There were three of us that time — three girls, to be exact. Among us were two snowboarders and a skier. One of us was an instructor, one a graded mountaineer, and one a beginner, that is, with no climbing experience at all. Our goal was to make an ascent of Elbrus and then get safely back down again. It made for an interesting party. One of my companions had been on that mountain some twenty times, I had been three times, and one had never been at all. What mattered most to us then was good weather.
No one would dispute that the weather really does matter enormously for a climb to the summit of a mountain. The main difficulties, and the surprises that come with them, are all down to the weather turning. In the space of an hour the weather can change from a cloudless blue sky to a blizzard. If visibility drops, it may well happen that a climber loses the line and gets lost. And that can happen to a beginner and to a more experienced climber alike, even to a professional mountaineer. On top of that, once you allow for the number of crevasses covered over with snow, a climb in weather like that becomes very dangerous indeed. And we, after all, wanted to come away with excellent photographs. So if we were going up at all, it would only be with no wind. Otherwise we could simply be blown off. And the visibility had to be good as well, or you are left afterwards telling people you were on the summit and trying to prove it. Nobody will believe the photographs, since you can hardly make anyone out in a white-out. One of my companions shows us a printout of the forecast, and it becomes clear which day promises more or less acceptable weather. We decide to aim for that date. If anything goes wrong, we still have reserve days in hand. A couple of days before the planned climb to the summit we decide to go up towards the Barrels to acclimatise. Then, with the same purpose, we climb to the Pastukhov Rocks. We spend the night at three thousand eight hundred metres. After that came a so-called relaxation day. I decided, though, that my acclimatisation was going quite well enough as it was, and so I did not go up to the Barrels but joined the others on the eve of the climb — one day before the planned push to the summit, to be exact. Unhurriedly we walk towards the hut. The girls go off to learn self-arrest on a snow slope, while what I want is as much sleep as possible. Oddly, I felt no nerves at all. I try to make sense of my own feelings and start to see that I am probably less nervous than the others because I do not want to get up there quite as badly. I had been there more than once. I had even skied down from there about seven years earlier. And even if we did not manage to climb it, I would not be badly upset. Less upset, at any rate, than the other girls. I also have fewer worries and anxieties than Vika, since she is going as our guide. She carries an enormous responsibility. She has to go first, choose the line and the pace, and take the important decisions. The whole evening passes in thoughts of that sort. We ate, packed our rucksacks and set the alarm — for two in the morning. We barely slept that evening, and what went on in the night is hard to imagine at all. It was the old story: they got us up but forgot to wake us. In the end I only came round in the snowcat, as we were riding up. And it was simply impossible not to wake up then. Incredible landscapes were opening in front of us. They were fantastic to the point of unreality. Views from another world, lit by the moon. I even asked myself, silently, whether this might be euphoria. Low oxygen pressure at great altitude is known to bring on a condition that ranges from slight discomfort all the way to death. Altitude sickness can also take a different course in different people. In some it shows itself as a sort of malaise: the head starts to ache, nausea appears. In others it takes the form of mental disturbance, and those people may fall into depression or into euphoria. Euphoria is marked by high spirits, excessive gesturing, talkativeness, cheerful laughter for no reason and a carefree attitude to everything around. And after a while that state can give way to a collapse of energy, apathy and melancholy, and interest in everything around you dulls.
I have to say as well that sunrise on Elbrus is, without exaggeration, the most extraordinary and beautiful thing I have ever seen. You climb in pitch darkness up a fairly steep slope that starts right at the Pastukhov Rocks, and then, away to the right, the sky begins to lighten. Another half hour and it is coloured right through in a smooth gradation from dark blue through pink to pale blue. And to the left the shadow of Elbrus itself, in all its beauty, appears in the sky… Those pictures are, on the whole, the main thing that stays with you. It is just as well that you remember rather less clearly the heaviness in your legs, the tiredness, your own laboured breathing, the noise in your head. This time the climb really did not come easily. At the saddle the thoughts started coming: what do I need all this for, is it not time to turn back? But moments like that simply have to be endured and got through. And here, at last, is the summit itself. We happily start taking photographs. We do not congratulate each other yet, because it is too early for that: the descent is still ahead. But where for many mountaineers the descent is a hard test, for us it was pure pleasure. I remember how many envious looks there were as we swept past on the way down.
There are, I should point out, several ski descents in use now: the descent by the classic ascent route to the Barrels, the descent from the East summit towards the Irik gorge, the descent to the north, and the descent to the west that one of our own climbers scouted recently.
We decided on the first of those. It seemed simpler to us, and it brings you straight back to the starting point. We were a little worried about what the snow would be like. Sometimes the snow between the saddle and the summit really is hard. It can also be wind-packed, with sharp sastrugi. As it happened, we were extraordinarily lucky: fresh snow had fallen not long before our climb. Where else can you find untracked snow at that time of year? Only in Chile, perhaps. We needed to take a couple of photographs, and so we gave up the temptation of running the whole section in a few long turns.
The section below the saddle was certainly not among the pleasant ones. First a fairly long diagonal traverse; the snowboarders even had to walk that part. Below it the slope was rather like a washboard, above all because there had been no sun. Our legs really were very tired by then. There is strength enough for a couple of turns, and then a stop. Faster than the climbers on foot, all the same. Only just before the hut, below the Pastukhov Rocks, is there a chance to let the skis run again and finish with a certain feeling of joy and pride. For that climb I am simply beyond grateful to everyone who was there beside me.