In the summer of 2014 we decided to climb Elbrus. Without much deliberation we bought a tour up Elbrus from the northern side from Mountainguide.ru. That ascent is probably the most vivid memory my companions and I have. Right at the start of the trip we saw a scene of unreal beauty – the snow-white cap of Elbrus against green fields. It astonishes and hypnotises at the same time. It was my first time in the mountains in summer and I was struck by the sheer number of flowers and grasses, whose scent goes straight to your head after the stale air of the city. The landscapes change remarkably all the way through an Elbrus ascent and a camera is, of course, essential here.<\/p>\n
Our home town was left far, far behind; we flew Transaero to Mineralnye Vody. Staff from the Mountain Guide company met us, put us up in a hotel and let us rest a while. We change to a car and drive on along the hairpins of the Caucasus, through gorges and past mountain rivers, to Kislovodsk.<\/p>\n
We made it safely to base camp at the foot of Elbrus by jeep, with our personal belongings, equipment and food. The distance of about a hundred kilometres took us a full day of daylight. First the tarmac out of Kislovodsk gave way to a dirt road. Endless hairpins, drops and climbs. At times the road was very difficult and dangerous, and it was frightening even to look down. All you could do was rely on the driver’s skill. The road got worse and worse, the rain came down treacherously, and we slowed to a crawl.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Base camp on the northern side of Elbrus was a tented village, and that is where we began unloading. The usual bustle – pitching tents, checking the equipment we needed, settling in. While we were unloading the kit and the food the rain almost stopped, the fog and cloud dispersed, and the twin-headed beauty of Elbrus appeared, dominating everything around. We started photographing the sight with enthusiasm, but the guides advised us to save our batteries.<\/p>\n
To entertain us a little, they put on a short tour of the area. We saw the place where the famous Silk Road ran, with signposts standing beside it showing the direction of the route. Then they showed us where American ecologists had carried out research into “the cleanest air on earth”. We stopped at Emmanuel’s meadow, named after the man who in 1829 organised the very first ascent of Elbrus from the northern side. A general of the Russian army, accompanied by the finest local mountain men, managed to reach the eastern summit of Elbrus. We looked at the waterfalls and bathed in the mineral springs of the Dzhily-Su river.<\/p>\n
We decided to follow Emmanuel’s footsteps from the north to the eastern summit, which lay to our left. Its height is 5621 metres. The western summit looks very similar in profile but is twenty metres higher. Most people go up that one from the southern slope, because you can get to 3750 metres by cable car. Climbers better prepared than we were can, in calm weather and good health, do both summits one after the other; the distance between them is about a kilometre to a kilometre and a half. Feats of that kind were not part of our plans, though. That really does require specialist preparation. The difficulty grade for such a traverse is higher, whereas for us the climb of Elbrus from the north was graded 2A (snow and ice).<\/p>\n
There were other climbers in the camp besides us. Before long everyone was called into the mess, which was what we called a long green tent. It had tables and chairs in it. The great drawback of mountain trips, I would say, is the absence of any firewood or trees. So there was no hope of a quiet evening round a fire with a guitar strumming away. Instead we drank a great deal of tea and had long conversations about all sorts of things.<\/p>\n
When it got completely dark I saw an astonishing starry sky, the like of which I had never seen in the city. Words cannot convey a sight that luminous, and the photographs of it did not come out. Gradually everyone drifted off to bed and slept soundly before our first acclimatisation climb to 3800 m, to one of the mountain refuges.<\/p>\n
The morning was calm and sunny. The first of our compatriots began to wake, the ones who wanted to reach the summit of Elbrus before the rest. Time to get up, I thought, or you will be left without breakfast.<\/p>\n
We were to reach the acclimatisation camp, where the ice massif begins, within a few hours and then come back down, to accustom the body to altitude and give it a chance to adapt. The assault camp consisted of a mess tent and several roomy tents that even had working electric sockets and light bulbs, run off a diesel generator.<\/p>\n
After breakfast we set off unhurriedly to 3800 and the assault camp. I took some of the things I would need on the climb – an insulated jacket, crampons for my boots, warm mitts and a warm hat. I should say that our guide, Nikolai Cherny, had seen to all this. At a hire shop on the way from the airport we picked up everything we were missing for the Elbrus climb. They even provided outerwear, rucksacks and mountain boots. As well as clothing, I had to hire some specialist climbing equipment, including telescopic poles.<\/p>\n
At first we followed the “monkey trail”, which soon, as we gained height, was left behind and lost among gullies and grassy slopes. We kept climbing and at about 2900 metres came out onto a flat, smooth expanse that most people called the German airfield.<\/p>\n
Our guide told us an interesting story from the past. It turns out that these districts north of Elbrus were a closed zone until the 60s. Naturally, tourists, climbers, geologists and even ordinary shepherds were not allowed in. Some secret eyewitness accounts have nonetheless come down to us. They recall a German aircraft landing at this military airfield bringing eastern monks from Tibet. Incidentally, all these monks were later killed, because they predicted Hitler’s defeat in the Second World War.<\/p>\n
What was so important to the Germans at the height of the war, during the battle for Stalingrad, and why did the German mountain division Edelweiss raise two black and red Nazi flags over the summit of Elbrus at that time? As Nikolai told us, the Elbrus region – the Baksan gorge in particular – is rich in tungsten and molybdenum, which the Krupp and Messerschmitt works badly needed. The other motive was purely political: a mark of power over the whole world and mythical dominion over humanity. Either way, those plans were not to be realised.<\/p>\n
A little history<\/em><\/p>\n Hitler was looking in the mountains of the Caucasus for the ancient Shambhala – a place no one but the chosen can reach. And also for the Holy Grail, which grants eternal life and limitless power. As we can see, he did not succeed, and none of his officers ever found Shambhala, either here or in Tibet.<\/em><\/p>\n We crossed that perfectly flat airfield diagonally and stopped to rest near the foot of the slope. It was a beautiful sunny day and the warm sun was generous with its rays. Nearby a brook of drinking water tinkled faintly; we drank from it and washed a little. You wanted to lie down there in the bliss of it and sleep for a long time. But we had no idea what serious trials lay ahead of us.<\/p>\n The weather began to change, as it often does on an Elbrus climb. Light grey cloud, which had gathered imperceptibly around the summit, came down and grew as it did so. At first these were small clouds that did not even cover the sun. But then the sky suddenly closed in completely, a strong wind got up and before long a treacherous rain came down. The mood was gloomy, bewildered and serious. The air was getting colder and we dressed however we could; some even put gloves on.<\/p>\n We walked in single file and at first tried to joke and encourage one another, but soon that impulse died in everyone. As we climbed, the vegetation and greenery thinned out. Grass now appeared only in isolated tufts. The gradient was about thirty degrees, so you had to hold yourself back. In general, the whole way to the “hut” was a series of climbs and small gentle terraces. We walked over relatively level ground. The exception was the final rise to the hut itself. On top of that, the lack of oxygen began to make itself felt.<\/p>\n The vegetation gave out entirely and after that it was nothing but rock. Beyond a crag called the Pyramid we could see the way through to the boulder fields. We crossed a small area of coarse dark sand and enormous boulders and climbed onto a projecting rocky ridge. On the way to the foot of the moraine we passed groups of climbers already on their way down.<\/p>\n The first glaciers began to appear. Before crossing another one, we take a short break. The weather changed again. The clouds parted and the sun came out. It got so hot that many people stripped to their T-shirts. Above three thousand metres the weather changes character abruptly, which is why we had to carry so much with us for the Elbrus climb.<\/p>\n After a short rest our guide Nikolai began cutting steps in the snow so that we could follow him. Otherwise you can slide a very long way down on your backside and then have to climb all the way back up, if you come out of it in one piece at all.<\/p>\n The pace dropped sharply; we crawl like tortoises, slow and dogged. High altitude dictates its own terms, and up here sudden movements are certain death. We reached an altitude of about three and a half thousand metres. The snowfield ended and we came out onto scree.<\/p>\n One more push and we scramble up the enormous boulders of the moraine bank. The altitude is 3800 metres above sea level, and the clouds are drifting below us. All around there is nothing but rock, ice and snow.<\/p>\n The whole climb took about four hours. Oddly, though, our line of ascent looked much shorter from above than it had from below. We saw a small terrace with tin-clad huts on it. What everyone called “the hut” was a tin building, half painted red, with a curved roof. Nearby there were other, smaller buildings. Elbrus stood above us in all its glory.<\/p>\n We sat for a while at the table in front of the hut and drank tea. When the rest of our group came in, we sat down to lunch. The weather began to turn again: in the sun it was very hot, and when clouds covered it, it turned very cold. The clouds came over more and more often, growing in number and merging into a grey mass of low-hanging rain cloud that threatened a downpour. It was clear we would be caught in heavy rain on the way back.<\/p>\n Near the Pyramid we changed and put on waterproofs. Dark clouds hung almost directly overhead and, as expected, the rain came. The weather went completely to pieces and turned foul. As well as rain and fine hail, the wind got up. There was no room for romance now; the harsh conditions brought everyone back down to earth. We had to survive.<\/p>\n And so we made it back to camp, where they immediately fed us a delicious hot dinner. We warmed up and dried out, our spirits rose, though the fatigue told all the same. Because of it we hardly noticed the beauty around us. As luck would have it, my head was aching badly – intracranial pressure, the after-effect of an old injury – and the instructor advised me not to continue with the climb. I said I would think about it and see how I felt in the morning after some sleep.<\/p>\n By sunset the temperature had dropped and a jacket was no longer enough. I had brought my own sleeping bag, though I need not have done, because the hire kit included good warm ones. I fell asleep so deeply it was as if I had dropped into a dark bottomless pit. I woke up feeling well, with no headache at all.<\/p>\n The weather here at this time of year is changeable, but we did work out a pattern of sorts. We noticed that during the cool of the morning the sun usually shines, and towards midday it beats down harder and harder until it is unbearably hot. Apparently during this “steam bath” clouds gather over the summit of Elbrus – probably the glacier evaporating – and then it rains until evening. The rain stops before sunset. Incidentally, in Turkic Elbrus means “the mountain around which the clouds walk”.<\/p>\n Today we had a free day for excursions around the hot narzan springs of Dzhily-Su. We build up our strength and rest before the second acclimatisation climb to the lower edge of the Lenz Rocks. We saw a beautiful waterfall with the intriguing name of the Sultan. We took memorable panoramic shots of Elbrus and of the river Malka.<\/p>\n On the way back from the excursion some of the lads did not fancy trudging to the suspension bridge downstream and crossed straight opposite the camp. In the morning the water level in mountain rivers is generally much lower than by midday. That is because the glaciers melt in the sun. Just short of camp we came across the Silver Spring, with the purest, clearest and best-tasting water. It was a mineral spring, and below it three little pools had been dug for anyone who wanted to plunge into water cold enough to burn.<\/p>\n The next day we were preparing for the second and last acclimatisation trip before the climb, to the lower edge of the Lenz Rocks at 4400 metres above sea level. Nikolai Cherny explained a little of the modern approach to acclimatisation, which involves gaining height gradually with drops back down to camp. The reasoning is that at altitude the human body rests badly and adapts even worse.<\/p>\n We climbed the familiar path, though we did stray slightly off the marked route. All of that was fixable. On the way up I lost my footing by accident and sent rocks down onto the companion behind me. I froze in some confusion, then shouted: “Are you all right?” From somewhere on the left an echo came back: “Aaaaall right.” That was a weight off my mind.<\/p>\n On slopes like that it is better to keep a good distance and watch out for anything coming down on your head. But there is another danger too – being hopelessly left behind, although the Elbrus guides kept a sharp eye out to make sure nothing happened to anyone.<\/p>\n Then we moved onto the glacier, put on crampons and set off up behind Nikolai. In the daytime, under bright sun, the ice goes soft and turns into a kind of mush. The slope got steeper and steeper and by now had reached 25-30 degrees.<\/p>\n So far, though, we had seen nothing obviously dangerous. Beyond that came firmer snow, into which we sank up to the ankle. And there we saw the marker wands showing where the crevasses begin. It was getting more dangerous, so we roped up. The crevasses along our path were narrow, but we did spot several black, deep holes. Usually, after heavy snowfall, the settled old edges of these holes are built up with fresh crust, which can turn out to be a false bridge over the dark gap. Stepping onto a bridge like that is extremely dangerous.<\/p>\n About the marker wands<\/em><\/p>\n Without the wands, the way to the summit of Elbrus would be unimaginably dangerous. Deep crevasses covered over with snow that looks so solid hold a terrible threat. Lose your footing on a cap like that and you disappear without trace into a bottomless drop. Finding you at the bottom is next to impossible.<\/em><\/p>\n Near the Lenz Rocks we saw several black boulders. We unroped, since there are no crevasses above that point. The lack of oxygen is noticeable. We rested a little and headed for the lower Lenz Rocks.<\/p>\n The distance from the boulders to the rocks looked like a stone’s throw, yet it took us almost an hour. The sun beat down harder and harder, and we decided to take a breather in the shade of a huge slab. As I have mentioned, the Lenz Rocks are rocky outcrops with wide passages between the stones. We sat a little longer and waited for the whole group to catch up. The altitude, if the instruments were to be believed, matched the plan and stood at 4800 metres above sea level. The beauty all around is astonishing. Awkwardly, my battery went flat, so some of the pictures never got taken.<\/p>\n Back to acclimatisation. Obviously it is the body’s adjustment to thin air and oxygen starvation. But few people appreciate what lies behind that.<\/p>\n Because of the lack of oxygen on Elbrus, people can suffer hallucinations, complete or partial apathy towards everything around them, fits of hysterical laughter and so on. It shows up differently in everyone and quite unexpectedly. In my case, for instance, my head ached badly at altitude. And I had to take painkillers on the quiet. None of the guides would have approved of what I was doing, but I did want to get to the summit. What else had I come all this way and climbed to this height for?<\/p>\n There is a view that for proper acclimatisation you should not do “stepped” ascents, running up and down. Instead you should spend a night at 4500-4700 m and only then drop to a fixed level to gather your strength properly, recover and then move on to the summit itself. Presumably there are as many opinions as there are people. For now, though, we are using the method we are all used to.<\/p>\n Back to the climb to the lower Lenz Rocks. We got to them – or rather to the 4800 mark – comparatively quickly, in no more than four hours. The sun, as usual, began beating down hard and warmed the snow and ice to the point where all the slush stuck to our crampons and had to be knocked off every three or four steps. I thought the descent would be far easier; that excess of confidence let me down badly.<\/p>\n I badly wanted hot tea, and just wanted to get back to base quickly and drink my fill of that wonderful stuff. At the entrance to the hut I ran into a fellow climber holding a thermos of tea. What a joy that was. We drink our fill of tea and barely make it back to camp.<\/p>\n After lunch our guide Nikolai floated the idea that it would not be a bad thing to start the climb of Elbrus that very night, so as not to go soft at base. But the whole crew took the idea coolly and in the end we decided to stick to the stated programme, which spoke of rest and a proper night’s sleep.<\/p>\n Early in the morning I thought it would be a good idea to shave before the great event – the climb to the summit of Elbrus – and went down to the hollow towards the lake. In fact what was there was a mass of little streams of meltwater. The main stream was covered with a thin crust of ice. In the morning the water was still clean, so that was the only time we filled the barrels. So I shaved and washed. Everyone without exception envied how I looked.<\/p>\n A couple of climbing companions, not wasting any time, decided to go skiing. They started up our trail from the day before. They went so far that their figures became tiny. It took them about an hour to climb, and they were down again in a few minutes. In general, tearing about here on a snowboard or skis is a very dangerous business. You could easily fall into a crevasse.<\/p>\n And that was how our rest day passed. In the evening we started getting ready for the climb of Elbrus. The plan was to set off at night, timed so as to be back in camp before the weather deteriorated in the daytime. Clearly, in bad weather there is not only a strong wind but a sharp drop in temperature. So we were not exactly eager to see what nature could do to us. After all those days spent in the mountains, everyone was rather worn out.<\/p>\n If our expectations of favourable natural conditions on Elbrus proved right, we had a good chance of fitting into that window of time. The guide firmly asked everyone to sleep from six in the evening until midnight. I do not know about the others, but sleep would not come to me, perhaps because of an excess of emotion and nerves.<\/p>\n At twelve at night Nikolai Cherny came in and started waking everyone for the climb. As it turned out later, there was not much need, because most people were not asleep. That reassured me: it meant I was not some neurotic with weak nerves, tears and a runny nose, but a perfectly normal person like everyone else on our team. Everyone started getting ready. We ate something, though it is hard to call a meal at twelve at night breakfast; it was more like a very late supper.<\/p>\n The weather was not bad. A light, fresh breeze was blowing. So I decided to dress exactly as I had on the previous acclimatisation climb. I took a knitted woollen hat, a down jacket, mitts and a bottle of hot sweet tea. We reached the foot of the glacier very quickly, put on crampons and began the ascent proper.<\/p>\n Recalling the entries in the “logbook” and the actual timings of the climb, the figures were roughly as follows. We were allowed about 9-10 hours of climbing to the summit of Elbrus. If the weather deteriorated sharply, we might not get there at all, and would then have to return to base.<\/p>\n That outcome was not out of the question and, what is more, it was written into the terms of our contract. So for that force majeure scenario we were allowed fifteen hours. For the descent from the mountain, 3-4 hours. Experienced climbers cover these sections far faster, of course. But in our position as beginners, all we could do was pray for merciful weather.<\/p>\n At first I wanted to put on the down jacket, then thought it was too early. Besides, there seemed to be some shelter from the wind further on. For now I wrapped myself in a hood so the wind would not get into my ears.<\/p>\n While I was lacing up again, part of the group shot off upwards. I dashed after them, hoping to warm up that way, but no chance. I had forgotten that there is not much oxygen up here. My breathing went to pieces and I could not get it back.<\/p>\n For first-time climbers<\/em><\/p>\n Do not make sudden movements when climbing Elbrus, and do not run. Every movement should be measured and smooth. In fact your body will not let you rush anyway. It will respond by wrecking your breathing, and that will be that.<\/em><\/p>\n The wind kept blowing, but it was not yet driving snow into our faces. So it made no difference to our speed. Getting to the lower Lenz Rocks took incomparably longer than we had expected. Even so, we got there quickly. We took a break under the same slab we had admired the view from on that sunny day. The wind here was like nothing I have known. It turned out the rock gave us no protection from it whatsoever.<\/p>\n We had to get dressed in a hurry, since freezing solid was the work of a moment. The wind tore at us from side to side, snatching precious items out of our hands. Terrified of losing my beloved down jacket, I somehow got myself insulated. I put ski goggles on, which kept off the wind that had utterly finished me. It got to me even more than the sun did.<\/p>\n Pressed into a small niche in the rock, we waited for the rest of the group and mentally imagined how warm we were. It worked; unexpectedly, I warmed up. Now I resembled a walking spacesuit in goggles. My feet, though, were starting to get cold.<\/p>\n At last everyone was together. The guides discuss something at length, gesticulating vigorously. Nikolai comes over to us and we move on towards the middle Lenz Rocks. A head torch is not much use; it lights up only the boots of the person in front, and all around are dark, indistinct outlines of rocks and piles of something. We moved quite fast, and underfoot there was something firm; we hardly sank in at all.<\/p>\n At the middle Lenz Rocks we caught our breath and carried on with the climb, and dawn was not long in coming. And still the wind blew, blowing away our last hope of warming up. I was almost comfortable, though; only my hands were cold, since the wind was cutting straight through my gloves. We expected the wind to drop once the sun came up and the weather to settle down.<\/p>\n I got thirsty, took out the bottle and was disappointed. It is no good up here without a thermos.<\/p>\n My ears began to block, the back of my head started to ache, and treacherous icy shivers began running about under my skull. It felt as though I had not slept for several nights. I said as much to Nikolai. His recommendation in reply was: breathe.<\/p>\n We set off for the upper rocks. Breathing did not help; the ache crept from the back of my head to the crown, and my nose started streaming. It was getting light around us, but I hardly noticed anything. The pace was getting harder and harder for me and my breathing was breaking up. And then the sun appeared, cold and bright, and ahead there were no more rocks, only the dome, that longed-for dome.<\/p>\n The guide stopped us at the foot of the rocks and called a rest. That was when I understood the moment of truth had come – hot waves were washing about in my skull, my heart was hammering like a sparrow’s and giving little stabs, though I had never had the slightest trouble with it. We had picked a poor spot to rest, with nowhere to sit or lie down. Once I had got my breath back, I realised that altitude sickness had caught up with me. Apathy took hold, my body went slack and my mouth would not shut for yawning.<\/p>\n Then some of the group came up. We smeared sun cream on our faces, put on our goggles and started taking photographs. The altitude was serious, 5200, almost the level of the Elbrus saddle, and the summit was within reach. Just then word came that some people had run out of steam and had been sent down with one of the guides. Nikolai signalled us to move on. Three of us set off slowly towards the dome; Nikolai hung back a little, waiting for the others. I decided to stay too, since I simply could not get properly rested.<\/p>\n I crawled like a tortoise. At times the picture in front of my eyes broke into pieces and everything was covered in a kind of ripple, the inside of my skull went cold, my arms and legs went numb and my heart was leaping out of my chest. I was like a big fish pulled out of the water, gulping uselessly at the air.<\/p>\n It was depressing that all the experience I had built up could not help me cope with one thing: altitude. Having thought the situation over during one of the stops, I decided to walk in series – a few dozen steps, then a stop, and so on. The snow began to give way under my weight and I stalled again. I was tired as hell, and the summit of Elbrus still hovered out of reach. It felt as though I had not moved an inch.<\/p>\n And so I crawled on, half fainting, reasoning sensibly that I had enough left in me for monotonous movement. The stages got shorter and the rests longer, my head was splitting, and the indescribable taste of the air only made it worse – oxygen was catastrophically short. My mind cut out from time to time, refusing to string events into any sort of logical chain.<\/p>\n By the time I reached the middle of the dome I had almost blacked out. Only the steps registered clearly in my brain; everything else slipped away and floated off, taking odd shapes. At last the rocks near the summit came closer. But from the rocky step there was still a long way to trudge upwards, with looser snow and an even steeper angle. The whole group had already got there and I had lost sight of them.<\/p>\n There was nobody near me, and my heart was racing, more like a bird hung up by one leg – instead of a rhythm, a kind of wave-like vibration. In a state bordering on delirium, I crawled up. At last. I was on the summit of Elbrus.<\/p>\n That was when I saw our lot, sitting on the rocks. I staggered over to them and flopped down beside them, incapable of thought. Then I pronounced something profound and went still. It eased a little, but it was not about to let go. I looked around. Somewhere far off to the left you could see a chain of mountains and, it seemed, Kazbek. I never did make it out, but I did spot Ushba, the two-horned mountain. It was nearer and easier to see. A little further left were glaciers, but I did not care. We took photographs. The camera on my phone is a poor thing, very weak. Nothing to be done, though. I never did manage to rest; weakness kept washing over me.<\/p>\n To the right you could see the western summit of Elbrus and groups of tourists coming up over the saddle from the south. The climb there is evidently easier. From up here you had a good view of the way we had come, and of the way we would have to go back down.<\/p>\n At last we set off down. The bright sun ate at your eyes even through goggles, and the snow sparkled and shimmered in every colour of the rainbow. My lungs rejoiced – we were going down, where there is plenty of oxygen. That made moving easier. Breathing was far easier, but the tiredness came back twice over. The sun scorched mercilessly, but I had no strength to pull off my down jacket. I trudged to some rock and decided to get rid of it. It took me about 10 minutes, and about as long again to pack it into my rucksack. I waited for my companions to catch up and rested. My muscles gradually stopped aching, though the lethargy did not go anywhere.<\/p>\n Walking through the Lenz Rocks, over snow of a blinding whiteness, was catastrophically hard. I trudged down to the lower rock, rested there and wet my throat. That eased things a little at once. The guide was sunbathing on the boulders, chuckling to himself. We moved on, and then the hut came into view.<\/p>\n We reached some boulders and stopped for another break. One of our party appeared behind us. Before reaching us, he turned decisively aside and shot off somewhere. The guide only just caught him. It turned out that altitude sickness had not spared this climber either, and had given him a glorious hallucination – a cable car, which he had made a dash for in the happy expectation of riding down to the foot of Elbrus in comfort.<\/p>\n It was time to rope up, which we did, and together we headed for the hut. Nikolai walked steadily and we followed at a perfectly comfortable pace. I walked like a zombie; my legs hummed and would not obey me, going along by themselves, and I looked at my feet and thought how good it would be to reach the hut without falling over.<\/p>\n We got through the crevasses on the glacier without incident. The sun had melted the snow and ice and streams were babbling down the slope. The guide was already on the moraine, while I was only dreaming of getting there some day. When I did, I threw off my rucksack and rushed to the table – where the strength came from I have no idea. I drank tea like an elephant, mug after mug, tried to relax and could not; I still did not want to eat.<\/p>\n On top of everything else my face was burnt, my lips were chapped, my eyes were glassy and my head was humming like a nest of wasps.<\/p>\n For beginners<\/em><\/p>\n Altitude sickness starts to take hold at around 5 km. Do not force yourself. The ideal solution is to work out an acclimatisation programme to suit you personally, which is hard to do within a group. Another option is to train your body long before the climb. Even that is no guarantee that at some altitude you will not suddenly run out of steam and find yourself unable to finish the climb. Elbrus is treacherous.<\/em><\/p>\n Around lunchtime I ate some soup and my strength began to return. We stayed at that altitude until the following day. A deep, heavy sleep soon overtook me. When I woke the second time, I felt better and thought I had better eat. The rain never came; Elbrus spared us that time. In the morning, though, the rain did start, with electrical discharges crackling in the air. Just then I saw Nikolai with his mane on end and full of static. Thunder rolled, but not over us, and there was no lightning, so we set off. We reached base fairly quickly. There was hardly anyone there, so we settled in like kings.<\/p>\n Each of us was given a personal certificate for the climb of Elbrus, stating the altitude that person had reached.<\/p>\n For me, climbing Elbrus with a guide left the most vivid and pleasant impressions. I do not regret choosing the northern route. Bravo, gentlemen.<\/p>\n Andrei Semenov, Stavropol.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Related:<\/strong> all Elbrus routes and programmes<\/a> – climbing from the north<\/a>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" In the summer of 2014 we decided to climb Elbrus. Without much deliberation we bought a tour up Elbrus from the northern side from Mountainguide.ru. That ascent is probably the most vivid memory my companions and I have. Right at the start of the trip we saw a scene of unreal beauty – the snow-white […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":14084,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-37337","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-articles"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n