Climbing Mount Elbrus – Europe and Russia’s Highest Peak

(Editor’s note: John Wutzer, an avid climber and civilian employee with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, Europe District, tackled Elbrus, the highest mountain in Europe and Russia in September. In the following he shares his experiences of climbing the more than 18,000-foot-high peak.)

Story and photos by John Wutzer

Special to the Herald Union

My climbing adventure begins with booking my expedition to Russia. This entails finding a climbing guide, securing flights, obtaining a visa, assembling my gear/clothing list and sorting other minor details.

I take a Russian roulette gamble with a low-priced tour operator in Moscow via the Internet providing a guide for the week, a local hotel in the village, all meals on the mountain, guided training climbs, lift passes to the barrel huts, barrel hut lodging and a pre-arranged three-hour airport pickup ride to the region -- a deal for €600 assuming all would be delivered as promised.

The journey begins with a Moscow-bound evening flight from Frankfurt followed by a short overnight stay. This is followed by an early morning flight to Mineralnye Vody (Mineral Water) on the oldest jet I have ever flown on and I have been flying for more than 20 years. The Tu-154 tri-engine commercial plane is a Soviet-built special from the early 1970s -- a vintage gem and hard to believe it is still aloft in 2010.

Upon landing, the engine air reverse braking procedure is so loud it sends the decibel level in the cabin off the scale. Flight attendants speak no English, prompting frequent exchanges of smiles and a need to exercise my limited knowledge of Russian. The other passengers’ blatant disregard of normal conventions is entertaining -- they are already standing in the aisles as the aircraft taxis to the gate. We land in an airport preserved in time with Soviet-era architecture.

My guide Vladimir and another client, my soon-to-be-climbing-partner, Sergey, meet me at the airport in a small taxi that paralleled the age of the plane. A handful of English words are exchanged while heavy metal tunes blare. Large Soviet-style concrete block buildings dot the landscape. Although long extinct, the multi-decade regime’s presence can still be felt. In contrast, our relaxed climber’s combined patience makes for a comforting and welcome experience.

We arrive in the town of Terskol at a height of 2,200 meters after three hours and are rewarded with the first sighting of Elbrus set against a crystal-clear blue sky. Two massive snow-covered cone-shaped mountains contrast majestically with the foreground of pure rocky mountains. The summit appears so close, but as every alpinist appreciates, distances can be deceiving. Although this town, the traditional starting point for the summit, is seasonably full of tourists, very few foreign visitors are to be seen. Russians, on the other hand, flock here for hiking, spas, exposure to nature and being in the mountains.

The Elbrus region, in the Russian heartland, detached from mainstream modern society, has a Wild West feeling. Many people carry guns for safety although they are hidden, demonstrating one of many examples of their refusal to conform to rules. Obeying traffic laws appears optional. Cows and other farm animals run wild in the streets. Older people rarely smile. Almost no one speaks English.

On Monday morning we head down to breakfast and place our order through finger pointing and basic translations from Sergey. The waitress takes down a and brings fresh milk straight from the cow. I am ready to satiate my significant first hunger of the day. The waitress returns to tell us that city gas is shut off and nothing is available. How can I get physically ready without any prepared food? Later we find out the gas is turned on and hot food will be available.

We pack for our trip to the barrel huts at 3,700 meters. These huts are long cylindrical, prefabricated structures transported to the area as shelter for climbers making one-day ascents of the mountain. We proceed to the lift via taxi and find the lifts closed because the city electricity is shut down.

Many climbers are waiting. Vladimir summons a truck with a quick cell phone call. An old, Russian army personal carrier appears -- another relic from an unknown past. We hop aboard along with many other climbers to ascend the steep, rough dirt road to the barrel huts. This will push the truck to it limits with about 10 of us in the back. Frequently stalling because of oil-fouled spark plugs, we are forced to stop to remove and clean the plugs. We eventually make it to the road’s end only to find a further hike of 200 meters to the barrel huts, with all of our gear, is required.

Our barrel hut is a cozily heated place with two large beds on each end and a walled-off kitchen in the center. Outside the hut, the immediate surroundings constitute a high-altitude junkyard including old ski cable-car towers and an abandoned steel barrel hut. Others join our comfy little cabin of 10, pushing sleeping capacity to the max -- Russians, Germans and myself – the sole American.

On Tuesday we do another acclimatization climb with a crampon trek in the snow from the barrels at 3,700 meters, to the top of Pashtukov rocks at 4,800 meters. This slow trek up and back of 1,100 vertical meters takes just under five hours -- ideal for training purposes. A bad weather forecast of snow for Wednesday forces a welcome rest day pushing the summit climb to Thursday.

On Thursday we awake at 1:30 a.m. to ready ourselves for the snow cat machine to take us to a higher position on the mountain. I wear nearly everything I brought for the climb, including full mountaineering boots, numerous under-layers, a full climbing soft shell, a high-tech windbreaker and more. After seeing the weather, a full sport winter jacket would go on top of these many layers. Crampons are essential and worn the whole trip as the surface is snow or ice. I realize two layers on my legs plus ankle gaiters will not be enough. Later, light shell Gore-tex pants go on as my third layer. I also use three winter knit hats of various weights and two hoods from my jackets. I never feel overdressed at any instance above 4,500 meters where we spend most of the day. The temperatures are just too cold for overheating. My ultra-light mountaineering backpack serves its purpose well and remains mostly empty for the majority of the climb except for a few critical items such as food, drink and sun protection lotion.

At just after 3 a.m. the snow cat brings us to the 4.600-meter point. The six of us begin the summit bid at about 3:45 a.m. in total darkness. Sergey and Mischa (Michael) and I began the day’s efforts not knowing how difficult conditions will become. Two German climbers from our hut (Karl and Ralf), in their upper 50s, start with us but splinter off in the first two hours, because of their age-defying fitness, solid experience and speed.

I quickly notice my good quality, fleece-lined, thermal winter gloves are not adequate to keep my hands warm. Even with a second tight-fitting pair of thin liners they are inadequate against the relentless wind and radically cold temperatures. We later look back and realize how we underestimated the severity of the wind. I could also feel the cold on my face and would at a point sleeve on a fairly warm neck gator over the lower half of my head, covering my mouth, but it would later restrict my oxygen intake giving a feeling of air starvation. Therefore I would have to push it down under my chin and expose my face to the biting cold but breathing was easier.

The classic way to the western summit is traversing the face of the eastern summit cone, crossing the saddle between the two and then ascending the inner west face. With trekking at this altitude around 5,000 meters and above, progress is slow because trying to accelerate only serves to speed up breathing to an unsustainable limit or worse, causing altitude sickness. We proceed at our guide’s pace and abide by his directions. Our group works well together despite significant communication barriers. The journey to the saddle takes us five hours with a number of short breaks.

I notice a spaceship-style emergency refuge and we are grateful for Vladimir’s decision to take a short rest there. I use the opportunity to slip on the third layer on my legs. My guide gives me a nearly frozen Snickers bar that I slowly chew into chunks. Both lifted my energy level and spirits. I asked how much more to go. The emergency shelter keeper, in his heavily accented Russian, indicates about an hour or two, depending on one’s speed, with about 350 vertical meters to go.

Vladimir gives me a pair of extra thin shell mittens that go over the existing two layers and provide the needed final insulation layer.

We leave the shelter and brave the elements again for the remaining summit push. I am really feeling the high altitude effects of the effort along with the wind, cold and freshly blown snow. There is a long, flat expanse across the saddle, followed by a significantly steep traverse on the inner face of the western cone between the two upper dormant volcano domes. We encounter the deepest snowdrifts on these inclines, covering all previous tracks, at times knee deep, making the footing on the steeper sections very unstable. We marched on in the super-frozen particles. I had never seen, in all my years in the mountains, snow in the form of tiny granular solid balls. They are the size of small pebbles. I feel like an overdressed infant learning to walk in a sea of heavy, compressed Styrofoam, while falling down and struggling to get up in the micro ice-ball soup.

The process goes on for an hour or so exhausting us all. We can see the peak which is frustrating. I have always had a great liking for snow in the mountains but this time, I have a complete loathing for the frozen white matter. It is wearing us down.

We cross paths with our German friends who had summited and are on their way down. They indicate that a full hour remains for our ascent. We later find out that they were the first that day to the summit, experiencing crosswinds so strong that standing upright was impossible. They celebrate hunched down. With an hour for us to go, we press on digging, wading and sifting through the deep, crystallized, sugar-like substance. We finally make it to a steeper ridge positioned at a different angle leading directly to the top that has a firmer snow surface for trekking.

After a seven-plus hour climb, at around 11 a.m. I summit. The full effect of gale force winds and extreme cold is felt under a contrastingly bright, sunny sky. This severe temperature causes frosting of even our highest tech sunglasses. A comprehensive weather website that listed temperatures at each significant altitude indicated the summit with a wind chill of -25C (-13F). This is easily the coldest wind chill temperature for any extended period, I have experienced to date. Winds howl and any bit of loose clothing flaps with a rapid whipping clap. A group of seven or eight Ukrainians just ahead of me celebrates with cheers in a their wind-garbled language. They fly their blue and yellow country flag while taking group photos. I watch in lightheaded amazement in the heat-sapping, freezer wind tunnel. The view of the distant horizon is unrestricted in all directions as the sky is completely clear above 4,500 meters with an incomplete cloud ceiling below that altitude. As the rest of my group crests the summit, I greet them with a big heart-felt gripping handshake. We also congratulate each other with hugs, high fives and wind-muffled screams of success. Cross-cultural bonds of friendship are sealed with this endeavor completed. Having conquered this immense uphill effort, a great feeling of relief sets in.

Using a single trekking pole or ice axe, it is difficult to determine the depth of each axe- or pole-plant because of the soft, deep base. This creates an additional challenge, with the balancing act of just standing or general trekking in the wind. A drunken, stumbling walk begins again in these soft, sinking, surface conditions.

At a point in the descent of a steep section, it becomes evident that all four of us need to be roped together. One slip could mean a long tumble to the saddle. Vladimir begins shouting over 12-plus meters (climber's crevasse safety spacing) in the intense wind in very broken English, nearly impossible to understand. It is a tense shouting period that tests our ability to operate as a team.

After a long way down to the flank of the western hump, we proceed across the saddle in the fierce winds. As hoped for, we stop again in the space capsule refuge. In the hut, Mischa and I take a horizontal position on the floor and contemplate this situation. I am exhausted and have visions of overnighting and returning in the morning, an option rejected by Vladimir. We rest for 10-15 minutes -- not enough to recharge our batteries. I pull out the remaining slush Cola now stored in my jacket interior and polish it off while sharing the remaining two power bars with Vladimir. I am dead tired after trekking for more than eight hours at an average of 5,000 meters in hostile conditions. The surge of sugar and simple carbs gradually takes effect. I am slowly motivated to get back vertical and to get a move on. Sergey and Mischa are tired, but I am even more so.

During the rest, I am shaking uncontrollably and noticing my condition, Vladimir pulls out a spare lighter jacket for himself while he gives me his massive down jacket -- a puffy early 1990s-style model seen in Everest summit photos. It was a sure method for maximum heat preservation in these temperatures. For the first time since the early morning start, I actually feel un-chilled and the shivering ceases, immediately building my confidence. Outside, the sunlight is bright along with the reflective snow effect and I am concerned about my face burning. I want to apply sun block but realize my lotion has frozen into a white cube in a bottle. I resort to using a less effective sun block stick.

Extreme weather, hypoxic conditions, and significant fatigue make for a slow and hallucinating descent. We proceed down in the brutal wind. I am disoriented and focus on following the group down. It is an exercise just maintaining visual contact while following in their tracks. The sheer physical exhaustion creates mental delusions. In my dizzied state, I visualize rocks floating on the mountain surface. This hypnotic haze puts one in a delicate state of questionable safety. If I step up the descent pace, I will immediately get woozy. Walking in a straight line is not possible.

A welcome benefit of descending is that, with each step, I gain a slightly higher percentage of oxygen with each breath. I am determined to get down before darkness without passing out. Again I try to speed up at times and then I feel wobbly to the point of fainting and have to slow down.

I finally return to our barrel hut around 4:45 p.m. -- 13 hours since we started. Everything aches. I’m thankful I returned with only minor frostbite on one finger, my nose and one cheek. Even though sun protection was applied, the small area of my exposed face was sunburned, wind-seared and frostbitten. I managed to stay awake long enough to have dinner with the group and went to sleep at 8 p.m. and remained in bed until 7 a.m.

We returned to town and went to a restaurant to celebrate with some excellent Russian beer and classic cooked meat on the open fire. Elbrus completion certificates were distributed as photos were taken. Later that evening we partied more with a Russian Banya (sauna) including shots of Vodka and chasers of red peppers, a common tradition.

A significant terrorist car bomb exploded in the Ossetian city of Vladikavkaz the day of our climb only 200 kilometers away killing 16 and injuring more than a 100. This made Russian but not international news. Road security checkpoints increased four-fold with abundant police, soldiers, machine guns and even a military tank on our return to the airport two days later. It is somewhat indicative of journeying in this region -- you never know what adventure is in store over the next mountain.

Despite the challenges, I greatly enjoyed the week and established new friendships with the Russians and Germans in our hut. Our time spent acclimatizing and doing preparation climbs together was excellent. The weather, the people and the food in this Muslim ski mountain town were brilliant. If you are looking for pure adventure, a seemingly unending one-day endurance climb, unforeseen challenges, explosive excitement, unpredictability of the elements, deep immersion in Russian culture and a visit to a place unspoiled by globalization, the Elbrus experience awaits you.