Jesteś tutaj

Every Shade of Red. Our Aladağlar Sky Trail

Opublikowane w pon., 20/08/2018 - 16:51

Ich geh´ auf meine Straße, lauf´ zu unserem Laden
Seh´ euch alle da sitzen, weiß, dass ich richtig bin
In welchen Höhen und welchen Tiefen wir gemeinsam waren
Drei Kreuze, dass wir immer noch hier sind

[Die Toten Hosen – Altes Fieber]

Emler, 3723 m a.s.l.., 11 August, 8:10 am. It takes me less than 40 minutes to reach the third, maybe fourth highest peak of the Red Mountains from the first aid station at Çelikbuyduran. The altitude only hit me some 200 metres below. A wee bit shorter breath, that's all. Has our acclimation experiment worked so well? I still can't believe it.

* * * * *

Devan means camel

Çelikbuyduran, 3350 m a.s.l., 4 August, 3:50 pm. I take off my almost 20 kilo backpack and start gulping the water from the spring like a thirsty desert wanderer. Olga must be waiting somewhere higher above the rocks where we're gonna put up our tent for two nights and three days. Maybe this five-hour yomp from 1600 to 3350 metres will give me a good kick a week later. My Balkan nickname, which can also be understood in Turkey, means a camel after all. Who can carry a heavy load better than me?

Three days earlier we climbed Erciyes (3917 m a.s.l.), an extinct volcano 100 km north. The summit tower required ca. 15 metres of vertical IV UIAA grade climb and an abseil on the way back. To get there, we had to negotiate a few hundred metres of nasty, chossy and dangerous ground. My Balkan adventures from a few years ago sprang back to my mind. Olga proved to be extremely brave and strong. Unlike me, she didn't feel the altitude at all. She would only feel weak for the next two days. I was already hit on the way up, and got a headache at the descent to boot. It stopped the following afternoon. To each their own.

Back to now, the same evening we quickly hike Emler to complete the first climb of Aladağlar Sky Trail. Yeah, to start with, we're gonna have to yomp over 2100 vertical metres in less than 14 km!

We run down the mountain to meet Faruk, Levent and Serap – three Turks who also camp here. The next day we all leave for Kızılkaya (3767 m), the highest peak of the Aladağlar range. Faruk, Olga and me manage to reach the summit, belaying at one pitch and once abseiling from the ridge. Apparently Kızılkaya means Red Mountain. More or less the same as Aladağlar – from the colour of rocks in the setting sun. Maybe those are different shades of red. I don't speak Turkish and, like an average bloke, I'm no good with colours.

Having spent two nights at Çelikbuyduran we run back down to our base at the Demirkazık village, where the race starts and finishes. That morning Olga goes up to the Emler summit once more. I skip it, deciding that a fast descent with a heavy backpack will be a good enough training session. The following four days down there will be spent doing sweet F.A.

High up there, my breath was much shortened in comparison with Olga's. Back down in the valley however I felt great, while she was weak as usual. Our acclimation procedure was totally experimental. We'll see how it's gonna work out at the race day.

* * * * *

Prayer before sunrise

Demirkazık, 1610 m a.s.l., 11 August, 4:30 am. Having passed the particulary meticulous kit check, I stand at the start line together with almost hundred of runners. We bet with Olga that who underestimates (or overestimates) the other, buys a dinner. I give her 8h59 while she gives me 12 hours, with the 12h30 cutoff. She's not even dreaming of breaking the all-time female record of 8h45. I just want to make it within the cutoff time, particularly shitting myself at the 3h30 limit at the first Çelikbuyduran checkpoint.

A string of headlamps under the starry night takes a turn into the gravel road leading to the Sokulupinari camp 7 km away. From the mosque below we can hear the muezzin's call to prayer. May the Force be with us, no matter what name we call it...

I slowly run most of this part, walking the steeper bits using my trekking poles. I don't like starting too fast. It takes me 45 minutes to the Sokulupinari checkpoint. As I will later learn, I was 64th here, way back in the second half of the field.

– First time here? – after a while of small talk I ask Ian, one of the few foreigners in the race. – Yeah, and I hope it's my last! – answers the Scot from Istanbul, panting at the ever steeper climb. We have just turned from the gravel road into a path, leading us higher into a visible gorge. The day slowly breaks.

This is gonna be the steepest part of the first climb. However, over 700 vertical metres take me an hour without much effort. I keep overtaking people. It's going fine! I'm not worried about making the first cutoff anymore. There is a hanging valley with Martian-like landscape and the last steep scree climb and in 2h52 (49th place) I tick off at Çelikbuyduran. Our recent campsite hosts a few tents of the crew, who must have climbed up here yesterday with the whole load. A cookie and a banana chased down with a sip of water give me energy for the final push to the first summit. From now on I will be yomping in the relentless sun.

It takes me less than 40 minutes to reach Emler from the aid station. The altitude only hit me some 200 metres below. A wee bit shorter breath, that's all. Has our acclimation experiment worked so well? I still can't believe it.

A short bit of summit ridge is followed by a fast and steep downhill, first on rocks, then scree. Then another 3 km down the Yedigöl plateau with a truly Martian feel to the next aid station below the Direktaş peak. As usual on downhills I gained some time and reach it in 4h15 – an hour and 15 minutes before the cutoff. This is already 18 km. The whole course is quite densely marked with cairns, placed by the organisers. Nowhere else have I seen this solution before, but they are obvious enough to follow.

The next aid station 9 km away will only have water and cola, so now I help myself to bananas, cake and great Turkish halva galore. I refill my water bag and start running up another small hill.

Round two

From its top I can already see the massive climb to the second summit of the day, mysteriously called MTA (3517 m). What the hell does it mean? Mega Tough Ascent? Some 500 vertical metres. I haven't been particularly tired or altitude-stricken so far, but now as soon as it gets steeper, I become slower. My leg muscles still work great, only the breath becomes somehow shorter.

Having passed a small lake we start yomping up the steep scree field. A faint path is only sometimes visible but the cairns always show the way. Step by step I go up, panting like a dog and working with trekking poles. A beeline of local runners follows in my footsteps. I invite the closest one to pass me. – No thanks, it's tough for me too! – he answers.

I must have climbed Emler so easily only because I was still fresh. The altitude hit me only now. But it seems everyone is going through a crisis here. Olga will later tell me she was suffering the most on the MTA climb.

Instead of crossing the pass on our right, the course relentlessly climbs to the very top. Towards the end, two runners from the group pass me, and then another very strong girl – it's Güller with curly hair who we met before the race. Soon I will overtake them all again on the downhill.

I reach the peak in six hours from the start – losing four places since Çelikbuyduran. But what's the downhill for, if not catching up? Just below the summit there is a scary looking "Danger" sign. The steep rock indeed makes me run carefully, but at the most technical bit I immediately gain a few positions. The scree slope below allows for a fun slide. I'm feeling like Kilian Jornet!

Doing the Kilian is over as soon as it flattens out. Got to catch some breath, as my pulse must have reached very high levels. Have to walk up a small hill but then again I run fast towards the aid station tents below. I swallow my own energy gel and gulp a hectolitre of cola, taking the pebbles out of my shoes.

It's only 4 km to the next aid station at Karagöl, i.e. the Black Lake. On another plateau, first slightly uphill, then around a lake and between some grazing sheep. Güller catches up with me, together with another Turkish runner. We reach the aid station together. On our way, the medical crew is attending to a female runner's ankle. We will later learn that unfortunately she had a nasty fracture and had to be airlifted to Istanbul for an operation.

İşin rengi

As usually at mountain races, watermelons save my life. Although we have only got below 3000 metres a.s.l., it's high noon in the scorching sun. An hour and a half before cutoff here. Güller leaves the station at once but I need a little breather. We first follow a path and then have to cross a large talus field with some huge boulders. It's impossible to run here, and boulder-hopping sometimes requires using hands. The toughest climb of the day can already be seen. We were warned about it at the briefing. It leads to the nameless peak of 3376 m.

– I'm most looking forward to tackling that place – I told Tayfun just before the start. – Yes, this is işin rengi – he replied with a Turkish saying. – It means „the colour of business” – he explained. We met Tayfun and his mate Coşkun at Demirkazık two days before the race. With Olga we couldn't help calling them Typhoon and Shogun. Tayfun will unfortunately drop out because of a stomach upset, but Coşkun will make his dream come true and break two hours at the shorter 15 km race called Aladağlar Trail JR.

Before it starts, I pass three runners to get a clear position and not to throw rocks on their heads. Anyway, a marshal takes care that we keep enough space between one another. The talus is so steep that I can't believe how it all sticks together. I follow its edge, holding the rock with my right hand. With my left one I sometimes support myself on the trekking pole, and more often try to grab the loose rock in a controlled way. For me it's the harder the better, so the going is fine, although I can still feel the altitude. The racers I've just passed stay further and further below, and I close the distance to those above me. At the middle of this climb from hell there is another helmet-clad marshal who shows me the way. Carefully I cross the talus to the left-hand side. A bit less steeply but it's still bloody chossy. I scramble up to the notch in the ridge which can be seen high above.

Olga will compare this climb to Hamperokken, the toughest hill at the famous Tromso Skyrace. At the final section a marshal points at the apparently more difficult but solid rock next to the choss. – Yeah, I prefer the rock – I confirm, scrambling it quickly. – I can see you're a rock climber – he says. – A very tired climber! – I reply with a weak smile as I reach the notch.

The nameless 3376 m peak is just to the right. – Are you the Polish guy, Olga's friend? – shouts the girl who mans the checkpoint at the top. We met her before the race. – You're doing great! Olga's the fastest woman and sixth overall! Good luck!

Blood brothers

My time here is 8h51. I take 40th place, so I moved up by 13 since MTA – but I don't know this now. I know however what the downhills are for, no matter how knackered I am. Time to rock'n'roll! At the steep section I catch up with some runners below me in a blink of the eye. Gradually I pass them at a small uphill halfway down the slope. Doing the Kilian again, I run down the scree to the next security point with a tent at the bottom of the valley. Again I pass Güller and one more runner.

I already knew at the peak that if I make it fast, I can break 11 hours – if the last 14 km take me just over two hours. From the tent there is only 10 km left. From 2800 to 1600 metres a.s.l. Time for the run of my life...

The course follows a path at the valley bottom. Wherever possible I run briskly, although I'm tired. Only where it's uphill or rocky I have to walk. I pass one more runner before the last aid station at Teke Pinari at 40 km. I tick off at 10h02, at 35th place. I get the first cramps in my calves. Unfortunately they have no magnesium shots, so I quickly help myself to watermelons and cola and set off to make a good result.

The valley narrows into a steep rocky gorge. Instead of running down there we scramble over its edge on steep rock. On the other side there is a good path and then a gravel road. I pass two more racers. One more is still some 300 metres ahead. To catch up with him I would need a bit of technical downhill. It doesn't look like there'll be one, although my altimeter still shows ca. 700 vertical metres down remaining. We pass the last checkpoint tent 3 km before the finish. My split time here is 10h22 (33rd place) so I already got sub-11 under my belt.

Down below I can see the Demirkazık village with the race HQ. I overtake another bunch of racers. Out of the blue, a small red flag tells us to turn sharply right down a very steep slope without any path! It takes me less than a minute to catch up with the runner in white t-shirt.

– Merhaba! – I greet him – Which way now? We both take a look around, as on the pathless slope covered with dense vegetation the next flag can't be immediately seen. I notice it first down a deeply cut ravine and jump in front of the Turk. Both my calves and hamstrigs are at the border of a cramp, so I can't run flat out – just almost. I speed across high thistles, not caring about their thorns, just trying to eye the next flag. My rival follows three steps behind me. My lungs are on fire.

Running like madmen, just before the village we overtake two more racers, including a girl. Gravel road, then tarmac down past our mountain hut with race HQ, last 200 metres. As long as it's downhill, the Turkish runner can't catch me. I can feel my heart up my throat but don't give up. Right turn, the last straight is flat tarmac. No matter how hard I try, my rival outsprints me on my left and crosses the finish line a second before me.

But it doesn't matter. We both gave it all we had and during the last 3 km we moved 8 places up the chart. My result is 10h42:22, 25th overall. An hour and a half better than I expected. At those last 3 kilometres I clocked the third fastest split of all racers. Is it all real?

I get up from the ground. With Selman we give each other a high five, thanking each other for the great duel till the end. We haven't met before during the race, although at checkpoints we were from six minutes to less than a minute apart. We were running like twin brothers. Or maybe like blood brothers, because right now we pull the thorns out of our hands and legs. During our crazy finish we had no time to care.

* * * * *

At the checkpoints I was moving up (or down) the chart in the following order: 64-49-53-40-35-33-25th place. It was one of the toughest races in my life, and one of the best. Tactically I coudn't have played it better. I made the steep climbs fast, but leaving a little reserve. On "flat" sections I ran wherever possible. I took advantage of my strongest point, i.e. downhills, to the max. As experienced fell runners say, you win the race at the downhills.

A race with almost 4000 metres of total climb at 47 km does not happen every day. And if half of the course lies above 3000 m a.s.l., it takes some special training. During our acclimation we just followed our hunch. It turned out to work perfectly.

Aladağlar Sky Trail is less known outside Turkey but in its country it famous for being an extremely hard race among local skyrunners. It is organised by an experienced crew – the same that is responsible for Cappadocia Ultra-Trail, included in the UTWT cycle. Maybe more foreign runners will come here in the following years? In my opinion it is well worth trying.

* * * * *

Demirkazık, 1610 m a.s.l., 11 August, 3:30 am. Still knackered, I come to the time check tent and ask about Olga. She crossed the finish line at 8h10:02, with a landslide victory and only four men ahead of her. She smashed the course record by the French Natalie Mauclair, UTMB winner and twice IAU world champion, by 35 minutes. Her result makes me happier than my own, although I had a race of my life too.