Let me say from the outset that the northern side of the Elbrus region genuinely deserves its reputation as a little-visited part of the world. Nature here is practically untouched, which speaks of minimal human interference. It is therefore logical to assume that the more popular route for a climb is the southern one. The southern slope is equipped with good cable cars and a variety of caf\u00e9s, which makes it suitable for mass tourism. If, however, you want to get away from civilisation for a while and touch nature in its original state, the northern side of the Elbrus region is the ideal option. It is also important to say that the northern route requires a certain level of physical preparation and is a serious undertaking. The climb is a long one: you have to cover about two kilometres in the vertical. The base camp from which the climb begins stands at 3700 metres, while the eastern summit reaches 5621 metres. Above three thousand metres, an unprepared person may develop symptoms of altitude sickness. For comparison, the assault camp on the eastern slope stands at 4500 metres, on the western slope at 4600 metres and on the southern slope at 4400 metres. These figures may mean nothing to some people, but climbing 700-900 metres in the vertical can turn out to be quite hard. Beyond that, Elbrus is considered not only the highest summit in Europe but also the coldest place, where even in July the temperature can drop below zero – a similar situation to Antarctica and Greenland.<\/p>\n
Any discussion of climbing Elbrus has to touch on acclimatisation. Without it the climb can be very hard indeed, especially for anyone in the mountains for the first time. Acclimatisation is the body’s adaptation to high-altitude conditions. Unlike on the plains, in the mountains the body needs time to adjust. Acclimatisation can be aggressive or gentler, and choosing the method really does matter for anyone planning to climb Elbrus. Technically the climb is not especially difficult; the main task is adapting to the altitude. Gentle acclimatisation means spending around two weeks in the mountains with a gradual gain in height. You do not have to carry heavy rucksacks, and a gradual gain over two weeks can help you acclimatise. Even so, a schedule like that does not guarantee protection from altitude sickness: the risk depends on individual susceptibility, on how fast you gain height and on the altitude at which you sleep.<\/p>\n
In our case, six days passed between our first night out and the start of the summit climb, and we decided that ours would have to be an aggressive acclimatisation. The first day proved to be a walking day: we had to cross the Balk-Bashi pass, climbing from 2000 to 3700 metres in seven hours. Since it was the first day, all the food was in our rucksacks. Many of us reflected at that point that we had brought far too much that was of no use in the mountains. It became distinctly unpleasant, because with a heavy pack you had to keep climbing while there was less and less oxygen. That can lead to altitude sickness. The symptoms can take various forms: shortness of breath, headaches, numb fingers, nausea and dizziness. For me the worst sensation was „cotton-wool“ legs that simply refused to move. I moved slowly and made stops, and fortunately my body let me carry on. I remember the moment when the group went on ahead and I stayed sitting where I was, unable to continue. My breathing rate was above normal, and the altitude was about 3500 metres. The weather was no help either: thick fog, a strong wind and hail, with peals of thunder audible in the distance. It is well known that lightning can form at the level of rain clouds, and that was exactly the height at which I found myself. It proved excellent motivation to keep moving. In the end, after crossing the pass at 3700 metres, our group pitched its tents. We had used up a great deal of energy, and the lads must certainly have been tired. Disturbed sleep at altitude is very common, but it does not in itself prove altitude sickness. I had three sleepless nights despite the heavy loads. Homeopathy and breathing exercises helped me cope, though without them there would very likely have been even more sleepless nights.<\/p>\n
The second day was the complete opposite of the first. The amount of food we had to carry had fallen considerably, which delighted us. We were descending from 3500 metres to 2500 metres, and losing height is always easier than gaining it.<\/p>\n
So everything went far more cheerfully, and, most importantly, altitude sickness left us alone. Life returned to normal, and that day the sun even smiled on us. We learned an important mountaineering technique – the traversing descent.<\/p>\n
There was a moment when we had to make a sharp descent at an angle of 45-50 degrees down a slope covered in loose gravel. Because the gravel was slipping badly, you had to lean on your trekking poles to avoid sliding down with the falling stones. This traversing technique also works on glaciers, only there you use an ice axe instead of trekking poles. One of my poles flew out of my hands and stuck fast halfway down the slope; it would have been better if it had fallen all the way. To reach it I had to leave the trail, which meant turning off onto looser ground. My heavy rucksack added unwanted momentum as well. In the end the pole came back to me, but to get back onto the trail I had to lie flat on my stomach and press my whole body against the rocks, which slid and dragged me downwards. That time everything ended well. A little further on we came out onto the well-known „Airfield“ plateau – a perfectly flat field surrounded by big mountains. It is an impressive sight and leaves nobody indifferent. The great thing is that there is no need to look for a flatter place to pitch tents, because the ground is level everywhere.<\/p>\n
On the third day of our time in the mountains we had to climb from 2500 metres to 3700 metres to the Northern Shelter. The transition from the plateau onto the zigzag trail up the mountain proved fairly abrupt, and that is exactly why this section is called the „take-off“. Fortunately the take-off was much easier than the first day, partly thanks to acclimatisation. We had also left unnecessary items in the store, which made the climb considerably easier. But the higher we climbed, the more overcast the weather became. That day we were due to reach the Northern Shelter, which met us with a strong wind and hail. The Northern Shelter is the base camp for climbers, the point from which ascents of Elbrus start. The camp includes a rescue service base, the Oleynikov Hut and several permanent cabins. I can say with confidence that the second wave of acclimatisation made itself felt, and I had no wish to spend a fourth night without sleep. So my homeopathic kit proved very useful, and the special breathing exercises helped a great deal too. If you are interested, you can find information about such exercises on the internet; they really do work and can come in handy in the mountains. Thanks to all these measures, my adaptation went relatively normally.<\/p>\n
On the fourth day we planned an acclimatisation walk to the Lenz Rocks at 4500 metres. That day we used mountaineering equipment for the first time. As is well known, the main danger when crossing glaciers comes from crevasses, which can be hundreds of metres deep. Anyone can fall into one, because crevasses are often hidden under snow. A fall into a glacier crevasse can lead to serious injury or death. For such cases you need insurance that explicitly covers search and rescue and evacuation at the altitude you have declared; the policy itself does not guarantee any particular method of rescue. A couple of times our harnesses really did save us, and each of us – some more than once – fell into one of these wretched crevasses, but only up to the waist, which was not frightening. We climbed to the required altitude in two hours and reached the lower Lenz Rocks, where our instructors gave us a course in mountaineering technique. They taught us several methods, explained how to behave properly on steep ascents and descents, and what to do in the event of a fall. We spent another couple of hours at the lower Lenz Rocks, understanding that the longer we stayed at altitude, the better it would be for our acclimatisation.<\/p>\n
The fifth day was set aside for rest before the climb, and at night we were to begin the summit push. At about one in the morning everyone in the group left base camp to make an attempt on Elbrus. The ascent took around ten hours, the descent about four. Dawn broke at roughly half past four in the morning, and I remember that time as particularly cold. I put all my effort into keeping my fingers and toes warm, because the risk of frostbite was very high. My hands were saved by a pair of sheep’s wool gloves lent to me by one of my companions – my special thanks to him for that. Warming my feet was far harder, and only walking hard helped. Stopping was extremely dangerous, but before long even walking stopped helping and my toes began to freeze. Luckily, someone suggested an effective solution – swinging your legs – and they really did gradually warm up. You have to do the exercise for several minutes for each leg.<\/p>\n
We had been climbing for seven hours and were at 5100-5200 metres. It felt as though our strength was running out, and ahead lay the steepest section of all up to the summit, so there was no relaxing. Oxygen starvation was beginning to show, and we had to rest every four or five steps. The closer we came to the summit, the more snow and ice we met on the way, and I felt that for myself. I sat down to rest, and suddenly I was sliding downwards. Falling down a mountain really does go on a long time. I was lucky to be able to dig the points of my crampons and my poles into the ice and somehow slow myself down. The final section proved anything but easy, but in the end we came out onto a plateau at 5550 metres. As it turned out, there was still about half an hour of walking to the summit. Experienced mountaineers say there is no such thing as a light wind on ground like that. At that moment what troubled us was ice, blazing sun and any unprotected skin, which burned quickly.<\/p>\n
And then, at last, we saw the summit. It was hard to believe it was so close, but there it was. Sadly, we could not enjoy being on the summit for long, because hypoxia was setting in. Our thinking began to cloud over, so we decided to descend as fast as we could. It was entirely the right decision. As soon as we had dropped a thousand metres, we felt better at once. We continued down in poor visibility – practically none at all. We dropped our things on the rocks and headed for the tents. When we woke up, we saw that the landscape around us had changed completely: we were surrounded by nothing but snowdrifts. A reminder that mountain weather can change in an instant.<\/p>\n
The next day we descended from 3700 metres to 2500 metres. I was extraordinarily glad to see green grass after the snow. It was like a magical transformation. We also learned about the stone mushrooms and the narzan springs.<\/p>\n
The day after that we went home. Of course, everything I saw and lived through in the mountains will stay with me for ever. I shall never forget the people with whom I walked that difficult road. It is something you cannot erase from your memory, even if you very much wanted to. And most of all – I am happy that my dream of climbing Elbrus came true!<\/p>\n
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