Let me be honest: I really had dreamed of Elbrus for a long time. And then the moment came when I firmly decided to make that long-held dream happen, whatever it took. I started preparing, and I prepared thoroughly. My training for the Elbrus climb took in running, cycling, walking up to the top floor of a tower block and back down, and so on. I also gave very careful and serious thought to choosing the travel company that would actually organise the climb. I was in luck, because friends of mine had climbed Elbrus not long before. They were the ones who advised me to use this operator. Both the price and the services on offer suited me perfectly well, so without thinking about it for long I got in touch with them.<\/p>\n
And now we are in the mountains. Or rather, on the approach to them. Our whole cheerful group is riding along in the coach and dreaming of how, very soon, we shall be climbing the mighty Elbrus. Ah, dreams, dreams. But it is a poor thing to be without them. And so, dreaming, I fell asleep. I woke as we were passing Neutrino, or Elbrus; I cannot say for certain. I saw dry grass burning on the western ridge of the Baksan valley, sending up a cloud of smoke. A good many people got out at Cheget. Our group, five of us, rode on as far as the Azau meadow. We decided to have breakfast at the Mir station. There were no tourists on the cable car at that hour, only local people.<\/p>\n
Three of my companions and I got up at about three in the morning. After lunch I decided to run a little way up the mountain. It was what is known as hill running. I ran for as long as my strength lasted. On the slope I met two people from our group. As it turned out, they were going to the end of the ridge to do some backcountry skiing. We talked for a while. I remember that I was very unhappy with my boots just then, since they were the thing that would settle whether my climb succeeded. I looked at their equipment and envy woke in me, the good kind, of course, purely the good kind. We agreed that on their way back they would drop in on us for tea. I overtake them and get away fairly quickly. Several more people are walking up above. Most likely those climbers are warming up. At least they look like climbers warming up.<\/p>\n
The sun was going down without hurrying into the mountains of Abkhazia. Everyone remembered the night before very well and so climbed into their sleeping bags. Only I stayed half in the porch, which was piled high with all sorts of things, along with the food and the pans. I was on water-fetching duty. It is worth saying that night in this part of the world really does come very suddenly, and sometimes you feel it rather too much. After six in the evening, if anyone leaves the tent it is only out of necessity. The ice is cracking again. We went on talking. What else is there to do, after all, if there is no possibility of leaving the tent? All that is left is to sit and talk. I remember we talked about a great many things. One person told us about their work, another about something else. On the whole it was not dull at all, in fact it was very interesting. I did think, though, that I should have brought a good book with me. It would certainly have come in useful, and I would at least have slept better. I remember we argued about a great many things. On the whole it was interesting and good fun. That was when it occurred to me that a group and how well it holds together matter in the mountains too. What is more, the success of a climb as a whole can depend on it to some degree. And while we were sitting in the tent we decided to play a game. We passed the turn from one to the next, and each of us had to say something that would interest the others and then develop the subject. After that one of our group went so far as to suggest a game of spatial imagination, in which you had to picture an axis rotating. I personally found the game not very interesting and rather hard to follow. But whatever it was, that is how we passed the time. And so, imperceptibly, night came on and it was time to sleep. Someone was still discussing something, it is true. But by then I felt my strength was spent and that I had to go to sleep, or the next day I would have nothing left.<\/p>\n
And so to the fourth of November. The clock says one in the morning. I do not even know why I woke; perhaps my body clock did it. I decided to sleep a little longer, though, at least until two. And now it is one minute to two. My body clock did not let me down this time either. I pulled my boots out of my sleeping bag. They were still warm at that point. But for how long? I decided to take a light snack with me: condensed milk, peanuts, halva. I decided against water, because it would have had to be melted, and we had no time at all for that. So I put on my crampons, took my ice axe, dressed properly and stepped out of the tent. I felt a savage cold. It was very dark as well. But nothing was going to stop me now. The one thing I did decide was to leave the ice axe behind. What did I actually need it for at this point? So I walk on without even looking back. There is no reason to, and in any case my jacket will not let me turn round. There was snow under my feet, and the way was about eight metres wide. Here and there I can see my own tracks from the day before. Few people were going up at that hour: about four, no more. Two were climbing towards the rocks, and the other two were the people we knew.<\/p>\n
The moon matters during a climb, I should say, because it lights the climber’s way. Its light is cold, but it cannot give heart to everyone who dreams of climbing Elbrus. Nobody but me wanted to go for the summit that night. Most likely I was lucky. On the other hand, it is somehow calmer to walk knowing that you are not walking alone. Then again, when you walk alone nothing distracts you, and it feels as though you are alone with the mountain. There is only you and it and nobody else. It is such a strange feeling, walking and taking one step after another, getting the better of difficulties and fear and laziness. Though I admit that in the cold and the dark all sorts of frightening thoughts came into my head and I felt uneasy. I waited for the dawn with particular impatience. At that moment it was like a divine event to me.<\/p>\n
And then the Kosaya Polka, the diagonal traverse itself. The sun rose above the clouds stretched along the majestic horizon. However you describe it, the sight really is spellbinding. You cannot take your eyes off it, as the saying goes. From below, the traverse had looked to me easy to get across and fairly gentle. I was sure it would take half an hour, no more; that was certainly how it felt. But I began to understand it at about the halfway point. Who knows, perhaps altitude sickness was making itself felt by then, or perhaps my strength was simply running lower and lower, which is of course entirely understandable. When I looked back I understood where I was. And I thought to myself that whatever happened I would get across this traverse, all the more so since from below it had looked perfectly harmless and easy. My wristwatch had frozen up a little. I came out onto the saddle skirting the small rocks of the eastern summit. I could see the shadow, and I very much did not want to walk into it. What I wanted very much was for the sun to climb higher and for it to grow warmer. So I decided to go back to the sunlit rocks. Out of habit I got out of the wind and began studying the whole of the way ahead. I wanted to know what the time was, because I still had to walk back, and base camp could wait for me until about midday. But there was certainly no chance of running down the way I had reckoned on the day before. And then, suddenly, my head began to ache. Or rather, it was not so much aching as beginning to spin, and I felt sick with it. Then I put the batteries in and even tried to make radio contact, but it did not work. And then I began to understand that this was the end point of my climb. I was overwhelmed with feeling and even wanted to shout down into the valley a little. I found out the time when I took a photograph and then looked at the file details. I was astounded. Could I really have spent a full two hours on the Kosaya Polka? It was hard even to believe. And I had only two and a half hours in hand. There was not much time to think about what to do next. So I decided to go down. Winning out over the weather matters enormously, of course, but keeping a promise to the people waiting for you below matters more.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Related:<\/strong> all Elbrus routes and programmes<\/a> – the classic programme from the south<\/a>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Let me be honest: I really had dreamed of Elbrus for a long time. And then the moment came when I firmly decided to make that long-held dream happen, whatever it took. I started preparing, and I prepared thoroughly. My training for the Elbrus climb took in running, cycling, walking up to the top floor […]<\/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-37352","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-articles"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n