occurred and much of the snow load had been released. We set up our tents as darkness fell. That night, slipping into my down jacket and down sleeping bag brought not just warmth, but the most primitive and pure peace that comes from simply being alive.

Day 2:
Fetching Water from a 3–4 Meter Snow Wall and “The Grueling Azap Couloir”

The next morning, the sun had not yet reached our tents but was shining on the opposite slope. On the mountain, when the sun is close but not shining on you, you feel sudden and freezing temperature swings as if the door of a refrigerator is opening and closing. With our eyes on that first sunlight, we began breakfast preparations.

We needed to go down to the stream for water, but a 3–4 meter snow wall made it impossible. I tied an empty plastic bottle to a rope and lowered it. The light bottle wouldn’t sink and fill with water. I cut it in half and tried again, but when pulling it up, the rope didn’t drop straight like a well, so the water always spilled along the way. We could have set up a station and tried a proper rappel, but it would have been too exhausting while hungry and thirsty. Necessity is the mother of invention, they say. I brought my thermos, tied the rope to it, and lowered it into the stream like Eskimos fishing through ice holes. The heavy thermos sank easily into the water, and that tiny carabiner hole at its mouth became the most vital design wonder in the world at that moment. Thanks to that small opening, we pulled up clean water without spilling a single drop. It saved the entire camp. Otherwise, those valuable gas cartridges would go to waste, leaving the team stranded with that awful-tasting snow water—impossible to gulp down unless mixed with flavored drink powders.

The 800-Meter Climb That Forged Our Will

The previous day’s avalanche terrain and brutal weather had broken the resistance of some team members. During the technical meeting, several friends decided to turn back. We took their gas canisters and extra food and said our goodbyes. After seeing them off with a local guide, the loads on the backs of those who remained became even heavier.

To reach Horkedim Plateau at 2900 meters, we faced the steep and merciless 800-meter section we named the “Azap Couloir” (Couloir of Torment). My backpack, which also contained a 5.6 kg tent, felt as heavy as lead. Stepping through knee-deep snow was like drilling into an oil well. Breaking trail under that terrible weight was not something you could endure for money. It could only be done with unshakable faith and tremendous team spirit. Around 22:00 at night, we managed to set up our second camp about 100 meters below our target. We were exhausted, but our will was still standing.

Day 3:
Summit Plan and Midnight Start

Today was a rest day, allowing us to fully enjoy camp life. While we were busy with laundry and camp logistics after breakfast, Sönmez stepped in front of the lens as our model. We experienced once again that the mountain sun is no joke; stepping out without factor 50 sunscreen is far riskier than a tanning bed. Sönmez’s 20-minute ‘modeling’ stint left him with sunburns as a souvenir. To expand our comfort zone, we didn’t neglect building ‘squat-style’ toilets by cutting through snow blocks. While these structures provide great comfort and hygiene in the wild, we were still defenseless against the overhead drones 🙂

In the afternoon, we gathered in Sönmez’s tent for a technical meeting and made the critical decision: the summit push would begin at midnight, 00:00. As darkness fell, everyone retreated to their tents to gather energy. However, sleep had never been something that came to me on command. While my tent mates quickly drifted into deep sleep, I lay inside my sleeping bag with my eyes wide open, staring into the darkness.

The heavy tension before the summit attempt was accompanied by the mechanical buzzing of UAVs circling overhead. During my 2013 climb, these drones had flown almost directly over our camp, completely robbing me of sleep at night. The technology must have advanced considerably over the years, because this time they were flying much higher. Although their sound was fainter than before, that thin, relentless buzzing still made its presence felt in the mountain’s solitude.

Of course, the UAVs outside weren’t the only problem. Inside the tent, a completely different battle was taking place. At high altitude, my relationship with sleep was as bad as ever. But the real entertainment was the secret competition that mountaineers rarely admit to, yet we all know very well: the race to fall asleep before the Snoring Symphony begins.

The rule was simple: If you couldn’t reach the harbor of deep sleep before your rivals, you were doomed to sit through the loud, merciless concert that would last all night. That night unfolded exactly as expected. My friends had won the race and had already begun their performance. Meanwhile, I remained awake, listening to the mountain’s silence between the drones outside and the snoring orchestra inside.

Day 4:
The Thin Line Between Life and Death at 4000 Meters

At around 01:00, we were on the summit route. We walked without stopping until dawn. Toward midday, the greatest psychological torture of summit climbs began: the “false summits” were wearing us down. Every time I crested a rise, I would think “This is the summit,” only to face another one behind it. The steep section between 3700–3900 meters was extremely tiring. With a clear blue sky above and a white hell below, I felt like I was dying of thirst in a horizonless desert. At one point, I deliriously wished the drones circling above would drop cold water on us.

By afternoon, we reached the 4000-meter plateau. Only 135 meters of elevation gain and a technical knife-edge ridge that would take at most 1–2 hours remained. After a short break, we roped up. Sönmez, at the front, said: “If I shout ‘Attention,’ everyone drop to the ground and plant your ice axe — we’re doing a fall practice.”

A few minutes later the shout came, and we all reflexively dropped. Just then, the weather began to deteriorate and fog rolled in. While the leader was praising our reflexes, he had no idea that nature was about to conduct its own much harsher drill.

If you’ve watched the movie Everest, you’ll remember that breaking point in the second half when the massive dark clouds arrive and tension suddenly explodes. That was exactly how it started for us. The dense fog that enveloped us suddenly reduced visibility to 30–40 meters, and in places plunged us into complete whiteout uncertainty.

The Crack, the Abyss, and the Terrible Question: “Should I Unhook?”

We had barely taken a few steps after standing up when that sharp, deep-seated crack of the snowpack tore through the air. With a short earthquake-like jolt, the massive snow mass on the slope slid toward the abyss with a tremendous roar. The two women friends at the very front of our ten-person team — positioned on the north-facing side — plunged into the abyss as the cornice gave way. We all screamed and jumped left, plunging our ice axes into the snow. When the sliding stopped, no one moved. I felt like I was on a movie set. But this was real.

– “They fell! They fell!” shouts from all directions!
– Everyone talking at once!
– No one had the courage to approach the edge of the abyss to check!
– The cornice was a flat white slab, but it was impossible to guess how far it extended.
– We were terrified of another break and falling ourselves.
– This must be what they mean by the thin line between life and death. We had always walked that line, but now we had crossed it.

Were they still there, or had they let themselves go into the endless void? Like everyone else, I stayed frozen in place, holding my breath, trying to understand what had happened. I lifted my head and looked around. Who was missing? The snow could set another trap at any moment. I held my breath. We were alert like soldiers waiting for the next move in their position — except this time our enemy was invisible; it was the white silence beneath us.

There was slight tension on the rope, but we weren’t sure. It wasn’t like checking the weight on the end of a fishing line; it was like trying to feel the heartbeat beating at the end of that rope. In that terrifying moment right after the initial shock and shouting, a sudden silence gripped everyone. The silence was broken by faint, wind-shattered meaningless sounds coming from below. Those incomprehensible syllables were the only proof they were still alive.

Sönmez’s sharp command “Quiet!” cut through the chaos. In the mountain’s deafening silence, he called down: “Are you okay?” The replies came back muffled and distant. Hundreds of meters below, our two friends were hanging on a single rope, staring up at the sky. Their ice axes and backpacks had already disappeared into the void. Their shouts reached us only as broken fragments carried by the wind. What were they feeling in that moment? Does a person watch their life flash before their eyes like a film reel, or feel the pain of unfinished dreams and unlived loves in their chest? I don’t know… But each of those seconds felt as heavy and long as a lifetime.

In the midst of that chaos, Sönmez acted with professional calm. He drove his ice axe deep into the snow and began building a solid anchor. He transferred the terrifying load on the rope to the anchor, secured the entire system, and finally unclipped himself from the rope team. Right behind him, Recep Abi (Kulaber) lay face-down on the edge of the abyss; the taut rope running across his throat had become a merciless vise, making it difficult for him to breathe. Once freed from the load by the anchor, Sönmez moved carefully along the line to the edge and made the first critical contact with those hanging below.

At that exact moment, still in shock and under the influence of adrenaline, the friend in front of me asked twice, “Should I unclip?” He had a plan in mind to do something with his own ATC device, but on that steep slope, unclipping would transfer the load to the rest of us. We didn’t know if we could hold the weight if a second person left the rope. So we all shouted “No!” with icy determination, and he hesitated. I, right behind him, was burning to ease the deadly tension on Recep Abi’s throat, but with every muscle tensed like a statue, I waited — knowing that the slightest movement on the rope could send those below into the void.

On Sönmez’s command, we slowly crawled left. These small movements brought our hanging friends a little closer to the slope. Now we could hear their voices clearly. We lowered a helper rope with a carabiner on the end into the void. The first two attempts failed as the wind blew the rope away…

It was in those very seconds that I witnessed the most shattering and purest side of the human spirit. The friend hanging on the edge of death asked the hair-raising question: “Should I unclip from the main rope” That meant letting herself go into a hundreds-of-meters-deep void. What seemed irrational to us at that moment was actually an epic act of sacrifice: She had realized the main rope was jammed on the cornice and that both of them couldn’t be pulled up together, so she was ready to give her own life so the other could live. It was the moment when the selfish instinct inside a person gave way to heroism in seconds. Of course, we did not allow it.

Finally, in one of the later attempts, she caught the helper rope, clipped it to her harness, and unclipped from the main rope. The first hand rising from the dark silence of the abyss appeared like the most powerful and magnificent crescendo of a grand symphony. We all stood in silent prayer for our friends to rise complete from those depths.

Seeing them back in daylight, alive and beside us, created an immense relief that squeezed our chests. The first moment when the friends who had returned from the brink of death embraced each other was an instant where words failed — only sobs and tightly clasped hands spoke. That complex wave of emotion carried deep sorrow, shattering gratitude, and the pure joy of clinging to life once again. That day, we had not only pulled two lives but also our team’s shattered spirit back from the edge of the abyss. We had no physical wounds, but our souls were deeply shaken by the crack of that cornice.

The Greatest Courage: Turning Back

After the incident, we sat in a circle on the snow. Everyone’s opinion was asked one by one. Some of us said we had worked hard to reach this point and that we could continue. They weren’t entirely wrong; for a reader who has never been mountaineering, the logic behind that insistence is hard to understand.

The cost of every attempt: Preparation for this expedition begins months in advance — conditioning training, acclimatization climbs to gradually adapt the body to high altitude, time off work, official permits, plane tickets, equipment renewal… On top of all that come material and logistics costs. For a winter climb like Cilo, the per-person expense can strain the monthly budget of a middle-class family. As you approach the summit, with every new meter climbing toward the sky, the costs climb at the same pace. Moreover, despite all this effort, the weather may not cooperate, permits may not come through, or the team may not form completely. How many times in a mountaineer’s life can all these conditions align at once?

As we sat within that circle, debating the question ‘to continue or to turn back?’, the calculation in everyone’s mind wasn’t just about today’s risk. Months of preparation, money spent, permits secured, lives put on hold… All of these formed an invisible weight that whispered ‘one more step’ at the edge of the cornice. This is what they call ‘summit fever’; that dangerous sensation just 135 meters below the peak, where everything you’ve invested calls you back. It is in these moments that the ‘no turning back now’ psychology takes over. And that is exactly why the decision to turn back requires far more courage than the decision to climb on.

Yet ahead of us lay a ridge where the same event could happen again and again. The route ahead gave no clue whether the next step would land on solid rock or a snow cornice hanging over emptiness. White can be as beautiful as it is deadly. Reşko, which means “Black Mountain,” was calling us dressed in a pure white shroud — but the price of that invitation could be very heavy.

Most of our physical and mental strength had been spent on the rescue mission. With our food stocks running low and our morale wavering, we couldn’t afford to wait even one more day. We understood then that you can’t negotiate with the mountain. The expenses, the lost time off, and the exhausted muscles were irrelevant if we were to return home with a single member missing. We decided by majority to call off the ascent. We knew the mountain wasn’t going anywhere; it would remain there in all its glory, waiting for us to return stronger during a future winter season.

Was Roping Up a Lifesaver or a Disaster?

Every decision made on the mountain sets the bill for the next step; sometimes a move that seems “wrong” can prevent a much greater catastrophe. Now let’s turn the spotlight on ourselves:

A reader from the mountaineering community could, of course, criticize our decision to rope up from a technical perspective. But there are two sides to the coin: If we had been moving in small groups of only 3–4 people at that moment, when the cornice broke, 1–2 people probably couldn’t have held the two who fell, and the entire 3–4 person group would have been dragged into the abyss together. On the other hand, tying too many climbers to the same rope could have created an uncontrollable mass and increased the scale of the disaster. This is a razor’s-edge decision that must be considered carefully on every climb.

In our case, deliberately placing the lighter members at the front and spacing them out was a conscious and vital choice. If heavier climbers had been at the front, the momentum created during the fall could have pulled all of us into the abyss. Having lighter people lead was the right strategy that allowed us to manage the rope tension and the impact of the fall.

However, there is one point where we must criticize ourselves: Having the entire team drop to the ground at the same time for a fall practice in that critical section was a risky decision. Concentrating the static load at a single point may have weakened the snow mass and triggered the break; this practice should have been done in a much safer area. Still, nature has a strange mathematics: Perhaps it was “lucky” that the break happened during the ascent. If the mass had broken while we were descending on the same tired tracks after summiting, our reaction time would have been much shorter and we could have faced an impossible situation.

Another critical factor was the deceptive atmosphere created by the fog. In mountaineering, we all know that fog means ‘stop’; however, the Cilo summit ridge didn’t present us with a stable cloud of mist, but rather a constantly shifting game. The ‘white darkness’ would roll in instantly, reducing visibility to zero, only to disperse a few minutes later as if it had never been there, clearing the path. This volatile and erratic weather may have caused us to inadvertently approach that deadly edge of the slope, the very heart of the cornice. The instability of the fog paralyzed our sense of direction, leaving us unable to distinguish the fine line between solid ground and the void of the cornice.

Leaving behind the impenetrable veil of mist that had come between us and the summit, we began our descent toward the camp, following our own footsteps. With every stride, the weight of exhaustion grew heavier, and the impact of the difficult decision we had just made resonated in our silence. We had been on our feet and on the move for 18 hours; this had taken a significant physical toll on us.

When we finally reached the high camp, it felt as though the mountain had settled its score with us for the day. We retreated into our tents for a period of deep silence and rest. Yet, that night’s repose was less about recovering from the climb and more like a preparation for the unexpected turn of events awaiting us in the morning—a process that would completely alter our plans.

Day 5:
The Value of a Cup of Hot Tea

The next morning, we woke up with the joy of being alive and seeing the first rays of sunlight again. Two different moods prevailed in the camp: the rush of two friends trying to catch their evening flight, and our desire to savor the moment and descend at a relaxed pace.

We tried to convince them, saying “You can’t make it in this exhaustion, don’t take the risk, go tomorrow,” but work responsibilities weighed heavily; they were impatient to set off as soon as possible. After discussions, Sönmez finally allowed them to leave. While they rapidly lost elevation, the rest of us in camp enjoyed that unique breakfast and the pleasure of steaming hot tea.

A simple cup of tea that seems ordinary in the city becomes the first warmth spreading through your body after a freezing night on the mountain; its value cannot be expressed in words. Without rushing, we absorbed that peace while listening to the mountain’s silence.

The Giant Tracks We Encountered on the Snowy Path

Half an hour after packing up camp and setting off following breakfast, we came across a sight that froze everyone’s steps. Right on top of the fresh tracks we had broken, there was a massive bear paw print deeply embedded in the snow.

At that exact moment, the tiny silhouette we had spotted in the distance during the first days of the climb flashed through my mind like a bolt of lightning. Back at the base of the mountain, we had noticed something moving like a tiny dot in the middle of the vast whiteness and casually dismissed it, thinking, “It’s probably just a wolf.” Granted, I say that as if running into a pack of wolves in the dead of winter isn’t dangerous at all—but in that moment, out of sheer wishful thinking, we preferred the idea of a wolf over a bear, not even wanting to entertain the thought of the latter. But now, these massive paw prints staring right back at us were throwing the true identity of that mysterious dot right in our faces.

This majestic creature, which should have been hibernating, was clearly suffering from sleep issues and had passed right along the same route we were walking. The sheer size of the tracks gave a chilling hint of just how massive its owner was. My eyes instinctively searched for smaller prints beside those enormous paw marks; because if there was one thing more dangerous in the wild than a sleep-deprived bear, it was a sleep-deprived mother protecting her cubs.

I silently thought to myself, I hope we don’t run into it. After all, a sleep-deprived mother guarding her young meant unpredictable rage. Fortunately, the tracks belonged to a single individual and moved in a fairly steady, orderly line. This reassured us that our friends who had gone ahead hadn’t had any unpleasant encounter with the bear either.

After the life-and-death struggle we faced with the cornice collapse just the night before, nature had once again reminded us who the true masters of this landscape are and that we are merely temporary guests. Up until that moment, we thought the mountain had exhausted all its surprises and we didn’t expect any further danger; however, those fresh tracks proved that the mountain’s surprises were far from over.

Helicopter Operation: In the Middle of a Storm

As we approached the site of our first camp, we heard the sound of a helicopter in the distance. It passed overhead and began circling us. We assumed it was a routine security patrol flight. Usually when you see a helicopter you wave, but we warned each other not to make any hand signals to avoid misunderstanding. When it started descending near us, we looked at each other curiously and cautiously approached the helicopter.

The wind generated by the rotors was so strong it was hard to stay on our feet. Once on board, we learned they had come for us. The soldiers, who had been monitoring our movements moment by moment, had noticed that part of the team had moved ahead quickly. Unable to reach us by radio, they had taken off immediately in case something had gone wrong in the freezing mountain conditions. At that moment we realized that while we thought we were alone in the mountain’s solitude, protective eyes had always been on us.

We boarded the helicopter that had reached the area in a short time and took off. After about a 15-minute flight, we landed at a military post built on a high slope. But our minds were on the tents and technical gear we had left at the main camp. While the team waited safely at the post, Sönmez and I stayed on the helicopter to evacuate the gear. When we returned to the main camp, a difficult scene awaited us; there was no flat area where the helicopter could land fully. The pilot descended to within 2–3 meters of the ground, and we ran into the artificial blizzard created by the rotors to dismantle the tents.

We had three Husky brand tents waiting for us at the camp. My trusty old Husky, which I had used faithfully for years, had lost its “swagger” in the face of the artificial storm generated by the helicopter rotors, with winds of at least 80 km/h. I had seen many harsh weather conditions in nature before, but I was witnessing such destructive wind force for the first time. Although Husky’s rectangular and tall design normally provides great comfort, at that moment serious question marks arose in my mind about its durability in extreme storms.

At that moment, I really wished Sönmez’s legendary dome-shaped North Face tent had been there; seeing the performance difference between the tall Husky and the low-profile “storm monster” North Face under such enormous wind load side by side would have been a unique technical lesson. But Sönmez had carried that tent to the next camp area, so we had missed the chance for that comparison.

While the helicopter hovered in the air over a slightly sloped spot, the crew leaned out the windows and gave commands to the pilot like a valet parking a car in a tight space. In those critical seconds when the wheels lightly touched the ground, we rapidly loaded the gear into the running helicopter. When everything was done, we jumped inside too and took off in a huge cloud of dust and snow.

You know those famous exaggerated stories where someone says, “I was changing magazines while jumping from one helicopter to another”… Well, at that moment I was living right in the middle of those stories — but not fiction, the real thing 🙂

When we reached the base area, we loaded our other friends onto the still-running helicopter without wasting time and took off toward Yüksekova Garrison.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t pick up the other friends who had gone deep into the valleys during the evacuation operation. Minutes after being in the mountain environment, we were beamed into civilization, drinking tea and devouring the treats offered to us. The soldiers’ care and assistance made us happy. We had a pleasant conversation with the valuable commanders about our climb, the region’s issues, and turning the area into a winter tourism destination. We sealed this unforgettable moment with a group photo we took together.

Meanwhile, we returned to our hotel with a helicopter we called from the district center (ha ha ha, okay, back to the real world 🙂 — Up to here there hasn’t been a single fictional event, so let me end it like this… After the unique hospitality at the garrison, we left that magical atmosphere and returned to the real world — that is, to our trusty minibus that would take us to the hotel.

The ironic part was that the two friends who had gone ahead completed the entire route on foot. While we reached the town center around 14:30 in the afternoon and rested at our hotel, they still hadn’t managed to get out of the valley. They also missed their flights. They only just made it to the evening dinner we had together.

I won’t say who these unlucky friends were — perhaps you can guess from the photos (A hint: Their faces may have been more sunburned because they were exposed longer to the light reflected from the snow 🙂

Day 6:
An Ahmet Kaya Song on the White Journey

After what the mountain had done to us, what the road would do felt lighter. While most of the team flew back to Istanbul, we headed first to Van and then to Bingöl with a small group formed by Sönmez; we wanted to climb the frozen waterfall we had set our eyes on earlier.

Our entire day passed inside an intercity minibus on roads covered with a pure white blanket. While watching the frozen world through the window, Ahmet Kaya’s voice rose from the tape: “Sensiz Yaşayabilmirem…” As intense melancholy and silence filled the minibus during the next songs, Sönmez suddenly started a lively folk tune to dispel the heavy atmosphere. At first I was a bit worried — “Will the passengers be disturbed? Will there be trouble?” But Sönmez sang so sincerely and beautifully that, instead of objecting, the other passengers began listening with admiration. Some even took out their phones to record videos and went live on social media.

With Sönmez’s folk songs, the cold and distant atmosphere warmed up instantly; people who had been strangers moments before began chatting as if they were forty-year friends. There was actually a whole life hidden inside that small minibus. As the conversation deepened, everyone poured out the troubles in their hearts: some were going to visit a sick relative, others to see their spouse in prison. At that moment I understood that mountains are not made only of snow and ice, but also of human stories.

Day 7 and Beyond:
Waterfall Hunting in Bingöl

The next morning we were at the Bingöl Provincial Directorate of Youth and Sports early. With the warm welcome of the officials and our friend, the TDF Bingöl Representative, we set out on a full “waterfall hunt” in the region. With the spirit of exploration, we examined many waterfalls in the valleys we entered; but nature had its own schedule. Although the air was freezing, we realized that these crystal structures needed the harshest frosts of January and February to freeze solidly enough for climbing, and that the March sun had already softened them.

Final Words: To Those Who Heed the Mountain’s Call

This time we could not touch the summit. We could not reach Reşko’s pure white peak, nor climb Bingöl’s frozen waterfalls. But we did not return empty-handed. We returned with priceless lessons in our bags — lessons not written in books, but learned only on the mountain.

We learned that in mountaineering, the real victory is not reaching the summit, but returning safely and completely to your loved ones. Sometimes the greatest courage is being able to say “stop” at the moment you think “we can continue.” The decision we made that day at 4000 meters, face-to-face with death, was perhaps the most correct summit move of our lives.

The mountain is unforgiving; there is no room for forgetfulness, lethargy, or overconfidence. Leaving a dry pair of gloves at the bottom of your pack, delaying a critical decision with the thought of ‘I can last a bit longer,’ or drifting toward a steep slope as the mist rolls in… The price for these lapses can be devastating. We received our warning before the toll was taken. Others, however, had to face that warning in its harshest form: the sudden crack of a cornice beneath their feet.

But most importantly, we understood this: The mountain is not just a mass of snow and ice. It is also a mirror that reveals the barest state of the human soul. The sacrifice of asking “Should I unclip from the main rope?” while hanging on the edge of death, the leadership of someone who remains cool-headed after 18 hours on their feet to build an anchor, the team spirit of running into a man-made blizzard created by helicopter rotors to dismantle a tent… These are the real rewards of mountaineering.

Cilo once again showed us that even in the harshest geographies, a hot cup of tea, sincere hospitality, and a struggle shouldered together give a person indescribable strength. From the protective gaze of the soldiers, to the halay dances of the young people in Yüksekova, to the strangers in the minibus who suddenly became forty-year friends over an Ahmet Kaya song… Mountains are not just about height; they are also places where human stories meet.

If you ever choose to heed this call, carry with you an unshakable discipline, a team whose breath you can trust as your own, and a profound reverence for the wilderness. But above all, keep the will to turn back as the most vital piece of equipment in your pack.

The mountain remains, indifferent to time. Reşko stands in all its stoic majesty, awaiting our next encounter. It is our greatest hope to return one day—better equipped, more seasoned, and with an even deeper respect for the soul of the peaks.

To those who traverse Cilo’s proud whiteness with courage in their hearts and wisdom in their steps: I salute you.

Footnote 1: Our expedition was featured as a news story in various print and digital media outlets.

Footnote 2: Fujifilm has produced a beautiful film about the Cilo Mountains; if you are curious about this region, I have embedded the video below and highly recommend watching it.

Aladağlar, I really missed you. Coming face to face again with those rugged and majestic peaks felt like reuniting with an old friend I hadn’t seen in years. I never thought I would even miss Mehmet Abi’s tractor ride — that true “monument of discomfort” which launches you out of your seat with every single pothole. The funny thing is, once the climb is over and exhaustion hits your body, that shaky tractor trailer starts feeling like the most comfortable limousine in the world.

During the journey, we also witnessed the meeting of technology and nature. A group that brought a drone with them was capturing cinematic footage with the device following us from above while the tractor moved forward. I’m sure the aerial views of Aladağlar’s wild nature will yield fantastic results. We also encountered an energetic group of about 45 university students. The excitement of their first climb was clearly visible in their eyes. Seeing these young people taking their first steps into mountaineering reminded me once again of the region’s never-ending spirit as a natural academy.

I tried these ready-made meal packs, which foreigners call MRE (Meal, Ready-to-Eat), for the first time on this trip and found them extremely satisfying. I have now decided to use this practical solution in all my future outdoor activities, where carrying a stove and fuel is no longer necessary.

So, What is MRE and Why is it So Practical?

Actually, this system was originally developed to meet the high calorie and nutritional needs of soldiers in the field. The packages contain rich menus that cover all daily needs, from main courses to side dishes, desserts, and beverage powders. Today, its usage has expanded incredibly — from hunting to sailing, from extreme camping to emergency preparedness for natural disasters.

Why Ration Packs Instead of Canned Food?

• Easy to Carry: Unlike canned tins, these packs have a large surface area and are very thin. I can easily fit several days’ worth of food into even the narrowest compartments of my backpack.
• Flameless Heater: No need to set up a stove, protect it from the wind, or worry about running out of gas. The chemical heater packs, activated with just a little water, turn your meal into a steaming home-cooked consistency in minutes.
• Taste: Of course, taste varies from person to person, but in my experience, it doesn’t fall short of home cooking.

I believe every mountaineer who values practicality in nature should keep at least one “emergency” menu in their bag.

Buying Guide

The most important thing to pay attention to when obtaining these practical meal packs is stock availability. There are occasional stock shortages in the market, so it’s worth keeping a close eye on it before the camping season. Since they have a very long shelf life (1-2 years), I preferred to place a bulk order directly from the main manufacturer.

Where to Buy?

• Manufacturer: Unifo
• Tada Brand and Sales Points: tada! Store

Important Notes:

• Shelf Life: When buying in bulk, be sure to check the expiration dates on the packages. Their suitability for long-term storage also provides a great advantage for creating emergency stockpiles at home.
• Heating Set: Don’t forget that you need both the chemical element and the special heater bag in which the reaction takes place to heat the meal.

Technical Gear: Ice Axe, Crampons, Helmet, Trekking Poles, Shovel, GPS, Radio
Weather Conditions: Clear skies throughout the climb, temperatures ranging from a low of -8°C at night to +2°C at noon, light wind (5-10 km/h)
Campsite: Mountain Hut
Route: Devil’s Couloir (Şeytan Rotası)
Altitude: 3916 m
Ascent: 8 hours, Descent: 3 hours
Leader: Sönmez Erkaya
Team Size: 20
Recommendations: The Devil’s Couloir is an unforgiving route with serious risks of both rockfall and avalanche. This route and Mount Erciyes will always be remembered in Turkish mountaineering history together with the tragic loss of Abdülmecit Doğru, the former President of the Turkish Mountaineering Federation (TDF).

Mount Erciyes: A Journey to the Roof of Central Anatolia

In this post, I share the logistics, technical challenges, and personal experiences from our ascent of Mount Erciyes (3,916 m) via the Devil’s Couloir.

Saturday, May 7, 2016: Excitement and Preparation:
Mountaineering films are full of dramatic moments: the hero slipping, dangling from a ledge, or dodging falling rocks. Erciyes delivers exactly that kind of raw, intense experience. If a Turkish version of the movie Everest were ever made, this mountain would be the perfect setting.

Erciyes is an extinct volcano and the highest peak in Central Anatolia. At 3,916 meters, it stands roughly half the height of Everest, yet it carries its own serious dangers. Throughout the climb, I often felt like I was living inside a scene from a mountaineering thriller.

Logistics and Approach
We left Istanbul (İncirli) on Friday night at 11:00 PM and arrived in Kayseri city center around noon on Saturday. Before heading to the mountain, we fueled up with the famous Kayseri mantı on Cumhuriyet Street and completed our shopping for basic food and water at a market.

Our destination was the main entrance gate of the Erciyes Ski Center, Tekir Plateau, at an altitude of 2200 meters. Around 4:00 PM, just minutes before the cable cars closed, we bought our tickets and ascended to 2400 meters via gondola.

Hike to the Mountain Hut
The second cable car line had already closed at 3:30 PM, so we began hiking from 2,400 m with full packs. After about 1.5 hours and 350 meters of elevation gain, we arrived at the Mountain Hut (Dağ Evi) at 2,750 m.

There, we met seven climbers from the Gebze Outdoor Sports Club (GEDOSK). Since the hut was too small for our group of 20, some of us pitched tents outside. We had an early dinner and went to bed around 9:00 PM. We woke up at 1:00 AM for breakfast and final preparations, and started climbing at 2:00 AM in complete darkness.

Sunday, May 8, 2016: Race Against Time in the Devil’s Couloir
We moved slowly through the night, taking turns breaking trail. By the time we reached the entrance of the Devil’s Couloir, Sönmez Hoca expressed concern about the team’s pace and suggested turning back. Fresh snow from the previous days had significantly increased avalanche risk. After a quick team vote, the majority wanted to continue. Sönmez Hoca respected the decision and we pushed on.

The Devil’s Couloir: Under a Rain of Avalanches and Rocks
We entered the Devil’s Route in a single file. This area harbors not only the risk of avalanches but also a serious risk of falling rocks. Sönmez Hoca set a strict deadline: “We must reach the summit by 10:00 AM at the latest, or we turn back.” The mountain forecast also warned of rapidly deteriorating weather in the afternoon.

As the sun rose and the air warmed, rocks breaking loose from the crumbling cliffs above began to whistle down like bullets. There were only 3-4 seconds between noticing the first major danger and the rock reaching us. A rock the size of two fists came right at us with incredible speed. We scattered like bowling pins, the rock missed us by a whisker. A rock at that speed hitting the body would be enough to break bones. In that moment, we understood once again why wearing a helmet and moving in a single file is vital in the Devil’s Route. If you plan to come here, definitely be prepared for this.

Struggling with Altitude and Fatigue
My concentration was shattered from constantly scanning for falling rocks from above. I was having difficulty taking steps. I wasn’t sure whether it was the steepness of the route or the Kayseri mantı sitting heavy in my stomach, but my performance had dropped significantly. There was a similar loss of tempo across the whole team. It was clear that the 3-4 hours of sleep taken during the night wasn’t enough for anyone.

While Sönmez Hoca kept applying “gentle” pressure with reminders of “last 1 hour” and “last half hour,” we continued to climb in pain. We pushed our physical limits by following the steps of Berk, who was breaking the trail in front of me.

Final Steps to the Summit and Diaphragmatic Breathing
Only meters were left to the summit, but battling the deep powder snow became a complete test of willpower. Sliding back with every single step was draining both physically and mentally. I passed those final meters grumbling at the mountain internally.

At that moment, Sönmez Hoca gave a vital piece of advice: “Take diaphragmatic breaths!”. This was very timely advice. Diaphragmatic breathing is something all athletes and those who work with their voice should use. It’s actually something we do naturally as babies, but then we forget it as the body tends toward laziness. There are various exercises to learn diaphragmatic breathing; you can find them online.

At 10:10 AM, our team of 8 finally reached the summit! During the crossing on the summit ridge (the knife-edge), Sönmez Hoca’s warning was meaningful: “The right side is the Adana side, it’s a cliff; the left side is the Kayseri side, easy access. If you fall, try to fall toward Kayseri!”. Ironically, seconds after this sentence, our instructor’s foot slipped and he stumbled toward the Kayseri side, managing to regain his balance at the last moment.

The summit was quite narrow, with at most 10-15 people able to stand together. While taking a group photo, another group of 3 people approached us. We told them to be careful of the snow cornice (a mass of hanging snow accumulated by the wind). When we saw they didn’t understand, we realized they were foreigners; they were from Ukraine. We congratulated them as well.

Everyone is in a rush to take photos… Since Sönmez Hoca is hurrying us up, we don’t find much opportunity to take pictures. He says dark clouds and fog are coming. The weather can turn in an instant. Friends from the Gedosk club also reach the summit. We congratulate them too. With Sönmez Hoca’s persistent requests to return, and as the summit gets crowded, we begin our descent.

Descent: Traffic in the Narrow Gorge and the “Postman” Fear
We see another group of mountaineers coming from below. There is a narrow gorge just beneath the summit. Traffic gets jammed here. We wait for those below to complete their ascent first. The weather is about to turn. Scenes from the movie “Everest” start playing in my mind. I think to myself, “Here we go, the second half is starting, dark clouds are arriving, and the mishaps are about to begin.” Meanwhile, I turn to the Ukrainian climbers waiting in line with us for the descent and ask where they are from. They are from Kharkiv. I want to turn to those passing by and ask if there is a “postman” among them, but I’m afraid. Oh, postman, oh! You burned both yourself and everyone else!

On the way down, I helped a teammate who had fallen behind and was feeling hesitant. The fog had rolled in, and visibility was dropping. The advice I gave him was essentially the summary of mountaineering: “As long as you have an ice axe in your hand, there’s no need to fear; an ice axe is a mountaineer’s most loyal weapon.”

The Most Enjoyable Way Down: Controlled Glissading

The fastest and most fun way to descend is undoubtedly “glissading“—sliding on the snow. Using our ice axes for safety, we glided down the snow in a controlled manner. We descended the Devil’s Couloir, which took us hours to climb, in just a few minutes by sliding. While basking in the peace of leaving the couloir safely, Erciyes began to bid us farewell with a fresh snowfall. After a short break at the hut, we packed our gear and headed toward our vehicle waiting at the entrance of the ski center.

Snow Blindness: The Price of a Moment’s Negligence
When we got into the vehicle, we noticed that one of our friends couldn’t open their eyes and felt a pain like needles stabbing them. They had taken a break from using goggles during the descent and unknowingly contracted snow blindness (photokeratitis). We rushed to Kayseri Training and Research Hospital. Fortunately, their condition was relieved with the intervention and eye drops provided at the hospital.

A Meaningful Conclusion
Another detail that made this climb meaningful was that the date coincided with Mother’s Day. When we reached the summit, our first task was to call our mothers and tell them that we dedicated this challenging climb to them. To our own mothers, who stand by us in every hardship and give us strength with their prayers, and to all the mothers in the world, we dedicate this summit.

My journey with Mount Dedegöl actually dates back to May 2013. At that time, a severe storm that erupted just a short distance from the summit forced nature to say “not today” and compelled us to turn back. After all these years, I have finally completed this unfinished chapter. Fortunately, the weather was incredibly generous this time; we had a highly enjoyable summit push, and it served as a fantastic training expedition for me.

Perfect for Training: Dedegöl Campsite

Mount Dedegöl, the jewel of Isparta, is a place that captivates anyone, especially with its stunning campsite views. This is not just a spot for seasoned professionals, but a literal academy for mountaineering clubs and those new to the sport. Given its diverse routes and convenient logistics, I can easily call it a premier training ground.
However, while we highly recommend this area to our beginner friends, it is worth reminding everyone that mountaineering is about far more than just the scenery. This sport inherently carries risks and, without proper care, can lead to chronic health issues over the long term.

A Common Issue Among Mountaineers: Meniscus and Knee Health

The most frequent complaint I have observed over the years involves issues surrounding the kneecap and its supporting structures. Meniscus tears, commonly categorized as “sports injuries,” do not just occur in sports requiring sudden, explosive movements like football or tennis; they are also prevalent in endurance disciplines like mountaineering, where the knees endure heavy loading over extended periods.

Damage to the meniscus—the cartilage structure that acts as a shock absorber between the two primary leg bones—often starts as minor aches but can progress to joint locking and debilitating pain in later stages. In fact, most of us develop micro-tears in our knees over time; however, once these tears surpass a critical threshold, they severely compromise your quality of life.

How Can You Protect Your Knees?

Entering this sport with weak musculature and insufficient physical preparation is an open invitation to injuries like meniscus tears or joint issues. The golden rule of preserving joint longevity is maintaining strong supporting muscles.

• Targeted Exercise is Vital: Squats, controlled knee extensions, and cycling strengthen the leg muscles (especially the quadriceps), helping redistribute the load from the joints to the musculature.
• Gradual Progression: You should consciously and progressively condition the entire kinetic chain, from your ankles all the way up to your core.
• Supportive Gear: I typically wear compressive knee sleeves during long descents to mitigate impact forces on the joints. I also occasionally apply Kinesiology tape to reinforce the structural support around the kneecap.

Technical Equipment: Ice Axe, Crampons, Helmet, Trekking Poles, GPS, VHF Radio
Weather Conditions: Clear skies throughout the climb, temperature between -5°C and -9°C, light winds (10-15 km/h)
Camp Location: Next to Karbeyaz Hotel (1890m)
Route: North face of the mountain, Yılankar (Snake) route
Ascent: 6 hours,  Descent: 5 hours
Leader: Sönmez Erkaya
Number of Participants: 26
Recommendations: – For winter ascents, snowfall conditions must be monitored closely, and a suitable weather window should be selected following recent snow.

In the heart of Central Anatolia, a majestic dark silhouette rises like a lighthouse: Mount Hasan. Standing at 3,268 meters, it serves as both an excellent training ground for alpine beginners and a rewarding acclimation route for experienced mountaineers. In this post, I will share the details of our ascent on this dormant volcano and my notes regarding the route.

Departure from Istanbul and Journey Excitement:

Our minibus departed from İncirli at 23:00 on Friday evening. We picked up our teammates from the designated stops along the way and kept moving. There were several climbers among us embarking on their very first winter ascent. Everyone was in high spirits and full of positive energy. We took our first short break in Bolu.

Arrival in Aksaray and Final Logistics Preparations

We arrived in Aksaray around 07:00 in the morning. After a hearty breakfast, we headed out for market shopping. We organized our food planning collectively according to tent groups. However, as I observed after the expedition, there were significant differences in how well groups managed their rations. Some tent groups underestimated their needs for a 2-day activity, while others were overly cautious and packed enough supplies to last 3 to 4 days. After topping off our water supplies, we plotted the Helvadere road on our GPS and set off. Upon arriving in Helvadere town, we stopped for a quick break at the local coffeehouse in the square. The locals were incredibly welcoming, and we shared a very pleasant chat.

They shared the legendary story of Mount Hasan with us, which has been passed down through generations: The Legend of Hasan Dede and Ali Baba. After listening to the tale and finishing our tea, we bid farewell to the coffeehouse regulars. Meanwhile, Sönmez Hoca took down the contact information of a local tractor owner in case the mountain road got snowed in. We then headed toward the base camp area next to the Karbeyaz Hotel. We arrived at the campsite and began setting up our tents. Once base camp was established, the entire team went on an exploratory acclimatization walk toward the couloir entrance. We also conducted a brief instructional session on ice axe and crampon techniques. Following the training, we headed back to camp. There are stone shelters surrounding the campsite, making the evening relatively comfortable, warm, and well-sheltered. We fired up our stoves and cooked dinner. Around this time, a large group from the Ereğli Mountaineering Club (ERDAK) established their camp right next to us. We crawled into our sleeping bags around 18:00. A few hours flew by with tent chatter, and absolute silence was mandated after 22:00.

Summit Day: The Challenging Climb Starting at Midnight

Alpine wake-up was at 03:00. We had a quick bite and began gearing up. After designating our lead and sweep climbers, we set out in a single-file line around 04:30. A bright full moon illuminated our path. The clear weather and absence of fog were massive advantages. Along the approach, we crossed alternating sections of loose powder and completely bare ground. Since there was no solid snowpack or exposed ice sheets, strapping on crampons wasn’t necessary yet. We reached the apron of the Yılankar couloir smoothly.

Yılankar Couloir and Steep Scree Sections

During the approach, I caught myself thinking: the approach distance is so short, I might finish this entire climb without even breaking a sweat. That is typical of volcanic peaks—they deceive you. However, as soon as we hit the steep incline inside the couloir, that thought vanished. There isn’t a single flat foot-hold throughout this phase. We constantly struggled over loose scree and massive boulders. This section was where the team burned the most energy. We dodged a few minor rockfalls but fortunately avoided any serious incidents.

   

Summit Crater and Magnificent View at 3268 Meters

Topping out at the volcanic crater rim, I traversed west along the ridge line and pushed toward the first sub-peak in sight. A few minutes ahead of me, Sönmez Hoca spotted me and signaled for me to follow his line. The point I had reached turned out to be the lower summit (3,235m), home to the rumored resting place of Hasan Dede. By 10:00, the entire team gathered on the main summit (3,268m) within minutes of each other. We congratulated one another and took our summit photos. The panoramic view offered pristine visibility of Mount Erciyes and the sharp apex of Demirkazık in the Aladağlar range. We couldn’t locate the summit log; we suspected it was over at the lower summit. We briefly considered tracking back to retrieve it, but it would have cost us at least an hour.

Descent and End of the Activity

Since we had a post-climb tour of the Ihlara Valley scheduled, we decided to forgo hunting for the log book. The Turkish flag was mounted about 2 meters below the true high point. We picked up the flag along with its pole and anchored it exactly at the geographical summit. We then initiated our descent along the ascent route. We employed a mix of down-climbing techniques: side-stepping, controlled glissading where possible, and down-climbing face-in on the steeper walls. Because there hadn’t been enough snow to kick solid steps on the way up, we couldn’t rely on effortless heel-plunging on the way down either. (The descent felt notably longer to me. The ultimate way down would be launching a paraglider from here, but let’s see when I’ll be able to pull that off). We made it back to base camp between 16:00 and 17:00. We struck our tents, packed our gear, and concluded the mountaineering phase before hitting the road for our return journey.

Witnessed by History: The Ancient Volcanic Eruption of Mount Hasan

For a city dweller who has to watch their back even while walking on the sidewalk, the risk on the mountain is at least measurable and manageable. Just as air travel is statistically safer than road travel, a disciplined climb offers a more calculable sense of security than chaotic city life.

Why the North Route and Why in Winter?

When I learned that Sönmez Erkaya intended to climb Mount Ağrı via the north route in winter, I said I would join without hesitation. The north route is a challenging path with dangerous crevasses. When I think about the classic route climb I did in the summer, the difference is as stark as black and white. Back then, horses carried our bags, and we were hosted in the famous chef-prepared camps of Nuh Ararat with, so to speak, “five-star hotel” comfort. I now understand much better the value of the logistical support provided by Mehmet Çeven Bey. Because this time the stage is completely different: No logistical support, no assistants. We will carry our 20-25 kilogram world on our backs from the base to the summit, pitch our tent ourselves in the middle of the glacier, and prepare our own meals in freezing cold.

In the literature, the period between December 21 and March 21 is referred to as “Winter Climbing.” The short days and merciless weather conditions turn this period into a matter of prestige for mountaineers.

Preparation in the City: From the Office Desk to the Mountain Base

It is impossible to jump straight from the sedentary modern office life to above 5000 meters. That’s why I started preparations two months in advance. To build conditioning, I did summit climbs in Uludağ and Aladağlar; I trained my muscles for technical climbing in Ballıkayalar and at climbing gyms.

A few days before the activity, I stopped exercising; because a minor sprain or a throbbing tooth in the city can turn into a nightmare multiplied by ten on the mountain. Especially after researching the pain in my kneecap, I acquired a quality knee brace. (You can read about the interesting coincidence I experienced with my colleague Hakan while looking for this knee brace at the sports store here).

There is one day left until the Ağrı journey. Since I have the habit of having a feast before and after the activity, I meet with “mouth-watering” flavors at a nice restaurant. The big day is coming. Since plane tickets are cheaper, we plan to fly to Kars and then continue by road.
When we landed at Kars Airport, we met with Latif Abi, who would take us to Ağrı. When we opened the trunk of the taxi, we came across Latif Abi’s own photo; it turned out he was a candidate for muhtar in the March elections! Throughout the journey, we talked about his life in Sarıkamış, his children’s education struggles, and the region’s current issues. With Latif Abi’s warm and sincere conversation, we didn’t even notice how the three-hour drive passed.

The Adventure Begins in Doğubayazıt

When we arrived in Doğubayazıt, the sun had already set, and a gray evening had fallen over the city. We will spend the night at İsfahan Hotel, one of the symbols of the region and an indispensable stop for mountaineers. As we entered the lobby, we were greeted by the leading names of our team, Kürşat Öztürk and Ferhat Ulu. They had arrived two days earlier and successfully completed the winter summit of Little Mount Ağrı, which had finally reopened for climbing after being closed for many years due to security reasons. Although Little Ağrı seems to remain in the shadow of its majestic brother, with its 3896-meter altitude, it is actually a tough mountain that cannot be called “little” at all. We congratulated them on their success and listened eagerly to their fresh insights.

Lobby Meeting: Counting Grams

During the market shopping for food supplies, our focus was on high-energy and “appetite-stimulating” foods. Loss of appetite at high altitudes is a common problem, so choosing foods we love was critical. Regarding water, I suggested to Hakan and Halit that they stock up on small, easy-to-carry plastic bottles against the risk of freezing. We finished the market shopping and returned to the hotel.

We are sitting in the lobby listening to Sönmez’s activity plan. The most critical part of the meeting was the statement made by Sönmez Hoca. As a result of official correspondence with the gendarmerie, we learned that permission was not granted for the north route we had dreamed of, due to security reasons. We had to head to the classic route. Although the question “Can’t we go without permission?” crossed our minds, we quickly dismissed the thought by remembering the fines given to those who climbed Cilo Dağı without permission and the responsible mountaineering ethics. There was no point in taking that risk.

When we checked the weather reports, we saw that the temperature would rise, but the real threat was the wind. Winds of 25 km/h and above could turn a winter climb into a survival struggle. The fact that only one team had been able to reach the summit this season was proof of how serious our opponent was.

Final Touch: Aspirin Duty

As the meeting was about to end, Kürşat asked if we had taken aspirin. We said we didn’t have any. He said that since blood tends to clot more at high altitude, aspirin would be beneficial to increase its fluidity. Hakan and I hit the streets of Doğubayazıt at night. When we found the on-duty pharmacy and got those small but important pills, all the missing pieces in our minds were complete. Now there was only us, our equipment, and Mount Ağrı with its enormous shadow.

Day 1: 3200 Meters – The First Test of Willpower

The next morning we woke up early and refreshed. At breakfast, the soft, creamy Iranian cheese I tried for the first time left a pleasant impression on my palate. Just as everything was ready and we were about to head to Eli Village, we noticed something missing: Tarık Abi. When we went up to his room, we found him resting; it turned out he had thought the departure time was one hour later. After overcoming this small delay, we piled into the minibus and began our journey toward the foothills of Ağrı.

10:00 AM
In the first minutes of the hike, everything was fine. Our stomachs were full, we had slept well; Initially, we felt as light as pigeons, but as the incline steepened, my backpack began to feel like a “30-kilogram wet wool blanket”—the kind you’d find at a grandmother’s house. The pressure was so intense I could barely move my head.

I was starting to fall behind. Tarık Abi was also accompanying me with the pain in his knee. When the fog descended and light snow began to fall, I started humming the folk song that came to my tongue to keep my morale high: “Bir kar yağar ince ince…”

4:00 PM – Tent Setup Struggle and Rising Tension
When we reached the main camp at 3200 meters with my tent mates, we were on the verge of exhaustion. But it was still too early to rest; first we had to set up the shelter where we would survive—the tent. We have snow stakes to secure the tent, but due to the strong wind, we still need to anchor it with stones. Finding stones buried in the ice and prying them out with an ice axe turned into pure torture. My tent’s 1.35-meter height normally provides comfort, but in this storm, it became a disadvantage against the wind.

While Hakan, Halit, and I struggled with the tent, the intense stress caused by fatigue surfaced. When we saw that our efforts were not enough due to the wind, I asked for help from Ferhat, who had just finished setting up their tent nearby. The intense emotional state from fatigue must have affected Hakan quite a bit, because during the tent setup, he had a short, unnecessary argument with Ferhat. This brief, pointless dispute was the first sign of tension at high altitude. Fortunately, with Ferhat’s help, we secured the tent, and when everyone retreated to their corners, the atmosphere calmed down again.

Adrenaline in the Kitchen: Dancing with Flames

In the freezing cold, our only desire was to drink something hot. We set up the stove in the “vestibule” part of the tent and filled the pot with snow. At that moment, we also took Tarık Abi, who had just reached the camp, into our large tent on Sönmez Hoca’s suggestion; now there were four of us inside. After drinking our tea bags and recovering a bit, the real adventure began. I take out the large pot from my bag to prepare soup. I fill it with snow and put it on the stove. We take turns coming to the stove from time to time to check if the water is boiling.

While Halit was checking if the water was boiling, suddenly flames rose from the top of the stove cylinder. We had to decide in seconds in the face of flames reaching one meter. Without panicking, we throw the snow we scooped into our palms onto the stove. The flames on the cylinder went out, but since the stove was still burning and the gas leak continued, the cylinder flared up again. With a second snow intervention, we finally managed to extinguish it completely. I guess we had loosened the head while checking the cylinder and caused a gas leak.

That momentary fear we experienced put us, in the literature’s term, into a full “yusuf yusuf” situation 🙂 We didn’t dare to light the stove again. We made do with dry foods for dinner and took refuge early in our sleeping bags, heading toward the uncertainty of the next day.

Day 2: 4200 Meters – One Step Closer to the Sky

Morning 08:00 – The Rhythm of the Camp
We started the day with light music coming from one of the neighboring tents. Mornings on the mountain are quiet but hectic moments when everyone prepares their breakfast in their own inner world and slowly gets ready. I left the stove, cylinder, and a few dirty clothes that had given us those terrifying moments last night at the 3200 camp to pick up on the way back. Now it was time to account for every gram. We would continue our journey with Halit’s stove.
Our goal was the last stop before the summit: the 4200-meter camp.

Altitude and Human: The Aspirin and Water Issue
Before heading out, I popped an aspirin and swallowed it dry to counteract the blood thickening caused by the high altitude. Hakan followed suit but then asked me for water. ‘Just swallow it,’ I snapped. That brief exchange was actually a reflection of the split-second irritability brought on by sheer exhaustion. Although Hakan was annoyed, thinking I was begrudging him a cup of water, my mind was echoing the ‘Buy water’ warning I had repeated dozens of times during our supplies run. A plastic water bottle from the market wasn’t just for hydration; it was a vital piece of logistics for handling ‘the call of nature’ during freezing nighttime storms without sacrificing the comfort of the tent (yes, that bottle gets the job done inside).

The Altitude Paradox: Why Do We Get Out of Breath?
Interestingly, even though the load in my backpack had decreased, it felt like it was getting heavier with every step. Even a small step was enough to leave me breathless. It is generally said that “there is less oxygen up there,” but the truth is a bit different:
At high altitudes, the air isn’t “missing” oxygen; rather, the atmospheric pressure is lower, meaning oxygen molecules are more dispersed. To compensate, your heart and lungs work twice as hard. Even a small step leaves you breathless. We reached our final camp before the summit at 16:00. The weather seemed stable, but we knew the real challenge would begin at midnight.

4:00 PM – Final Camp
Right on time, around 4:00 PM, we reached 4200 meters. Luckily, the weather was friendlier than yesterday. Without struggling with the wind, we set up our tent and took shelter inside. We needed to gather energy for the summit night. We quickly ate something and buried ourselves in our sleeping bags for the big appointment that would start at midnight.

Summit Day: Willpower, Ice, and Hell Creek

01:00 AM – Space Shuttle and Warm Sleeping Bags
I woke up to the sound of the alarm in the darkness. The intense humidity inside the tent had covered our sleeping bags like a soaking wet blanket. I called out to my friends, but there was deep silence. While I was having my own breakfast, they woke up one by one; but the mountain started to take its first casualties here. Halit said he couldn’t continue due to severe pain in his legs, and Tarık Abi due to his knee. I’m not trying to encourage anyone to come. Because my own condition wasn’t great either; if they let me, I could sleep for two days right where I was. But that invisible engine inside me had already started running.

Hakan borrowed Halit’s more technical boots and gloves. We quickly had breakfast and rushed outside. The summit journey is similar to the launch moment of a space shuttle. The hardest phase is the first moment you break away from “gravity,” that is, from that comfortable sleeping bag. The faster you escape from the Earth’s gravitational field—that is, the faster you leave the warm sleeping bag—the better. After that, it’s time to leave the fuel tanks (fatigue) behind and move forward with small thrusts to enter orbit.

Mehter March in the Darkness
Why do we climb at night? Because on the mountain, you need to reach the summit and descend before the weather deteriorates in the afternoon. Also, at night, the snow stabilized in low temperatures reduces the avalanche risk somewhat. When we set off, our pace resembled a Mehter march: Take two steps, stop, catch your breath, and lift your head to check front and back… Even though Hakan’s conditioning was much better, he stayed right behind me, adapting to this pace.

German Technique (Front Pointing): When the slope exceeds 65 degrees, you can no longer plant the sole. You drive the front two points of the crampon into the ice and rise “on tiptoe” with tremendous load on the calves.
In winter climbing, the hardness of the snow determines your fate. Hard snow turns the tracks opened by the person in front into staircase steps. In soft snow, slipping back with every step drains your energy like a black hole.

The Real Face of Cold: Aydın Abi’s Farewell
As the day dawned, the freezing cold was piercing our bones. Behind Hakan’s repeated “I’m cold” comments actually lay the desire to “turn back”; I would understand this much later. I said maybe we can warm up a bit when the sun rises. When I was moving, the heat my body produced was enough for me. But during short stops, I too was suffering from the cold.

Right at that moment, we met Aydın Abi coming down from above. Despite being one of the most resilient in the group, he couldn’t warm his fingers due to a small deformation in his glove. When he showed the loss of sensation in his fingers, we understood the seriousness of the situation. “Frostbite” cannot be ignored; Aydın Abi did the rational thing just short of the summit and turned back. We later learned that the darkening in his finger was the harbinger of a treatment that would last for weeks.

This situation reminded us of mountaineering’s unbreakable golden rule: Mountaineering is a three-legged stool consisting of mental preparation, physical strength, and perfect equipment. If one leg breaks, the summit becomes a dream.

10:30 AM – Cehennem Deresi (Hell Creek): Between Ice and Sorrow
As we ascended toward the summit, we reached the mountain’s most critical and psychologically heaviest point: Hell Creek. This is not just a physical obstacle but also a deep wound in our mountaineering history. It was right here in 2000 that we lost İskender Iğdır, a writer for Atlas Magazine who was part of the team led by Nasuh Mahruki, in an unfortunate accident.

In front of us lies a sharp 20-25 meter traverse that requires maximum attention and technical gear. At this altitude, seasons have no say; the ground is covered with a deep blue ice mass throughout the four seasons. If there is little fresh snow, this place turns into what we call “glass ice”—a smooth and deadly glacier.

This section, which is impossible to pass without crampons, does not tolerate mistakes. Even if your crampon points grip the ice, the slightest loss of balance can send you accelerating toward a hundreds-of-meters drop. In such a moment, your only salvation is to drive your ice axe into the ice within milliseconds and try to stop yourself. Listening to the high-pitched, metallic sound our crampons made on the glass ice, we leave the throat of Hell Creek behind with great concentration.
Now we are in the last 150 meters. Although the slope gets a bit steeper, the scent of the summit makes us forget our fatigue. Our excitement begins to beat in our hearts like an arrhythmia as we approach the highest point of the sky.

11:00 AM – Summit: Five Minutes Above the Clouds
My body is starting to rebel. The relentless nausea in my stomach and the rising urge to vomit are clear signs of high altitude (AMS – Acute Mountain Sickness). We gained altitude very quickly in a very short time; my body is struggling to “acclimatize” to this new world. Normally, these symptoms are the mountain’s way of saying “Go down!” However, we are so close to the summit plateau that my mind manages to silence my body’s cries for a short while. Assessing that my condition is not yet critical, I continue on my way, carefully watching every step.
When we stepped onto the summit plateau, we encountered a nice surprise: Mehmet Yaldız, Mehmet Güngör, and Esin Handal were there! Honoring the saying “A pilgrim finds another pilgrim in Mecca, a mountaineer finds another on the summit,” we greet each other briefly in the middle of the freezing wind. And the last few steps… As of
11:00 AM, we are at 5137 meters, on the roof of Turkey.

Although the weather looks crystal clear and calm in the photos, the reality outside the frame is completely different. The peak does not welcome us; instead, it breathes with a courteous yet urgent desire to see us gone. The wind is so violent that remaining fixed there for more than a few moments is impossible. One barely notices while ascending, but arriving at the summit is much easier than struggling to stay in place amid the fury of the storm. I hurriedly ask Hakan to take a few photos of me; even pressing the shutter in the freezing cold is difficult for the fingers.

Things to pay attention to when having a summit photo taken:

At the summit, oxygen is so scarce that your brain focuses solely on survival; aesthetic concerns simply fly out the window. If you don’t want to descend and think, “What on earth was I doing there?”, engrave these few points into your mind (you can look at my photos as a cautionary tale 🙂):

Escape from the Storm: 21-Hour Marathon

The excitement of the summit was short-lived; when I descended to the 4200 camp, the scene I encountered was shocking. The storm had pulled out the stakes of my tent, and our home was almost about to fly away, half hanging in the air. Normally we planned to rest one more night, but we learned that a storm reaching 80-100 km/h was on its way. With a quick decision, we packed up the camp and started the descent.

Most of the team was rapidly losing altitude by sliding “butt-first” on the snow. I, however, had to descend walking because I couldn’t balance with the huge load on my back. I’m coming down walking and falling behind. Tarık Abi is also falling behind due to his knee pain. Aydın Abi is going ahead because he is fit. He will stop by the 3200 camp and pick up the gear we left there and continue. To not keep the fast group ahead waiting and not be too late, we hurry as much as we can. Therefore, thinking that Aydın Abi would pick up my gear too, we pass without stopping at the camp. He also thought I would stop at the camp and pick up my gear. Due to this lack of communication, I ended up leaving my shining stove and a couple of small items there. Oh well, health comes first. Meanwhile, Aydın Abi, who went ahead, got lost in the darkness and reached another village instead of Eli village. Later, he rented a car and came to Eli village.

We are proceeding with Sönmez Hoca’s GPS device. Since there is no moonlight, our headlamps illuminate our way in pitch darkness. We know the direction we are going, but since we are in the open terrain, the place we are going is not a flat area, and there is no path. On our way, a valley with a depth of 20-30 meters appears in front of us. We descend into the valley with our backpacks and pass the valley by rock climbing. When we reached Eli Village, it was showing 11:00 PM. This huge activity that started at 2:00 AM and lasted exactly 21 hours had brought our bodies to the brink of collapse.

My feet, without any rest for 21 hours inside those heavy boots, had become “wrecked.” There was blood pooling in the big toe of my right foot (Later I went to the doctor and had the blood drained with a needle, but within 2 weeks my nail turned black and fell off. Fortunately, a new nail grew in 8 months and it returned to its old state). We jump into the minibus that was waiting for us as previously arranged and head toward the center of Doğubayazıt district. When we arrive at the district center, I leave my gear at the hotel and go out to get something to drink. At that hour, only a liquor store is open… The old man inside is surprised when he sees my very tired state in mountaineering clothes. I was burning with thirst; I was craving a salty yogurt drink like crazy. I ask if there is yogurt drink. He is a bit surprised. I guess he is trying to understand if I am joking. I really need our national drink. It is the only thing that will quench my thirst. There is no yogurt drink. I bought water. How burned my insides were… I quench my thirst. I returned to the hotel, this time lay down on a soft bed instead of my sleeping bag, and fell into the most peaceful sleep in the world.

The next day, after breakfast, we go out for a city tour. We visit İshakpaşa Palace. In its courtyard, I capture a nice frame that I liked. You can find more photos about İshakpaşa Palace in my Eastern Trip article.

The return journey is again with Latif Abi’s taxi from Doğubayazıt to Kars.

There is a sweet fatigue on everyone. I look out the window. We have been on the road for about an hour, but Mount Ağrı is still standing in front of us in all its majesty and is not getting smaller at all. In my ears, the music of the Mount Ağrı Legend is playing. I have collected many memories, and the memories are passing before my eyes. I feel like a small satellite orbiting the mountain, unable to escape its pull.

This weekend our route is the majestic Sultan Mountains of Afyonkarahisar. We are setting off under the leadership of Sönmez Erkaya and together with Koç University Mountaineering Club (KUDAK). Our goal is the Gelincikana summit, the highest point of the mountain at 2675 meters.

The stories told about the name of this mountain range are quite impressive: According to legend, the Great Seljuk Sultan Melikshah positioned his army on the slopes of this mountain during a war with the Byzantines; from that day on, the region began to be called “Sultan Mountains.”

A dynamic and bright group of 29 people is participating in the activity. Seeing the young friends takes me back to my student years, to the 90s without fail. In our time, it was difficult to access quality technical equipment. Even if you had the financial means, the options were not as wide as they are today.

Nowadays, we can find new season products from abroad in our country. Although technical equipment still requires a serious investment, the rental opportunities offered by clubs make this sport much more accessible to everyone.

The companies selling nature sports products in the place where I live, Istanbul, are concentrated around Karaköy and Kadıköy. From my own observations and what I hear from my circle, the sales staff working there guide people correctly regarding their needs. Although the number of those who actively go to the field and use this equipment is small, those who demand these products are usually the researching segment, so both sides complement each other.

When you are going to buy new equipment, I recommend first trying to borrow it from the club you are a member of or from a friend. This way you can make the right investment in the right product. For example, you can only understand in the field whether a baton with a twist lock mechanism or a clip system is more suitable for you.

You can see the practicality of a single-setup and double-door tent as you use it. Also, when investing, it is better to choose thinking about your long-term usage needs rather than the place you will go to in 1 week. For example, a sleeping bag can serve you for a lifetime with careful use compared to other equipment. When buying, you should pay attention to its lightness rather than getting too caught up in temperature ratings. There are silk liners produced for sleeping bags. You can consider using a liner for long years of clean use.

From Malls to Nature: Changing Consumption Habits

Since I started engaging in nature sports, my consumption habits in city life have changed radically. Now, even if I wander around huge shopping malls for hours, I cannot find a product that interests me. The jeans I used to prefer frequently now seem very dysfunctional to me; they make you sweat in summer, freeze you in winter, damage water resources in production, and have little counterpart in nature… They should have been history long ago. I preferred them for years just because they were cheap. Of course, there was a time when Levis 501 was popular. We would save money to wear them. Converse basketball shoes were also fashionable. Even though they bothered my flat feet, I wore them because they were popular. I am grateful that I left these shoes, which do not support the foot structure and cause pain when worn for long hours, without flat feet. These are products that I bought influenced by popular culture even though their use did not suit me.

I experience a similar feeling in supermarkets since I changed my eating habits. I often leave big markets without finding anything to eat except a few basic things like bread and milk. Supermarkets are probably the last place to look for high-quality wholesome food. My current shopping habits have shifted towards smaller, boutique places. Maybe I miss the neighborhood grocers, I don’t know.

The Price of Forgetfulness: Mecidiyeköy-Home Shuttle Runs

On Friday night, I left home around 22:00 to catch our vehicle departing from Mecidiyeköy at 23:00. While distributing the bribe meats I prepared so that the neighborhood dogs wouldn’t “bag bark,” I thought since I caught them calm, let me take a photo. The moment I pressed the shutter, that terrible message appeared on the screen: “No memory card.” I had forgotten the card on the computer! Not in a rush but at a “quick quick” pace, I returned home, took the card, and set off again. When I arrived in Mecidiyeköy, there was still time before the bus arrived. I started mentally checking my bag:

• Whistle? Okay.
• Gaiters? Okay.
• Gloves and Buff? Okay.
• Headlamp? …Oh no! I forgot this one.

One of the most critical pieces of equipment had been left in the drawer at home. I immediately hailed a taxi, went back home, then back to Mecidiyeköy… Fortunately, the bus was a bit late, so this “forgetfulness marathon” ended happily without disrupting our plans.

Lesson learned: Definitely prepare a checklist! Relying only on memory when materials are scattered all over the house means racing taxis in Istanbul traffic at midnight.

Travel Comfort and Afyon’s Famous Clotted Cream

In Afyon, with the first lights of the morning, we say hello to that famous cold. In the square of Çay district, we head to a local grocery store to complete the last missing items before the tough hours on the mountain. I already have 4 liters of water in my bag, but you never know about the water source at the campsite; it might be frozen or dripping and driving you crazy. Knowing that the golden rule is to act as if there is no water on the mountain, I add another solid 5-liter backup, ignoring the weight of my bag.

The shopkeeper uncle comes alive when he sees a bus full of mountaineers at his door at this early hour. While I was indecisively looking around the shelves wondering what to buy, the uncle reveals his secret weapon: Famous Afyon Kaymak/Clotted Cream. His sales strategy is flawless in one word:

– “Look, this is water buffalo clotted cream, straight from the producer!”
– “You can’t find it for less than 10 lira at roadside facilities, I’m only selling it for 7.5 lira!”
– “Your breakfast table will be the coolest one, take this!”

I couldn’t help thinking inside, “In this day and age when buffalo milk is so valuable, can you really get real buffalo clotted cream at this price?” But it was impossible to resist the uncle’s incredible energy and his sales pitch. Even if it turned out to be regular cream, that clotted cream would be eaten in honor of this sincere bargaining story.

While making these “symbolic” payments with the economy of those days and leaving the shop, we had not only bought breakfast but also a story that would warm us on the mountain. Now we are ready to head towards the foothills of the mountain!

Tractor Operation in Yakasinek and Village Rivalries

The locals have lined up their chairs all along the wall across the road to enjoy the morning sun and are having a good time. Thanks to Sönmez Hoca’s intense lobbying efforts and persuasion skills, a tractor is arranged in a short time.

One President, Two Towns: Yakasinek and Deresinek

While we’re here, we cannot pass without telling a famous story. There has been a rivalry, a kind of sweet feud, between Afyon’s neighboring towns Yakasinek and Deresinek for about a century. So much so that no one remembers the original reason anymore.

The most tragicomic peak of this rivalry occurred during the Afyon earthquake in 2002. While the then President Ahmet Necdet Sezer was visiting the region and returning to Ankara, the people of Deresinek blocked the road with Turkish flags in their hands. The President, not wanting to upset his fellow citizens, made a short visit to Deresinek even though it was not on his schedule.

Upon hearing this, would the people of Yakasinek stay idle? They complained to their own mayor saying “We lost the President to the neighboring village,” and the incident even turned into some scuffle. After this incident was covered by the press, the Yakasinek Mayor suddenly became one of the most popular names in Turkey; he hosted governors and was appeased from Ankara.

Camp Life and Gear Experience: On the Husky Felen Tent

After the meal, Sönmez Hoca goes on an exploration trip with those who want to join. I don’t join the trip because I am tired after the 2.5-hour walk. No one stays in the camp. I retreat to my tent and rest. While resting, I eat sunflower seeds. An unexplained sadness fills me. I pick up my phone, open my music list randomly, and our Sun of Art Zeki Müren starts with his unique voice: “Kahır Mektubu”.

It is no less than a thirty-minute painful journey… The late artist throws me like a ship tossed in a storm, here and there.. I become even more saddened. You need to keep morale high on the mountain. So I close the phone without looking at the next song. To avoid coming across songs that devastate a person…

Goose liver is an economical value as food. I was saddened to see that they force-feed the animal with a tube to enlarge its liver. I don’t know much about how the feathers are obtained. Previously, I had an ethical discussion with my colleague Hakan about goose down. I said I am in favor of raising such animals and benefiting from their meat and feathers (in a humane way!). After all, we are not killing these animals for decoration or to look beautiful. Hakan was of the opinion that animals should not be preferred when there are synthetic alternatives.

While expressing my concerns about the methods of obtaining goose feathers, Hakan asks a more radical question:
“If a more advanced species came in evolution and said they would pluck all your hair alive because they needed it, how would you feel?” Even though I answered him, “They could sedate and do it,” the justified point underlying his question bothers my mind. Still, it is still very difficult for me to give up the “baby swaddle” comfort offered by a goose down jacket on the mountain…

Global Conversations by the Fire: From Taiwan to Sultan Mountains

Then came the curious question that all of us fall into from time to time: “How can we tell from appearance if someone is Taiwanese, Korean or Chinese?”

Wang answered with a smile:
“It is almost impossible to distinguish from the outside. You might make a guess from the eye shape, but you can only understand the definite result from the accent and speech.”

Inside, I thought, “Well Wang friend, I can’t distinguish those languages either; they all sound like chan chin chon to me, how can I find the homeland from the accent!” but outwardly I thanked him politely. Coming from different geographies and chatting by the same fire, looking at the same mountain; it was one of the most beautiful details that made us forget the physical fatigue of the climb.

Summit Day: Cold Breaths and Vital Warnings

Leadership Rotation and Rockfall
Sönmez Hoca applies a rotating leadership system so that everyone takes responsibility. The person at the front leads the group for a while, and when tired, goes to the very back. However, leadership is not just knowing the way, it means looking after the group. When I was leading, I received a “gentle” warning from the teacher because I didn’t notice a friend who had fallen behind. On the mountain, one is for all, and all is for one.

We all pile into the coffeehouse and rest. They treat us to tea. The conversation naturally turns to the mountain. We tell them what we saw and what we experienced. They also tell us a legend about the origin of the names Sultan Mountain and Gelincikana. A girl named Sultan had a lover, but her father wanted to marry her to the son of a rich friend he knew. On the day of the wedding, Sultan runs away in her wedding dress. Search teams are formed and they look for Sultan everywhere. Some time later, they find Sultan dead on top of the mountain, still in her wedding dress. Since that day, this mountain has been called Sultan Mountain, and its highest peak has been named Gelincikana. That’s the story they told us.

At the end of the conversation, a cheerful local local man, who could easily pass for a Turkish celebrity with his sharp features and mischievous smile, leaned in and whispered:: “Tell us the truth, did you find any treasure?” Apparently, there is such a rumor around here. Even though we tell them our goal was not “gold” but the summit and somewhat shatter their dreams, we say our goodbyes and part ways on good terms.

At the end of the day, there may not have been any precious stones in our bags; but we had new friendships, experiences, and memories that made us much richer…

06:00 AM. I’m up early. I have a packed schedule today. During the day, I’ll be headig to Ballıkayalar for some rock climbing, and in the evening, I’ll join the Republic Day march. My backpack was ready last night. I brewed my morning tea, filled my thermos, and hit the road.

Five dogs are lying in a row on the street, resting. There are many animal lovers in our neighborhood, and everyone feeds these animals individually. Well, when the conditions are good, dogs the size of motorcycles make our street their home. I pass by them cautiously because they have a habit of causing trouble depending on the size of the pack on my back. For instance, if I have my 65-liter rucksack, they never fail to bark. I guess they just don’t like big bags.

Once, I tried to ignore them and just walk past; they came from behind, grabbed my raincoat, and tore it. Today, I have my small daypack, and they are quiet. Still, one of them follows me to the end of the street. As I disappear from sight, it gives me a look as if to say, “We’re letting it slide this time, just so you know.” They’ve just never been my cup of tea. I even watched the movie Hachiko, but even that didn’t help. I am a cat person.

Toward the end of the route, we encounter a narrow section resembling a chimney, considered the “crux” (the hardest point) of the climb. This is both a physical and strategic testing ground. Trying to bury yourself inside the chimney and climb through it usually results in getting stuck. The correct technique is to spread your legs like a compass, keep your torso on the outside, and advance with left and right maneuvers.

Golden Rule of Climbing: Climbing is 25% physical strength and 75% mental preparation.

I have an interesting observation: those who say “I can’t pass this” in their minds usually give up at the crux, even when they are physically at their strongest. Physical attributes only help to a certain extent on the rock; the real climb begins when those imaginary barriers in the mind are overcome. When you learn to harmonize with the wall instead of stubborn resistance, routes that seemed impossible open up one by one.

Climbing is not just a physical workout; it is a mental meditation that works all muscle groups and takes your daily problem-solving skills to the summit.

He turns to the supportive messages from the crowd and asks that unforgettable question: “My life is in someone else’s hands, how can I be relaxed?” The calming response from behind summarizes the dark humor of the climbing community: “You just met your belayer, you have no bad past memories together. There couldn’t be a better reason to trust, keep going!” 🙂

The most exciting part of the road was a steep rock where we had to do a traverse. While an ice-cold pond awaited us below, the ground was as slippery as soap. Unable to trust the grip of my shoes, I found the solution by taking them off and crossing barefoot. While Sönmez Hodja immortalized that moment, I was deep in a conversation with my inner fear, thinking about the possibility of the electronics in my backpack meeting that cold water. 🙂

On the way back by minibus, Sönmez Hodja asked us all for a summary of the day. On everyone’s face, beyond exhaustion, there was the peace of having had a wonderful day and an eagerness for the next route.

Istanbul’s “Crux” Route: Beşiktaş Traffic
I got off the vehicle in Mecidiyeköy and jumped into an empty taxi. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I had created a “cold shower effect” on the driver’s face when I told him where I was going:

— “Beşiktaş…”

The taxi driver was both steering and explaining, unable to believe this coincidence:
“My previous passenger was also going to Beşiktaş! He couldn’t stand the traffic and got out; now he’s taking the Metro to Taksim and will walk down from there…”

While I thought to myself, “It was your destiny to go to Beşiktaş tonight, my friend :)”, I innocently opened the subject by asking, “Is the traffic that bad?” The taxi driver was a troubled but gentlemanly person, and we began to chat patiently. This is Istanbul traffic; it made us complete a normally 10-minute journey in exactly one hour.

I was only able to reach Beşiktaş at 09:30 PM. I wish there was a bicycle rental service between Büyükdere-Zincirlikuyu-Beşiktaş; I would have “zoomed” downhill and arrived long ago. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make it to the torchlight Republic Day march. Never mind, maybe next year…