Chapter 6 - Europe below us at the summit of Mt. Elbrus
Fighting gale force winds and whiteouts the group manage to get to the summit of Mt. Elbrus and descend to a heroes welcome.
False Summit Attempt
The Barrels, Mt. Elbrus, Russia. Sunday, June 25. 2006
9am
As you can tell by the title of this journal entry, we didn’t try for the summit. I barely slept between 7 p.m. and midnight; however, I had enough time to formulate a clear plan on how to rule Canada. I’ll have to share that master plan with you at some other point.
Overnight, a storm moved in. Apparently, lightning was all around us. I had no idea, because after midnight I was dead to the world. At one point, Keli said the entire Barrel shook from the force of a nearby lightning strike. That’s a tip for anyone thinking of breaking into my house in the future—yes, I really do sleep like the dead. That’s why I have a ferocious guard cat.
By this morning, a lot of fresh snow had fallen all the way up the mountain. The Pastukhova Rocks at 4500–5000m are now hard to make out under all that new snow. Meanwhile, Keli managed to find a place up here to rent skis for 350 rubles, so she’s off for a day in the snow. I’m going to head up to the Diesel Hut with my pack.
I guess we’re planning to try again tonight. After last night, I’m not holding my breath. Also, note the date—it’s now six months until Christmas.
3pm
I walked up to Diesel with Mike and Ahsan, wrote “Newfoundland!” in the fresh snow, ran into Keli on her skis, met Anders at Diesel, and now I’m relaxing in our Barrel after lunch. Mike has decided not to go up to the summit. He says he’s enjoyed the trip immensely so far and doesn’t think a ten-hour hike in crampons would be enjoyable—I think he’s feeling the effects of the altitude. He’s going to stay the night here and then descend to the enviable comforts of the hotel tomorrow. I’m going to be quite sad not having him with us—Mike is great company, and I think his pace would have moderated ours.
We’ve all been teasing Sergei about his skiing. He was coming down at the same time we were walking back from Diesel. He tried a fancy move to say hi to Ahsan, slipped, and had a spectacular wipeout.
Oh, and an actual Black dude has arrived at the Barrels—so the color pressure is off me!
Europe below us!
The Barrels, Mt. Elbrus, Russia. Monday, June 26, 2006
It was another night of thunderstorms. We got up at 2 a.m. to try for the summit, but Sergei came in and told us to go back to sleep. At that point, I was sure our summit attempt would be pushed to Tuesday—our last reserve day. That was depressing, since we planned to leave the Caucasus on Wednesday. It wouldn’t leave much time for washing, cleaning, and packing, let alone resting. I crawled back into bed and went out like a light.
At 5 a.m., Sergei woke us up—he’d decided we were going to attempt the summit after all. I looked outside at the heavy clouds and had my doubts, but never mind, we have to try, I thought. A snowcat had been ordered, and by 7 a.m. we were on board with all our gear. By about 7:30, we arrived at the Pastukhova Rocks (4500m).
The snow was blowing blindingly from the west as we began climbing the ice sheet. Ilya decided to join us, at least up to 5000m, along with a photographer from a local company who was taking our pictures. The conditions were truly insane: the clouds swirled around us as we gingerly placed one foot in front of the other. By the time we reached 5000m, it was a complete whiteout.
All we could feel on our faces was the freezing wind and blowing snow. A couple of times, Sergei thought he heard thunder. It turned out he was right: Ilya, who was about fifteen minutes behind us, later reported getting caught in an electrical storm. If it had arrived just a bit earlier—or if we’d been moving a bit slower—our wonderfully metallic axes and ski poles might have become quite illuminating. By 11:30 a.m., we had reached about 5230m, the start of the Saddle.
Sergei pointed out chilling remnants from the eleven climbers who had lost their lives recently. We could still see nothing but white all around. Sergei was marking the route with sticks—mostly for anyone who might follow and risk getting caught, like those unfortunate climbers. He apparently knows the area without needing a GPS. I was helping him, as was his assistant guide, Yvgeny (“Johnny”). During all this, we were feeling the effects of high altitude—each of us had a slight headache.
By the time we reached the middle of the Saddle, Keli was severely dehydrated and became hysterical about not having water. I’d never seen her like that, and I was worried. I also desperately needed a bathroom break, but when I asked Sergei, he said, “Fifteen minutes.” I didn’t want to go off by myself, so I waited—which turned into 45 minutes. When we finally stopped at a cave formation on the side of the volcanic peak, I had a moment I’m not proud of. I was exhausted, and in my frustration I snapped at Sergei, complaining about his inaccurate time estimates. It was completely irrational, and definitely the exhaustion and altitude talking—he was an excellent guide and likely saved me from my own stupidity. I did get my bathroom break, though. Believe me, on these kinds of adventures, tending to basic bodily functions can be a matter of life and death.
Keli, suffering from dehydration, extreme cold, and other stresses, had a total breakdown in the cave. I’d never seen her cry; I consider her one of the strongest people I know, so it was shocking. Eventually, we managed to calm her down (though she probably calmed herself more than anything we said or did). I also settled down and apologized to Sergei for my outburst.
At that point, I honestly didn’t think we’d summit. We were all in bad shape: Anders was feeling the altitude, and Ahsan was severely fatigued. Somehow, Anders and Ahsan rallied and revived our spirits, and with a self-imposed turnaround time of 3:30 p.m., we decided to press on towards the summit. Stupidly, I’d barely eaten. Usually, I bring sandwiches or cheese, not energy bars, and my stomach was rebelling against all the fruit bars I had forced down—I have an extreme dislike of fruit bars now. I also didn’t have enough water. Oops.
At that point in the cave, I honestly did not believe we would summit. For one thing, we were all wrecks. Anders was feeling the altitude and Ahsan was severely fatigued. I think it was Ahsan and Anders who really revived our spirits and with a time limit of 3:30pm to turn back, we went for the summit. Stupidly I didn’t eat enough; usually I bring sandwiches and cheese, not bars and my stomach was now rebelling against the many fruit bars it had so far received–. I also did not have enough water. Oops.
Because of a harness issue, I started climbing a fair distance behind the others. Fortunately, I wasn’t plagued by the extreme altitude headaches they had, but I was suffering from extreme exhaustion. The western peak, which is the higher of the two, started to appear out of the fog that we had been subjected to up to this point. The wind was driving down the mountainside, bringing more snow with it. I kept putting one foot in front of the other. Anders, who was struggling, eventually fell behind me. Passing him drained the last of my energy, and I slowed down again.
Finally, I reached the summit plateau. Everyone else had gone on ahead, but I took an extra rest and then continued slowly. I was absolutely wrecked at this point. Johnny, the assistant guide, kept talking to me, which helped keep me moving.
The summit plateau was incredible. The winds were at gale force, ripping clouds through every crevice. By now, the sun had emerged, and everything was dazzling white. I could see huge storm systems in the distance. Suddenly, the summit came into view—a small peak in the middle of all that flat whiteness. Anders, Keli (who had miraculously recovered from her breakdown), and Sergei had already summited. Ahsan was struggling, as was I, but he made it next, and finally I trudged to the top. It felt like a Herculean feat. We summited at around 4 p.m., and after the obligatory photos, we left at 4:17 p.m.
As we descended, the weather improved significantly. It had taken us nine hours to climb up, but within three hours we were back at the Barrels. We were so exhausted that we chose to pay a whopping fee to have a snowcat pick us up below the Pastukhova Rocks. When the snowcat rolled into the Barrels, it felt like a hero’s welcome. The American team was outside preparing for their summit attempt, and Vera rushed over to hug us. Sergei and Johnny offered official congratulations. As it turned out, I had neglected to use sunscreen and now sported a raccoon-like sunburn around my goggles, much to the locals’ amusement.
I still can’t believe I’ve now completed my second of the Seven Summits. It almost feels like a dream. I need sleep. It’s hard to believe my Caucasus adventure is nearly over—we leave the Barrels tomorrow. Finally, we’ll have clean clothes again and can say good riddance to the hell holes they call toilets here!
I cannot believe that I have now completed the second of the Seven Summits. It feels almost like a dream. I need to get some sleep now. I cannot believe that my Caucasus adventure is coming to an end. We leave the Barrels tomorrow - finally we can get some clean clothes and sat good riddance to the hell holes they call toilets here!
Incidentally, Mike was there to see us off in the morning. After spending the past week together, it felt like someone was missing without him along. We’ll get to celebrate with him tomorrow.
Karaoke All Stars
Azau Valley, Russia. Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Our rest day yesterday was filled with laughter and fun as we wound down our trip. We cleaned up at the Barrels and were down in the Azau Valley by high noon. As I was leaving, Vera gave me a souvenir pin and, as translated by Sergei, invited me to her nearby town. I made sure Sergei gave her a Canada pin in return and a couple of postcards after I left.
Every so often, I think everyone should experience a stay like we had at the Barrels. You will appreciate modern conveniences such as a sit-down toilet, flowing water, showers, and, heck, clean clothes and underwear—yes, too much information. An invention that some call a “mirror,” something strangely unavailable at the Barrels, showed me that I had severely burned my skin. Compared to me, though, Keli was far more obviously burned. I think she has decided to wear sunglasses until the “Gogglization” disappears. I wear my “Raccoonization” with pride—after all, I was already a freak here!
After a couple of hours of rest and cleaning (mostly cleaning—yes, it took that long), we relaxed at a local café. The first beer was absolute heaven; the second and third simply led to even greater heights of spiritual joy. Why do I have a feeling Alcoholics Anonymous will be giving me a call?
Keli and I joined Sergei and Ilya on a short hike to Terskol. I needed to get some money, and Sergei wanted to get the photos off my camera. The computers at the internet café we used were among the slowest I’ve encountered in years. I could almost hear hamsters running in the cases, grinding away at the bits and bytes. We then joined Tatiana and the others for our post-climb party.
Supper was local fare, as it had been throughout this trip to the Caucasus, where vegetarianism seems to confuse the locals. Keli, for instance, was served an entire plate of cheese as her main dish. She assured me that she would not be completely constipated from eating a metric ton of goat cheese. My main dish was some kind of quiche made with eggs. As Keli said, “Why can’t they understand that vegetarianism means vegetables?!”
The food was tasty, despite its dubious vegetable content. A couple of champagne bottles were popped, T-shirts were presented, and certificates were shared. The photographer who had climbed with us also showed up to sell his wares. My first thought was that he might have put our pictures on souvenir teacups and saucers, as often happens in Asia. I envisioned a matching set of Elbrus-themed dinnerware. Thankfully, all he had were printed photos and a CD. We’d drunk enough champagne that Keli and I both bought a CD containing the same images, which she will send to Edmonton when she returns to Canada. Yes, we were idiots.
Ilya then brought out a really nice bottle of vodka, which we promptly laid siege to. After further addling our brains, we headed back to the hotel café to continue our revelry. I managed to send my friend Craig in Edmonton a message via SMS, and when I got no reply, I called him. I realized the next day that I had sent the original message to the wrong number in Edmonton. The following morning, I received a text from that mysterious party telling me to “screw off and stop sending messages at 2 a.m.” Everything was fine in Edmonton.
The evening became quite the alcoholic blur. I recall a karaoke competition with the locals. I believe Ahsan and I belted out “YMCA,” “Californication,” Madonna’s “Music,” and then massacred everyone with “Killing Me Softly with His Song.” I guarantee we shocked them—not only with our terrible singing but also by scoring two perfect scores and defeating their angelic voices.
Around 3 a.m. (I think), Anders staggered off to bed, Mike finally beat the bartender at chess, and I helped him to his room—after which I, too, collapsed into bed.