As soon as we arrived we decided not to overload ourselves and to spend all the time we had left walking in the fresh air. To begin with we walked a little way from Terskol towards the Cheget meadow, about a kilometre and a half at the same height. We had a bite to eat in the local cafes, and the prices, I must say, were a genuinely pleasant surprise.
Our first walking session took us to the Azau station along a perfectly good tarmac road. The road runs for four or five kilometres and climbs about two hundred metres. The station stands at two thousand three hundred and fifty metres. I remember that as we walked along the tarmac we found ourselves thinking that we ought to run more in the mornings and give up our bad habits. As soon as we reached the Azau meadow we wanted to sit down on a bench and rest. Life there really does bubble away: cafes everywhere, the cable car carrying people up and down without a break, music all around. What caught the eye above all were the people who had come back from Elbrus, with a wild look about their eyes and burnt faces. After a short rest we decided to go back. The way down was far more pleasant and easier; in effect it was a rest. We looked at the avalanche guns standing by the side of the road and concluded that they were in very poor condition, and we began to doubt whether they could fire at all. We had supper in one of the cafes and went to bed. The next day we were to go up Cheget. We woke at about nine in the morning and began to get ready. Everyone was talking about their dreams. Sleep above two thousand metres really is different from sleep on the plain. What is interesting is that you remember clearly what you dreamed about. The dreams are vivid, but the stories are often nightmares. As we were getting ready I made a mistake: I decided that at three thousand two hundred to three thousand three hundred metres it would be very cold, and put on my favourite ski suit, which always sees me right, even at minus twenty degrees. I also decided to try out a pair of mountaineering boots belonging to an acquaintance from Moscow. Dressed like that I set off towards the Cheget meadow. On the way I began to realise that these boots were clearly not for me: they rubbed my feet badly, which was hardly a pleasure. Even so, thoughts of the summit gave me no peace and I kept going up. At first we tried to stay together as one group, but that did not work, because our levels of fitness were all different. Two of the Moscow men ran eight kilometres every morning, and naturally they went bounding off ahead. It put me in mind of snowcats. We could barely move at the very back, pouring with sweat. The first three hundred metres felt especially hard. Gradually my body began to adapt to the difficult conditions and I worked out my own rhythm: five minutes climbing, a minute resting, and so on. The suit got in my way; I undid it to the waist and rolled up the sleeves, but it did not help, it was too hot and too stifling. My one consolation was the magnificent views of the Baksan gorge. Looking down, it was hard to believe I had climbed to a height like that on my own legs. We reached the cafe in two hours and decided to halt there. Having walked that stretch on foot, I understood that the cable-car staff do not take your money for nothing. It felt as though the climb was worth a great deal more than the price of a ticket. The second stage of Cheget struck me as easier, at least that is how it felt. Perhaps my body had already got used to the effort. Incredible views opened out in front of us, and I even saw a beautiful cloud that looked like a character out of a fairy story. As soon as we came up the path that skirts the mountain, we noticed a path leading to the summit among the rocks. The summit looked rather like a knoll, and beyond it a rocky ridge rose up. To go on along that ridge you need proper mountaineering equipment; there is no doing it without. As we had none, we took photographs, admired mighty Elbrus and set off down. The way back was much easier. My one remaining problem was those mountaineering boots, which went on rubbing my feet, though now in different places. One of my companions rubbed their feet even more and came down on the cable car. Three of us walked down, the descent took us about an hour and a half, and the water in our plastic bottles ran out.
On the last part of the descent my legs would barely hold me up. Happily, fragrant hot tea was waiting for us. I have never in my life drunk tea as good as that. At that moment I had no wish to eat at all, which was strange. Even so, I had to make myself eat something. We made our way home unhurriedly, took a shower and, on inspecting our feet, were dismayed to find a crop of blisters. We treated them quickly and went to bed. This time the dreams were no longer as vivid as before.
The next day we set off early in the morning to see the local rescue service and find out whether we needed an instructor. And they certainly do know how to frighten people. They told us a great many horrifying stories about climbers who had set out without an instructor. Having heard them all, we decided once and for all to secure the support of a qualified instructor. We booked an instructor for three days. The plan was an outing towards the Pastukhov Rocks on the second day and the climb to the summit of Elbrus on the third. After our visit to the rescue service we set off on our second out-and-back climb. We walked past the Maidens‘ Braids waterfall and the Novy Krugozor observatory and on towards the ice base. The road to the observatory was perfectly reasonable: with a little clearing you could drive a jeep up it. But we had not yet recovered from Cheget and the road was hard going. It took us more than two hours to reach the waterfall. I realised I had no strength at all to go further and decided to rest by the waterfall and wait for the others. I sat on the rocks and began looking for a path down towards the water. At first I had to crawl over grass and stones, but then I found a path that was invisible from the road, and it took me down to the water. To be honest, I have never drunk anything better in my life. I drank my fill and took some water with me. After that my strength began to come back. I do not know what caused it: perhaps the water was charged with something, or perhaps I simply got my second wind. I reached the observatory quickly, and I noticed that I made no stops at all. I moved upwards like a machine. The walk to the observatory took about an hour. At the fork by the observatory I found a small bag of food. It turned out to have been left by the lads who had gone ahead of us: walnuts and dried apricots. Having eaten, I felt better and decided to experiment a little and try running up the mountain. I ran about a hundred metres, then walked a little, then ran again. At that rhythm I caught up with one of my companions and we walked on together. There was no longer a road, but we made slow progress over the rocks. Once we had climbed two hundred and fifty metres above the observatory we noticed that the rocks were getting bigger. I had to combine walking with climbing. That was the moment I understood that I could go no further in trainers: a surface like that calls for special footwear that holds the ankle. In trekking shoes I could turn an ankle, and then everyone would have had a difficult time of it. I spent a little while looking at the neighbouring gorge, took a few photographs and went down. The descent along the rocky ridge was fantastic: extraordinary beauty all around, only the giant Elbrus higher than you, and mountain air that is hard to compare with anything. Silence and complete solitude reigned around me. What I felt cannot be put into words; only someone who has been there can understand it.
When I came down to the observatory I saw one of my companions sitting and enjoying the view while they waited for the others. We went down together. The descent took us about two and a half hours, and in that time we stopped only once, at the waterfall. My companion tried to get close to the water to take good photographs under the spray, and ended up taking an enormous boulder on the shoulder, which was lucky, because it could have been worse. It turns out this waterfall can throw stones down. By then the sun was beginning to hide behind the mountains, clouds suddenly caught up with us and it began to rain. I managed to get a fine shot of the sun breaking through the clouds. The road to the ice station at three thousand four hundred metres was blocked with large boulders, especially in its upper part. We walked along a barely visible path, and one of the most experienced climbers among us only just made it to their bed, fell onto it and refused their supper.