We climb without stopping for breath. One more push – and there it is, we have reached our goal. And what do you feel, standing on the summit of Elbrus? First of all, of course, the joy of realising that you have achieved what you set out to do. We did it; we have got to the top. Whichever way you turn your head, you are looking down on everything. Even the clouds are somewhere below you. It is fascinating to see. You understand very clearly that from now on the road leads only downwards. Breathing is hard: the altitude presses on you and you really feel it. We take out our cameras to capture all this natural beauty. On the western summit there is a clearly visible boulder about a metre high. Around it lie a great many small flags, left there by other climbers. I take a few panoramic shots as a keepsake. We stay on the summit only about ten to fifteen minutes and then start down. The weather is noticeably worsening. We reach the saddle fairly quickly. But on the traverse I notice that our movement is slowing down, as though everything is happening in slow motion. I feel genuinely drained. I walk slowly; we need to lose about a kilometre of height before it gets easier. A mouthful of tea makes you feel reborn. I can say with confidence that without those tea stops the pauses would have been hard. Halfway along the traverse our neighbours catch us up. It turns out they have a spare pair of goggles – exactly what I needed. Now I can take off my mask and put the goggles on. The lack of side shields played a nasty trick on me, though: I had already scorched an eye, as if I had caught a welder’s flash. I cover the remaining kilometre of the descent looking at the world through one eye.
We get past the traverse and now head for the Pastukhov Rocks. The altitude is still making itself felt, but we are gradually feeling better. I turn and take a farewell look at the summits: there is a cloud hanging over them, which means that anyone still up there is unlikely to get good photographs. What is more, they could even get lost. The snow is melting in the sun, and suddenly one of the huge boulders breaks loose and comes flying in my direction. It was quite a sight: the rock picked up speed, bounced and flew on. I take in what is happening and start shouting: „Run, all of you!“ One lad spotted the rock and set off at a speed I have never seen before, especially carrying such a big rucksack. In the end the rock passed three metres from him. Half an hour later I got to the tent. They congratulated me on the climb, and I drank a little energy drink, which gave me a lift. People usually congratulate you on a mountain once you are back down, because most accidents happen on the descent. It makes sense to celebrate an ascent on flat ground, when you are standing firmly on the earth again.
The climb itself took us about six hours, although the route normally takes eight to ten, so we were moving at a good sporting pace. The descent took me three hours and forty minutes. After effort like that you have no appetite at all; all you want is to stretch your legs out and lie down. But there is no time for that – we have to get down today. I put food in my mouth and swallow it without tasting anything, simply doing what has to be done. The tent is packed and the mountain is already hidden in cloud. The damp is more noticeable, and as we descend it turns into drizzle. Coming up to the Garabashi station we walk through slush, trying to avoid puddles that are not always easy to see. A couple of times I go through the snow into water underneath, but thanks to good footwear my feet stay dry. The boots hold out and keep the water off, and now we are approaching the cable car. There is quite a queue there, some fifty people, mostly tourists. They are dressed rather lightly, clearly not for this weather, and they all want to get down as soon as possible. At last it is our turn. We sit down in the wet cable-car seats and are drenched by heavy rain. The wind swings us about on the small seat. There is lightning in the distance and you can smell the ozone. Water runs down our legs and fills our boots. Much as I did not want it to happen, my feet got wet after all, and I had taken my gaiters off by then. We come down to Azau, where a car is waiting for us. On the way I return the hired boots and then, as tradition demands, we celebrate the climb.
That was our ascent of Elbrus. The memories remain pleasant and unforgettable.