Here is the paraphrased text:
It turned out that the climbers were coming back from acclimatising. They were constantly working their way between the large crevasses of the glacier. The surface of the glacier resembles bottle glass. The blue ice, oddly enough, is crystal clear and transparent to a depth of several metres, and yet as hard as stone. Crossing a glacier really is no simple task. You need certain skills: you have to be able to move on a rope, to self-arrest on ice and much else besides. Meanwhile, waiting for the climbers, we began to watch what was happening on the south side of Elbrus. Some were going up alongside the Pastukhov Rocks and others were coming down from the Kosaya Polka. The whole process is mesmerising, and bit by bit we piece together what is happening. From up there you can work out exactly how the various features sit in relation to one another. As soon as the climbers reached us we got the very latest information. We learnt what temperatures might be waiting for us at the hut, whether there was any water in liquid rather than some other form, and a great deal more. We did not waste the moment either: we asked them to photograph us against the Caucasus range. On the way back we were lucky enough to come across a small island in the endless expanse of stone. The contrast was extraordinary.
Going up to three thousand seven hundred metres on the first day was not the most sensible idea. But what is done is done and cannot be changed now. We were able to get a lot of useful information from the group of climbers we met at Dedova Baza.
After yesterday’s exertions we decided to rest a little and get our breath back. We wanted a late start and an hour or two more sleep than usual. But the sun rose early and began to beat down hard, and it started to feel like a crematorium, so we had to get up. Today’s plan was a slightly easier one — an out-and-back walk up Cheget to three thousand four hundred metres. Dropping a hundred metres through the village, we came out on the Cheget meadow, where the chairlift starts. But we had no need of it at all, because acclimatisation calls for physical work and nothing else. Riding the cable car is rest, not work. So we walk, as we should. The climb up the flank of Cheget begins. Coming out of the tree line, we turn towards a lake with the remarkable name of Donguz-Orun-Kyol. It lies inside a protected zone next to the state border with Georgia. The border runs along the summits. You will need a permit if you want to walk to the lake, the Shkhelda glacier or the Azau gorge. None of that is necessary for the climb itself, but it can be a pleasant addition to the acclimatisation days. It is better not to try to go there without the special permission; it can end badly. A little disappointed, we carry on up. We are already above three thousand metres, but since we were at three thousand seven hundred yesterday this height feels perfectly manageable. We manage to photograph the so-called forbidden lake. In the afternoon we reach our planned altitude. By then the sky is completely covered with cloud, which is normal enough in the mountains, since the weather in high country often turns after midday. Even so we had a good look at Cheget, with roughly three hundred metres of vertical still to go. The cloud thickens quickly and it becomes clear that rain, or even a downpour, could start at any minute. So we decide to get down as fast as we can. Since we do not have much time, we decide to use the cable car. That cable car, however, is very old. Coming down on it was genuinely frightening. Walking at three thousand metres is less frightening than riding that cable car down. This will be our last night in Terskol. Acclimatisation is finished, so tomorrow we head for the slopes of Elbrus. We are leaving our beloved fir wood behind and going into the zone of snow and permanent ice. But first we have to register with the rescue service. We were not planning to use them at that point, but safety matters more.
So we leave Terskol. The cable car that runs up the flank of Elbrus starts from the Azau meadow. We had to take a taxi that far, because there was no local transport in that direction. Now the most interesting part lies ahead. Could we get up there successfully on our own? We had tried to think the main points through in advance. The details were another matter: we simply did not know exactly where the camps were or how high they stood. As it turned out later, spending the night at three thousand four hundred and fifty metres, not far from the Mir cable-car station, was a genuinely wrong decision.
Rain keeps falling, sometimes with snow. Disgruntled holidaymakers wander around the tent and machinery drives past. I do not much want to spend time describing that day; nothing else of any interest happened.
And now we have been in the mountains five days. It is hard to believe so much time has gone by. On the one hand it is not that long, and on the other it is a fair while. We woke to the noise of some large machine. Gradually we get ready for the day’s journey. Striking camp in the rain is not the most pleasant of jobs, but we have no other choice. Unhurriedly we go back to the station. In front of us is the Mir-Garabashi chairlift. We decided to pay for the third stage separately, once we were at the top. Since the seats on this lift are single, the rucksack had to travel on the chair next door. At every pylon the chair shakes and even jumps. At times it felt as though the rucksack was about to fall into the void. That really was frightening, because everything essential was in it. At that moment it became obvious that you have to dress as warmly as you can, because moving about to warm up is not easy, especially with two rucksacks. It was not only awkward but dangerous. On top of that the lift kept stopping so that the workers could load freight. Slowly we rose to three thousand seven hundred metres. It had become much colder here; you can feel the snow zone coming closer. When the guard at the top station saw us he invited us into his hut. Our faces must have looked very tired. We were also soaked through by the pouring rain. The people here really are very kind, which was a pleasure to find. But sad as we were about it, we had to leave that hospitable host and his home and go looking for somewhere to camp.