Summiting Mount Mulhacen with a Dog Named Azhar

All good adventure stories involve treacherous ascents, dangerous confrontations with Mother Nature, the strengthening of friendships in the face of peril, and of course a loyal animal companion. My first adventure story recipe had all the necessary ingredients to a truly good tale, and it was set in one of the most beautiful mountain valleys that I have ever laid eyes on.

It all started on a quiet and sunny Saturday morning when we left Granada on a bus that hugged the vicious curves of the street, ascending towards Capileira, one of the white villages of the Alpujarras. The Alpujarras, a series of little white villages on the south side of the Sierra Nevada mountain range, were built and inhabited by the Moors when they were kicked out of Granada in the late 1490s and served as their last refuge. After a couple of hours of winding and climbing, the bus dropped us off in the small village where a chilly breeze was blowing. We filled up our water bottles from the natural spring water tap, adjusted our packs and set off on the first day’s hike towards Trevelez, the tallest village in continental Spain, where we hoped to arrive that evening before sunset.

The climb instantly started vertically, and we climbed up and up for a couple of hours. We walked through beautiful pine forests, climbed rocky hills looking across the beautiful southern valley, incredible pastures with grazing cows, natural waterfalls and springs, and sparkling lakes. It was the most stunningly sunny day, with an endless sky revealing an infinite horizon. The flowers were all abloom, little lizards darted from rock to rock, and the birds sang their most beautiful spring songs. Every couple of hours we’d stop to snack on a monster bag of trail mix full of nuts, dried fruits and chocolate, and to drink the cold spring water we’d poured in Capileira. At around 5 or 6 in the evening, about 3 kilometers away from the day’s destination, we came to a path that had completely been washed out and had fallen through due to the torrential rains that the area had been exposed to. We climbed over the first rapidly running river, jumping over rocks, but were unable to climb up the deep canyon to get to the other side. Turning back we ran into an older Dutch couple who were also disoriented due to the obstacle. They were going to turn around and backtrack 10 kilometers to the next town. After a small moment of panic, we quickly decided to bushwhack down across a private pasture and forests towards a road that we saw in the distance, thinking we could then hitchhike to Trevelez. We went through the gate guarding off the private property and quickly began our descent, not knowing exactly which way to turn, but always going down, down, down. At the bottom of the valley we reached the road leading to Trevelez and after a few failed hitchhiking attempts we walked the last 3 kilometers by foot along the road. We’d only lost about an hour, and the sun was still out, guiding us to the town safely. Upon our arrival to the small and sleepy town we searched for a good place to set up our tent for the night’s sleep. We found a quiet horse pasture just above the town, and hid our small triangular tent just beneath a ridge, next to a beautiful blooming tree. The night was cool, and the stars were fantastically bright. The only noises of the night were the barking dogs in the distance, and the sound of the grass blowing in the breeze. We sat outside the tent for a while staring up at the immensely dark sky, seeing (or perhaps imagining) many shooting stars in the distance. We crawled into the tent, zipped up the warm sleeping bags, and fell quickly asleep – our bodies throbbing from the day’s walk.

We awoke to a fresh and dewy morning, full of chirping birds, and daily village movements – old men guiding loaded horses up the hill, kids playing in their yards, cows mooing, and the smell of morning bakery bread sneaking up into the hills. As we were taking down our tent and getting ready to go further up to our next destination, a new friend joined us. He sleepily laid in the grass watching us dissemble the tent with his squinty eyes. We barely paid attention to him at this point, thinking he was just another stray dog that wanted something to eat. He was smallish, young and brown and could only walk on three legs, seeming like he’d broken one. He had a good-hearted and honest look in his eyes as he patiently waited for us to get going. When we set off with our packs on our backs, he started to follow us at first a little shyly but then more and more like a journeying friend. Andrew was a bit skeptical and was grossed out by my touching him, but after a few hours of walking up, up, up through fields and pastures, forests and rocky hills our loyal companion convinced Andrew that he was with us for good. He limped the entire way, but he limped quickly and gracefully and never self-deprecatingly. After much thought I decided to name him Azhar, an Arabic word that is also used in Spanish to mean divine luck. It’s also the name of the beautiful flowers that bloom on orange trees.

We broke the snow line after a few hours and started hiking in the snow, at first a strange sensation to press into the cold, wet snow but after a while we got pretty accustomed to it. By about 3 o’clock we reached the place where we wanted to set up camp – a little grassy plateau just beneath a towering waterfall, surrounded by glacial lakes, trickling streams, and snow-covered mountains. It was the most picturesque camping site I’d ever seen. We set up camp, rested and stretched for a little while before bracing the next climb – summiting Mount Mulhacen, the tallest peak in continental Spain. It was intimidating, towering, snowy and high above the clouds. To my inexperienced eyes it seemed impossible to climb, but my adrenaline from the day’s hike kept me optimistic and eager to start hiking upwards. I couldn’t believe what we were about to do, but we started up the first tall face of the mountain, next to a streaming waterfall with a couple of Snickers bars and two bottles of water. It was a completely vertical climb, like climbing a hundred-thousand snow stairs all the way up. One wrong step and I felt like I would fall tumbling down this steep, snowy mountain. Azhar stayed close the entire time – staying behind with me if I fell behind, or leading ahead to clear the path or survey the next steps. He was unlike any dog I’d ever met in my life.

At one point in the hike, with my legs feeling like jelly and the vastness of the mountains beneath me, the whirling wind whipping me around, and the clouds obscuring my vision I reached a moment of utter panic. I didn’t know whether to turn around and go back, which I was terrified of because I didn’t know how we’d even begin to climb down the steep mountain, and I didn’t want to keep going up because my feet were soaked and frozen in my shoes, and the wind was picking up. I let my imagination soar and created a million ways for us to die up in those frozen hills of Mount Mulhacen, but I broke out of my morbid thoughts enough to muster the strength to keep going up with tears in my eyes from fear and weakness, but we kept going. And it was the most worthwhile push of spirit I’ve ever had. We finally summated the peak within about an hour and a half and it was worth the tears, the fright, the cold feet. It was worth everything. We towered above the clouds, above the mountains, above the snow-covered peaks. On one side we could see the valley from which we’d come and on the other side the rest of the Sierra Nevada, Granada, and further still the Mediterranean Sea. On clear days they say you can see all the way to Africa from the top.

The trip back down wasn’t nearly as treacherous as I’d thought and we happily slid down any which way we could. Before too long we reached our quiet campsite, with our happy and exhausted dog quickly curling up in a little ball next to our tent. It was getting dark and the temperature was dropping quicker than I could think to put more clothes on. We made a little fire, had a poor man’s dinner of tuna fish, bread and cheese and gave Azhar half of what we had. We watched the beautiful colors of the sky blending and fading as little playful birds flew all around us, chasing each other before going to bed. By the time it got completely dark, it must have been below zero degrees. I put on at least 5 layers, got in the sleeping bag and crawled into the tent. We must have been asleep long before 10 o’ clock, falling with the sun, like tired and worn soldiers, sun-kissed and wind-chapped. Our bodies ached, throbbed and protested any additional movement but they rested satisfied on the soft ground where we laid our tent.

In the morning we woke up long after the sun, lazily packed up our tent and ate a trail mix breakfast. Saying goodbye to the grand beast standing behind us was momentous; we’d conquered the peak and spent the night sleeping in its lap. Every little bit we’d turn around on the descent and look the mountain up and down once again, wowed at our own ascent. The walk back down to Trevelez was a piece of cake after the climbing we’d done over the last couple of days. The only hurt was that of my blistered feet and sore hips. We spotted some wild mountain goats and they froze in the distance. Azhar froze as well, raising one of his floppy ears to listen well to the sounds. Before I could realize it he’d bolted off after them, showing his animal instincts. He was gone for a while, and I thought we’d lost him but sure enough after a while he came trampling down the path to find us, with his tongue hanging far out and his breath faster than ever before.

We arrived back to Trevelez by 2 o’clock and had an afternoon beer and some pizza and bought a big can of meat for Azhar. We had to say goodbye to him, although it broke my heart. I had already planned the rest of my life with this dog – how I would take him back to Malaga, keep him until the end of May, travel with him, and then scrounge up some money to take him back to the US with me. But my unrealistic whims were incapable of being fulfilled so we said our goodbyes without words and as though he knew that the goodbye would be difficult, Azhar quietly disappeared. Never before had I fallen so hard for an animal – he was so thoughtful, so giving, so selflessly loving, so honest. Never once did he ask for food, never once did he look at us with a begging look on his face. He had the most honest eyes. Perhaps he was divinely sent to protect us, perhaps he was completely random, or perhaps we just imagined him because from the moment he disappeared we saw him no more. But he certainly made this adventure more magical, more enjoyable and more divine. I hope that one day I can return to Trevelez, with the beastly mountain towering in the distance, and I hope I can look around a narrow corner to find his pretty eyes looking up at me.