I want to start this report by saying that not long ago an old acquaintance of mine invited me to join his group. It was an invitation to climb Elbrus — from the north, no less. I’ll admit that at the time I wasn’t at all dreaming of a climb. In fact I barely cared about it, and personally I couldn’t see anything special in that kind of ascent. What’s more, I had no idea what the actual difference was between climbing from the north and from the south. Later, though, my friend explained that the difference really is significant. If you climb from the north, he said, you get to experience the incredible beauty of the landscape in full — nature is very close to you there, since there’s next to no trace of civilisation. You can’t say the same about the southern route, where there’s a cable car and various small cafés. Either way, it’s up to each person to decide what they want more: to fully feel and enjoy a genuine mountain expedition, or simply to look at the mountains while staying comfortable. Most people probably prefer the more comfortable option, which is why the south is considered far more popular than the north. So my friend told me we’d be climbing on foot from a height of two thousand four hundred metres up to five thousand six hundred and twenty-one metres, and that we’d be living exclusively in tents. Real expedition romance! What more could you want? All of this genuinely delighted me. The only problem was that at the time I was seriously short of gear. I did have some of it, but nowhere near enough, and buying gear is not a cheap pleasure. That’s when I started wondering whether I really needed all this. But over time, thanks to my friend, I realised I could save on some of it after all — there are rental outfits, in the end, where you can get everything you need for the climb.
So, in early July we gathered and set off for Dzhily-Su. The bus stopped where the tarmac ended. From there we had to walk over the hill to base camp. After a while fog rolled in and it turned cool. At that altitude our packs felt genuinely unreal in their weight, and that three-hundred-metre climb was far from easy. So our acclimatisation started on the very first day. It was foggy and a little chilly, but bearable. On the way to the rescuers’ camp we had to cross a small, scenic but rather rickety footbridge. I’ll say that crossing it with a full pack wasn’t simple, but despite the difficulty everyone managed it just fine. Walking on from the bridge towards camp, the wind duly blew the clouds away and a gorgeous sunset lit up the sky. I couldn’t let a moment like that pass, so I grabbed my camera and got a few wonderful shots.
So, taking our time, we made it to camp and pitched our tents. One of the women in our group treated everyone to some delicious homemade fruit compote — not that such things were really part of the plan, since we were meant to be entirely self-sufficient, but there was no way I could turn down compote that good. As for the weather, Dzhily-Su really is very changeable: mornings are often warm and clear, while by evening it’s almost always raining, or at least very overcast. Knowing this pattern, you can plan your outings around it and dodge the rain. Even so, we still made one mistake — more on that a little later.
It’s worth mentioning that the group’s atmosphere was genuinely good — the whole time we were together in the mountains, not a single conflict came up, even though we were mostly strangers to one another (I did know one person beforehand). Getting on so easily was one of the things that made our climb a success. Towards evening the clouds would gradually clear away and the sky turned clear. On our first night I kept dashing out to marvel at the Milky Way. I should mention that under a clear sky the mountains get very cold — though I was quite comfortable, since I had an excellent sleeping bag rated to minus fifteen degrees. Up to a height of three thousand eight hundred metres I slept without thermal underwear at all. I’ll go further: I even tucked damp gear into my sleeping bag so it would dry out by morning.
So our first day drew to its natural end and we turned in for the night. I’ll say that moments like this can leave city dwellers feeling a little uneasy, since instead of a comfortable bed you’re sleeping on a thin mat that puts barely a centimetre between you and the ground. For some people a new sleeping spot is unsettling, and proper sleep only comes back by the third or fourth night. I never had that problem, since I like sleeping on a firmer surface and can adapt to more or less any conditions. Some people solve this with an inflatable mat, but that’s not really to my taste.
Cold is another problem worth mentioning. But if you’ve prepared well for the climb and thought through every scenario in advance, cold included, then you’re very unlikely to have any trouble staying warm and reasonably comfortable. I’ll say that at a height of two thousand four hundred metres, in my sleeping bag, I wasn’t just warm but actually hot, even without a draught skirt fitted. So at times I even had to leave the tent door slightly open — which my tent-mate wasn’t at all happy about, since he’d brought a summer sleeping bag and had to sleep in his warm clothes instead.
Nothing grand was planned for that day, so we started waking up and slowly emerging from our tents at around ten in the morning. Generally speaking, my sense of time in the mountains is pretty relative — you can just as well go by the sun, or its absence from the sky.
Once everyone was up, we ate porridge with dried fruit and had a cup of fragrant tea. It’s worth noting that many people in the mountains give up sugar altogether — maybe because washing dishes is such a hassle up there, or maybe just because of the change of environment. As soon as breakfast was done we headed straight for the borehole to drink some Narzan mineral water. Taking our time, we crossed the stream on stepping stones and reached the borehole, only to find it was actually on the other side of the river, and that side couldn’t simply be forded. We spent a while wondering how to get across before deciding to turn back. This stretch involved a small amount of extra climbing, so we had to traverse a little way along the hillside. When we got back, we found that the stream we had crossed on stones earlier hadn’t actually risen, yet crossing it the same easy way was no longer possible. We wandered around for about fifteen minutes looking for some way over, then set off back. Most of us could ford the stream without any trouble at all — trainers and sandals dry out quickly enough — but a few people were wearing trekking boots that really shouldn’t get wet, and crossing barefoot isn’t especially safe either. In the end we found two logs and used them to build a makeshift crossing. Since I had quick-drying trainers on at the time, I immediately started hauling rocks out of the river to build a support for it. I should say the water was extremely cold, so everything had to be done fast. In the end we got it done and crossed the river successfully. After that we decided to stop at Emmanuel Glade, where we had a bite to eat and changed clothes. From there we had to head from the glade itself towards the village of Dzhily-Su, in the direction of the mineral springs and the Sultan Waterfall. Since I’d never been to that area before, I have to admit it was genuinely fascinating. The route from the glade itself isn’t difficult — a modest climb followed by a modest descent. At some point it started to drizzle, which certainly didn’t please us, and it was clear that where we were headed there was an outright downpour. So we decided to stop and wait it out for a while before continuing. For some reason I’d decided not to bring a rain jacket with me — after all, why would you need one when you’ve got a membrane jacket? Besides, it’s extra weight, and as everyone knows, nobody needs that in the mountains. Along the way we again had to cross the rickety little footbridge, though this time it didn’t feel nearly as frightening — mostly thanks to our now-empty packs. Later our path led through a place called Kalinov Bridge, though we were only due to visit it on the way back. So, without any real incident, we made it to the touristy part of Dzhily-Su. From there we crossed the road bridge, and I drank some mineral water — I was very thirsty at the time and drank far too much of it, which I ended up regretting later.
I can’t skip mentioning that I actually got to see a ‘gas bath’ with my own eyes there — a genuinely strange thing. I don’t know, and couldn’t begin to guess, what exactly that gas is, but if you bend down and open your eyes near it, it can burn them. And if you take a single full breath of it, you can lose consciousness; two full breaths, they say, can be fatal. I decided not to put that to the test, though at one point I couldn’t resist and took half a breath anyway — my lungs immediately felt scorched as if by ammonia, and I had no desire whatsoever to repeat the experience. We stood around there for a bit, and then the rain came down hard. As soon as we scrambled out of the gas-bath area, we ducked straight under a changing-room canopy put up by the local ‘mafia’, trying to shelter from the downpour — the last thing we wanted was to get soaked through. Once the rain eased off and the wind wasn’t so fierce any more, we headed back. The weather by then was well and truly spoiled: a steady drizzle had set in and it was turning cold, which did nothing for our mood. It became clear that an 8000 mm membrane simply wasn’t built to cope with that kind of weather. After about an hour my jacket started to let water through, and things felt pretty grim — especially since we still had a fair way to go. Even so, we eventually made it to Kalinov Bridge. I have to say, this bridge really is remarkable: it’s a natural formation, created long ago when a rockfall dammed the stream; over time a layer of soil built up on top of the debris, grasses took root, and later people wore a path across it. Kalinov Bridge is a natural stone arch that hangs above the water at a height of fifteen metres, with the water roaring and crashing down beneath it — this is the famous ‘Sultan’ waterfall. Once the group got back to camp, we changed straight into dry clothes, had dinner, put our gear away, and settled in to wait for the morning heat. And that, essentially, was our first acclimatisation day.
On our second acclimatisation day we had to get up as early as possible, have breakfast, and head off towards the stone mushrooms. Since not everyone could pack quickly, there was a small delay — the knack of packing a rucksack efficiently really does come with time. After three or four days everyone had it down and we set off much faster.
As soon as we left camp, our guide ran a short session on using trekking poles, ascending and descending technique, and showed us the basics of scrambling on rock. I’ll say all of that knowledge came in very useful later on Elbrus’s slopes. After the training came the hike to the Mushrooms. It wasn’t technically hard, but it was fairly long — we had to cross the so-called German Airfield, which was wrapped in cloud at the time, so much so that it sometimes felt as if that barren plain had no end at all. It did have an edge, though, and right past the airfield the climb up the mountain began. That’s where I practised planting my trekking poles properly. I’ll say we actually made it to the Mushrooms surprisingly quickly and easily. At the very start the weather wasn’t cooperating — the wind was blowing and a light rain was even falling.