Because the southern side of Elbrus was closed in 2010 for reasons familiar at the time, we decided to turn our attention to the mountain’s northern side. Without exaggeration, this route has many advantages, including the extraordinarily beautiful surrounding scenery and the small number of visitors. At an altitude of three thousand seven hundred metres, snowfall often caused the trail to disappear, but this allowed us to experience the season in full. Around the middle of the season, a group of seven Indonesians arrived with their own guide. Five of them could be said to have had no mountain experience at all, while two had some experience of hiking in mountainous terrain. One member stood out in particular because he had lost a leg.
During those days, they walked around the nearby waterfalls and across the vast meadow. It is worth noting that some people climb mountains despite having lost a leg. A British climber, for example, was reported to have reached the summit of Everest despite the amputation of both legs below the knee. The man at the centre of our story faced an even greater challenge: he had been struck by a train when he was young, and the remaining part of his leg was too short for a prosthesis to be fitted. He had come to try climbing the northern side of Elbrus, a route with neither cable cars nor snowcats.
The guide later admitted that he did not have much faith in this particular climber’s chances of success, even though he had experience guiding children, older people and people with various disabilities to the summit. He had encountered many different situations, but this one stood apart from all the rest. The first acclimatisation hike immediately showed how difficult the task would be. On level ground, the climber even overtook his non-disabled companions, but slopes, especially rocky or loose ones, were harder for him than they were for the least prepared members of the group. He had fitted his crutches with special crampons that he had machined himself from stainless steel and made the handles adjustable in length.
Although the man was already over fifty, he was in excellent physical condition. He had crossed a desert by bicycle in seven days, covering eight hundred kilometres, and he swam, walked and hiked in the mountains frequently. Paradoxically, he had been refused permission to climb the highest point in Indonesia because it was considered too dangerous for him. He then decided to come to Russia to prove that he could ascend the highest point in Europe. Reaching the summit of Elbrus would probably open many new possibilities for him and inspire others to believe in him even more strongly. There was one complication: the Indonesians had not allowed any reserve days and wanted to reach the summit specifically on Indonesian Independence Day. It was difficult to say what they were counting on in such circumstances, given how unpredictable the weather on Elbrus can be.
On the second day, the group carried its equipment to the refuge, while a porter had to carry the disabled climber’s personal belongings. Remarkably, he was the only member of the entire group who never accepted the guide’s help on the difficult sections before the refuge, even among the large rocks.
The next day, the group was unable to complete the programme and climb to the altitude of four thousand seven hundred metres. Two members turned back almost immediately after leaving camp, while the remaining five were physically unable to reach the target. This raised doubts about the summit attempt. It was important to start as close to the summit as possible, so we went to spend the night at four thousand eight hundred metres, beside a crashed helicopter. Before long, a severe blizzard engulfed us. Visibility was only ten metres, and the wind was strong enough to knock us off our feet. It was clear that descending would take far longer than continuing to the camp.
The instructor decided to gather everyone and send them upwards with an assistant, while he remained with one companion and the disabled man. The snow was already knee-deep, making progress on crutches increasingly difficult, and his companions could not imagine how to help him. They did everything they could to dig a trench, but the wind quickly filled it with snow again. Tents were pitched close to the helicopter. Everyone wanted tea, and the instructors began brewing it, but I suddenly detected the smell of kerosene. It turned out that traces of hydraulic fluid from the crashed helicopter were present where they had collected snow for the tea. They had to wash the pot and prepare the tea again. None of the group had ever faced weather like this. Their will to carry on had been crushed, and they had no appetite, forcing themselves to eat the soup that had been prepared. Their sleep, however, was deep.
By evening, everyone was becoming less optimistic, but the guide set his alarm for three in the morning. The wind raged during the night and rocked the helicopter. The guide moved the alarm to five in the morning. When the sun illuminated the horizon, the wind eased slightly and hope of success returned. Some members were dispirited, but a clear order was given to start climbing. Beginning from an altitude of four thousand eight hundred metres encouraged the group, while the fresh morning breeze was invigorating. Everyone was tied into rope teams, and the disabled man again made his way through knee-deep snow, even though the trail had been packed down as much as possible. His other companions moved slowly and at times demanded even more attention, despite having no physical disabilities. With a man who had lost a leg walking beside them, it seemed difficult to justify any complaints.
The disabled climber proved extraordinarily resilient, both mentally and physically. The weather improved as they approached the saddle, but the sight of the ascent to the summit overwhelmed him, and he said that he could not continue. Four other climbers were still prepared to go farther. This created a difficult problem: one instructor could not take the man on crutches back down alone, but sending two guides with him was not possible either. They had to encourage him and give him tea. This restored some of his strength and confidence, and he continued climbing.
The large rocks of the moraine before the refuge had been especially difficult for the climber. The altitude, strong wind, steep slope and accumulated fatigue were taking their toll, but only a short distance remained to the summit. The instructors fixed a rope, and he hauled himself upwards, sometimes trying to walk despite the very steep slope. The guides tried several times to help him, but he refused their assistance. Even on the moraine, he had been the only person to proceed without outside help. It mattered to him that he do everything himself. After some time, everyone reached the plateau. The other members had not gone far ahead, and one guide had even fallen behind. The disabled climber could no longer be stopped: he found a second wind and, when he reached the summit, was overcome by emotion and began to cry.
On the descent, the instructors secured the man with a rope and helped him. Other members watched with a little envy, but we refused to provide them with the same assistance. At one point, vacuum flasks, mittens, a telephone and other items began blowing away. The descent demanded that the group maintain its pace no matter what, while carrying the camp on our backs increased the load. At four thousand eight hundred metres, even the instructors looked extremely tired, and members of the group offered to help them.
At the main camp at three thousand seven hundred metres, the final rays of sunlight had long since faded. The whole group, however, was still trying to enjoy the last warmth at four thousand five hundred metres. There was no longer any reason to hurry. We had emerged from the clouds but did not reach camp until after dark. Our large rucksacks kept us from freezing even though everyone was wearing only thermal base layers. The instructors slowly dragged the disabled man, who barely responded by then but continued to help propel himself with his hands whenever asked. Once we had passed the crevasse zone, the tension subsided, and everyone experienced something close to euphoria, dreaming not of a shower but of new summits.