Not much time has passed since my climb, a week at most. But I have already come back to myself, so I can tell it in order. Let me say at the outset that I am not an enthusiast or a regular on walking trips of any kind. More than that, Elbrus was, you might say, my starting point. It all began when a friend rang me about six months before the climb and suggested going to the mountains. He said they had already put together a good group and I was the only one missing. In time, of course, that group fell apart, but the fire had already caught in me.<\/p>\n\n
I can say without any exaggeration that at the time I had no idea what a mountain trip actually was. I understood perfectly well that a beginner should not go into the mountains alone. So I set about finding, quickly, the best travel company I could, one I would not be afraid to make such a climb with. And luckily I found people like that. The operator was recommended to me by an old friend. Their account impressed me and I decided not to think about it for long but to go to the mountains with them. I was happy with both the pricing and the quality of the service. But I had time before the start, and I understood I needed to begin preparing as soon as possible. I read a great deal about preparing for a climb and in the end decided to take up running. I also read that walking up to the top floors of tower blocks is very effective preparation for going up a mountain. At first you go up and down with nothing, and then over time you start loading yourself with a bulky rucksack. Besides the physical preparation I also had to put my equipment together. I had nothing at all. I knew that climbing equipment is expensive, so I decided to buy some of it and pick up the rest from a hire shop when I got there. All the more so since I was not sure that climbing mountains would become part of my life. Either way, you should try first and work out the rest afterwards. And then came the moment when I understood that I was completely ready for the climb. I finished packing my rucksack about a fortnight before leaving. I remember walking round it in circles wondering how I was going to carry it. It seemed impossibly heavy to me. And yet it held everything essential. After a while I realised that thinking too much is bad for you. It would work out somehow. In any case I would not be there alone. And I was reassured by the thought that it is not only strong men who go to the mountains but slight young women too. And somehow they carry those enormous rucksacks. So I would certainly manage that load.<\/p>\n\n
I got there without any trouble. I arrived the evening before and reached the hotel in about ten or fifteen minutes. Everything seemed genuinely close by. As it turned out, almost everyone had already gathered. We introduced ourselves, and it was good to find that they were all cheerful people. That matters a great deal in the mountains, having support around you. And there is a risk in it, when you go into the mountains for the first time and do not know who you will be sharing a hard road with. But there is nowhere to go, and you have to rely on yourself alone. So we spent the night and set off. On the first stage, towards the airfield where we were to camp, the hardest thing was the weight. It was hard to get used to the rucksack, to the breathlessness. As I walked the steam came off me. That was when I realised my preparation had not been enough. I did not look around much that day, I simply walked. In time the place starts to work on you. Things change in your head and something clicks. That was when I saw a great many ground squirrels. They struck me as unbelievably quick. On the first night I did not sleep at all. At around four a light rain began. But by the time we had to climb out of the tent, it had settled. Then we had about five hours of climbing to do. We carried up equipment and food.<\/p>\n\n
The second day was easier. That was how it felt, at least. Our third night, though, turned lively. The weather suddenly broke and two tents were blown away. We were lucky, because ours held. I remember perfectly the moment when we were inside holding the tent down with our hands and feet with all our strength so that it would not go. Everything was shaking, as they say. The instructors even came running to check we were all right. As soon as they were satisfied, they ran on to check the rest of the group. When we opened the tent in the morning we saw a heap of snow fall in. A lot of us started having trouble with how we felt at that point. Some were sick, some had headaches, some had simply caught a cold. And all the time we were tormented by thirst; we badly wanted to drink. Meltwater, it turned out, does not quench thirst a hundred per cent.<\/p>\n\n
Despite the difficulties we still tried not to forget how important acclimatisation is, and so we did two acclimatisation walks up to the Lenz Rocks. They went perfectly well. There was a little wind, true, but on the whole it all went fine. And then came the night of our main push. I remember lying in the tent thinking about the weather. So much really can depend on it. More than much: the whole success of a climb depends on it. So I lay there thinking about how best to dress. Two fleeces or four? The instructors started waking us: time to get up and eat. When we came out of the tents we saw that the weather had a pleasant surprise for us. It was clear. We roped up and set off. From the very beginning I counted my steps. It at least helped me not to think too much about how far up there still was to go. So we would do six hundred steps and stop, then eight hundred steps and stop again. In time the intervals grew shorter. But I never quite got my breath back. I could not properly enjoy the beauty of the place and the views around me. The same could not be said of my companions. Many of them were far from new to the mountains, so of course they found it less hard than I did. They walked unhurriedly and looked at the stars in the night sky. I will not argue, it was a magnificent sight, but I had no time for it just then. And towards dawn my confidence evaporated altogether. The landscape seemed unreal. Rocks and snow everywhere. And the sunrise seemed to be some other colour. I had a sense of being in a vacuum. There was pressure on my head. If someone said something to you, it felt as though the voice barely reached you through the air. Perhaps these were some kind of mountain hallucinations. I could not say for certain now. And then it was time to unrope. Together we unclipped the ropes and carried on individually. The instructor told us who should walk with whom, then looked at me and said nothing much. They probably suspected I might collapse somewhere along the way. I was in a genuinely critical state at that point. It was hard not just to judge how I was but even to think. It was as though I were absent from reality. It was decided that I would walk a little further and we would see what to do with me. It was good that I was not alone. That was when I thought that being in the mountains on your own really is very hard and very dangerous. My nearest companion was, you might say, a nurse to me at that point. Thanks to that support and to willpower, half an hour or so later I got my second wind. By then I was walking twenty steps at a time. Three to five breaths and a pause. And later three breaths to a single step. I could barely move my feet, but I understood that I had to do this. The sun was bright by then, but my head was genuinely in trouble. It felt as though at least half my brain was missing. As for the other half, it was working, but not in the usual way. Who knows, perhaps going to the mountains can be compared to a healthy addiction. What I remember next is the long-awaited summit appearing in front of me. Two hundred steps left, no more. Some of our group were already up there. All of them were shouting at me to come on, quickly, join us. And then I was up, and everyone started hugging and congratulating each other. Curiously, in the photographs I look perfectly normal rather than deranged. We decided not to stay long on the summit, because it was not safe. The weather in this area, as everyone knows, can change very fast, so we had to get down as quickly as possible. And so we went down. Everyone went their own way, all of us barely alive, as they say. And then I felt my strength running out. I suggested to one of my companions that we sit on a rock and rest. That was when I told them what had happened to me, what I had gone through, the sense of a vacuum and the rest of it. They told me exactly the same had happened to them. And with that we were reassured.<\/p>\n\n
And now we are down, spending the night at the airfield. And drinking narzan from the stream. And now we have thrown our rucksacks into the car and we are driving. On one of the slopes we were lucky enough to see a small herd of horses. Then the station. We said goodbye and then I was at the airport. All of it as though on fast-forward. In the end I was home at about half past one in the morning.<\/p>\n\n
As for the feelings and emotions of it all. I have a sense now of a \u201cbefore\u201d and an \u201cafter\u201d. Most likely because for me it was all at the limit. But in the end I managed it because I got the distribution of my strength right. The pacing and the rhythm of the climb were well thought out as well. Both my preparation and my experience at that point were not enough. But I was lucky with the people around me. Very good people were beside me, and they helped and supported me in everything. And that, as I have said, really does matter. What do I wish for everyone? To go on a walking trip at least once in your life, of course.<\/p>\n\n\n\n