This was not some soul-searching journey. Elbrus wasn't even on my radar. My friend Robert had missed out on the climb twice: first in 2011 when the expedition was cancelled due to unrest in Georgia and a second time in 2012 when his dad passed away the day before he was scheduled to leave. When he returned from dealing with all the funeral arrangements, I told him if he were to try again, I would accompany him. I think deep down inside I was hoping he’d go with a simple: “Thanks, that’s very nice of you” and leave it at that… but I got: “Let’s do it!”
Crap. Just like that, the highest mountain in Europe, one of the infamous seven summits, made it to my list.
July 21, 2013
The volcano lies in Cheget, Russia. It takes a 2:30 hour flight from Moscow to Mineralnye Vody and a 3 hour bus ride to get there. Once settled at the Provolot Hotel we had dinner with our group and rested after a long day of travel.
July 22, 2013 [94% Oxygen - 65 Heart Rate]
Acclimatization climb (1 of 3). We were scheduled to hike up Mount Cheget, but it was being patrolled by the Georgian militia and our Russian guide, Yuri, deemed it dangerous. So, we hiked up a different mountain until we reached an observatory. Left at 9am, returned at 3:20pm. Took us 3hrs 15 minutes to reach the top. Height: 10,060ft. Total miles traversed: 12.
On a side note, I selected Devin Townsend Project's "Grace" as the theme song for this climb. I really have no clue what it's about, but it sounds EPIC! Much in the same way Anthrax's "In The End" did during my Kilimanjaro trip.
July 23, 2013 [95% Oxygen - 62 Heart Rate]
Off to Mount Elbrus! We left the hotel at 10:30am, stopped at a mini mart so everyone could get 5 liters of water. Two cable car rides and a ski lift later and we're at base camp (12,500ft). We got assigned barrel #2. There's 6 people to each barrel. We did our 2nd acclimatization hike to the Diesel huts (13,123ft) and back. Took us 3hrs. So far, so good.
July 24, 2013 [90% Oxygen - 70 Heart Rate]
Last night the winds were so strong the barrel was rocking... and these things are attached to huge slabs of concrete! Here's the thing about sleeping at high altitudes... you don't. Its interrupted sleep, you're constantly in and out of rest. You develop a mild headache and you lose appetite. That said, my oxygen level this morning was at 90% which is pretty good.
Today was our third and last acclimatization hike. It was brutal. Weather was perfect, the sun was out, visibility was excellent, until we were reaching our goal: the Pastukhova Rocks. A whiteout set in and the wind got nasty... but we made it. 15,200ft. One of the South Africans in the group estimated the temperature at 23°F. Took us 4:25 hours to get there, 2 hours to get back (downhill is not my strong suit). I was beat.
I’m really close, I can feel it… but my body is shutting down on me. I’m sluggish, dragging my ice axe. My feet have turned to stone. The frequency of my breathing stops has increased considerably. I’m in really bad shape, running on sheer will and determination. I still can’t see the summit…
Thankfully, Yuri read the situation and swiftly grabbed my arm to help me during the final stretch. He lays down the strategy: the path is marked with flags; we will walk from flag to flag until we reach the top. Yuri pushes me forward. Little by little, we make our way, stopping at every flag, where I attempt to catch my breath. I’m mindful of my extreme fatigue, but I don’t care. I will make it dammit.
1:00pm - And there it is! The summit is within reach. Yuri and I press on. My group sees me and starts egging me on. I’m almost there! One final push and I’ve made the summit! 18,510ft! Temperature? A cozy -9.4F! Everything’s kinda blurry. We hug, celebrate, take the obligatory pictures and video. I try to savor the accomplishment, I take in the clouds, I think about everything I’ve gone through, but overall, I give thanks. Thanks for my family’s health, for the never-ending support and encouragement of my friends, for the opportunity I’ve been given, for the success…
“Ok, let’s go!” yells out Sean, and we start our descent. Ten minutes in Robert tells me, “sit down, rest a little”. I ask for water, which he supplies. Sean sees us and says, “He can’t stop, he has to keep going down, you can’t let him fall asleep, he’s falling asleep”. I hear him and think, “What the hell is he talking about? I’m certainly exhausted, can’t breathe, but I’m not sleepy at all.” The next day Robert would tell me that at that moment, my face was stoic, expressionless and my eyes were wide open, looking at nowhere in particular. The way I saw it, the worst was over, but they were concerned. So I stand up and keep heading down.
And we’re back at the saddle. I need to pee. This is a mayor undertaking. I remove my mittens, keep my glove liners on. Immediately the cold envelops my hands. I maneuver through my harness and unzip my rain pants, then I unzip my regular pants, after that I’ve got two more layers to get through: my long johns and my underpants. I take care of business and start to grapple with the first zipper… I can’t get it to go up… my hands are cold… You know what? Screw the zippers! I lower my jacket, put on my mittens and I’m off!
My pace is slow. Even though I’ve descended 2,000ft, I still have trouble breathing… something’s not right. There should be more oxygen available at this altitude; my body should’ve recovered by now. My group keeps their pace, Sean stays with me.
The mountain feels infinite. Sean implores me to speed up my pace. We’re taking too long. I ask what time it is. “After 4pm”. I’ve been at this for 12+ hours?!?! He suggests I slide down the mountain. He didn’t have to ask me twice.
I strategically place my boots in front of me to avoid chunks of ice and snow from hitting my nether regions. I’m making progress. Other climbers see me and all of a sudden 5 or 6 of them join in the fun. I’ve started a movement!
The snowcat is in sight! I’m spent. Yuri appears from out of nowhere, and like a Yeti, grabs my gaiters and literally drags me to the snowmobile. We’re drained, but content… unfortunately I got a seat near the front and felt the weight of everyone on me once we started our descent.
I finally make it to the barrel, my roommates (barrelmates?) help me with my gear. I lay down. I close my eyes. I smile… in my head. I was too tired to actually move my lips.
July 27, 2013
Breakfast on the mountain and we head back to the hotel. Once in my room, I noticed I was still out of breath. Hmm… asthma! Now it all made sense… I thought the lack of oxygen was to blame for my poor performance on the mountain… but I was really having an asthma attack! Got out my inhaler and I was back to normal in no time.
The question I get asked the most whenever I decide to embark on one of these expeditions is: “Are you ready?” My answer is always the same: “No”. One would think the right thing to say is “yes”, “of course”, or if you which to reek of confidence and bravado, you go with the cliché: “I was born ready”; but the truth is, unless you do this for a living, or you have an 18k feet mountain in your backyard you get to hike up on the weekends when you’re bored, you really aren’t. You train as hard as you can, you research like crazy, get the right equipment and other provisions, get a medical checkup and then you just get there, start climbing and hope for the best. The mountain will always test you. You have no choice but to adapt, build up your mental fortitude, fight the elements and continue, until you finish.
Experiences such as these prepare you to deal with life. The good and the bad. Little did I know a bigger mountain awaited me when I got back home…
I’m exhausted, I start to lag. Oxygen, it’s so underrated. A couple of my fellow trekkers stay behind me, even though I’m aware they could easily forge ahead. It helps. I’m appreciative. I take three steps, stop, breath three times, try four steps, stop, breathe four times, take five steps (rinse, lather, repeat) until I can’t improve any more on my pace.
After what seems like a lifetime, you reach a section where you have to be tied to the mountain using your harness to protect you from slipping, falling down a cliff and you know, dying.
ELBRUS - 18,510ft - Summit: JULY 25, 2013 - RUSSIA
July 25, 2013 [91% Oxygen 72 - Heart Rate]
Training day. We practiced walking up and downhill with our crampons. We also practiced ice axe self arrest (how to stop yourself from sliding downhill if you fall). That we did without our crampons because last year somebody stabbed himself with one of the spikes and they had to stitch him up with dental floss! He still summited. I got a little snow burn on my stomach because I forgot to tuck in my shirt (rookie mistake).
We get the rest of the day off… to recharge before summit day. I managed to get some shuteye in the evening. The night, however, was another story. Nerves set in, and you really can’t control the anxiety. So I got my iPod out and played Miles Davis’ “A Kind of Blue” trying to contain my excitement and allow Morpheus to take me away. I got maybe and hour or two in before we had to wake up.
July 26, 2013 - SUMMIT DAY!
2:00am - Eyes open, get dressed, have breakfast.
3:00am - One hour ride up in the snow cat to the Pastukhova Rocks. I was lucky to get a seat far away from the exhaust pipe.
4:00am - It begins. We start ascending, in a zig-zag motion up the mountain. It’s cold, it’s dark, it’s steep, we’ve got our headlamps on. Yuri leads the pack while Sean Disney, world renowned mountain guide, expedition leader and international man of mystery takes care of the rest.
The plan: 6 hours to reach the saddle (the area between the two peaks), followed by 2 additional hours to summit. We stop every hour for a short break, get hydrated and fuel up. Nutrition will consist mainly of energy gels (protein bars turn rock hard with the cold, rendering them useless). The descent should take 4 hours.
Right from the get-go, my hands are freezing cold. My mind starts to wonder: “is this normal?”… “can I deal with this for 12 more hours?”… “maybe my gloves are torn?”… “should I change into my mittens now?”… “but how can I do this without falling behind?”… “perhaps I should wait till the first break?”... my fingers started to hurt, I could feel the cold deep in my bones… “am I risking frostbite?”… “will I be able to play guitar after this?”… “what’s the meaning of life?” Ok, that last one I didn’t actually ponder.
After contemplating the possibility of losing my fingers and the potential demise of my future career as a rock star, traveling the world, playing prestigious concert halls, fending off a throng of beautiful women everywhere I go to avoid getting trampled… I decided to ask Sean for assistance. Once my mittens were on, I started to feel much, much better.
My comfort was short lived. All of a sudden my wrists and forearms were hurting. I neglected to pass my hands through the straps in my trekking poles, which I compensated for by using excessive force, fearful of loosing my grip. Losing your poles means hiking up the mountain without the benefit of transferring energy from your legs to your arms and it profoundly diminishes your stability, putting you in a great disadvantage. I was hell bent avoiding this, and my arms were paying the price. At the second break I took some time to correct this. Problem #2 solved.
6:00am – Feeling good. Sun’s come out. The view is impressive. A pinkish haze surrounds the mountain. We turn off our headlamps.
I’m slowing down… getting tired… hmmm, what is this? I relinquish my place in the top 5 hikers as to not slow down the momentum of the group.
With every passing hour, my body gets more and more weary. I think the lack of oxygen is getting to me, but I still have a long way to go. I try not to worry. Every time we stop for a break, Robert helps me with my snacks and water. I’m too worn out to get them myself. Again, I try not to worry.
We keep on. Suddenly we start getting hit by very strong crosswinds carrying snow with them. It knocks one of the trekkers to her knees. You have to stop and lower your whole torso and your head, assuming an aerodynamic position to prevent losing your balance.
8:00am – I’m still struggling with fatigue. If it weren’t for Robert’s assistance, I’d be in dire straits. I tell him I feel like his special needs son. We laugh. He shares one of his gels with me… it tastes horrible… it tastes like… coffee! Ugh. I give it back. He makes me finish it.
9:00am – Yuri announces we’re 50 minutes away from the saddle. I tell Robert, “I’m doing this. In the name of all that is Holy, I will complete this mission… whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches… we shall fight on the hills, we shall never surrender!” Something like that.
10:00am – We’ve reached the saddle! We’ve been at it for six hours. I’m short of breath. Being an asthmatic, I blame my poor lung capacity (87% - I had it tested the week before leaving Puerto Rico) on my inability to process a higher quantity of oxygen. I take off my backpack and leave my polls. We continue the rest of the journey solely with our ice axe.
Elbrus has two peaks, you hike up the left one… it is precipitous. Yes, I used a fancy word: “precipitous” - the only way to describe how abrupt the angle of ascent is on this thing.