Drive north out of Athens, along five hours of well-maintained toll roads, flanked by the Aegean Sea on your right and monuments to Spartan kings on your left, and, if you’re lucky, you will find yourself at the base of the fabled home of the Ancient Greek Gods, Mount Olympus.
Late last year, an intrepid group of MarineTraffic adventurers did just that, as part of an annual pilgrimage to take on the legend of Olympus themselves. 2016 was the first year that the Athens team were joined on the mountain by representatives from the Spanish and UK offices – and they were to receive quite an unexpected welcome from Zeus.
As each carload of amateur adventurer arrived and unfolded themselves from the the backs of vehicles packed to the brim with walking boots, waterproofs and high energy snacks, they set their sights on the first refuge point 1000 metres up from where they stood. The groups had barely cleared the carpark before they noticed the sky quickly turning an increasingly darker shade of grey – all would be caught by the storm to come.
Those who’d imagined a pleasant afternoon stroll, with the sun on their backs, were quickly brought back to reality as the thick black clouds above opened; the gradient increased, and the skies began to crackle and boom. The ascent to (the perfectly named) Refuge A took most groups somewhere between three and four hours, but even the most spritely were not spared a soaking. Arrivals to the refuge were met by friendly faces, handed plates stacked high with hot food and ushered toward the best spots by the roaring fire. This was the perfect safe harbour to regroup, dry out and prepare for the next part of the climb. Stomachs full, boots dry and with everyone reunited, it was soon time to settle down for the night; tomorrow we would make our way higher still, up to the Throne of Zeus himself.
Daybreak brought a welcome change in the weather. The sun burnt through the mist that rose from the mountain floor below, and we squinted through bright reflected light as we ate our breakfast, trying to make out the route we had taken the day before. There was little time to revel in our achievements, however, as we had to pack our gear and get going – there were many more meters ahead. Obligatory pre-expedition photo taken, we set off along the path that would take us further upward.
After an hour-or-so of hiking and a couple of natural, and very necessary, stops catch our collective breath, the path diverged. Those aiming for the summit forked left and the other, possibly more sensible, members of the group with plans to spend the afternoon sipping tsipouro, branched right.
Despite the wind picking up and the temperature dropping a noticeable number of degrees, the spirits of everyone in the summit group remained high. Although we were sure the air was thinning, as each meter felt considerably tougher than the last, it was the view from Skala peak that finally took our breath. With a sheer drop of countless metres below us and the summit of Olympus ahead, it was time for everyone to take stock of their abilities. Bravado well and truly brought to heel, those with the necessary courage and skill to make the final push up to Mytikas Peak set off along a scree track and were soon little more than dots of bright Gortex colours inching their way up the mountain face.
Post triumphant group photo atop the highest point, the small team of intrepid (and ever-so-slightly crazy) climbers descended back to Skala to regroup with the (ever-so-slightly saner) watchers before a very purposeful descent to Christos Kakkalos refuge for some much-needed shelter from the wind and a plate or two of food.
The descent from the refuge was something of a race against sunset that brought both challenges and delights in equal measure. We had to ask a lot of our tired bodies but were consistently rewarded with a fantastic view as the ever changing light cast magnificent colours across the landscape. We tackled the last few hundred metres in the dusk, homing in on the lights and warm voices floating up from our basecamp refuge.
The evening was spent eating well, swapping stories and passionately singing half of the words to songs we couldn’t remember, being played on borrowed guitars. The morning would require us to descend once again, back down to our cars and onto reality; but right then nothing was further from our thoughts. Maybe it was the mountain air getting to us, or maybe it was the Romanian home-brew, but all the struggles of the day had been forgotten, and we felt like champions. We’d all achieved something special that weekend and there was little doubt in our minds that we’d be back to take on mighty Mount Olympus again next year.
