As an ambitious child I dreamed I would one day climb Mount Olympus to spend a night in the home of the gods. In some way it was to be my ‘right of passage’.
When we lived in Izmir I read that there were as many as seven mount Olympuses in the ancient world, and it was not clear that anyone was the sole residence of the gods. It seems Zeus and company were multiple home owners.
The mount Olympus of Asia Minor (modern day Turkey) is now known as Ulu Dag. In winter it is a ski resort. I went there in June when you can expect the mountain meadows to be flowering and the conditions mild.
The Pamukule bus from Izmir to Bursa is regular and easy to book. Bursa is a fascinating but forbidding Moslem centre. I remember little of the mosque and dersane except the crosslegged priest continuously rocking back and forth as he read the Koran in front of the case containing relics of the prophet.
The local bus for the twenty miles from Bursa to the bottom of the ski lift was a little more challenging to my limited of skills in the Turkish Language. But I got there. With my lightweight tent, sleeping bag, stove and enough food for a couple of days I set off.
The road or the cable car seemed the only ways to get up the lower slopes. So I took the cable car up the first part. But from then on I found a quiet walking route through the pine forests well away from the road.
That night I found a place to camp in a hollow in the rocky slopes well above the treeline - and it turned out to be electric.
My sleeping mat, rucksac and groundsheet crackled and sparked with every small movement. As night fell the flashes became even brighter, and the cracks of the sparks became the only noise apart from the distant high flying aircraft. And then the sound of the aircraft stopped.
I was slow to sleep in the crackling magic of that night.
In the morning I found a small stream with water for my morning cup of tea. It was a normal day.
Towards the top of Ulu Dag the ground flattens and paths become more obvious. But cloud came in by the time I reached the top. I sat and rested, but I could see little. A few flakes of snow fell and melted almost immediately. Snow in Turkey in June?
I set off along the path on a compass bearing in the direction of the skiing centre. The snowflakes became bigger and they settled. Soon there was a light covering.
By the time there was two or three inches I realised I was at risk of getting into difficulty on the summit plateau if I could not see the path. So I descended a gully I had seen early.
A dog appeared and decided to keep my company. An unusually friendly Alsation who tried to jump up with paws on my shoulders and lick my face. Not helpful on a slippery snowy steep slope. How do you get rid of an over friendly Alsation on a steep slippery snowy slope?? I failed.
To make matters worse, the lower part of the gully I was descending was covered by an old snowfield. Compacted icy snow left over from the winter. By now it was a tricky descent with six or eight inches of wet slippery snow on top, and and accompanied by an over friendly Alsation who wanted to play! Progress was very slow.
At the bottom I had seen a corrie with flat grass around the lower edge. A good place for my tent even in the snow. The dog seemed to think putting up a tent was an even better game than coming down the snowfield.
And then when I got in the tent the dog tried to come in with me. In a way I don’t blame him as it was still snowing heavily. But I zipped him out. I was aware of him moving around outside but eventually he went away.
In the dark of the morning he seemed to come back. I felt half buried by my tent as he pushed in on top. But by first light he was gone, and the tent was buried under two feet of snow.
It did not become very light because of the thick fog. There was no way I was going to move in thick fog and waist deep wet snow in the gulleys. With nothing to read I just slept. I lunched on locum and my few remaining cherries. I had locum for supper.
The next day the fog was thinner and the snow melting. By afternoon it was clear enough to find a route out. Below there was nothing but snowy slopes. So I went back up the gulley to find a walkers path back to the skiing centre. The sun was brilliant and the glare from the deep wet snow on the top blinding. My face was sunburnt by the time I reached the hotels and road.
There was not a soul in or around the hotels and cafes. So I walked down the road.
That tent never went up a mountain again. A veteran of Cader Idris, Snowdon, Newfoundland, Dartmore, Cairngorm, Mount Kenya, and twice the Cacar, it had a respectable retirement as a childrens play tent.