Aladağlar is the climbing country of Turkey, and for half a century the maps were wrong about which of its summits is the highest. Forty-odd limestone peaks stand above 3,500 metres in the central Taurus, nearly all finishing in bare rock. Twice a day the range earns its name. At first light and again at dusk the low sun rakes the ridges, the grey rock flushes copper and rust while the valley floors stay black, and ala means mottled. The wall everyone knows is the north face of Demirkazık. Nobody climbed it until 1972, when an Australian and a New Zealander worked out a line up it. It still holds the hardest alpine routes in the country and keeps its ice into spring. On the scree at its foot you have hundreds of metres of bare limestone leaning over you. Kazıklıali canyon cuts two kilometres into the massif, its conglomerate walls giving you pockets and single-finger holds on 350 bolted routes.
Walkers get the same mountains without a rope. The way in climbs the Emli valley through fir and juniper to Sokulupınar, a camp where herding families still spend the summer under canvas. Two more days of stony gorges bring you out on a cirque at 3,100 metres with seven lakes. By September six of them are cracked mud, and only Büyükgöl still has water. The goats on the cliffs above Demirkazık are bezoar ibex, the wild animal every domestic goat descends from. They are counted in December, when the rut brings the males off the rock to fight, and the last survey found 1,358. Birders leave the village at four in the morning for the Arpalık pastures and sit still: this is the classic ground in Turkey for Caspian snowcock. As for the high point: a retired colonel went back through the old survey sheets in 2007 and decided the numbers did not add up. Surveyors carried GPS to both summits, Kızılkaya came back at 3,771 metres against Demirkazık's 3,756, and several official pages still print the old figure.