Elbrus is a twin-peaked volcanic cone in the heart of the Caucasus and the highest point in Russia. One theory holds that the mountain’s name comes from an Iranian word translated as “high mountain”. It is considered more likely, however, that the root is an Iranian word meaning “sparkling” or “shining”.
Every summer, I do everything I can to escape the stifling city and travel to the mountains. Leaving it behind means escaping its noise and exhausting bustle. I want to forget the strain of urban life and immerse myself in the mountains’ magical silence. Climbing majestic Elbrus was a long-held dream, one that had inspired me for years and that I had often described to friends and acquaintances. At last, the dream began to take real shape. We travelled to the Caucasus and Elbrus, the goal of my mountaineering dreams over many years. Our group had decided to make its first acquaintance with high mountains, complete a beginner’s mountaineering course, climb Elbrus, explore the surrounding area and take memorable photographs. To carry out this plan, we invited an experienced instructor to introduce us to the finer points of mountaineering.
The first days of training felt unfamiliar. Our bodies needed rest and substantial food; we craved meat but were fed porridge and soup instead. Acclimatisation is one of the most important stages of climbing high mountains.
Our plan allowed a week for training, climbing summits, crossing passes and, of course, completing the third mountaineering grade. The weather made its own adjustments: ten days of rain and one hundred per cent humidity awaited us. While we waited for good conditions, there was little to do but idle away the time and eat porridge. The mountain rivers here were so turbulent and full that crossing them was a serious undertaking.
One special place is Zelyonaya Polyana, or the Green Glade, at an altitude of 2400 metres. This large meadow is covered with greenery in summer and decorated by a hundred colourful tents. It provides shelter for mountaineers and hikers, and trails lead from it towards the summits and passes. Nearby lies Bashkara glacial lake with its cloudy green water. Kashkatash Glacier, where we trained, is regarded as a genuine ice-training ground. At the time of our visit its lower section was almost free of crevasses, and the crevasse zone began around the middle and ended in a chaotic accumulation of ice blocks resembling ocean waves. As the glacier moves and melts unevenly, it forms distinctive seracs. In the evening, the instructor allowed us to practise on vertical sections. As I climbed the glacier at an angle of 80 degrees, I could feel the tension even in my trembling knees.
Kashkatash Glacier stretches for five kilometres and can be crossed only in crampons and with protection. Weather in the Caucasus is unpredictable: blazing sunshine gives way to rain, followed by sunshine again, all within a short period.
Mount Elbrus is surrounded by many legends. One says that the Caucasus Mountains were the first land to appear after the biblical Flood and that Noah’s Ark caught on one of Elbrus’s rocks.
For better acclimatisation, we decided to spend a night above the Krugozor station, where we found a level pitch for the tent. We established base camp at an altitude of 4200 metres, with a magnificent view of the Main Caucasus Range. The weather remained capricious, snow continued to fall and Elbrus stayed hidden. As we waited for better conditions, several days were devoted to acclimatisation and training hikes towards the Pastukhov Rocks.
Only 300 metres remained to the summit. The distance was small, yet it was also the hardest section. Every step required effort, and I advanced towards the goal by alternating steps with rests.
The ascent began at half past one in the morning. After a brief session of confidence-building autogenic training, we set off. The piercing wind made leaving the tent difficult. The route to Elbrus’s western summit is physically demanding, although not especially technical.
And then I was on the summit. It was hard to believe that I was really there. Unusual feelings overwhelmed me: on one hand, relief that I no longer had to climb and overcome difficulties; on the other, joy that my long-held dream had come true. The happiness stayed with me throughout the descent. I felt boundless joy and knew that I did not want to leave the Caucasus, which had become dear to me in such a short time. That was how my special holiday ended, but I was firmly convinced that I would return one day. Even as I travelled home, I was already planning future ascents in my mind.