Climbing Elbrus in Russia, the Highest Point in Europe

My teammates were packed shoulder to shoulder in the back of the snow cat, with the engine roaring as the machine lurched up the slopes of Mt. Elbrus. It was 1:30 AM on summit day, and the night sky was incredibly beautiful. Looking up, I could see the Milky Way, and the moon was bright yellow, setting near the horizon. All of us were in our down parkas, harnesses, and crampons, and the steepness of the slope meant that everyone was involuntarily sliding into each other. It was chaotic being crammed in the snow cat with all our equipment, but it was far superior than climbing, which would add hours to our expedition.   

I chose to climb with the Seven Summits Club, a Russian organization, because I wanted an authentic Russian experience. My friend Polina in Boston who is Russian and used to live in the Elbrus region set up my contact to the club. The Seven Summits Club website is in English and they welcome international climbers, but their clientele is mostly Russian. On my expedition, I was the only member who couldn’t speak Russian, so all the instructions were given in Russian with partial English translations. At one point, my guide gave a 5 minute lecture in Russian with one of my teammates translating “don’t worry about the translation, just try not to die.” Despite the language barrier, my guide was able to explain the critical plans in English, such as what equipment I would need, and what time I would need to be ready.    

Elbrus as a mountaineering expedition is wildly different than Denali in Alaska. To get up to the huts on Elbrus at 12,795 feet (3,900 meters), you take a series of 2 – gondolas and a single ski chair, then a snow cat. We had the option of climbing from the top of the ski lift to the huts, but our team made the consensus that we would pay and extra 2300 rubles ($38 USD) for the snow cat transfer. There was no climbing involved to get to the basecamp huts, except the transfers of equipment from each lift and to the snowcat. This takes a bit of coordination, as the operators don’t stop the lift at any point in time. Eggs, watermelon, water, various food and equipment had to be loaded and unloaded into each gondola car quickly before the doors closed.   

On Denali, I would wake up in my tent and it would be -6 F (-21 C) outside. Over time, our body heat would melt the snow underneath the tent, creating a slope in the floor. This would inevitably make us slide into our tent mates in our sleep, hopefully not waking them up. It was also critical to sleep with our water bottles so they wouldn’t freeze. Here on Elbrus, the huts had electricity, bunk beds with mattresses, and radiators to heat the rooms. There was even a kitchen hut with a stove and a refrigerator. Leave it to the Russians to run power lines to very high altitudes.   

My guide said the snow pack on the track was only 10 metres (33 feet) deep, and therefore, we did not have to be roped up. This was quite a relief, because being roped up means that everyone on the team has to go at exactly the same pace, and no one can stop to change a layer or grab a sip of water without compromising the pace of everyone else. Mount Elbrus is an ancient volcano, and geologically different than the rest of the Caucuses range, with the slope being much more gradual. We also did not have to wear helmets, because there was minimal danger of falling into crevasses or rocks falling from above. The snow pack was rapidly melting, and fast flowing streams flowed on top of the snow. Our guide led us on top of the streams over the ice, as it was more efficient to walk on ice than through slushy snow. Despite streams gushing over my boots, they managed to not get wet.   

We had acclimatization climbs to train our bodies for higher altitudes. There were two acclimatization climbs, the second of which we ascended from basecamp to Pastukhov Rocks at 15,585 feet (4,750 meters). This climb is quite chaotic, as the climbers share the same track as snow cats, snowmobiles, and skiers. The snowmobiles speed by at top speed with no regard for the climbers, splashing snow and ice into everyone’s faces. On our rest day, we had the option of a third acclimatization “climb” which involved paying 2500 rubles ($42 USD) for a snow cat to drive us from basecamp to Pastukhov Rocks again. It was a luxury being able to relax at high elevation and get the benefit of altitude training without actually doing any work.   

The start of our climb on summit day was at 15,585 feet and the summit was 18,510 feet, leaving less than 3,000 feet of vertical. Under ideal circumstances, this would not be particularly difficult by mountaineering standards, and the climb is not very technical. There are only 4 short sections of fixed lines on the entire route. Two of my teammates got sick with a fever on summit day, one of which made the decision to sleep in instead. I woke up with a cold, and could only stomach two yogurts and a coffee for breakfast. I decided to attempt the summit and see how I felt as I got higher up. My guide set a slow one foot halfway in front of the other pace, which was nice, but as the air got thinner at higher altitudes, I found myself gasping for breath non stop.

At the rest break on the saddle between the two summits of Elbrus, I debated whether or not to tell my guide that I wanted to turn around. I had begun to feel nauseous from the altitude, was still breathing rapidly at rest, and I had gotten 0 hours of sleep the night before. Yet when it was time to move, I decided to keep going, since there was only 300 metres vertical left to the summit. On the next rest break above the fixed lines, I magically felt amazing, either from hyper-ventilating using the Wim Hof method, or anticipating that the summit was less than 100 metres vertical away. I was happy I mentally overrode my physical symptoms, and I knew at that point, there was no question about reaching the summit.   

On the final summit ridge, I would take 5 steps, stop to catch my breath and repeat. Despite the slowness, I was still passing people, and could see the summit directly in front of me. I was so thrilled that I wanted to run, but I knew that there was a likely possibility I would pass out from lack of oxygen. Finally, I was there, and it was amazing. My first of the seven summits. All of my teammates were separated at this point, but we soon caught up and exchanged congratulations.  

The descent was rough going, and I found myself struggling not to fall asleep at each rest break. I was relieved not to feel sick anymore, and I felt even better as we dropped lower in elevation. One of my team members progressively got sicker, and eventually couldn’t walk anymore. My guide attached a rope to his harness for the last stretch and dragged him down the mountain, sliding on a foam mat. Instead of spending an extra night in the huts, we packed all our equipment in a 30 minute window, and made the snow cat transfer to the ski lifts before they closed at 3 PM. It was great to be in the hotel after summit day, freshly showered and changed.   

Elbrus was everything I dreamed and more. There were snowcapped mountains that appeared to be so much lower than me, it seemed unreal. Being on a Russian expedition and having the cultural exchange was a valuable experience. I learned some Russian terminology, as well as taught some English mountaineering terms like "fixed lines," "clip in" and "unclip." The food was fresh the entire time, as everything is grown locally in the Caucuses region. I don’t recall ever tasting tomatoes and cucumbers so fresh.   

When you are a mountaineer, the suffering and survival aspect creates a bonding experience with your teammates. It brings out the best and the worst in people, but overall it connects people in a way that modern civilization typically does not. Modern life can be very individualistic, but on the mountain every action and preparation you make determines the success of the team. While mountaineering is uncomfortable and a struggle a good percentage of the time, good stories come from extreme environments, as do friends from all over the world.   

Before and after the expedition, we stayed at Hotel Povorot, a great establishment nestled amongst pine trees in the village of Terskol. In the village, high mountains tower overhead with glaciers and roaring rivers with fresh glacial waters. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner was included with the climbing fee, and the only out of pocket expenses the whole trip were the occasional beers and snow cat fees. The hotel staff even hosted a party for us to celebrate a successful expedition, which was an incredibly fun time drinking and dancing with Russians.

When I go on another expedition with the Seven Summits Club or come back to ski Elbrus, I will try to learn more than five words of Russian. I really appreciated my teammates efforts to translate and include me in the conversation. Attempting two of the seven summits in a one-month window of time has been a great adventure, but I would not object to being in a comfortable environment for a while. One thing that mountaineers have in common is having a short-term memory for suffering. If I was in civilization and felt the equivalent exhaustion from mountaineering, I would call in sick to work, but on the mountain this is the norm. I am sure it won’t be long before I plan another expedition. There will be a time when I will completely forget what it is like to mentally will myself to put one foot in front of the other.