At the time, supports were being installed for a new cable car. As usual, we had a good night’s sleep and set off in the morning. We climbed to an altitude of four thousand two hundred metres. Many people know this place as “Priyut 11”, although the refuge itself burnt down long ago. At the time there were many different mobile cabins set among the rocky scree, as well as tents. We too decided to stay in tents and even found good pitches above the cabins. Being at such an altitude is genuinely difficult to compare with anything else. You are in the shadow of a vast volcano, somewhere above the clouds. On days like these, you feel like an enormous bird, a wandering albatross that has decided to build its nest here at the edge of the world, all so that it can rest for a while before continuing its travels. We lived in this camp for about four days and three nights. To some extent, we even became accustomed to the jumbled rocks and a world with no greenery. The mesmerising view of the mountains gradually became familiar and special to us. We even settled into this distinctive mountain rhythm, where rising extremely early and going to bed just as early felt entirely normal. We also experienced a truly birdlike dependence on the weather, because so much here was governed by the sun and the fog, the snow and the rain. Yet the mountain was calling us, and we advanced towards it with all our strength. Once you have seen it for the first time, it keeps calling you, and you begin learning to see it even through a veil of cloud. On our second day in the mountains, we therefore decided to climb higher, this time without rucksacks. For acclimatisation, we ascended to the Pastukhov Rocks, where we promptly found ourselves in a genuine blizzard. Snow repeatedly swept over us, and visibility disappeared. At such times, my very sense of reality vanishes. And this was July. Forget beaches and heat: we were buried in snow up to our heads, constantly shifting from one foot to the other to keep from freezing.
Later, we decided to descend. We warmed up and managed to rest for a while. Some of us also discovered firsthand just how treacherous altitude illness can be. Several companions experienced weakness and headaches, so they withdrew to their tents in the hope of recovering a little. The weather forecast for the following day was thoroughly discouraging. Before the summit ascent, we decided to make one more acclimatisation hike and agreed to pay close attention to the weather. The weather then decided to surprise us. At four in the morning, there was not a single cloud above us. The air was still, and Elbrus repeatedly drew our gaze with the purity of its outline. We slowly began preparing, even though not all of us were ready for the climb at that point. We all had to dress, as it were, for battle. We put on our harnesses, took tea and food, and went upwards. What happened next would depend on the circumstances: this would become either another acclimatisation hike or a summit attempt. Personally, I did not really believe the latter was possible. I should first say that I had often been told that nobody set off for Elbrus so late. The condition of several group members also gave us little reason for optimism. Nevertheless, the full group departed at approximately six in the morning. One member immediately became unwell and decided not to continue, while everyone else kept walking. We reached the highest point from our previous hike, rested briefly and continued upwards with the same confidence. At last, we reached the final outpost of civilisation at an altitude of four thousand nine hundred metres. This was as far as snowcats and snowmobiles travelled. Beyond it began the famous Kosaya Polka. In other words, this is a diagonal traverse of the eastern summit that gains altitude continuously. It is difficult going for an unprepared climber. Gradually, the intervals between rest stops became shorter. The group slowed, although everyone continued climbing with considerable confidence. At last, we reached the traverse, passed between the summits and arrived at the start of the ascent to the western and highest one. We occasionally met climbers coming down towards us. They did not look particularly attractive; quite the opposite, in fact. They appeared utterly exhausted, repeatedly stopping and sitting directly on the snow. We, however, were serious about our goal, so little could damage our morale. The steep ascent of the western summit gradually began. I felt fairly well at that time, while the other climbers in our group were in varying condition. Some were doing everything they could to hold on, while others seemed to be moving by sheer force of will. Yet everyone continued and nobody complained. We reached the beginning of the fixed ropes. We had to move one at a time while remaining attached for protection. I would not have called this section difficult, even for a novice mountaineer. Moving slowly over the fairly steep rise, we emerged onto the gently sloping pre-summit plateau. About thirty minutes later, we reached the summit. The time was three in the afternoon. The weather was calm and overcast, and absolutely nothing could be seen. Nevertheless, we had made it. We were on the very summit of Elbrus, an astonishing achievement. Curiously, nobody else was there. We could say that the highest point in Europe belonged to us alone for an entire hour. Some people laughed, while others rejoiced in silence. The sensations were genuinely unreal. Something special had happened to us, something we would be able to understand fully only months later. For the moment, we celebrated our small victory together. We had achieved our goal and truly had something to be proud of. After approximately forty minutes, we began descending. The summit had unquestionably given us all renewed strength.
During the descent, our group looked many times better than everyone else. We did not stagger or collapse onto the trail in search of rest, but descended with complete confidence. The ascent had taken us nine hours, while the descent took a little more than three. We reached camp and rested. The member who had earlier decided not to continue climbing kindly made tea for everyone and brought shashlik from the cafe. We ate dinner and went to rest. In the morning, we slowly began packing. Closer to midday, we started descending towards the lift at an altitude of three thousand five hundred metres. From there, we continued to Azau, then travelled to Cheget and returned our hired equipment. Two members left the group and took a minibus to catch their trains. Afterwards came the days we spent travelling around the Caucasus. We bathed in narzan mineral water, sampled the local cuisine and rode the lift up Cheget.
The entire trip gave me a wealth of impressions and unforgettable experiences. They are exactly what makes it worth coming here and giving up all ordinary comforts. I would like to thank every member of the expedition. I was genuinely fortunate with my group. I wish everyone who sets out on a climb the same good fortune of being accompanied by such dependable mountaineers.