Mount Elbrus - Part Five

The adventure proper begins here

So it’s 40kms ‘til our first stop and a chance to get water, oh the heat. Once out onto the highway and with the windows open it’s not too bad. BJ and I are in the back and drift off to sleep, this travelling stuff is tiring. We pull into a service station, the loo is beckoning as is the cold drinks cabinet. The drinks are warm and the door on the loo doesn’t close properly, which the flirty shop assistant finds most amusing, I don’t as I really need a dump. We pay for our drinks and wander out of this AC Eden back into the heat only to see Andre push the jeep off of the pump and to the side of the building. When we arrive we see the bonnet up and Andre up to his elbows in engine. Not good. Sergei tells us that the starter motor/alternator has melted in the heat, that’s definitely not good. So back into the cool and more drinks and search the freezer cabinet for some lunch.

Note for future Russian trips – Russians don’t do vegetarian.

BJ chooses a suspicious looking beef pizza and I end up with potato and mushroom pancake wraps. We’ve been here over an hour now and the solution is, after changing both components, a new jeep. Although not as tough as the ex-military jeep we arrived in it is 100% more comfortable.

We wend our way through a series of towns and then the road starts to deteriorate. Firstly it becomes broken, then cratered and more and more rutted. Before you realise it we’re driving along a rutted compacted mud track. The track climbs quite steeply; the scenery is spectacular, deep green valleys with rock outcrops. As we weave through the hills we catch up with a violent rain storm, over as soon as it starts. As the road climbs higher the surface becomes more and more rutted. The concrete road edge barriers protect the precipitous drops have fallen away where the road has eroded, it always seems that they’re the ones on the bends! I remark that there no dead cars on these slopes, so either accidents don’t happen here or when/if they do the carcass is quickly and cleanly salvaged/scavenged. You know a route is tough when you pass a bulldozer and it’s thrown a track. There is plenty of evidence that surface improvements are underway with dozers and graders but as is often the case in the UK no sign of the workers. Our driver isn’t holding back on the accelerator, we bundle along faster than the road surface should allow, hanging on to the roof straps is the only way to prevent ourselves from being displaced or bouncing of the roof.

Then without warning we veer off to the right? There is no discernible track/route but we’re bouncing crazily, laughing manically and we’re glad of the little extra padding afforded by our replacement vehicle. Off to our left there is a gypsyesque family in their family saloon stranded on a 2ft high rut and in front of us a pantechnicon truck well and truly beached. Our driver drops a gear or two, picks a new line and guns the engine and rips past the truck and family, the women look aghast as our little jeep spews dust and gravel as we careen off. Further along on a single track, on a steep hillside we meet another little jeep, face-to-face! Thankfully our driver knows the opposite number. We have to get out so that if anything goes wrong as they wriggle past each other we don’t become part of the scenery. Our driver taking the high side climbing a 45° slope, with the other vehicle driving perilously close to the crumbling edge, with an enormous drop below. A little further along the track we turn a shallow right hand bend and there before us is a deep river gorge with a huge brown cascade of water churning out and falling impressively into the ravine below.

Above it is a green meadow with what seems to be a large white “Romanian style” hotel with the backdrop of the two huge snow covered summits of Mt Elbrus. While the vista is magnificent the scale of the mountain is staggering. Following around the hillside we can see on the other side of the river our base camp. The first obstacle is the torrent of the fast moving brown glacial river we have to cross. Because we’re now in the “luxury” vehicle and not the original jeep we can’t drive across and are faced with hand hauling our kit and supplies across. A little down river is a small wire bridge that would be considered derelict in Nepal. Just upstream of the bridge, which tilts precariously to the left and to a savage drop, is a massive rock that causes the water to be sprayed intermittently over the slightly green moss covered planks, just what you need a wobbly slippery bridge over a lethal river. Sergei goes over to the camp to bring back help to convey our kit to base camp. Meanwhile we transfer some of our kit over, BJ courageously carries not only the group (both of our) First Aid Kit but also my spare kit on his head, well it was balanced on the top of his pack. Sergei returns with some military friends and the hardest looking camper van ever. They carry the supplies over and we clamber in to the van, a short wheel based off-road tyred raised body military VW style camper/minibus, with Russian Punk Rock playing, random. We bounce easily across the field, getting caught “off-gear” as we crest a steep ridge.

We arrive in the evening heat at our “enclosure” right in front of the Elbrus Military encampment, who have been here for two years retrieving a crashed helicopter from over 4500metres on the mountain. Our enclave has been trashed by the cows, Sergei goes crazy about “zous moza fugkin kowz!”, oh and the other climbers using our area as a cut through. As we pitch our hapless little plastic poled “Husky 3P”, Sergei fixes the perimeter fence line and some much needed tea.

The army camp and the team behind us have generators which kick-in at 8pm and run until 2am, much to BJ’s annoyance, and a couple in a tent over the fence behind us have a loud verbal fight, not the best first night. I discover that BJ should not be allowed near sugary food as he quickly metabolises this into gas and quite a fug can be produced in a relatively short time. BJ said he couldn’t decide which was louder the generator or my snoring, My snoring is worse, he says, because it continued intermittently throughout the night.

Mount Elbrus - Part Four

Russians don’t do aircon.

The aircon in the room is pointless, we open the windows, shower and go down for dinner. We walk into the dining room and have no idea of the layout, some tables seem to be set for a buffet, possibly for the wedding party, others laid slightly better so we sit there. It turns out to be the A la Carte section and this instantly adds the debt of a small third world country to our bill. There is a wedding reception in a room out the back, the women are stunning but peculiarly their men all look like they’re low budget porn star throwbacks. The loud music from the party comes in 10 minute bursts, despite the door being open and is a strange mixture of western pop/dance and modern/traditional Russian. Random.

Although having decided at our last meal in London that we wouldn’t drink until we had returned from the summit BJ ordered wine, just a couple of reds each. The heat, even in this vast marble clad room is intense, the Russians really don’t do AC. BJ orders a jug of water in his best Englishman abroad mixture of gesticulation and careful annunciation. The waitress looks confused, I start to laugh as she seems to vaguely comprehend. As she walks away I suggest that maybe she thinks we want a jug of vodka, moments later she reappears with a menu and points to vodka. We crack up, BJ points to Perrier and she laughs too, she must have thought we were either hard or stupid, I’d go with stupid. Once we’ve eaten we return to our room expecting to find a thin layer of frost on the walls, wrong! There is little difference in temperature between corridor and room.

We settle down for the night, still melting, the lights in this room are discoesque, there are 2 smoke detectors each with a flashing red LED and the bright blue LED on the AC control unit is illuminating the entire room. I use a couple of pieces of zinc oxide tape to cover it - it just helps to dull it a little. THE HEAT!!!

On to the Mountains

Down to breakfast and over to the buffet, this time. Then out to the minibus shuttle back to the airport, the heat and the craziness. Because of our concern of being overweight with our bags we’re wearing our big boots, not so good for being incognito but at least we’re under 20kgs. There is a great game that can be played in this airport, hunt the check-in desk and gate but we need a challenge so we add the change currency variation.

I eventually find a bank to change my dollars to rubles where the guy behind the glass very curtly tells me “closed!”, but where can I change currency “Closed!” Arse.

At the other side of the bank is a cash point, great. Double arse!! All in Russian, ok 5000Rubles, push the button, Cock! One note appears a 5000Ruble bill. Luckily I manage to find a concession that is willing to break it down. We meander through the departures area to a desk where they take our ticket and point us over to a full body scanner, on a domestic flight? Into the trays go the big boots, day bag and mobile, I step in and alarms sound “Watch!” oops sorry! Down to the VIP lounge, perfect AC, water and food, unfortunately the stern looking stereotypical female Russian official thrusts a laminate toward BJ telling us that the VIP card we’ve got isn’t valid here. We wander sweatily down to our gate, buy some water and drop down on to the floor in the corner. Better turn the mobile off for the flight. ARSE! Must have left it at security. Dash back up two flights and try to explain that I’d left my phone behind. Another stern look from the official and I’m reunited.

Our bus drives us over to the furthest edge of the airport where our 15^th Century plane awaits. I figure it’s all the way out here so that as they refuel if it explodes, which it looks very likely to, it’ll cause minimal damage to life or structure. I’m reconsidering the window seat being the best place to sit. This ancient Tupolev looks as if the windows have been hammered into place by a cross-eyed blacksmith. The oxygen being pumped around the plane is visible between the wall and window as a vapour. Or it could be the fuel vapour as they refuel. OH JEEEEZ! No, it’s oxygen, please let it be oxygen.

As we taxi across Moscow to the runway the blind rattles down, great. I push it back firmly. We continue to taxi and down it comes again, the thin blonde Russian girl next to me giggles. I push it back more forcibly this time. I smile at her, this time it’ll stay up. 20metres further on and down it comes again, she cracks up. Surprisingly we’re fed and watered on this rattley, heavily stained, overly repaired plane and it’s pretty good too. The flight is uneventful but the landscape is eye-opening, didn’t expect it to be so heavily arable. We circle left and straighten up for the approach, as we touch down the passengers clap loudly, I’ve never understood this before, this time I understand their relief. As we step off the plane the 35°C heat hits us, this I wasn’t expecting. Into the airport, I use this term loosely. More waiting in increasing temperatures, the bags take forever, after losing 95% of our bodily fluids through sweat, our bags finally appear. To exit this oven we have to have the baggage tags checked against ticket stubs, the heat!

We’re here, out in to the waiting throng, it’s a crazy scene again, and the heat. We meet our guide Sergei and make our way over to our little jeep and its driver Andre. We load our kit and we’re off. The first question is who’s been where and who’s done what. Me, I’ve done a bit in the UK, Ireland, Europe and I’ve had some fun in Nepal too. Sergei and BJ have a lot more on their CV’s so there is a degree of posturing, understandably. BJ opens with 15 Kili’s, Sergei defends with a Denali, BJ raises with South America and Sergei sees him with Ecuador, BJ comes back with 162 Alpine Peaks which Sergei trumps decisively with K2. No one will get the high ground (sic) with Sergei, a confident headstrong young Thundercat.

Mount Elbrus - Part Three

When is hot too hot?

After the crazy wet weekend we have just had, it seems strange to be thinking about heat but before the Jubilee weekend, it was extremely hot for a while – summer gone??

As Brits, we love to complain about the weather whatever it provides us with and we are no exception to this, complaining that cold is too cold, wet is too wet and hot can be too hot.

At Expedition Wise, we are always excited when the weather appears to be stable and hot on our cycle and trekking challenges but over the past two weeks, we have been wondering whether we should be hoping for overcast skies.

We have recently run 3 charity challenges over the past 2 weeks; the London to Amsterdam Cycle Challenge, the 24 hours 3 Peaks Challenge and the Summit to Sea Cycle Challenge.  With the great weather that we have been having, we were looking forward to actually seeing the summits of the mountains and having our usual good weather on the cycle challenges.  However, with the heat wave that we have had, 35 degrees in Spain, 32 degrees in London and 33 degrees on Ben Nevis (I know – we couldn’t believe it either!), I can safely say that hot can be too hot with regards challenges.

The phrase “Only mad dogs and Englishmen” came to mind more than a few times when we were out cycling in the Sierra Nevada, cycling west to Amsterdam against the very strange easterly winds and unforgiving sun, and climbing the 3 Peaks carrying all the necessary safety and support kit in our rucksacks.   When most of us would be happy sitting in the back garden with a glass of something cold in the shade, we had groups of dedicated people cycling or trekking in the mid day sun!

We used more rehydration sachets (dioralyte) than ever before and water bottles were regularly refilled.  There is however only so much fluid you can take on board or rehydration sachets that you can stomach as you cycle or trek so the groups still suffered. 

Congratulations therefore must go out to all those who participated in the challenges over the last 2 weeks and struggled through the intense heat.

Hot can be too hot!

Mount Elbrus - Part Two

And here we go!

On to the Hoppa-Bus at 5am and hope that at Check-In the big bags are below 20kgs. Unfortunately mine won’t fit in to the over bag, that doesn’t bode well. Through passport control, security and on to the first of our flights, this one takes us to Brussels.

We have to walk through security and what feels like the entire length of the country to find our gate, B92. Only to conclude that Brussels airport has the longest, straightest, continuous line of airport gates in the known world, which as we walk across a bridge over to the gate we see that it was barely 20metres from where the bus from the plane dropped us off!

The next flight will take us to Moscow- Domodedovo. In the departure lounge we see 6 other mountaineers, also headed to Mt. Elbrus. BJ becomes disappointed as he mistakenly thought we’d have the mountain to ourselves. On the plane we start chatting to them and they seem a likeable enough bunch of guys (plus one girl), laughing and joking on the plane together. Sitting next to us on the plane is a Russian girl, who BJ chats to in FlemEnglish, who cannot hide her amusement at our banter, we end up involving her in our jokes and jibes. She thinks that we’re “pretty crazy English guys”, which suits us just fine.

We arrive at Domodedovo where we witness the Russian queuing system. It’s basically form an orderly mob then lay siege to the few immigration desks that are manned. The visa is scanned, the passport is scanned, a document is produced and thrust before me. All the while I’m very aware not to squash the small child against the gate which it is intensely trying to get through, its mother hasn’t a clue to its whereabouts. The finger belonging to the official, who is very attractive but will not engage in a smile whatsoever, stabs towards the places where I must sign. The document is torn in two and one half is tucked into the passport, thrust back at me and the light atop the gate changes from red to blue and I’m in!

Now to indulge in the hunt for the carousel that will deliver our bags. Even meeting back up with the Russian girl again doesn’t help any; she is none the wiser to where we need to be. Finally we spot the other climbers and crowd eagerly at the carousel to retrieve our bags.

BOLLOCKS!!! Mine’s one of the first out and I can see that my thermos has sprung free from the pouch on the side of my bag and gone. It’s annoying for two reasons, firstly because I wanted a hot drink for summit night and more over that flask had been with me on my adventures and subsequently carried the scars of the journeys.

So with bags on shoulders we head off in search of a cab to our hotel. As we loiter by the official taxi desk waiting to find the cost of a cab a furtive guy rushes up and offers us his “cab”. We spend 5 minutes bartering him down from 4600Rubles (£96) to 1500 (£30), with that he grabs our bags finds a trolley and takes off at a crazy pace through the airport. Each taxi employee he meets he asks the way to our hotel. Between the speed he’s moving at and his lack of local hotel knowledge we quickly figure out we could lose our bags at any moment. We chase him out of the airport and into the heat of downtown Moscow and through Bedlam! There are people, trolleys, luggage and vehicles everywhere going in every direction. We pursue our driver across this crazy scene, reminiscent of that moment in a movie just before the meteor strikes and everyone is trying to make it to safety, to his unmarked/private car. As he opens the boot we see that he has his groceries in there, which are carefully moved aside so he can fit one bag in. I jump in so that he can’t disappear with any of our kit, the second bag is fed in beside me on the back seat. BJ jumps in next to the driver and we’re off!

We fly across the busy car park and towards the barriers, where we sneak through on the taillights of an authorized Taxi. The dual carriageway is heaving on the other side heading towards the airport. Our driver has no idea of right of way, queuing or in fact our basic need to arrive alive. We’re driving half off the road along the hard shoulder, which is baked, potholed, deeply rutted mud and at least a foot lower, in order to undertake at most 5 other vehicles. We point out that there isn’t really that much need to rush and then remember his groceries baking in the boot. He continues to pop in and out of the line of traffic dodging the oncoming cars. Through the trees on the opposite side of the road I spot the hotel and attempt to convey this to the driver, he flashes a look in each direction and we hurtle into the approach road. We now have to convince the driver to drop us at the front door, which he is loathed to do probably due to him not being a licensed cab. The Ramada looks so incongruous here on this plot amongst the forest, it is so new looking we wonder if it has just this moment opened.

Mount Elbrus - Part One

The Final Arrangements Begin

So having spent what seemed like an eternity completing the online visa application I wasn’t expecting to have to re-complete the forms due to mistakes. I hasten to add not caused by either BJ or myself but because the Russian visa application forms are written in translated English which bears no resemblance to 20^th/21^st century English.

Because I wasn’t prepared with my login details, or BJ’s for that matter. I had to go through the whole process again, twice! If it hadn’t been for the crazy login password system where symbol one, upper case I and lower case L are all the same (???) I wouldn’t have had to start my 3^rd application for having got the date wrong. So 2hrs20mins and £141 each later the visa applications are in, just hope they’re processed.

Wednesday arrives and so do the passports, complete with visa’s – WE’RE OFF TO RUSSIA!!!

Having bought another powermonkey to ensure enough power for the duration of the expedition I decide to minimise the wash kit and there is the missing monkey, bollocks! Oh well I’ve now got three of the little buggers so that should keep us going.

Manic calls between BJ & I to check and recheck the kit list and how to cut down on weight. Convinced that we’ve got the optimum balance between necessary and desirable we agree that enough is enough and will meet on Friday at the airport hotel for the final meal.

PKG the faithful girlfriend and calming influence takes me to Heathrow. All along the way she soothes my worries and woes as only she can. I’m so lucky to be blessed with her, but I couldn’t leave for one of my trips without her ritual delivery of me and my kit (quite often several hours early).

Three Peaks Challenge

The Third of Parts - The Ritual Begins

What a sleep. I’m feeling quite relaxed, but not ready for the shower controls, not the time for experimentation. WIDE AWAKE NOW!!!!!!!! Jeeeez that water’s cold.

The 3P ritual starts – pick up the minibus – take the seats out – discover the cigarette lighter doesn’t work – rig it up – blow fuse in base station radio – swear – load up more hand radios – load bus and set about the midget gems – 6hrs later rock up in Glasgow.

A huge feast, plenty of banter and then to bed.

Part of Four

So having met the clients we head North and up to the Ben. Weather’s perfect and the general mood is good, with a little apprehension, all healthy though. The team’s great from the start, instant bonding, a lot of innuendos, girls are worse than guys.

Despite a couple of injuries brought to the hills, the spread across the hill is pretty good. The heat isn’t helping but everyone is in premium spirits.

Grim determination has brought the guys out at 3:45am and off up Scarfell Pike. The weather, again, is exceptional. The views are magnificent, although the temperature on the summit comes as a shock to some of the team. I meanwhile decide to rest my knees after ragging them on the Ben under the big bag. The trip is now just one week away so I’m taking no chances with injuries.

The team returned with just 2 members that are not going on to tackle Snowdon. I can’t believe the tenacity with which these two approached this challenge. One could hardly get themselves off a hill in training because of their knees, while the other could hardly stand on top of a hill because of vertigo. For the sake of my knees I stripped my pack down to a 3L bladder backpack and the top of my pack turned into a bumbag. One of the team suffered hugely from fatigue but wasn’t going to be beaten. With the smallest of encouragement, we went for the last summit and finished just shy of 24hrs, not a bad result.

My joints ache and I know I’ve given it some but I’m not broken under the weight of the big bag.

Mt Elbrus - The North Face and Beyond!

The South Face of Mt Elbrus has re-opened and the Expedition Wise team will be heading there at the end of July to tackle the awesome summit. Over the next few weeks we will be blogging an account of a previous attempt on the North Face, to whet your appetite!

Part 1 – The old man takes to the hills

So the countdown begins.

The on-off-on Elbrus Expedition is back on, although slightly changed. Because of the troubles between Chechnya and Georgia we’ve been prevented from crossing the border. So we decided that the only way to climb this mountain is by the North Face!

The rest of the clients booked on the original trip to the south side all dropped out, so that left just BJ and me. All very exciting but with just 26 days left to get everything together, that little voice in the back of my head suggests that it’s quite a big ask.

But hey! That’s just adding to the adventure!! Isn’t it? Isn’t it? Must be.

The fun really starts with the Visa application, I was expecting the system to be detailed but not the Spanish Inquisition (or maybe that should read Russian Inquisition). If you’re going to apply for a visa then set aside the better part of a day and have a flask of coffee/tea/something stronger close to hand, you’ll need it.

Part II – Getting outdoors

So a very rushed “shake down” on an Expedition Wise – High Altitude Training weekend trying out the new Osprey Argon 85L sack with a good load aboard. I haven’t humped a big sack for years. Treks with porters and yaks has made me soft! Hence a simple bimble on Snowdon is now an exercise in load hauling.

With my mountain kit spread between two places the first challenge is to find enough kit to fill the pack.

Running close to the wind I had to dash the mile or so to the station to catch the first of many trains to North Wales. Arriving hot and sweaty for a train packed with commuters, I fitted right in. After a fight with a ticket machine at the tube station I discovered I’d “lost” my outbound ticket, great start. This discovery cost me not only financially, I missed the train too! After pleading my case at the ticket desk and with the aid of the East European angel sitting before me I’m off to Dublin!? HaHa

Cock-up list list so far :-

Lack of the actual high altitude/big mountain kit to haul

Walkman on worktop still charging

Loss of outbound ticket

- On return home looks like the powermonkey is still at Pen-Y-Pas

Off Again!

What with work in between haven’t had enough time to breathe. This time the ticket is SuperGlued to the forehead, taking no chances and not repaying this time!

I haven’t had time to eat properly for two days,always a good basis to start a 3 Peaks challenge on.

Note to self – must start weighing the beast, it must be well over 20kgs. The need to consolidate kit and amend for the trip is essential.

A well co-ordinated departure from work with Pete at the wheel put me in place for the 1^st leg of a multi train journey tonight. A slick transition finds me gnawing at a couple of pasties on Euston station – got déjà vu, feels like I’ve been here before!

An hour on a concourse can feel like a life time. Although this time it’s eased by the appearance from through the curtain of rain of the obligatory station drunk complete with pink plastic flamingo tucked deftly under his arm, a moment of self reproach, and why not? The “Mr Benn shopkeeper” appearance of the Buddhist monk gave me a jolt back into focus.

Why worry about what hasn’t happened and allow it to cloud the mind with negative energy. Better to concentrate on what is happening and the space to fill with the moment. This week started with an insidious grey creeping spiders web, which I’m struggling to free my mind from, it’s tendrils reaching out from the past and distracting the “future’s” path.

A small shouting child and the loudest most self-important and more crucially an unfunny Frenchman share my carriage and disturb both thought and my intended sleep. The setting sun’s rays permeate the leaden sky illuminating my page. As it sets it takes the woes, worries and problems with it, cleaning the slate ready for tomorrow. Tiredness is when; each day’s memories and actions makes it feel like two. Into the arms of Morpheus.

An ignominious arrival at BJ’s place, it’s an oxymoron to live somewhere called “Rock House” and be in bed by 9:30pm, surely? A cup of tea and a quick clean and bed.