High Hopes and Hard Lessons

We did not learn in school that Elbrus is the highest mountain in Europe. Nor how to climb it. I did not have a clear idea of what high-altitude mountaineering is. Running through the woods, training for my fitness, I came back home. I read a message that I was invited to climb Mount Elbrus with a small team. I took a deep breath and answered, “Yes, I am interested. When we go?”

Elbrus is 5,642 meters high, located in the Caucasus mountains in the Russian part, very close to the border with Georgia. When I turned my head back to take a rest at 4,830 meters, I saw a sum of sharp mountains like a row of serrated blades, cutting through clouds and casting shadows across the endless white expanse below. Driving to the village of Azau, located in the Kabardino-Balkarian state within the Russian Federation, with a majority of living Muslims, everyone on my team fell asleep while the taxi driver played a hauntingly traditional song. The song made me think about all these regions, villages, and people. I somehow connected with the moment and became part of the landscape itself. It was early May 2017, and we were deep in the Caucasian valleys, ready to begin our adventure here at the base of Mount Elbrus. Azau is a small village with few markets, enough hotels, not so many people and only one restaurant. The village is a ski resort as well, but the snow hadn’t reached the village itself, leaving it surrounded by bare earth and patches of hardy grass and stones while the distant slopes gleamed white under the sun. It felt like standing at the edge of two worlds—one quiet and rugged, the other wrapped in winter clothes, just a little further up the mountain. It was time for our acclimatization to kick off. The plan was to climb the summit of Elrbus, get rest, and then participate in a local race up to the summit again. “Elbrus Skyrace” is a hard mountaineering race that starts from Azau and goes to the summit of Elbrus in one push. To be able to finish this race, one must climb the summit before.

The sun was very high in the sky, shining like a diamond. We are climbing meter by meter with a goal to reach 4,500 altitude for the first day. Slowly, every one of us came to that point where we saw one tent, and in the tent was the champion of the race the previous year. He was doing his acclimatization and enjoyed the view of the Caucasus, which we did the same way. It’s time to get down. The snow has lost its white colour and becomes dark blue. The sun is not with us anymore. We are alone on this part of the Earth, making our way to Azau, almost running. Dyas, afterwards, we were ready to try to climb Elbrus. We left Azau and went to the mountain hut at 3,500 meters, where we planned to overnight and, from there, start our journey to the top of Europe. As I enter the hut, I become astonished and thoughtful. It was like a medieval tavern, full of old pictures of mountaineers, wooden tables, people eating hot meals and a warm fire at the end of the room. I stopped while the others took their sits to look at one picture. It was a photo of the first Russian expedition to Mount Everest through the central north wall. One picture, a thousand words. I sit and start drinking my tea as I see in front of me a man with a down jacket written:

I didn't sleep well. Nor do I have enough time to sleep well since we start our climb at 02 AM, and I put my head on the pillow 5 hours before. I saw some of my friends, Kirkovski, Petar and Dejan, take a pill of aspirin. I put my crampons on, turned on my headlamp, buttoned up my down jacket and started moving my legs in the cold. As we were going up, whenever I turned my head back, I saw many headlamps going in the same direction as me. At sunrise, we were at 4,800 meters of altitude by the frozen snowcat, from where we needed to take the long and tedious traverse to the saddle between eastern and western Elbrus. Up to this point, I felt good and strong, each step steady and deliberate, my breath finding a rhythm with the crunch of ice beneath my boots. It was as if the mountain itself was measuring my resolve, one silent step at a time. Drink some water, eat one frozen bar, and proceed to the traverse. I entered a phase of monotonous rhythm. Nothing really happened, and I felt fatigued. Every step of mine became hard to take. My head started to hurt, and I started to make space for other climbers to pass me. What is happening with my body? “Are you okay?” Petar asked me. “No, I am not; I have a headache, stomach issues and heavy legs,” I didn’t tell him. I thought everything would be fine and I would recover soon when I came to the saddle. “So hard, so hard, I can’t go up anymore”, I was telling myself silently. The bad voice—the one that lives in the shadows of exhaustion and doubt—started to creep in, filling my mind with thoughts of stopping, of turning back, of giving up. It echoed louder with each step, testing my resolve as the mountain stood above. Dejan came, and we decided together that I needed to go down because if I continued going up, it would cause bigger troubles. I had an altitude sickness for the first time in my life. Luckily, I was aware of my state. Unmotivated and disappointed, I started to go down with Dejan, who made a sacrifice not to climb the summit that day and come with me down. The others reached the top.

This was a valuable experience for me. I learned that I need to dose my strength and go slower in altitude, no matter how I am feeling at the start. I need to listen to my body and keep eating calories so my body can rely on them. Drinking water while doing an acclimation is the key. Sleeping without issues is the best you can get in altitude, something I didn't experience well. All of these gave me more motivation for the future. I was honest with myself. This is my first time in a high altitude. Before this, the higher I was, was on Korab. I took some days off, but I did not recover fully. The race came. I stand on the starting line. The weather is very bad. “We don’t know if the race will actually take place,” Dejan said. He missed one crucial fact. This is Russia. We started. I was following two guys who appeared to go my pace without any pushing by my side. Nothing was in our field of view, but only clouds. It was cold when I reached the snowcat at 4,800 meters and took the same practice, drinking some water and eating a frozen bar. The weather was terrible, indeed, but the participants went on climbing, so I did too. We get to the traverse where some days ago, I broke. I am moving pretty well now, not passing anyone, but no one is passing me. This was a good sign of my movement. I saw red flags and realised this was the saddle, the control point fo the race. Finally, they told us that the race would not go to the summit, as I expected, and we needed to turn back here. I turn back here. I was not able to see 20 meters ahead of me, so the summit was a mystery to me. Going down, I was thinking many things. I was happy because of the experience I got but disappointed that I did not climb Elbrus. I know that the mountains have been there forever and will be here till some asteroid destroys our planet. I know I will come back one day and will try again to push my limits on this mountain. What will be the results? Who knows? The experience will tell.