Report on a hike in the mountainous Crimea from June 29 to July 4, 2008. Simferopol greeted us with gloomy rain. Meeting, acquaintance, distribution of products into backpacks. There are 9 people in our group, not counting the guide Taras: three married couples, a mother with her teenage son, and Andrey Bolshoi. In parallel with us, two more groups set off along the same route, with guides Anna and Andrey.
In the “Simferopol – Alushta” trolleybus, crowded with people and backpacks, we arrived at the picturesque Perevalnoye. Taras said: “The donkey is a pain, but you have to get through it, then it will be easier.” And here we go...
There is a forest around. Through the sweat flowing from me in rivers, through the roar in my head, it is difficult for me to understand which forest this is. It’s generally difficult for me to understand anything, my heart is beating somewhere in my throat, we walk and walk, and it’s always uphill, it’s very hot, stopping doesn’t help at all, and it seems there will be no end to this!!!
The forest ended, it became easier to breathe, the forest path turned rocky, a view of Perevalnoe and the hills behind it opened up... 10 steps - I’m standing. 10 steps – I’m standing. I haven’t thought about turning back, leaving everything (well, to hell with it! What kind of vacation is this! Is this a vacation?) I haven’t thought about it yet, but I already really doubt myself. I doubt I can handle it.
And here is the top! Sky! Stones all around! And there is such space on all sides! And the wind tears my sweat-wet shirt! And I want to scream!
“Well,” says Taras, “now up the Donkey Trail and...
“Along Ishachaya?!” I almost shout. – How about Ishacha?!!! What was that?!!!
“This is... well, a premonition,” Taras smiles embarrassedly.
And again up the mountain. We only dream of peace. Meadows stretched along the path: wild meadow, thyme, lemongrass. Everything is in bloom, very beautiful. Every now and then Taras picks a sprig of lemongrass and puts it in his pocket - in the evening we will have delicious tea. The wind is blowing. And it’s not so difficult to go anymore. The last section is especially steep. At certain intervals, on one or the other side of the path, there are small mounds of white stones. These are markers - in winter the path is covered, and markers help not to go astray.
I can barely crawl upstairs. And happiness begins! We are lying among the grass, we have thrown off our backpacks, we catch the wind with our lips, we look into the distance, where there are mountains, plowed fields on the hills, the azure spot of the reservoir... we have frivolous conversations, laugh at Taras’s jokes, listen to Big Andrey’s stories. We know that now we will go along the yayla, that is, horizontally, and this is also happiness.
- My God, how happy we are! - Alla exclaims, - we climbed the hill - happiness!
A halt was announced - happiness!
You take off your backpack - happiness!
So much happiness in one day, in such portions! This doesn’t happen in real life at home!
Her son Nikita snorts vaguely.
On the yaila we meet civilization: roads, people, cars. There are caves and many tourists from the coast. Taras chooses a parking lot near the Marble Cave, in an oak and hazel grove. There is no water. Water in a cafe near the cave. For 5 hryvnia per person we are allowed to use it, but every movement is monitored. Okay, everything is clear, it’s hard with water...
“Then there will be springs everywhere,” Taras consoles us.
We went to the Marble Cave. It is unlikely that I will be able to comment on this. I was somehow too impressed by all these huge stones, stalactites, stalagmites, columns, all these wonderful deposits that looked like monsters and animals, the echoing height of the Collapse Hall. I couldn’t believe that all this was done by nature; it seemed like a prop, a dummy for a film. Touching the walls in the cave is strictly prohibited. But I touched it carefully. Not a dummy. Cold and damp. Very real.
At this site, our first overnight stay, there was, of course, no wildness. There was a wooden toilet nearby, and in the evening I could hear music... But when I came out of the tent at night and looked into the sky, there were the kind of stars... that only exist in my homeland, in childhood, and even in the Crimea.
This morning my husband made me a staff from a hazel branch. Taras promised that I would leave him on the way to Hangar-Burun, where, they say, every gram can be felt. Chatyr-dag scared me.
Yesterday Taras showed where we had to climb, and I didn’t believe in myself. The morning was fresh, we went out cheerful and cheerful, walked along the lower plateau of Chatyr-Dag, among the islands of blooming thyme and creeping juniper. The pace was vigorous and cheerful, we even gave up a couple of breaks. And suddenly, suddenly, we were covered in rain. So abruptly that we barely had time to pull the capes over our backpacks. And the ascent began.
Hangar-burun, 1500 above sea level. Burun means wooded hill. We came to a cliff. Fog swirled below. God,” I realized immediately, “this is not fog, this is a cloud!” It got caught in the Hangar-breaker, and the wind tore it to shreds and carried it into the abyss. We stood on the edge and wanted to scream because there was simply such a place on earth.
Up again. On the path there are hieroglyphs of juniper roots and spots of white stones. The wind was getting stronger. The higher, the angrier. The wind turned into ice as it flew and hit us with ice bullets. Every step was difficult. And if it weren’t for the staff, I probably wouldn’t have climbed. The wind blew it into the abyss. Chatyr-dag is harsh! Oh, harsh! We walked along the edge of the cliff, wrapped in jackets and rain capes. I didn’t have the strength to turn around, but when I reached the top and looked back at the path I had traveled, at the valley stretching out behind us, I saw our camp at the Marble Cave and those hills beyond Perevalny that we saw from Ishachka... By God, it was worth it!!! But I’ll tell you honestly, as if in spirit: life demanded such overcoming of myself from me only at the time of the birth of children (you probably already realized that I have a very low level of training and my physical shape is so-so).
Taras gave out candy to those who climbed the Hangar-Burun. How delicious barberry can be!!!
On the light green Hangar-burun there are white rocks here and there. Below: a road, a base, some kind of village, forests, below - life, here - soaring. We were also supposed to go to Eklizi-burun, another peak of Chatyr-Dag, but everyone was so wet and frozen in the wind, and from the side of Eklizi-burun a downpour was approaching again, and it was decided to go down to the beech forest for the night.
We walked along the yayla (from Turkic - summer, sunny pasture; this is a plateau on the top of a mountain. Extraordinarily beautiful. Especially on Chatyr-Dag, everything is golden and white stone), among flowering grasses and anthills and began to descend.
It started to rain again. The road (clay and stone) was washed away, I constantly fell and generally learned from my own experience that going down is more difficult than going up.
Finally, the beech forest. The shock is no less than from Chatyr-Dag. Elephant trees. I don’t know how other people feel about trees, but I’m simply in love with them, so all the way through the forest I wanted to stroke every beech and take a photo, especially since I’ve never seen such ones here in the Urals. Since our Taras works as a forester, he knows an incredible amount about trees. And he talks about them very interestingly. It's like they're his good friends.
We stopped for the night in a clearing among young beeches, not far from a spring. Fallen leaves - rustling music. There is no grass at all in the forest, only leaves. There was still no sun. We were freezing from our wet clothes, and the more we froze, the more fun the songs and games were. At night the wind came. It walked along the treetops with leaps and bounds, smooth, big, it hummed all night somewhere high up there, and how well I slept under it!
And in the morning – there was sun!
The path to Demerdzhi is impossible to describe. There are no words in my vocabulary that can describe it. You just need to see it. That is, at first everything was very everyday. We packed up the camp, walked for a long time through the forest, went to a store on the Angarsk Pass, crossed the Angarsk Pass, again the forest, dreary, again up the mountain, it began to rain again.
And then we entered the MAN clearing.
This is where my words ended.
In the MAN clearing, spirals and circles are laid out from stones, turning into each other. Flowers grow on the rocks. When you stand on the edge of a cliff you feel like a bird. And now the sea is always in front of us.
The ascent to Northern Demerdzhi begins with a small rocky section, not difficult, anyone can handle it. Then - along the goat path more or less horizontally, but there is an abyss very close and you need to concentrate, but there is such beauty around that somehow you can’t concentrate! Below - Radiant, Funa fortress, equestrian club, Alushta, the sea (take binoculars with you! Be sure!) ... Above all this rises Chatyr-Dag on one side, Bubugan on the other.
Wow, what a beauty! A cloud was following us. Again. For lunch we stood at the saddle, between North and South Demerdzhi, opposite the Yurka rocks, in the Dzhurla tract. It was decided not to set up camp, but to leave the volunteers (Nikita with calluses and Andrei Bolshoi with a cold) with their things, and run to South Demerdzhi ourselves.
And just as we started climbing, it began to rain! With the wind. What is this? As soon as we go up the mountain, it rains and winds! In general, South Demerdzhi was not a success for us. Black (literally absolutely black) clouds were approaching from Chatyr-Dag. We returned to camp. In anticipation of the storm, they set up tents and prepared for the storm. Olga Lebedeva suggested dancing to the sun to appease the weather. We danced. The men, of course, giggled at us. And completely in vain! Because the storm passed and the sun came out! We spent the night in Dzhurla.
The morning was great! Sunny and windy. We go to South Demerdzhi. Light. What beauty there! The sun, flowering meadows, grasshoppers singing deafeningly... Below is the famous Valley of Ghosts. We sat on the edge of the cliff, took turns looking through binoculars at Bubugan, Chatyr-dag, Ayu-dag, the sea, Alushta, at the kites hovering above us, and Taras told us legends about these places. Beauty!
On this day, Alla, Nikita and Andrey Bolshoi left our route. They went through Radiant to the sea. Nikita rubbed blisters, and in general it was the first time they went on any kind of hike, and right away on this one! Andrey had a bad cold. It was sad to leave. Such a friendly company...
There were seven of us left and we moved on. The Dzhurla tract is a well-trodden place, dirty and untidy, the trail bastards have dirtied the entire trail, it’s very unpleasant. But not for long
We went up to the Arabian spring (they say it is 300 years old and the water in it is holy. I don’t know what about holiness, but the most delicious of all that we drank on the route), the trail turned into a path. Debris of trees. Grass. The feeling of wild places.
We went up to the yayla. Walking along the yayla is a pleasure. Body and soul soar and rest. We had lunch at the observation deck. And they couldn’t leave for a long time – it was so beautiful. From here the sea could be seen even more clearly. And Rybachye, where we will have to finish the route. And even the Malorechensk lighthouse church... Rocks.
Gnarled pine trees on them.
Taras said:
- We will go down to the upper reaches of Khaphala...
And we all laughed together. Because they learned to appreciate heights. “Going down to the upper reaches” is strong, it’s great.
The descent was difficult. Olga Sapozhnikova got sick (“general badness”), my left knee started groaning, and seriously. With every step there are sparks from the eyes. Beech forest.
A rocky path littered with giant beech trees that had fallen either from the wind or from old age. Roots all over the trail. Khapkhal tract. We stood in a red meadow, next to a mountain stream, which somewhere below turned into the Dzhur-Dzhur waterfall. Above us, higher than the tallest trees, are white rocks, the foothills of Tyrke.
The wind accompanies us all the way. It blows on Ishachka, torments us on Chatyr-Dag, makes noise in the crowns of the beech forest, blows us off the path on Northern Demerdzhi, brings rain on Yuzhnaya, pushes us in the back on the yayls... And here we are in Khaphala.
We went down to the upper reaches. The red-listed yew grows here; it has soft paws and poisonous bark. Taras said that cups used to be made from it. As a gift to enemies. And it seems that Mithridates was poisoned in this way. I don't remember which one exactly. And the wind sings its songs again, somewhere high, between the stars. Khapkhal is a very beautiful place. But that's not even the point. There is something special about him, some kind of secret or something...
Goodbye, Khaphal! In the morning we go down to Jur-dzhur. We walk along a mountain river, which every now and then forms baths. In one we couldn’t stand it – we swam. Water - oh! Taras said about +6 degrees. Invigorates! The places seem so truly wild! But then we pass a rocky area hanging over the river... and find ourselves in civilization.
Hello people! How tanned you are! What funny skirts and shorts you are wearing! And dark glasses! And some even wear heels! Where are we from? Oh, we're from there (vague gesture upward somewhere)! And there, yes, it’s like that... There’s just a different Crimea there, unusual, not stereotypical. And we, so proud, stomped with our backpacks, dirty pants and hair past the beautiful Jur-dzhur. Here Olga and Sergei left us, and there were five of us left.
To be honest, we were all tired by this point. Well, Olga and I for sure. Taras looked at us and decided that we would not go to Karabi. Let's get to the source of St. Alexy and traverse, traverse to Chiginitra. But somehow it happened... I don’t even know how, but after a few hours of walking we came so close to Karabi that it was simply stupid not to climb.
And, of course, it started raining from Su-at. But of course! The sign is this: since we’re going uphill, it’s raining from the sky! Watered all evening. We reached Shepherd-Chokrak, somehow lit a fire and prepared dinner, ate in tents, chattering our teeth on the edges of our mugs... and then the sun came out! How beautiful it is here!!!!! I can’t believe it, well, I can’t believe that it will all end today, that it will end so quickly... We are walking along Karabi.
I didn’t see any “lunar landscape”; on the contrary, everything was very sunny and bright. Up - down - and up again. Behind every new hill the sea is dreamed. Lizards splash from under your feet. Strawberry. The sky is blue. Here is Chiginitra. I'm taking my time, walking slowly. I don't want to go to the sea. And I don’t want to leave.
We don’t stop at Chiginitra. Time is running out. It's a pity, it's very beautiful there. Vineyards. Roads. People. Here is Rybachye. Hello sea! The road to you has been long!
I'm sitting on the beach, looking at the pebbles. There are dashes and stripes on them, as if someone had drawn their favorite scenes on them with thin lines. Here is the Donkey Trail and the cold of the Marble Cave... here is the rain over Chatyr-Dag... and this is the wild meadow in bloom on the yayla... this is Taras telling us tourist stories by the fire... Was it difficult? Yes, perhaps that was the case.
But the first thing we did when we got to the Internet was to rush to see what other Kirill routes there were, where we would go next time...
- You just need to ask Taras again.
Of course, to Taras, who else! The guides are probably all good, but we really fell in love with Taras! And most importantly, he loves Crimea so much! Truly, seriously, and ready to share this love with everyone...
Oh, Donkey trail, I will never forget you! I won’t forget, because you helped me understand that what seems like a goal to us may turn out to be just a premonition, and, oddly enough, strength will be enough for all roads, because you are capable of more than even you decided for yourself.
Son Tamara, Chelyabinsk region