I got to the little town at the base of Mt. Olympus yesterday at 430pm. The sun was behind the home of the gods, but there was still plenty of light, so I drove up as far as I could to reconnoitre. There was a woman working at the park station. She said it takes five hours to summit and she didn't think it would be a smart idea for me to try it alone. I thanked her, though I was a bit bummed at not being able to climb the whole mountain. When I got up to the trailhead, just as dusk was settling, some pleasure hikers were coming off the trail and said that as far as they went, about an hour each way, the trail was fine.
I headed back down to the town and, after eating and reading for a bit, I took the car the 22 km back up to the trailhead, which was at 1100m (approx. 3600ft). The plan was to sleep there ion the car til dawn and put in a couple of hours so I could get the mountain in my legs. The trailhead parking lot was covered in snow as I went to bed at 10pm.
Thoroughly dehydrated, I woke up at 230am. I couldn't accept having come all that distance and not at least trying to summit. Before, I figured it was an impossibility because I had to get the car back to Athens, but if I headed out soon and was faster on the way down than the way up, I could just make it.
When I get an idea in my head, it sticks. So, usually if I want something bad enough, I get it... unless it has the ability to say no ("Oh, you have a boyfriend...well, it's been a real pleasure talking to you all night and buying all those cocktails before you thought to tell me...").
So, it is winter and Mt. Olympus is the highest mountain in Greece at 2918 meters (9500ft), so I put on all my layers and brought my sleeping bag and extra clothes in my backpack. I also left a note in the window of the car with a message that there was a problem if I wasn't back by 3pm. I left my brother's email, just in case...
I figured that if a blizzard or something suddenly hit, the 0 degree sleeping bag would keep me alive, particularly if I buried myself in snow for insulation. It was definitely below freezing when I stepped off at 330am as the condensation from my breath had frozen to the windows in the car.
Even in the cold, I had to start peeling layers within minutes; a backpack is a magnificent heater, as any hiker will tell you. The woods were silent and bathed in starlight so I didn't have to use the flashlight but every once in a while when it looked like the trail split. Occasionally, the trees would bunch and so not only were the stars blocked out but the snow wasn't on the ground to reflect the ambient light. When that happened, I'd either have to break out the flashlight or bravely stumble along like Aeneas in the smoke of Troy.
My thoughts ventured to the Greek gods. If vicious Cerberus, a three- headed hell-hound protected the entrance to the decrepit underwold, what on earth would greet me as I made my way to Zeus' throne?
I made fairly good time for the first hour and then the mountain quit playing with me. The path increased its slope by nearly double and I had to stop every fifty feet or so to catch my breath momentarily and let the fire in my legs simmer down.
After canoing this summer, my legs had atrophied substantially and it took months for me to be able to try to run again. I'd gone at it pretty hard for the three weeks before I left, but apparently a week of sitting on trains had put me back to square one. Also hindering me was the fact I can't handle altitude very well. In Peru, I couldn't keep a thing down and moved like an octogenarian as my buddy Andrew, part mountain goat, sped right along with no problems. I certainly wasn't as high as I'd been in the Andes, but I was up over a mile and it was having an effect.
Regardless, I still made the summer shelter, the halfway point, at the two and a half hour mark. The patches of mountain without snow had long fallen below me. A sign said I was at 2100m (6600ft). Eight hundred meters in two and a half more hours left. Yeah, I could do that. I pressed forward.
"It turned out I didn't need the two and a half hours as I made it to the top in just under two. Surprisingly, it hadn't been windy so I stayed there for fifteen minutes, enjoying the sunrise and reading a chapter of Twain. Yup, one more goal down."
I would love to truthfully say that, but I can't. I made it another hundred meters or so up when the other footprints stopped. There was a solitary set of tracks that continued up the mountain but they were very large and had claw marks. I couldn't figure out what it was until I saw holes in the snow a foot away on either side of the tracks. A man was using crampons and poles.
I figured I'd follow his steps since he'd broken through the now thick, crusted, virgin snow. That worked for only a couple dozen feet because when he tried to make the switchback climb where the trail should have been (and was, just buried underneath several feet of snow) he wasn't heavy enough and so only his claws and his sticks grabbed hold.
I tried to make the climb and actually did make the first switchback, but the next 700 meters would be the same pace and I felt it had been very stupid to even climb that particular 15 foot section as I looked down. Because the snow was uniform, all it would take is one fall for me to go launching down the side of the mountain.
As I'd started the hike, I'd asked God to help give me the wisdom and courage to stop if it got too dangerous. Bloodied and broken, and probably unfound until spring, were my highest probabilities if I continued on.
I sighed and carefully made my way back to solid footing. I was back to the summer shelter in no time. It had a spectacular view so I decided to wait there for the thirty minutes until sunrise. As I did, I concluded that those that don't strive don't become. Sure, I hadn't made it, but I certainly wouldn't have if I didn't try (psychologists call this justifying). Failure is frustrating, to be sure, but it sure is a hell of a lot more interesting than winning every time (Hell with the Yankees!). I'm a Gamecock and Cubs fan; failing's a point of pride with me. Besides, I've found people like hearing a good story about a screw up more than a success. Almost no one asks about the river, but when I mention that I once planned to walk the country and stopped after four days, I get grilled. Doesn't matter much to me (baldfaced lie.-Ed.), I just like to tell stories.
On the way down, three foreigners were hiking up the trail. I said "Good Morning," but they were rude and barely acknowledged me. No matter, they were a bunch of sissies. They were all dressed alike, in pretty little boots, lycra pants, fleece jackets, thermal head bands, camelbacks, and a pair of hiking sticks. I must not have been cool enough looking for their club since I was in my Aussie hat, trench coat, black jeans, sneakers, and the backpack. And I only had a used Fanta bottle for a canteen. Dear God! I'm glad I was allowed on the mountain looking like that.
As I was getting to the car, I realized that a year ago today, I was with my friend Chris, scaling the highest peak above Boulder, CO. I've inadvertently started a tradition.
And now the financial ruin part...
With so little sleep in the past few days I just wanted to get back the 300 miles to Athens before I hallucinated. A @#$!ing truck decided it would be fun to go 10-20k (6-12mph) below the speed limit, so at the first opportunity I passed him, only narrowly making it because he sped up as I did. Oh lucky day! The Greek police had a radar checkpoint set up there and caught me going 30k (18mph) over the limit when I passed.
They not only handed me a 187.50 Euro ticket, but took the plates off the car. I was furious since that's $240 and I haven't sped in years (drive dangerously, yes; speed, no).
When I got the car to the rental place it turned out I had to pay double the fee to get the tags returned within twenty days, plus I had to pay a minor fee for the company's inconvenience of having to cross the country to retrieve the plates. It was either that or pay to rent the car for the 20 days it would take for the police to mail the plates. So, that was easily the most painful ticket I'll ever get at just over $500. I talked to some fellow travellers and they said to challenge the ticket through the embassy. Ugh. I sure hope 2007 starts better than 2006 ended. However, the trip is now 100% memorable. Hooray!
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