AN ULTRA RUNNING TRIP TO THE “TURKISH DOLOMITES”

For long-distance specialist Philipp Ausserhofer, ultra trail running is a way to keep challenging himself. It’s a never-ending journey that, from one race to another, sometimes takes him to the most remote areas of the planet — to explore new trails and create new connections with the community, while continuously improving his understanding of his own body and mental endurance.
 
In late summer 2024, the Italian athlete decides to lose himself among the rocks and tea plantations of the wild Kaçkar Mountains. The “Turkish Dolomites” are the backdrop for the end of the racing season, and at the same time they serve as a new turning point in the constant ups and downs that characterize the experience of every trail runner.

I remember well that late afternoon in mid-March, at the end of a particularly intense session preparing for the season’s goals. I was trying to distract myself a bit mentally, to forget the fatigue accumulated in the first days of hard effort, by searching for a place that could satisfy my unlimited thirst for exploring new remote locations and would add a new culture to my experience.
 
By sheer coincidence, I receive a call from the organizers of a new race in the World Series circuit that will take place in the Kaçkar Mountains in Turkey, with the possibility to test the route in person in late summer. Although I don’t hide my initial skepticism, after a few seconds I’m googling with the eagerness of someone who wants to carefully evaluate an opportunity before turning it down.
 
The first images further fuel my thirst for adventure. These trails would be the reward for the daily training and the racing effort, the discipline and dedication of an entire season. The mix of otherworldly and spectacular landscapes is just what I was looking for!
 
Those alpine-looking mountains, with their slopes dotted with lakes, seemed so similar to the Dolomites of South Tyrol, where I first started trail running, and yet so different, with those very low and mysterious clouds under which the yaylasi — small villages inhabited by local shepherds and surrounded by expanses of çay (Turkish tea) fields — seem to disappear.

For confirmation of the grandeur of this paradise for mountain running, just turn around once you land at the Rize airport and look inland. On a clear day, like the one that welcomed me and my friend and photographer Moritz to Turkey, the chain appears far away but unmistakable. As forecast, the clouds shield the peaks. This is the invitation my runner’s instinct was waiting for!
 
So we get in the car right away. Accompanied by our local guide, Cem, we quickly leave behind the series of Black Sea beaches that line the northeast coast of the country, overcrowded in this last week of summer. Finally, we enter the Firtina Valley, following the river of the same name with its historic bridges. The narrow valley leads to Çamlıhemşin, an isolated town that serves as a gateway to Kaçkar Mountains National Park. The temperature becomes brisker, Cem activates the 4x4, and we begin to climb at last. A medieval atmosphere envelops the area in the final kilometers of the journey. It’s impossible not to be enchanted by the imposing castles of Rize and the boxwood forest that surrounds them.
 
What’s even more striking, once you reach the area where the peaks rise to almost 4,000 meters, is the variety of landscapes that you can dive into, to the point of losing yourself. The first steps on the trails of the Kaçkar Mountains offer a succession of changing conditions and colors. In a few hundred meters you pass from the çay fields, located above the villages, to the deep blue glacial lakes and the thunderous waterfalls of the higher elevations. Finally, the jagged peaks, which are intimidating but guide my every step. Nature here is lush and harsh, vibrant and hard. My mind is tricked by the continuous transitions from one season to another, as if I were simultaneously in dozens of very different places.

This wealth of landscapes forms the backdrop to the conflicting feelings that the just-ended season has left me with, on both the athletic and personal levels. After great success and excellent results in international competitions, an equally substantial disappointment followed, at the third consecutive (thwarted) attempt to realize my great dream: to complete the 160-kilometer loop around Mont Blanc. A failure that actually brings more pain than the previous progress brought joy. To fill such a deep emptiness, I needed a new adventure.
 
I came here to leave the landscapes that this area offers after having savored every step: disappearing among the green fields, surrounded by the scent of çay leaves; scurrying along the lumpy profile of the Kaçkar Dağı peak, on rock and snow; passing from one village to another, without noting a human presence for dozens of kilometers. I cover more than 40 kilometers a day, but the joy and freedom that I feel help me to keep going.

For me, a big part of this adventure lies in dealing with variable conditions and fluctuating temperatures. In the morning the weather holds, but in the afternoon clouds build up and bring heavy rainfall. An excellent context in which to test new products, such as the new Lavaredo Rain Evo Jacket, which protects me from sudden showers thanks to its 20,000-millimeter water column, and the Lavaredo Evo Jacket, whose 100-gram insulation allows me to stay covered when I’m tackling long climbs and breathing harder.

In the Kaçkar I find my smile again, also thanks to the hospitable people. The inhabitants of these mountains are warm and welcoming. The shepherds often encourage me when I pass outside the villages, as if I were in a race, then they invite me to their home for a cup of tea or a sütlac (rice pudding). While the fire crackles, after a day of training in a harsh environment, I learn their stories. We don’t speak the same language, but we follow each other’s stories with our eyes, joined by the invisible thread of love for the mountains.

I’ll always remember one encounter in particular, with a shepherd halfway between Yukari Kavrun and Yukari Ceymakçur. After watching me curiously as I hopped from one trail to another — it was clear that he’d never seen a trail runner run before — he smiled and said, “You are welcome to Türkiye.” A laconic yet meaningful sentence. In me, the man had seen not a stranger but another member of the outdoor community. An episode that captures the essence of the sport and the unique power of the mountains to create bonds between people. Sometimes trail running is much more than just a run.
 
You’re never ready to go home after experiences like these. As I board the return flight, I’m filled with a mixture of nostalgia and a sense of gratitude for the opportunity to get to know an exceptional part of the world, and with it a new part of myself. I can’t wait to return to these trails in September for the first edition of the new challenge that the trail running world is preparing to take on. A race with a special meaning for me, after having had the privilege of creating a deep bond with the land and its people.