Mount Elbrus

“What time do you want to leave? Just so I can set my expectations straight.” My friend Shannon is asking me as I try to order a couple of Guinness. It’s 9:30 and we are at some random bar in North Beach. The band is about halfway through their first set, which has included Cyndee Lauper, Kenny Rodgers, Vertical Horizon, and the theme from National Lampoon’s Vacation. I’m not sure I answered her question, but five hours later I am settling into bed ready for my Supershuttle a scant two hours later. Thus begins my first trip to Russia.

The van dutifully appears outside my house just before 5a, and exactly 30 hours later I step off a similar van, this one with Supershuttle written in Cyrillic (or maybe it was “fleece the tourist,” I dunno). Bleary eyed I peer through the mist at the Asau lodge, at the foot of Mount Elbrus. My marathon journey has included three plane flights, three van rides, and one four hour nap in the airport in Moscow. I feel like I’m in a John Candy film.

The following day I have pretty much everything arranged for me, including mountain permits and the random Russian registrations. I get some fuel for my stove and a Mars bar or two and proceed up the mountain to the Barrels huts. The Elbrus experience is optimized for the new climber, and I ride a nice little tram up to a series of huts that function as base camp. That’s actually not entirely true, the last leg is a chairlift... one chair per. No seriously, single occupancy on the lift; I get a little too intimate with my backpack.

The huts aren’t called “The Barrels” for no reason... they not-so-vaguely resemble barrels which have been turned on their side, about ten feet in diameter and thirty feet long, room for one bed on each side. Total capacity per barrel = six sweaty, smelly climbers. Today the weather is awful, rain down low is snow up here (altitude 12,500 ft.) so there is no one in camp. I have a barrel all to myself.

The following day I decide to do an acclimatization climb. Originally, I was going to camp mid-way up the route at Pashtuckov rocks, ~15,500 ft., but the weather is so crappy that I figure I’ll get acclimated and do the route in a day from base once the weather clears. There is still no one about so at about 8a I strap on the mp3 player and begin to climb through gentle snow. Visibility is about 20 feet and I am a little gripped about getting off route... the climb itself is an easy meander up a low-angle slope, but get too far off to the left or right and there’s quite a bit of crevasse danger. My day is characterized by constant peering thorough the gloom for the next route-marking wand stuck in the snow. I get to my planned high point of about 16,500 ft and turn around, depressed at the prospects the bad weather has for my ascent the next day. I return to “my” Barrel to find several climbers have moved in, including two friendly Russians. Christopher and Max keep offering me brandy, but the weather has begun to change, so I decline and set my alarm for 2:30a.

The morning dawns crystal clear and I begin the climb shortly after three. The crunching eggshell sound of cold snow under my crampons sounds like a symphony. You know how there are some sounds that just make you happy as soon as you hear them? That’s what this was like. I move up the 30 degree slope quickly and surely. At about 5a a snow cat comes roaring by. There was a guided party of 12 hired the cat to bring them from the barrels to Pashtuckov rocks. My headlamp briefly short circuits and for a moment I am standing in the dark while this beast comes lumbering up the slope. I am worried about getting run over... at 15K feet! I laugh out loud to no one at all and turn to continue up the slope.

The party of 12 is pretty slow and I catch them just as the wind is picking up. It is getting cold so I don my down jacket and regret forgetting my balaclava. As it turns out, I will get a bit of frost nip around my nose, but for now I just bundle up, keep climbing, and wait for the sun.

As I pass my high point from the day before I can see that the route is actually pretty well wanded. In the low visibility of my acclimatization day I was really worried about getting off route -- and even brought a bunch of wands of my own in case today was similarly bad -- but needlessly. As the sun rises it is crystal clear with nearly unlimited visibility.

I push on to the saddle at about 18K feet. It snowed for the four days prior to my ascent and I end up postholing to my knees most of the way up to the saddle. It is hard work and makes for a long and frustrating section of the climb. This is one of the longest, in terms of sheer distance traveled, routes that I’ve ever done. It covers something like ten miles with almost six thousand feet of elevation gain. Think Half Dome hike on steroids in snow at 18K feet.

The snowcatters have long since fallen behind and I am all alone on the route. It is a glorious day and I lose myself in the moment, sort of lost in a mental sea of sky and snow. And then I get off route. Isn’t that always the way? Instead of negotiating a traverse across this 45 degree slope to hook behind some rocks, I opt for the direct approach from the saddle to the lip of the caldera (Elbrus is an extinct volcano). It’s actually a pretty fun variation, with secure climbing up to about 45 degrees and a Peru style tunnel through a suger snow cornice at the lip.

I still don’t quite know where the summit is, but as I crest over the lip of the caldera it becomes immediately clear. It is a quarter-mile stroll around the crater on good snow to the summit cone. I scramble up and tap the top of a small concrete pillar, maybe four feet high, that marks the summit. “Five.”

It is an absolutely stellar day and the entire range of the Caucus spreads out before me. I can see well into Georgia. After the obligatory summit self-portrait and other shots I head down, resolving to descend the actual route instead of my direct variation. The loop-around is actually pretty well marked and I descend without incident. The party of 12 watched my ascent directly up the slope and the guide grills me. “What does the summit look like?” I tell him it’s perfectly clear and beautiful. “No, what does the actual summit look like. Are you sure you made it?” Jackass. Pretty sure, I say. There’s a little plaque on top, it says “Elbrus summit.”

The rest of the descent goes by without incident and a stroll into the barrels just shy of 12 hours after I left. My new Russian friends have brandy waiting for me and we celebrate. Both of them speak pretty good English and we have a great time talking climbing and politics in a Toad the Wet Sprocket sort of way. The next day I head back down to Asau with Max and Christopher. We have Caucus BBQ, beer and a few vodka shots in true Russian style, and the following day I head back to Moscow. The flight home offers a clear view of Greenland... endless glaciers, mountains, and icebergs... what I imagine Antarctica might be like. Hmmm.

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