Victor invited me in for tea, biscuits and a local food that was some sort of cracker with slices of pig fat on top. After only recently recovering from sickness I wasn’t excited about the pig fat but I didn’t want to be rude so I shoved a few large slices in my mouth. The greasy salted texture and the crunch of the cracker actually wasn’t all that bad but a few extra spoons of sugar in my tea made it all the more bearable. Victor and I chatted about the military and mountains for the rest of the afternoon until a young Russian, fresh from Elbrus, poked his head into the tent. Valentine sat down beaming a smile while shaking my hand and showing respect to Victor. He was twenty-six years old and worked for Victor as a guide. Valentine was going to be my guide and climbing partner for our summit attempt. He was excited, looked mountain fit and I felt instantly comfortable in his company. We all sat and chatted for another hour as the sun set but when Victor pulled out the vodka I knew it was time for me to retire to my tent. Valentine said, ‘We will leave tomorrow after breakfast for camp one.’ Victor gave me an assortment of biscuits, chocolates and slices of various animal parts before he would let me go to bed.
I slept for ten hours straight through that night as my body was in recovery mode, and when I was woken up by Valentine just before dawn I felt like a new man. I still had a slight chesty cough but I felt energised and ready to get moving. Over a breakfast of coffee, more biscuits and some toast Valentine told me we would do one push to camp one without the typical load-carry. I was fine with his strategy – I had spent plenty of time at altitude that year so could handle less acclimatisation and I was feeling strong. Before we departed I quickly went through my gear and cut out any superfluous stuff I wasn’t going to need. I didn’t want to be carrying anything that wasn’t vital, especially when we were not breaking up our loads. After culling some random items my pack weighed in at a comfortable 25 kilograms. I shouldered my pack, shook hands with Victor who gave us a big weather beaten smile and said, ‘Good luck.’
Valentine set a cracking pace and within the first few minutes I was breaking a sweat and stripping down layers. He was young and excited to be climbing with me and asked a thousand questions about Australia, the Army and the outside world. Between panting breaths I’d reply in depth and we didn’t stop for our first water break until two hours into it. After a short rest we were off again. I was definitely feeling the weight of my pack but I was happy with my fitness. I had to keep reminding myself to stop and look around because the mountains were absolutely incredible. The trail wound its way along rocky outcrops, through grassy valleys and small waterfalls created by the melting snow. As we crested a ridge my eyes fell onto Mount Elbrus with its snow-covered slopes reflecting the sun in the distance. It was a beautiful contrast of green valleys, rock formations and white snowfields that I hadn’t seen on an expedition before. Elbrus didn’t seem as intimidating as the other peaks but I knew not to underestimate it, it was still a mountain and needed to be respected at all times or you could pay the ultimate price.
Three hours and fifty minutes later, while carrying a full load and ascending 1200 metres, Valentine and I walked into camp one at 3800 metres. Throwing my pack down in front of a large hut I was very tired. Valentine turned to me with a big smile saying, ‘Good climb, time for lunch,’ and disappeared into the shelter. Camp one was a year-round military outpost and was utilised by climbing and skiing companies during the alternate sporting seasons. The camp contained four timber shelters that could each hold a team of climbers or a platoon of soldiers. Outhouse toilet facilities were built close by and there was an assortment of communications towers scattered among the rocks.
From the comfort and security of camp one I could look up at Mount Elbrus and see the east and west summits standing proud against the horizon, both fully covered in a blanket of snow with clusters of black rocks protruding through the veneer. It was a beautiful view but all I could appreciate at that point in time was a drink of water and a place to sit down. I followed Valentine into the shelter, which upon entering I could easily recognise as the kitchen and dinner hut. Inside was a small group of soldiers all holding onto AK-47s, who didn’t return my smile as I came through the door to join Valentine, who was chatting with two other climbers and drinking lemon tea. He had prepared an extra one and slid it in front me as I sat down beside him. He patted me on the back and then began to tell his two friends in Russian all about me. They nodded acknowledgement and smiled as I heard him mention the Australian Army and I took a quick glance at the Russian soldiers who were now staring at me but had smiles on their faces and were nodding as well. The mutual respect shared between soldiers was something I continued to come across during my travels. I was also happy that Australia was an ally of Russia’s at the time.
We all sat chatting together for the remainder of the afternoon, drinking tea, eating chocolate, biscuits, toast and a variety of spreads that I wasn’t totally sure what they were made of, and didn’t really want to ask. Valentine was my patient interpreter the entire time and as the sun set he told me that the next day we would go through our skills training to make sure we were safe to attempt the summit in a couple of days’ time. I exited the dinner hut on stiff legs, grabbed my pack and hobbled into the adjacent structure made of timber and tin. I was given permission to sleep in the soldiers’ shelter, which was empty apart from two sleeping soldiers in the corner. I quietly unrolled my sleeping pad onto one of the wooden bunks and lay down with a bottle of water beside me. I was grateful for the accommodation and to not have to set up my tent and sleep on the ground.
Even the soldiers changing over for their night shifts couldn’t wake me as I slept for ten hours, busting at the seams for the outhouse as I staggered into the morning light. I had stiffness in my legs and back from the hike but I was feeling energised and healthy again. Valentine called me over from the kitchen and we sat down for some coffee and planned out our day’s training. A short walk from the safety of the camp lay snowfields, crevasses and ice cliffs, a perfect location to practise all of the skills I’d need to get to the summit and back down safely. We first went through the basics of walking with crampons on flat snow and steep ice, followed by self-arrest procedure if one or both of us ended up sliding out of control down the mountain. The only way to really train for this was to go for a slide down the slope on my belly and practise flipping over and burying my ice axe into the snow to bring myself to a complete stop.
I had done plenty of this type of stuff before but it was always great to go over everything and it was more for Valentine’s confidence in me to go through it all again. When climbing with a new partner we must know each other’s abilities, strengths and weaknesses if a worst-case scenario presents itself. Over the following four hours we went through travelling together on a rope, crevasse rescue procedures, traversing and jumping over open crevasses, climbing ice walls and rappelling from ice screws down steep sections. If all went to plan I wouldn’t need to utilise any of these skills but it was great to know we could do it when we need to and it gave me a confidence boost in our strength as a team. We retired to the kitchen for drinks and chats for the remainder of the afternoon, in preparation for an acclimatisation climb up to an outcrop called Lenz Rocks at 4700 metres the following day.
The morning skies were clear and the weather was perfect. After an early breakfast Valentine and I pulled on our packs, which only contained a big jacket, food and water, and started up the mountain. Following the well-trodden trail towards the glacier and the snow line, it was such a huge contrast to what I had climbed in the past – one minute I was walking on dirt and gravel and the next I was kicking steps into the snow and looking across at crevasses. We had continued an hour into the snow line before I told Valentine, ‘Hold on mate, I’m putting my crampons on.’ He seemed to be in his element but I wanted the added traction of the crampons for safety. He placed his on as well and after a mouthful of water and a piece of chocolate we were off again. We held a cracking pace, only stopping for short wat
er breaks every ninety minutes until we reached Lenz Rocks, three and a half hours after departure, and gaining 900 metres in altitude.
Lenz Rocks is also the location of camp two for large expeditions who needed to break up their summit day into smaller sections. Our acclimatisation climb was going to be our test day to see if we wanted to try for the summit from camp one instead of setting up an extra camp at the rocks. Judging by how well we moved together I knew we would be attempting the summit from the bottom. We climbed an extra thirty minutes and passed camp two before turning around and making a very fast descent all the way back down. It was a great day; Valentine had pushed me hard but my fitness was up to it and we had climbed together confidently. As we took off our crampons and trekked back along the dirt trail he turned to me and said, ‘We will go to summit from camp one.’ I smiled, nodded at him and said, ‘Absolutely.’
Another solid sleep and a rest day followed our acclimatisation climb. I was feeling great and spent the day making video blogs, eating and getting photos of my surroundings. One of the young Russian soldiers assumed he was the intention of my camera instead of the glorious mountains behind him and he raised his AK-47 and pointed it at me, yelling something in Russian. I lowered my camera and put up my hands in surrender as he became louder and more aggressive. Valentine came bounding out of the kitchen to see what was happening and after some hostile words back at the startled soldier he lowered his rifle and walked away. It was an intense moment and afterwards Valentine told me I had to be careful, the soldiers were suspect of all foreigners and incidents like that have escalated into violence in the past. That brought an end to my photography for the day and I spent the rest of the afternoon preparing my equipment and checking everything for our summit attempt, starting at midnight.
I managed a few hours of sleep before my watch told me it was time to get up and get ready. I was dressed, fed, watered and ready to step off by 12.45 am; not having to get ready inside a tent in a freezing environment made it so much easier. Valentine and I attacked the mountain from camp one at 3800 metres at the same cracking pace we had set on our acclimatisation climb. The conditions on departure were great but as we stopped to put on our crampons two hours later the wind had risen and was blowing strong and unrelenting, straight into our faces. We pushed on regardless and by the time we reached Lenz Rocks at 4700 metres the orange glow on the horizon was hinting at dawn and the wind was still increasing. We stopped for a drink and a chat about how to proceed. Conditions were not ideal but we were feeling great and the weather was manageable. We decided to push on.
The wind was roaring down the northern face of Elbrus and showed no signs of easing off, but we had pushed on past the rocks and past our turnaround point from two days before. The sun was up when we stopped to rest and we could clearly see the snow whipping off the summit and the clouds forming in the south heading our way. We were almost six hours into our summit attempt and approaching the saddle ridge that connected the east and west summits of Elbrus. We were heading to the west summit, the higher of the two by 20 metres, and at our estimated height of around 5300 metres we were only 340 metres below our goal, but in worsening conditions that could take us many hours to reach.
We sheltered together behind a small rocky outcrop to get some respite from the wind and looked at each other knowingly. I stared at Valentine for what felt like minutes before saying, ‘What do you think, mate?’ The weather was worsening by the second and I knew what he was going to say but he put it far more eloquently in that moment than I ever could. ‘It’s better to come to the mountains ten times and go home, than to come once and never go home.’ I lowered my head in defeat knowing he was right and as a tear formed in my eye I turned my head back up to him and said, ‘Let’s get down brother.’
I took a long look up towards the summit before turning around and taking my first step in retreat. I hadn’t turned around on a mountain before and the emotions inside me were a roller-coaster. At one point I was about to say let’s try and go up again, but a well-timed gust of wind ripped the words away before they could materialise. Snow was getting whipped up around us in the gale-force winds and visibility was deteriorating rapidly. Valentine yelled out ‘Follow me’, as we detoured off our trail towards a small rocky outcrop. It was close to white-out conditions and I thought I was seeing things as a helicopter appeared in front of me. As we moved forward, on closer inspection I could see it was actually a badly damaged helicopter, lying slightly on its side, the blades bent and broken and its body crumpled. Valentine moved in beside it and grabbed the handle of the door, and I understood what he was doing, getting us some shelter.
The door cracked open and we fell inside pulling the door shut behind us and cutting off the roar of the wind. I saw the muzzle of the rifle in my face before I heard the Russian soldier yelling in my ears. The AK-47 was pointed at my head as Valentine yelled at the soldier who was yelling at us. It was my second time that week having a gun shoved in my face and I thought this time my luck had run out.
It was impossible for him to miss the shot, and as I looked at his trigger finger already moving into firing position I had that moment that others have written about, the flashback to times gone past, to family, friends and crazy adventures. The last thing I heard was Valentine yell something in Russian. I could have easily shut my eyes and turned my head away but I chose to stand tall with my eyes wide open, to meet what was coming as I have with everything in life. I thought, please don’t let this be it. I noticed the howling wind outside, before the silence.
The seconds ticked by in slow motion before the rifle was hesitantly lowered and reality returned, Valentine once again using his charisma to calm the situation down before mistakes could be made. We were inside a crashed Russian military helicopter at 4820 metres on Elbrus. The soldier whose duty it was to protect the sensitive material on board lived inside twenty-four hours a day, so no wonder he was agitated. He accused me of being a spy, which Valentine laughed off, but also told us we were not welcome to stay and had to leave immediately.
We pleaded with the soldier as the storm raged outside, telling him we could die if he made us leave. Our concerns fell on deaf ears and as he got more and more aggressive Valentine said to me, ‘We have to leave now.’ We cracked the door, forced it open against the wind and stepped out into the chaos. We short-roped together for safety and continued our descent down the mountain. The wind slammed into our backs forcing us down the slope as fast as we could walk and chased us down towards Lenz Rocks. We noticed a few yellow tents camped among the rocks and ventured over to see if they could help us. When we were close enough we called out to the tent, which opened up and we heard the reply ‘Hey lads, what are you guys doing out there?’ I smiled at the familiar language and we both crawled into the vestibule to say hi.
The small area at the door of the tent was just big enough for Valentine and I to stick our upper bodies into, so we lay on our sides with our legs hanging out in the storm and our heads in safety and chatted to the climbers. We realised immediately that we wouldn’t be bunking in with these guys; they already had three climbers jammed into a two-man tent and with all of their equipment it didn’t leave much wiggle room. They made us a hot brew as we lay at their feet and told us they were hoping to summit that day as well but had to change plans and return to their camp at the rocks to wait out the storm. We sipped our brews and for those few minutes it took me to drink it I forgot about the storm outside and our turnaround from the summit. Reality came rushing back as Valentine gave me a nod and said, ‘We must go down.’ We said a big thankyou to the climbers for their hospitality and crawled back out into the storm, continuing our retreat.
We moved as fast as we could without compromising our safety – we still had to be on the lookout for crevasses and a slip by one of us at this stage of our descent could mean disaster. An hour after leaving the rocks the white-out conditions had lifted slightly and we could make out the bottom of the snow line in the distance. I could
finally relax a little and I thought to myself that we were going to get out of this unscathed. The wind was still blasting onto our backs almost as if the mountain was forcing us off its slopes – the unworthy climbers who didn’t have what it took to stand on top. Once the adrenaline had begun to wear off from the danger of descending I started to feel defeated; it was my first turnaround on an expedition and I wasn’t sure how to react. I knew we had made the right decision but there was always the question burning in the back of my mind, what if?
The dirt and gravel at the end of the snow slope was visible up ahead and as I looked up to the summit, shielding my face against the wind, I noticed beautiful snow crystals being whipped down the mountain around us, reflecting the sunlight in an amazing display of nature. Valentine said to me, ‘Look, Luke. Diamonds,’ as he pointed to the crystals. I replied, ‘We are rich, Valentine,’ and he replied, ‘We are rich because we are alive.’ His words stuck with me as we trudged back into camp and I threw my pack and axe onto the floor of my hut and sat down to remove my boots. It had been almost eleven hours since we departed early that morning and it had been an emotional roller-coaster of a day, one that ultimately ended with us not summiting but being alive to tell the tale.
When I arrived in Russia my visa was granted for the expedition but on strict guidelines – I had to report and write down my name and passport details at every hotel I stayed in and I had limited days to attempt the climb. With the confidence of the naive I thought the number of days I was given were ample to get the job done, but as I sat in my hut defeated that night, adding up the days I had been in Russia and how many I had left before leaving, a gut-wrenching reality dawned on me. I could only give myself one more day to attempt the summit before I had to make a run for the airport.
I was caught with a tough decision. If I didn’t summit the following day did I stay and violate my visa to finish the climb, which would guarantee me never being allowed into Russia again, or should I leave the country and come back another day? I didn’t know what to do so I decided to let the weather dictate. If it was good when I got up I would attempt the summit again and let fate take its course; if it was no good, I’d decide then what to do. My alarm woke me from sleep and my ears immediately heard the sound of the wind on the hut’s tin roof. The sinking feeling in my stomach was confirmed by the look Valentine gave me as he entered my hut. ‘Sorry, Luke, weather is no good,’ and Valentine dropped his head in a show of failure. I said, ‘That’s okay buddy,’ and I gave him a big pat on the back, ‘It wasn’t meant to be this time.’
One Life One Chance Page 20