Mt Damavand - summit push

I wake up at 5, before the light starts, to look at the weather. There's some cloud. I wait for more light to get a better look at the cloud. I stab my knife into the cream carton, and it goes right through into my finger. No blood. Then I cut three sides to open a flap. At this temperature the cream is thick. I cut chunks of it onto bread and eat it with dates.

It's common to start an alpine climb before the light, but my only torch is the blinking yellow LED bike light. Not much use. And I need to be sure of the weather. Alone, at altitude, with this equipment, this is a fair weather climb.

My equipment has been bolstered significantly since leaving Tehran. At base camp, someone left a walking stick. Not an ice axe, but a lot better than nothing. Also, someone descending that day left their waterproof jacket and trousers hanging in the shelter. Score.

Under one of the blankets I found a windproof fleece balaclava and a fleece neck gaiter. All these gave me much confidence. Much more confidence. I didn't start with much.

My light leather hiking boots didn't get too wet on the way up yesterday. I was able to dry the footbeds in the evening sun. I tucked the inside out socks between my two shirts and left them there till morning. I don't know why I didn't get two pairs of socks. It's because I didn't want to carry any more stuff than I had to on the bike.

I start out at 6. Cloud comes and goes. Sometimes above, sometimes below, sometimes in it.

Up into the cloud.

Clear below

Clear above

Cloud below

The new snow has had 36 hours to settle. There's been a decent freeze and it's good walking. I follow a ridge of rock and snow. Pretty quickly it's too hot for the "warm" jacket. It's army surplus cotton canvas, with a fluffy acrylic liner and a hood. I bargained it down to $15, but then I only had $12.50, so I got it for that. There's no wind at all.

When the cloud comes in my optimism fades. But I look out at the weather and see if there's any real change. There isn't. When I'm in the sun it gets hot. I thought I was reasonably fit, and had a pretty good acclimatisation. But it's hard. I try to keep moving.

As it gets later in the morning the snow softens. I aim for the rocks. I jump up a few rocks at a time. Conserving momentum. It's more efficient. But after a few leaping steps my head spins. It goes black behind my eyes. The higher I get the worse it gets. After a while I decide to stick to a slow plod. There are some headaches. It could be altitude, or it might be dehydration. I'm used to drinking a lot of water. But I couldn't carry much up in my small bag. I spent yesterday afternoon refilling all the bottles from the running eves. But still, it's less than I would usually drink.

I get over the first shoulder and I can see further up the mountain. It's clear on top and there's a white puff. Volcanic smoke. That must be the top. Now when the sun comes out I sweat. I think about taking off the rain jacket, but the sun comes and goes too much to bother. From the top I'll look down into smoggy yellow Tehran to the South. And when the cloud shifts I'll look North across the gas rigs scattered on the gray Caspian.

Sunscreen and sweat

Snow and shivers

There's some icier patches and I think how much happier I would be with some stiff boots and an iceaxe. I must be getting pretty close. Snow starts to fall. There's been the odd snowflake before when I've been in cloud. This is graupel. It's a snowflake that has met super-cooled water, which has frozen on to the flake as rime ice, forming a sphere. 5mm diameter. Soft like snow, round like hail. They land and roll down hill, stopping in my footprints. It means there's convective winds. It may not be a good sign.

Thunder cracks hard above my head. Before it has finished rolling out I've taken two steps down. Thunder is not fair weather. In five minutes I'm back at the flattish spot where I'd stopped twenty five minutes earlier to eat a biscuit and answer natures call in the sunshine.

I'm in the sun again. It's 12:25. I was so close. I must have been 200m short. If I'd just started earlier. Or chosen a better route. Or had bigger balls. More thunder peels away my second-guessing. The sun is coming through a narrow shaft through layers of dark cloud. This has changed. It's not coming in and out. It's just coming in. The shaft closes, and I'm in thick cloud again. The graupel is heavier. There's wind now. It's time to get the hell out of here.

I put the army jacket on and replace the waterproof jacket. I put on the balaclava, folded as a hat. I pull on the waterproof trousers. My feet have been wet for hours, but I've been generating enough body heat for them to not get too cold. Now they will get cold. I pull cycling ankle socks onto my hands as thumbless mittens. I start down, following my tracks. The visibility is nothing. I have to track hard to keep in my footprints. Where I've gone over rocks there aren't prints. Each time I find tracks again is a relief.

The conditions are the same all the way to the hut. I recognise the changes in slope and features of rock and snow, so I know as I'm getting closer. Across the last snow slope I push big holes through the crust and sink up to my knees.

At the hut there's no water running off the eves. Too cold. Before I go inside I go down to the old hut to check for water. There's none.

I go in and change into my dry clothes. Two pairs of ankle socks, a pair of light slacks, two light shirts and a $12 army jacket. It's not the ideal clothing for waiting out a snowstorm in a stone hut at 4000m. It's only taken an hour to get down. I have a long afternoon in my coccoon of horse blankets.

I have found six blankets in the hut. Horse blankets. Horse blankets by weight. Horse blankets by greasy feel. Horse blankets by smell too if it was warm enough for smells to survive. I spend the afternoon in the coccoon, dividing the time between sunflower seeds and Koran. I take some photos, just for the activity.

My nest of horse blankets

The most prison-cell inspired mountain hut I've seen

At six p.m. it's lighter. I go out for a look. It isn't sunny, but the world has expanded from a 10m diameter. The snow has stopped. There isn't even a dimple left of my tracks.

I calculate the options for another attempt. With no stove, body heat is my only way to melt snow for water. And I don't have much of that to spare. Everything is wet. I can't get it dry. I can't start the climb wet. Today was the 21st. My Visa expires on the 25th. If I go down to regroup I'll have to cycle back to Tehran the way I came, or I won't have time to cycle at all. Neither of those sound good.

As the light fades I eat a chicken cassserole out of a foil-lidded foil tray. The Australians gave it to me. At least it's a change from bread and Tuna. I don't sleep all night. My left hip aches. I can't find a comfortable position. It's the weight of the blankets. On my back the weight pushes my feet down, twisting my leg in or out all the way to the hip. On my side the blankets crush my pelvis. I can't keep still. I need a hip replacement. I just want to sleep. Why won't it stop. Knowing it's the dehydration, not the hip, doesn't help. When there's light in the window I get a fitful couple of hours.

I finish the cream with bread. Pack and head out. I take the edge off the icy wet sock misery by leaving a pair of ankle socks on underneath. It's nice now. But the mountain has a lenticular cap. It's going to get messy up here. I'm going to the hot springs. Another good thing about volcanoes.

Damavand is under that lenticular cloud

Mountain style!

Cool rock shapes. Another good thing about volcanoes. As if you needed another one.