I saw a group ahead, most likely one of the so-called commercial groups. Its guide stopped me and asked whether I was descending from the summit. I answered that I had turned back about two hundred metres short because I had become unwell. It had been daylight for some time, yet my head torch was still hanging on my forehead. I must have looked rather amusing. The guide told me not to walk too quickly because I might feel worse. I wished him and his group a successful ascent and continued down. Eventually, I reached an altitude of five thousand one hundred metres, a distinctive and special place where the snowcat turned around at the time and the Kosaya Polka begins. Only there did I fully understand how right my decision to descend had been, although it had not been easy. The summit had seemed almost within reach, only about two hundred metres away, but the choice was still the right one. No summit was worth risking my health or my life, crawling towards it on all fours while losing consciousness, or ruining the ascent for my companions, who would then have had to evacuate me. That was a line that should not be crossed, however easy it might be to do so. At five thousand one hundred metres, the altitude illness finally released me, and so did the mountain. It was as though the dizziness and nausea had never existed, and my mind returned to its usual state. Breathing felt unbelievably easy. It seemed that this altitude held an enormous amount of oxygen, although I understood that there was actually very little. I simply had a point of comparison now, and for a body that had returned from higher ground, this place felt like a blessing. I sat in the hollow made by the snowcat and warmed myself in the recently risen sun. A breeze blew over me, but I was no longer cold. I simply sat, admired the surrounding beauty and enjoyed breathing. Once again, I began reconsidering my priorities. Why had the mountains drawn me so strongly? What was the reason? I admitted to myself that I had wanted to climb Elbrus largely so that it would count, allowing me later to boast among friends that I had been there. It is important to be honest, above all with yourself. What had I personally wanted from the mountain? Landscapes, emotions and new experiences, first and foremost, and I had received those in abundance. A climb cannot be reduced to the objective of reaching a summit. It is primarily a process, and whether it ends on the summit or somewhere else is not so important. At such a moment, you understand the expression that the mountain has accepted or released you. If you believe that you remain fully in control in the mountains, that belief is very naive. You may be physically fit and well acclimatised, but I felt that the mountains alone would make the final decision. At that time, you belonged only to them, and only they determined what would happen to you. That, I believed, was essential to understand. At altitude, you also grasp one simple truth: this is genuine happiness. There are no prejudices, stereotypes or bustle here, only something real. Two more men soon approached and settled into the snowcat hollow nearby to rest. They asked whether I had reached the summit. I told them that I had fallen only two hundred metres short. They joked in response that I should not have used a snowcat. I pretended that the comment did not bother me and changed the subject. Perhaps every experienced mountaineer thought that way, or perhaps it was merely the irritation of these two particular climbers. Their position was understandable: they had walked from the very bottom and were already extremely tired, with an exhausting ascent still ahead, while I was descending. Yet everyone has their own Elbrus. For some, a climb in its purest form begins at Azau Glade; others enjoy both walking and riding in a snowcat. Each person ultimately has a different goal and a different process for achieving it.
Then I saw Vyacheslav, who naturally had goals of his own. He slowly reached five thousand one hundred metres, sat down and rested. That was entirely enough for him. He had set himself the goal of reaching five thousand metres and had successfully achieved it. He admitted that he did not feel particularly well and had a headache. Looking at him, I saw someone genuinely worthy of admiration even though a summit was not in question. There were other reasons to admire him. He had rejected stereotypes and set a specific and admirable goal, one that required him to overcome himself without destroying his health. My companion rested and continued descending. After enjoying the landscape and air of this extraordinary place, I went down as well. While descending the Kosaya Polka, I had been certain that I would find a snowmobile at the Pastukhov Rocks and ride it. Surprisingly, however, the descent felt easy. I felt excellent, and walking was much easier than after the previous day’s acclimatisation hike, so I tried to forget the snowmobile and continued under my own power. This was an area with many crevasses. To the left were rocky ridges with a trail running between them.
I remembered several incidents that had occurred here. I had happened to witness the first while riding the lifts. As we changed to the second section on our way up, a foreign visitor and a guide were travelling down. The visitor stared at his hands in horror. All his fingertips were black, apparently from frostbite. The guide tried to reassure him, saying in English that they would soon be lower and that he would certainly try to help.
There was another unusual incident. One evening, the refuge owner came to see us and asked whether a man from the neighbouring room had returned from his climb. We said that we had not seen him and knew nothing about his whereabouts. It seemed that two people from that room had gone down that day. One was still there, and we spoke with him occasionally, but nobody had seen the other. The owner asked us to tell the missing man to visit him when he returned. The man did not come back that evening or even late at night; he finally appeared the following day. Only one of our companions saw him and said that his eyes looked wild and that he appeared severely disoriented.