Let me begin my account of the climb with the stage that stayed with the whole team for a long time. The weather was thoroughly unkind that day: the rain did not stop for a minute, as though it were testing how much we could take. We walked under endless streams of water, soaked to the bone, and only once we had put up the tents did the rain finally stop, as if showing us a little mercy. That first day gave us a baptism of fire of sorts and made us accept the harsh reality of the mountain climate.<\/p>\n
The next day, as planned, we started our ice work. We learned to walk confidently in crampons, practised moving as a rope team, and even tried a screw-in ice anchor, which was a new experience for many of us. Coming back to the meadow after the session, we packed up camp and headed for the next point on our route: the meadow with the wonderful name of the Green Hotel, which the locals sometimes call Zelyonka. The walk there took us about two hours, and we managed to tire ourselves out thoroughly in that time. Covering that distance on the second day running was ordinary training for some and a genuine test of endurance for others. The next day was meant to bring us something special, because Verina was on the plan, and that demanded focus and everything we had.<\/p>\n
The third day turned out to be critical for many of us. That is usually when altitude sickness starts to show. Despite the hour, we set off on the climb at around four in the morning. The way lay in darkness, but happily our head torches lit the path perfectly well. We took the lower path leading onto the glacier and, of course, put on our crampons. As it began to grow light we followed the tracks of earlier groups and moved on towards Gumachi. We breathed a sigh of relief when we saw no crevasses on the glacier. By all accounts, back in ninety-nine there were a great many dangerous breaks here, but now the glacier looked quite safe. Our group was strung out over a long distance: some were a long way behind, while several people up front kept the pace without easing off. By eight in the morning we had reached the rise to the pass, which from below was an imposing snow slope, with rocky ribs spreading out above it.<\/p>\n
Since it was fairly cool in the shadow of the ridge, we started up towards the pass, supporting one another. One of our companions decided to stay below and wait for two women in our group who had fallen behind on the approach. When we came out on the col we were met by clear, sunny weather, and we settled happily on the rocks, stretching our stiff legs and waiting for the others. We had a long wait, an hour at least, and by that time one of our companions was feeling really unwell \u2014 altitude sickness was beginning to cut into their strength. Soon one of the women caught us up, and, splitting into two rope teams, we carried on up towards the shoulder of the snow-and-ice summit. One member of the party was almost on all fours, but once past the shoulder felt easier \u2014 perhaps the physical effort helped take their mind off how they felt. The narrow snow ridge running from the shoulder to the summit itself was a fairly difficult stretch. Steep drops fell away to right and left, and at moments like that you cannot help wondering how beginners with no mountain experience manage climbs like these. But the summit drew us on, and left no time for fear or doubt.<\/p>\n
When we reached the summit, a stunning view opened up in front of us, one that took your breath away. The feeling is impossible to convey, and slightly unreal. For a moment we forgot all the difficulties and simply enjoyed where we were. Before long, though, the second rope team came up, and with the wind strengthening it was clear we could not stay on top for long. Our friends set off down first. I thought about how hard the second rope team would find that narrow ridge. Banning everyone from coming up would of course be unfair, but letting everyone go seemed frightening too. Even the more experienced rope team ahead of us was moving with great care, and it was hard to imagine how less experienced people would manage.<\/p>\n
We began an unhurried descent, and then heard what sounded like the others hurrying us along. Remarks of that kind stung a little, because every one of us understood that going down is not simple, and dangerous besides. We watched our inexperienced companions moving along the ridge, slowly but steadily, working through every metre. It took about two hours, full of belaying each other over an ice axe, congratulations and embraces, until at last the whole group was together and we started an orderly descent back to the pass. Coming down from the col, one of the party suggested using a thirty-metre abseil to make the way easier, and we took the idea up gladly, carrying on slowly and carefully down to our Green Hotel.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Related:<\/strong> all Elbrus routes and programmes<\/a> – the classic route from the south<\/a>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Let me begin my account of the climb with the stage that stayed with the whole team for a long time. The weather was thoroughly unkind that day: the rain did not stop for a minute, as though it were testing how much we could take. We walked under endless streams of water, soaked to […]<\/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-37344","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-articles"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n