For those of us in recovery, climbing mountains has become more than a physical adventure – it’s a way of life. It reflects our journey – a tough, uncertain, painful climb that rewards perseverance with hope, healing, and pride.
In 2020 I brought together the first group under what started as a small team climbing Snowdon, and has since grown into a strong, connected recovery network spanning the UK. Every year, our numbers increase. People return, and new people come along. We share experiences, build each other up, and keep in contact between climbs. We’ve become more than just a group – we’ve become a support system.
Over the past few years, we’ve tackled iconic peaks from Pen y Fan to Mount Musala, and from the snowy ridges of Toubkal in Morocco to our annual New Year’s Day tradition on Snowdon. We’ve climbed through storms, fatigue, setbacks and fear – and each time, we’ve climbed together.
This year, we had planned to summit Mount Kazbegi in Georgia. When that became unworkable, we didn’t want to lose momentum so we rerouted to Mount Ararat in eastern Turkey. At 5,137 metres, it’s the highest peak we’ve attempted – and by far the most punishing.
AIMING HIGH
Climbing above 4,000 metres brings a new level of difficulty. Even without addiction in the story, high-altitude trekking is no small feat. The oxygen levels are far lower than at sea level, and the effects on the body are immediate and harsh – pounding headaches, dizziness, disturbed sleep, breathlessness, and all that’s without any exertion. Then you add the freezing temperatures, fatigue, and lack of comfort and it’s a real shock to the system.
For people in recovery, however, it’s even more personal. Our bodies have been through trauma. For many of us, it’s taken years to feel strong again, and even then mental resilience can feel fragile. But what mountains do is strip everything back. No distractions, no hiding. Just you, your mind, your body, and a very big climb ahead. That’s where the power of the group kicks in.
WHY WE CLIMB
We don’t do this to chase medals or test our toughness. We do it to connect. These climbs create a space where people in recovery can challenge themselves and build confidence – but also talk, decompress, and belong. As we ascend, step by step, it mirrors our personal journeys. There are moments you want to quit. But you look to your side, and someone’s still climbing next to you. That’s what recovery feels like at its best.
Mount Ararat was by far the most physically intense experience we’ve faced. The thin air, the final summit push over ice and rock, and the biting wind made everything slow, painful, and disorientating. But we made it. Together. For me, that summit wasn’t about standing on top of a mountain – it was about standing inside my own life, and realising I was finally living it. That’s what recovery gives us.
PERSONAL JOURNEYS
Terry Devine, from Weston-super-Mare and a fundraiser for M.A.T.E. (Men and Their Emotions) and Cots for Tots, shares his experience: ‘I remember summit night on Kilimanjaro — the air was thin, my legs were jelly, and I was ready to turn back,’ he says. ‘But a friend reminded me, “You came here for Jacob. This is his mountain too.” That reminder carried me to the top.’
Twelve and a half years ago, he was a ‘street-level addict who had lost everything’, he says. ‘I had periods of homelessness, eating out of bins, and stuck in a revolving door of petty crime and arrests. The drugs had stopped working, and eventually so had the people who used to enable me. At that point, I realised I was completely alone and that change wasn’t just desirable, it was the only way I was going to survive.’
Fast forward to today and he’s a lecturer in forensic science at the University of the West of England. ‘I’ve gone from injecting in alleyways to teaching in lecture halls,’ he says. ‘From hiding from the law to working alongside people who shape it. But the thing about recovery is, it’s not linear. It’s not a one-time decision – it’s a thousand small ones, made over and over again.
‘Over the past five years, mountaineering has become one of the cornerstones of my life in recovery,’ he continues. ‘Alongside a close-knit group of friends, all in recovery themselves, I’ve summited some extremely challenging peaks: Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, Mount Toubkal in Morocco, Mount Ararat in Turkey, Mount Musala in Bulgaria, and mountains closer to home like Snowdon in Wales.’
LIFELONG IMPACT
Our community has grown into something bigger than just a climbing group. Every March we return to Mount Toubkal for a winter edition, spending time in the Imlil valley and living with the local Berber tribes with whom we’ve built up a strong relationship and connection. It’s a symbolic regrouping and a way of welcoming new people into the fold. It’s become our home base, and a place where friendships begin and stigma is broken.
Mount Ararat pushed us all to our limits – physically and emotionally. But we made it. Together. We returned with battered knees and full hearts, and an even deeper belief in what’s possible.
Looking ahead, several of the group, led by Terry, are preparing for the biggest challenge yet – climbing five volcanoes in Ecuador. It’s a huge physical ask, but we’ve learned by now that what seems impossible today can become tomorrow’s summit photo.
Recovery isn’t just about not using. It’s about rebuilding – purpose, connection, and belief. These climbs have become more than physical feats. They’re proof that we don’t just survive addiction, we transcend it.
If you’re standing at the bottom of your own mountain, I’ll say this – the climb will be hard. You’ll doubt yourself. But you don’t have to do it alone. Step by step, with the right people around you, you will rise.
MOUNTAINS AND MEANING
What these mountains offer us isn’t just altitude, it’s perspective. We climb not just to overcome our pasts, but to build something new: belief, connection, visibility. Every climb chips away at the stigma of addiction. Every summit proves that people in recovery don’t just survive – we live, we lead, and we lift each other.
Recovery isn’t always about staying still and safe. Sometimes, it’s about aiming high, holding tight to the people around you, and just putting one foot in front of the other. No matter how steep it gets.
Nicky Dwyer is service manager at Better Together – Solihull Recovery Community