Up The Rocks

on the approach on the approach

our camp our camp

Mkhitar and I headed cross country, crossing a steep canyon and small stream and heading up open fields to the mountain. Before long we met a shepherd and Mkhitar chatted with him for a few minutes to get any beta for the route. The land here is open and covered with upland grasses. I could hear many, many song birds in the fields, as Armenia is in the path of a major flyway for birds.

The slopes of Mt. Aragats have been used to run sheep and cattle since herding was invented and the evidence of shepherds and their summer herds could be seen on the land. Mkhitar’s plan was to camp high on a shoulder of the North Ridge that comes off the North Peak. The next day he planned to have us traverse some rocky crags to the cirque and climb the 40-50 degree slopes that lead to the saddle between the North and West Peaks of Aragats. He hoped to set up a second camp between the North and West Peaks, climb both peaks and traverse out to the South Side of Aragats. This was a beautiful plan and I strongly recommend that someone try it, just not in April.

April has the most unstable weather of the year in Armenia. While we were hiking up we could see that the mountain was getting battered from a storm on the other side and that there were repeated storms coming through every day. The mountain formed a small storm shadow for us, making the northern approach the only route climbable during that week. The thought of climbing up perfect avalanche shoots in high winds and snow did not strike either of us as a wise idea. Eventually we decided that the only route that would safely go was the western ridge, so we angled over that way.

After about six hours of hiking and snowshoeing we got to a windswept plain at about 10,200 ft, that was our camping area. I found a spot that I could pretend was a little protected by some rocks and was not on too much of a slope, so we set down our packs and tried to flatten out a tent site. As we were working a storm started to pick up. We got the tent tied down just as the storm hit its stride. I crawled into the tent while Mkhitar bravely battled an Iranian beast of a propane burner. For five hours, in a howling storm, Mkhitar struggled to melt water. He got one liter for each hour of his effort. In the end, I held the burner in the middle of the tent, while Mkhitar tended the pot. I was very impressed with Mkhitar’s patience and toughness in this storm and that got us talking about the old Soviet “hard man” style of climbing. About 1:00 a.m. we had not burned down the tent or died of carbon monoxide poisoning, so we called it good and went to sleep.

The next morning we got a slow start and I stayed slow the whole day. I tried to teach Mkhitar the meaning of “jet lag,” which was a term he had not heard of before, but which I had big time. Luckily it was a stormy day and we were not going to summit regardless of how I felt. We hiked around for about four hours.

some meteo stuff on our way some meteo stuff on our way

the north peak behind couds from the left and the west one form the right the north peak behind couds from the left and the west one form the right

the north ridge were intended to go bythe north ridge were intended to go by

We worked out how to get to the saddle of the west ridge and hiked up the ridge until the ice pellets and zero visibility became laughable and we returned to the tent. We had a couple of hours of respite from the storm, so I set about building wind breaks for the tent and Mkhitar built an igloo for the stove. It turned out that Mkhitar was not only an aspiring “Ayr” (Armenian for “Hard Man”) but also a proficient Eskimo. After he built the igloo the Iranian propane stove worked well enough and we could enjoy hot, sweet Russian tea and plenty of water. The day ended with an even bigger storm, a real blizzard. Unfortunately for me, about three hours into this ice pellet assault, a case of traveler’s constipation decided to resolve itself. Those of you who have been in this situation know there is only one word to describe it: “ouch.”

The next morning we woke up to wind, clouds, and minimal visibility and we returned to the protection of the tent, depressed about our chances. We ate a breakfast of lavash (Armenian flat bread), cheese, sausage, dried apricots, a Snicker’s Bar, and sweet Russian tea for breakfast. I was surprised when I ventured out an hour later to find a breezy but clear morning. In fact, it was a perfect morning for a snow climb – cold and clear. The climb itself was technically easy, more of a steep hike. It was made interesting because Mkhitar had never been up that side of the mountain, so the climb was a bit of an exploratory for the both of us. Also, the further up we climbed, the more the weather closed in on us. The combination of these variables resulted in some route-finding adventures, at one point dropping 200-300 meters down the wrong ridge and having to backtrack up.

After about five hours we got to the summit ridge at 13,500 ft. in a whiteout. We were buffeted by the ice pellet storm that seemed to never be far from this peak. From the GPS we could tell that we were only 10 meters elevation from the true summit of the West Peak, but we could not see the large cross that marked the true summit. Mkhitar and I disagreed about where the summit was, he thought it was to the left and I thought it was somewhere to the right. Given it was his country and he had actually been there before, I followed his lead. After about five minutes we came to a dead end of a cliff. When we got back to the point on the ridge where we came up, we had about five meters of visibility and a good chance of getting turned around.

Basically, we were wandering around inside a ping-pong ball, with nothing but white in every direction. I yelled at Mhkitar above the wind that I thought we were close enough to call it good for that day. We took our summit photos, which show a couple of iced up guys against an all white background, added another layer of clothes and headed back to the tent.

"it's my summit photo,let's go down" I said "it's my summit photo,let's go down" I said

Mkhitar's summit photo Mkhitar's summit photo

our way down our way down

parting photo with a mountain parting photo with a mountain

the morning we must go douw the morning we must go douw

the north peak from vilage Hnaberd the north peak from vilage Hnaberd

The next morning opened up to one of those gloriously beautiful days that so often happen after a storm. In my experience, the hike out after a climb is usually a drab and monotonous affair filled mostly with sore feet. But our hike out was much more fun. The night after our climb Mhkitar looked down the mountain trying to make out the lights of the villages nearest us. After consulting his map he announced that we would hike out to Hnaberd village. For three hours that morning we cruised down long tongues of snow that had survived in the creases of the hills, so we had only about an hour of hiking across grassy slopes that had not seen Spring yet. As we got closer to Hnaberd, Mhkitar called Ashot on his cell phone and he met us just outside the village.

enjoying "tan" by the hospitable villagers enjoying "tan" by the hospitable villagers

on the way down, the north peak behindon the way down, the north peak behind

our driver Ashot our driver Ashot

When we got into the Volga, Mhkitar asked me if I had ever had village-made Matsun, the Armenian version of yogurt. Since I had only been in the country 48 hours before I had gone on this adventure and had yet to be in a village, I said “No, that I have not had Matsun.” Well, from that point onward Mhkitar and Ashot considered it their duty as patriotic Armenians to introduce me to real village Matsun. They stopped by at least six houses looking for Matsun. Though this village looked desperately poor and desolate to me, the people were always dressed in clean and warm clothes and were incredibly hospitable to three strangers. As it was the end of winter, the milk in the cows was low, so nobody had Matsun, but one family gladly shared a glass of Tan with me, the closest thing they could find. Tan is something like a salty kefir, or drinkable yogurt, and indeed, village Tan is a true treat.

That was the end of this climb, but just the beginning of a four week adventure in Armenia. During my time in Armenia I found wonderful people who were generous and optimistic despite circumstances. I found amazing countryside, ancient history, and delicious food. My wife and I felt safe and welcomed throughout our stay. I encourage folks to discover Armenia, and I highly recommend the people in the Spitak Rescue team, who are great ambassadors for their country.