2,918 and 13, numbers to remember

It was booked. The day was set. The piece of rock I so often visit was sitting there; waiting. But it was all about numbers. I sat and waited for the hour of departure. The number that indicated the beginning of this terrific adventure. And so we drove all those numbers distance to our starting point destination. A little gravelled car park called 'Prionia'.
Three of us stood and talked of these three days ahead of us and the thrill that the morrow would draw in the dooms day for many a superstitious mind. For the day after we began our ascent would be friday the 13th. On our way to the rest place of Zolota we debated the values of such myth and worries, but the time pasted in a cooling air and as the night sky painted itself over this warm day, we reached the hostel and the many smiling faces that always welcome the weary travellers.

Beds made and our hearty meals tucked away inside our bodies, we sat and talked and debated the phenomenon that was about to strike us. For we had decided to travel to the highest place in this country of Greece on the evening of the spectacular light show of the Perseids meteor shower. There was a hum and chitter chatter awaiting the ten o'clock lights out. And then the 'Awe' of seeing the sky alight with millions of stars. So clear and perfect in their constellations and the chromatic colours to which they shone, it became a heavenly place. Venus sat low, but our eyes were scanning high. The conversations continued, aided with a little red wine. Then the show began. Random flicks of light dancing on the outer limits of our world. A silence came as we watched, and even though few of these dancing stars made their way across our path, the day, the night, the sky and the company were perfect. And the morrow awaited.

A lazy start to the morning and some nourishment didn't distract from that number thirteen. We looked up from the refuge vantage point, as the sun coloured the peak in the early morning glory. The challenge was before us. And for myself, seventeenth time on the mountain and no count to Mytikas. Would friday the thirteenth be the lucky day? We set off, and soon saw the heat of the day upon us, but with some humour found in an offering to the gods in the form of a waylaid loaf of bread. We discussed its reason, but sometimes this mountain avoids reason and gives only natural value. And the numbers continued to surprise us, as on the ascent to Skala we were pleasantly surprised to see twenty prancing mountain goats enjoying the coolness of the remaining ice field down below. They hopped and jumped as we looked on, knowing the metres lay ahead. With some uncounted minutes after we arrived at Skala, to the same array of smiling souls that perch themselves there. Weary, but amazed by this magnificent of surroundings. And in front of us; Mytikas.

After a few moments of rest bite and a single deep breath, we set of to reach 2,918 metres. To be on top of Greece on this lucky/unlucky day. The path across was blown by a gentle chilling breeze, but in the warming sun was pleasant enough. And then I reached the furthered previous point; the throne of Zeus. My number was up. Do I continue or do I return. My now reaction was that I didn't really think about it. I had to get to Mytikas. Why? Well, hundreds of reasons really, but the one that was deeply planted into my noggins was the fact that some way ahead was Kostas. He had reached Skala a little ahead of us and was delighting us all of his birthday celebration; at the age of 50. And I was thinking about being on Mytikas to enjoy the cake he had told us he had carried from his original departure point in Athens. So cake in mind, I carried on.

The sheer angle of the next section was not countered with a dangerous approach, but the fear remained. Glancing every so often, it reminded me of that 1,000 metre drop. But then we reached the turning point. A single wire thread gave comfort in this moment of personal terror. It passed however, and we continued on. The smiling faces that already perched themselves on the summit looked on. The only pause was a stabbing cramp in my left leg that held me in place on this awesome vertex for ten minutes. But a few leg swings later we were there. Looking at the Greek flag and many a happy face. The book was signed and the birthday chorus was sung, and the 12 pieces of cake were dispatched with an amazing euphoria of both Kostas' half century and the succession of our rise to 2,918 metres. Photographs and congratulations complete we took our time to return. Looking at each step with as much caution as our arrival at the peak. However, the difference was the drug like feel that this achievement brought. To say that we were on high was the truest of statements to describe this amazing adventure. A fear was conquered and club was joined. And so we returned, floating like mountain butterflies all the way. And the final day, more sadness to leave this mountain that I have become so familiar with. Until next time.

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