Climbing to the top of Europe - Mount Elbrus, Russia

 

Despite some serious health setbacks, including being wheelchair bound for a while, nothing was going to stop me from being in the mountains again, and going for my new goal. On 22 June 2012 my team and I left for Russia on the adventure of a lifetime. We were going to climb Mount Elbrus, a dormant volcano close to the border of Russia and Georgia. At 5,642 m (18,510 feet) it’s the highest mountain in Europe and makes up one of the coveted seven summits. Logistically it’s quite tough to reach the Baksan Valley, where Elbrus is located, and after being in airports for 12 hours, flying for 16 hours and driving for a further 8 hours we finally arrived.

 

Our first acclimatisation hike was to climb Mount Cheget. There is a large military presence in this area, due to it being on the border of Georgia, and we couldn’t take the chairlifts up until the soldiers with their large machine guns went ahead. In 2011 the south side of Elbrus had to be closed for climbing, as the rebels had planted bombs and caused major unrest in the area surrounding the mountain. So we were somewhat anxious to get this hike over and done with.

 

We left for base camp early the next day, as we had heard that the chairlifts were not working on the last section, and this would mean a very severe uphill hike with extra-large duffel bags. Our guide, Yuriy, called ahead and asked a snowcat driver if he would be able to drive us up to The Barrels, our base camp at 3,800m, but the snow was melting fast so this might not be an option by the time we arrived. Packed and ready with around 200 kg of gear between the six of us, we set off in the waiting snowcat and what followed was the second scariest experience of the trip for me. As we started ascending, the snowcat lost traction and slid down a cliff to almost land on a pile of rocks. We all had to bail out and cling on to the rocks for our dear lives. Fortunately no one was hurt, but I was taking no chances and decided to walk the rest of the way up; this beast was not ruining my climb!

 

Reaching base camp I discovered that the ‘barrels’ are old oil barrels that have been converted into comfortable rooms, with six wooden 'bunks' per barrel. Our mess hall was an old converted container, in which our cook, Vladimir, produced hearty Russian meals and stored our water that came fresh from the mountain.

 

Life on the mountain at high altitude is not easy, and I was the only girl in our team. There's no time or space for shyness here, and eventually something as gross as seeing someone carry their five-litre pee bottle to the long drops becomes normal.

 

Months of training and preparation had us all in good shape for the long and hard daily acclimatisation hikes and final summit push - that alone would be a 15-hour slog on our feet.

 

We climbed higher and higher each day, returning to base camp at night to get our bodies fully acclimatised. The rule of thumb is to climb high and sleep low, to decrease our chances of acute mountain sickness, which is life threatening.

 

Weather patterns are totally unpredictable. One minute we would be climbing in glorious sunshine with views for miles, and then within three minutes the clouds would cover everything and you could hardly see your teammate in front of you! Temperatures range from around 5- to minus 15 degrees, with a strong snow storm thrown in for good measure. We were climbing in the summer season, and the massive amounts of snow falling resulted in us having to wade through snow as deep as my waist in places.

 

Our first summit attempt ended after only 30 minutes, with a complete whiteout and the snowcat sliding off the path toward the rocks on the glacier below. After a group discussion it was decided that we descend on foot and attempt the summit again at midnight. Mount Elbrus is known for her frightening storms, and weather alone has led to numerous deaths on her flanks.

 

After an early dinner at 6 p.m. we all settled to get some shut eye. At about 8 p.m. I fell asleep, only to wake again at 9.30 p.m. I wrote a blog entry by headlamp and started getting dressed around 11.30 p.m. As I stepped outside, the sight took my breath away. There was the most amazing full moon over Mount Elbrus, the skies were clear and there wasn't a breath of wind.

 

With crampons on, we got back on the snowcat, feeling both excited and nervous. The ride only took about 30 minutes, but felt it like an eternity before we reached the bottom of the Pashtukov Rocks at around 4,900 m to 5,000 m and disembarked. It was freezing and really windy as we set off in single file in the darkness, the only sound was the crunching of ice underneath our crampons. It did not take long for our fingers to start to freeze, and we had to stop a few times and swing our arms to get the blood flowing again.

 

After about three hours of hard and slow switchback climbing in the dark, we could finally see the line above the clouds signalling sunrise, and Yuriy pointed out the planet Venus to us. During a brief rest, we saw the shadow of Mount Elbrus' twin peaks darken the clouds below; wow, this is what dreams are made of, sitting above the clouds at sunrise! The snow slope was so steep and deceptive that just when you thought you were over the final ridge, another one revealed itself, and this is when mental strength had to kick in and will your body forward.

 

Unfortunately we had to say goodbye to three of our team members later that morning, as altitude and sheer exhaustion had taken its toll. The affects of altitude are very scary to witness, and I remember continuously doing sums in my head to test myself on the route as we climbed higher. Safety is my number one concern on any trip I undertake, and I will do everything possible to avoid falling prey to 'summit fever', which many climbers do and in many instances with awful consequences.

 

The traverse section of climbing, before you reach the saddle that lies between the two peaks of Mount Elbrus, is very exposed and the pathway only the width of one boot. I had to keep reminding myself not to look left and concentrate on not tripping over my crampons, or stabbing myself in the leg. We were now racing against time as we could see major clouds developing down below. There were a few other climbers on the path by now and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a man collapse in the path, clearly sick with AMS. Our guide tried to coax him to descend, but he would have none of it and a few hours later I saw him trying to climb the final slope, falling and swaying like a cobra!