Link to my Aconcagua Blog

Hi Ho. Thanks again for following along with my Elbrus Blog. I leave for Argentina to climb Aconcagua on January 9, 2010. If you care to follow along you can find me at  http://mauroaconcagua.blogspot.com/
All the best,
Dave

The next Mountain, the next Blog

Dear Readers,
Thank you so much for following along with my Mt Elbrus adventure. I have appreciated the feedback you have offered along the way and hope we can do it again sometime soon ...very soon ...starting in December of this year. I am securing arrangements now to make an attempt, in January of 2010, on Aconcagua in Argentina. Climbing with me will be my Brother in-law, Ty Hardt of Anchorage, and John "Johnnie Two-times" Harris of Kenai, Alaska. A few years ago I climbed Denali with them while filming a documentary that was never made. This time I will write a story that will never be published. We try.

So search for me at Blogspot.com under the title "Aconcagua Attempt 2010" starting in December 2009. See you then!
-Dave Mauro

Taxi Driver Kindness

I hired a taxi, while still in Azau, to take me to the neighboring villages. I promised to mail some letters for Dick back home, and I also needed cash & toothpaste. The Driver and I communicated largely through diagrams sketched on a pad of paper handed back and forth. It was challenging for both of us, which I think created a shared sense of accomplishment when we had returned to Azau. I was closing the cab door when he made an urgent sound and held up a hand signaling I should wait. The cab driver opened a chest pocket on his shirt and dug out a halloween-size individually wrapped coconut candy. He handed it to me, then pulled another halfway out of the pocket to show he too will be eating one. Then he smiled. Back in Moscow, a group of us hired a taxi to take us to a dance club one night. About ten minutes into the ride the Driver turned to Mike Crowley, riding front passenger, and handed him some kind of large baked good. It was flat and round like a danish, but had no topping. Not sure what to do, Mike admired the bread respectfully, saying "Hey that's quite a nice bread," and handed it back. The Driver insisted Mike keep the bread. He seemed quite excited that we should all try it. Mike took a bite and handed it back to me. I held it for a moment. "Hey, it's still warm." I commented. "How do suppose he managed that?" I took a bite. It tasted like a pancake. "Now that's some fine taxi bread." I commented as I passed it on. We all took turns biting chunks out of the bread. It's not that we were hungry or that it tasted particularly good. It was just fun in a way that felt wholly random. We had come to embrace random, trust in it's place in our world, celebrate the color it brings to the party. Soon the bread was gone and we thanked the Driver as he dropped us at the club. I've thought about that experience since then, realized the Taxi Driver probably gave us his dinner, wondered why. It's not like he handed it to us when we first got in the car. Ten minutes had clicked by while he thought to himself "should I give them the bread or shouldn't I?" Then all of the sudden out comes the bread! I wonder what made the difference in a car load of people he couldn't understand. I just don't know.

The art of being Russian

I took a night train from Moscow to St Petersburg. This was a money-saving suggestion from the Russian agent organizing our logistics. I shared the four bunks of my tiny birth with three Russian travelers. There was a twenty-something couple returning from holiday in Moscow, and an early thirties-aged man coming back from business. It was quiet at first as we tried to pretend we weren't knee to knee. The husband brought back tea for he and his wife, then poured a dash of Jamesons into each. He asked, in broken english, if I would like some. I accepted and set out to get a cup of tea. A uniformed woman working out of a space the size of a small closet, assembled the hot drink for me a few moments later. Unable to make change for my 1,000 Ruble note (about $30) she waved me off as the lucky recipient of free tea. Soon my new friend had fortified the beverage and we were all underway getting to know each other. They asked me about mountain climbing. I asked them about life in St Petersburg. They suggested restaurants. They suggested attractions. They suggested I not look like a tourist. "How," asked. "No backpack," they demanded. I said I could manage that. "And don't look up with your mouth open," the wife counseled. "Like this, I asked in feigned amazement. "YES," she confirmed, laughing giddily. "And something else," she added, "try to make your face like Russian." Recognizing the improv game New Choice, I set about swinging between vast extreme's of facial expressions, each illicitting both horror and laughter. "No. NO! no. NO!!!!!!" I finally settled on a sort of tired-sunday-in-the-park look. "Yes," they applauded. Then we made up our bunks and said good night.

Post Script: Ankita gets her shot.

Ankita's condition improved quickly in the oxygen-rich lower elevation of Azau. As there had been a spare summit day built in for bad weather, Ankita reasoned it was still possible for her to make a summit attempt. She would need to leave for high camp the day after the rest of us had arrived back at Oz. That same day she would need to make the acclimatization climb from high camp to 15,000 feet, and then leave for the summit that night, skipping the day of rest that would normally separate the two. Ankita approached Mike with this idea. He would guide her, and in the process summit Elbrus for the second time in three days. This was an ambitious plan for both of them. After careful consideration, and verifying Ankita's improved health, Mike agreed. They left immediately, joined by Paul who came along as moral support. Word spread among the other climbing teams around Azau. A well-liked person, there was great empathy for Ankita and her lost summit attempt. But now a slow drum beat of possibility began as climbers sought out updates on the status of Mike and Ankita high up on Elbrus. We passed the time in the eager hours that followed speculating on how things were going. Some of us saw Ankita's troubled foot as being the principle concern. Others questioned how completely her strength may have returned. Still others fretted over her abbreviated acclamation. Ankita and Mike started for the summit at 2:50 a.m. We were at breakfast when Mike called Alex on the satellite phone. He and Ankita were standing on the summit! Even more impressive, they had gotten there in only six and a half hours, a full two hours faster than our first team. Later, I asked Ankita what made her think she could do it with all the strikes against her. Her answer spoke first to the confidence she felt in Mike, and secondly to the desire that had set all these wheels in motion so many months ago. "I had to try."

The dark side of Elbrus.

There was bad news for the Team when we woke at 1:00 A.M. Ankita would not be joining us for the summit attempt. But it would not be her troubled foot that tethered her to high camp. Ankita had been up most of the night with the ill effects of what appeared to be some kind of intestinal bug. This left her dehydrated and weak. A high altitude summit bid requires the very best of health. Anything short of that can transform a discomfort at sea level into a potentially dangerous situation up high. Ankita had done all the right things; put in the training, bought the expensive gear, hired the best Guides, suffered through her foot problem, and endured the chronic discomforts of altitude acclimatization. But in the end this would not be her day. Ankita had drawn the short straw. It's a hard thing to see someone's dream shatter. We all felt very bad for Ankita. Paul offered to give up his own summit dream to stay behind and care for her, but Ankita insisted he press on with the climb. Mike and Richard provided medications. Arrangements were made to have Ankita taken down to Azau where the comforts of Oz would provide some relief. Then we geared up and boarded the snow cat for the ride that would take us back to where our climb had left off two days prior at 15,000 feet. Clear skies delivered on the promise of our weather forecast with a brilliant display of stars. The moon was nearly full. There was very little wind. Conditions were ideal. By 2:30 A.M. we were stepping off the snow cat, crampons on, and starting the first pitch, a grueling steep incline 1,200 feet up the west flank of Elbrus. We made decent progress for the first hour, but then our pace started falling off. I asked Mike if we could move faster. The wind had picked up and it was difficult to stay warm. He said that our pace was presently being set by Richard. Hearing this, Richard increased his effort and, for ten minutes or so, our pace improved. But from my place at the back of the Team I was watching Richard. He seemed to be working much harder than the rest of us. His efficiency of movement seemed to be slipping away. Something was wrong. The temperature was down to. - 5 degrees, not extraordinarily cold, but with only 12 percent of the oxygen available at sea level the physiological effect was much colder. Richard would later comment that he felt cold dressed in layers that typically kept him warm plowing snow at 40 below back home in Alberta. Now Paul asked if we could move faster. He was getting cold. Mike called for a break and, explaining that we have to dress for the pace, suggested we put on our heavy summit parkas, over pants, balaclavas, and mittens. I dug each from my pack and put them on, feeling immediately better. Ankita put on his parka. Richard added his parka, heavy gloves, and balaclava. He already had his over pants on. Mike and Alex put on their warmest clothing as well. We continued on, our bodies warmer, our pace still slow. After 30 minutes I noticed Richard was duck-footing his right foot outward and pushing off of it to step forward and uphill with the left. I called for the Team to stop and walked up to Richard. Pointing out what I had noticed, I urged him to not squander his energy with such an inefficient practice. He was breathing hard, and complained that his boots were too stiff, making a normal gate impossible. Mike came back to where we were. I think he thought I was riding Richard about the pace again. He said the pace might not be what Paul and I wanted, but it was "acceptable" and we were making progress. It's important to know there were no flared tempers. All of these discussions occurred in very clear and rational tones. We finished that first pitch and began the second, a long steep traverse winding northward toward the saddle dividing the twin summits of Elbrus. Dawn broke, but we were still on the dark side of Elbrus. It occurred to me that our problems with cold would be solved if we could traverse out of the shadow. Then Richard suddenly stopped. He, Mike, and Alex had a discussion. By the time I walked up to them it had been decided that Richard would take a dose of Diamox to stabilize the altitude effects. He had been talking about turning back. "We are trying to persuade him to continue on," Mike said, having seen climbers work through such conditions many times, believing Richard might do the same. It would be hard to say how much of Richards problem were altitude, hypothermia, or general fitness. On some level each appeared to be contributing. But there was something else. "I have a bad feeling about this," Richard said. Back in Moscow he had shared with me a grim premonition that had come to him as he said goodbye to one of his daughters. This for boding was now consuming his thoughts and still more precious energy. Hearing this, Mike asked if Richard would feel better continuing on if they were roped together, a technique called "short roping." Richard said he would so Mike started rigging the line. At some point he looked at Paul and didn't like what he saw. "Paul," he said," You,ve just been standing there and you still don't have your over pants on. I'm starting to question your judgment. Don't fade on me, Buddy. Put those over pants on now." Then Mike turned back to Richard, who had a new problem. With all of the standing around his left foot had gone numb. Mike handled each of these challenges decisively, quite thoroughly validating his reputation as one of the foremost high altitude Guides in the world. "Right, we will remove the boot and warm the foot," he said, instructing Richard to lay on his back and place the afflicted foot under Mikes upper layers, against the bare flesh of his stomach. I asked what I could do to help and was handed the inner liner of Richard's boot. "Keep this somewhere warm," Mike said. I stuffed it under my parka. Then I looked at Paul and noticed he was impossibly tangled up in the process of putting on his over pants, the crampons of his right foot piercing them in three places. I backed his foot out and open the leg zippers completely. Then I carefully guided each foot through. As I started to zip the legs closed Paul said he could take it from there, and did just fine. About then Mike had finished warming Richard's foot and was calling for the boot liner. As we prepared to get back underway Richard said he would give it thirty minutes more and turn around if things were not going better. The Team plodded on, chasing the edge of the shadow and the hope that our climb would emerge stronger in the light of day. We passed into the sun forty minutes later on a section of the traverse that flattens out. The combination of warmer conditions and a rest for our legs turned everything around. As we paused to hydrate I turned to Paul, "We will stand on top of this #*%! before the day is out!" "Yeah," he agreed, "I think we will.". The heat of the sun reflecting off the snow can very quickly change the game from hypothermia to heat management and dehydration. By the time we reached the east side of the saddle we were all removing layers and applying sunscreen. Richard shed his pack at the base of our next pitch, a steep climb rising 1,600 feet from the saddle to the summit plateau. Our pace was still slow and several other Teams passed us. Richard was still struggling but seemed to have reached down deep and found what it takes to carry on when most of you wants to cash in. "And now, Dear Friends," Alex called out, "the final forty meters! Most difficult part of climb." Not only the steepest grade we had seen, this section also menaced climbers with a sheer 2,000 foot drop off on one side. There could be no mistakes. For the next forty minutes we methodically scratched our way up the narrow catwalk at the top of the pitch and onto the summit plateau. Again we rested, hydrated, opened the zipper vents on our clothing, and applied more sunscreen. Exhausted, Richard asked how much further. "You gotta walk the plateau, Man" Mike answered in a playful tone. "I have to have a number," Richard insisted,"how much time. "Thirty or forty minutes," Mike answered. We had been climbing for eight hours and gained almost 3,500 vertical feet. Now, from where we sat drinking gatorade, we could see the final rise of fifty feet to the summit on the far side of the plateau. While we put our packs on I started singing "They can't take that away from me." As we took those final steps the realization of what we had accomplished settled on me and I felt tears leeking out the bottom of my glacier glasses. There were hugs and photos. We all said how much we wished Ankita were there. I called my Mother and my love, Lin, on the satellite phone. Then I released my brothers ashes to the Russian wind.

Go time.

After breakfast this morning we spent some time on "snow craft." While this description might conjure images of a summer camp activity, it in fact involves some pretty essential mountaineering skills. We found a nearby hill with ample incline. Then we practiced traversing techniques, ice ax placement, and self arrest. It was fun. So much so that I completely forgot about the stiff back I woke with. Now we are killing time until lunch. Some of us are reading. Some of us are blogging. It is quiet in our hut. The climb to 15,000 yesterday took a pretty good bite out of us, so the rest today is welcome. But the unspoken concern on most of our minds is the fact our summit attempt will be even bigger and with thinner air. Mike told the Team that climbers pretty typically hit a wall in the saddle, from there it will be about each individuals determination. I remember a similar point on the Denali climb. We were still 1,000 feet below the summit. I was breathing three times for every two steps. I called ahead to Ty at the lead of our rope. "Sam needs a rest." Then I turned back to Sam at the rope anchor. "Ty needs a rest," I said. They were both delighted to have broken the other man. I was delighted to gather myself up. I reached inside my parka for a Gu, a sort of liquid energy gel. What I pulled out was a collection of laminated photos I had placed there a few days before. My Brother, my Sons, my Best Friend, and several other loved ones each spoke to me. From that moment until I reached the summit I imagined one or the other of them walking next to me. I will be carrying a similar collection of photos tomorrow for when I hit "the wall." I will also be carrying a small quantity of my Brother's ashes, which I will leave at the summit, should I succeed in getting there. Now it is evening. Mike just finished his talk on Hypothermia and Frost Bite. Richard and I are burning nervous energy by examining each piece of gear and packing them for the likely order they will be needed. Ankita and Paul are laughing about something in the bunk above me. We will eat dinner at seven, gather what sleep we can after that, then leave for the summit at 2:00 A.M. The snow cat will take us up to the Pashtukhova rocks, picking up where we left off yesterday. The weather forecast calls for clouds and sun. Most importantly, the wind should be a harmless 3 - 5 mph. It will take the Team seven to nine hours to reach the summit, depending how our members hold up. Then it's several hours back down. It will be a very long day, but hopefully a very gratifying one as well. So this will be my final entry until we return. Many thanks to my Family, Friends, Colleagues, and Clients who have given me so much encouragement and positive energy over the months leading up to this. At some point, I suspect, each of you will walk beside me. -Dave

That moment of doubt.

Regardless of capability or commitment many climbers will suffer a moment of doubt at some point on a major climb. That moment is perhaps best described by the words "what am I doing here?" I heard Paul say this while we descended a steep narrow canyon a few days ago. Richard commented same as we labored up steep snowy grades in the stifling heat of a clear blue day. My own moment came last night. I stepped outside to relieve myself at 2 A.M. It was cold but there was no wind so I reasoned, in the fashion of the half-awake, that I could get by with a minimum of apparel. I would be quick about it and back in my warm down sleeping bag in short order. After all, the only persons awake were the snow cat drivers warming their machines for the three o'clock run to the Pashtukhova rocks. It had not occurred to me this warm up process would include turning on their flood lights. But it did. Suddenly I was awash with light, standing there in only my underwear and hiking boots. I paused just long enough, still facing all those lights, to say "what am I doing here?"

Preparation complete.

Today we climbed up to the Pastukhova rocks at 15,000 feet. We lingered there for about an hour before heading back down to high camp at 11,800. The whole purpose of this was to acclimatize our bodies to the high altitude. This was our last such conditioning climb. Tomorrow we will rest, then leave for the summit at about 3:00 A.M. the next day(Tuesday, August 3rd). Since we are 11 hours ahead of Bellingham time that means we will leave for the summit at 4 P.M. Monday PST. Ankita's foot problem flared up again today, preventing her from completing the last 600 feet of the climb. Alex suggested a Doctor look at Ankita's foot. When we pointed out that Richard is a Doctor, Alex shook his head "No No No. PROFESSIONAL Doctor," he said. Richard was a good sport allowing the group a laugh at his expense. Richard and Mike have worked out a treatment plan that will still give Ankita a chance at the summit. The rest of the team is in good shape. Kudos to Ed for turning in a solid performance thus far on his first climb! At this point the weather forecast for our summit day looks very workable. By the by, our Team Guide Mike Roberts is posting his own updates on the group daily. You can follow these at adventureconsultants.com go to "dispatches" , then "current expeditions", then "Elbrus". All for now from this tiny steel box in the sky we call home.

The rest of the Team.

Mike Roberts is our leader. We are the trolls to his Snow White, the rats to his Pied Piper, the Lemmings to his Ocean sounds. We like him. We trust him. We would follow him anywhere. So then, it is extraordinarily convenient that he comes highly qualified. Mike has been guiding mountain climbers for 24 years. In that time he has summited Everest three times. As well he has enjoyed multiple visits to the high summits of South America, Antarctica, North America, and Europe. He has climbed a lot of other notable peaks but his sense of humility would divert the listing of them to what the weather is doing now or how the Team will move tomorrow. One suspects that any pride Mike feels about standing on these peaks is more attributable to the satisfaction that comes with having helped the climbers standing next to him achieve their dream. Mike has the greatest laugh. It is sincere, big, and contagious. If it's possible to laugh with an accent I think Mikes native Kiwi rings through with endearing effect. Alex is our Russian Guide. He is gregarious by magnitudes which suggest all the misplaced mirth of Russia rides in his pockets. This morning he told me he had a dream about a slow motion movie. In this dream a man was falling into a stream, "in, in, in, he goes under," Alex says with a look of astonishment. "YOU are star of this movie," he says with a flashing smile. Then he hugs me and I feel like his little brother. Alex achieved climbing fame last year by solo summitting K2 in a 27 hour round trip from base camp. Combining he and Mike, it would be hard to imagine better care for this little band of dreamers.

Creature from the Glacial Lagoon

We set out this morning on foot. Walking a pleasant trail through groves of birch trees, we made our way down the valley to Terskol. From there we turned up a side valley and began climbing alongside a glacial stream. It was sunny and warm, ideal treking weather. About an hour up the valley Ankita pulled up lame. An old running injury had resurfaced in the form of progressively worse pain in the arch of one foot. It was decided Mike would see her back to the hotel while the rest of us pressed on under the leadership of our Russian Guide, Alex. Though we never reached the glacier itself, we did make it up to 9,400 feet for some acclimatization and spectacular views. On the way back we crossed the runoff stream again, hopping from rock to rock. Unfortunately, I slipped as I attempted to hard stick the landing on one rock and fell in on the downstream side. The good news is the pool I fell into was deep enough to break my fall. The bad news is that it was deep enough for me to go completely under, pack and all. Dear Friends (as Alex is prone to saying), I hope to tell you that water was cold. Really really cold. I emerged uttering the most primal of word choices. But it was a warm day and my companions were jovial. So, not wishing to be a kill-joy, I laid my clothes out to dry on the rocks and we enjoyed hot tea. Then I changed into a spare outfit Alex had in his pack. Now we are back in Azau. We will meet for dinner soon, then pack for the move tomorrow up to the barrel huts at 12,000 feet. It's getting close!

The Team

I am enjoying getting to know the team members better. At lunch yesterday I had a chance to ask Ankita about her own history and how she finds herself here. Ankita is the daughter of Indian parents who met while pursuing advanced degrees in the United States. They remained in the U.S.A. And enjoyed successful careers as an Engineer and Biochemist. Having grown up in the States, Ankita, in contrast to her exotic name, is as American as anyone you may meet. She was introduced to mountaineering by her father five years ago. He and Ankita made a Nepal trek to Everest Base Camp. Unfortunately her father suffered from a medical condition and the two had to be extracted by helicopter. I asked Ankita why that did not dissuade her from further climbing, as she subsequently summited Kilimanjaro and, of course, is here now attempting Europe's highest summit. Her answer balanced the fact that her father recovered completely and her own awakening to the individual rewards of going to the mountains. Paul is the son of a Ugandan and American. He is new to mountain climbing, having been persuaded to go on this adventure by a volunteer in a technology class he teaches. That student is Ankita, who makes a point of stating that Paul accepted this invitation before the two were technically dating. "I'm in," he texted her one afternoon. Courage calls in moments of its own choosing. They are a twenty-something couple with quick smiles and a smart sense of humor. They loyally join myself and Guide Mike Roberts as we together catalog Richard's countless tales of speed and self-inflicted injury. Dr. Richard Birkill is no doubt respected for his medical accumen, but famous for the distinction of having arrived to an emergency room call as a patient in the next ambulance. He is all about speed and can rattle off the accelleration stats for everything from his snow mobile to his coffee grinder. If there is an extreme sport Richard is not engaged in it's probably because there just isn't enough opportunity to injure himself. Richard was born and raised in South. Africa, relocating with his family to Alberta eight years ago. He has three children (a boy and two girls), and an extraordinarily patient wife. Richard is here on this climb because I taunted him with repeated text messages which called into question his courage and masculinity, quite often featuring the chicken tagline "Bocka bocka bocka." He is a fun guy to hang out with and an able climber. We climbed Kili together and I wanted him along for this hill, though I suspect he is often bored as this is quite tame in comparison to his flying, kiting, racing, and full-contact Bridge tournaments.

The Land of Oz

Azau is a village being built around the gondola house at the base of Mt Elbrus. If there is a master plan for its development no has bothered looking at it. Structures have been started then abandoned, their concrete and dangling rebar telling the sad tale of a dream greater than the fortunes of the dreamer. Other buildings are done and have rolled out a plywood carpet to beckon customers across the unpaved street, over rivlets of muddy runoff.Work continues on a few structures. Men hoist buckets of gritty stucco up pulleys as others apply the face of an odd narrow hotel. This might be a boom if it did not appear so interrupted, and it might be a town if there was any order to it. But the placement of these structures suggests a "ready , shoot, aim" process where men and materials somehow arrived at the worksite before it had been chosen. Our own hotel sits apart from all of this on a table of land a short distance below the gondola house. It is a modern looking structure featuring emerald green glass set into its white three story facade. Daylight is transformed into an eery hugh that falls heavy upon the simple furnishings within, a space left otherwise dark but for the proprietors efforts to conserve electricty. We are living in Oz. Today we hiked up Chegett mountain. Though we had prepared for rain, the weather was quite nice. We climbed from 9,000 to 12,000 feet. All team members performed well and we enjoyed a relaxing lunch with magnificent views of the rugged snowy giants rising up all around us. We will take another acclimatization hike tomorrow, returning afterwards to Oz. By the way: I mentioned the name Vern Tejas in an earlier Blog about training. He is here. We met in the hallway and chatted for awhile. Small world. He sends his regards to my mountain-climbing brother in-law in Anchorage, Ty Hardt.

Simple Pleasures

We have noted in the brief time we have been in Russia that the people of this country tend to be somewhat stoic. This is perhaps the consequence of being the children of a generation that had little to smile about. So it was notable when the passengers of our flight to Mineralyne Vody.spontaneously errupted in applause. The occasion of their joy was a safe landing. It is said that low expectations are the gateway to simple pleasures. We are traveling now past modest towns, through fields of Sunflowers, down a two lane road that is often improvised into three. There are lean dogs and motionless burros. Shoeless children play with a kitten near a sad-faced old woman selling watermellons. Incomplete walls protect incomplete homes. There are chickens and hay trucks and cinderbocks and ruins. These towns all have stories we will never know. We are only passing through, Westerners here for some other purpose. There are fewer homes now. Our van is climbing up a rainy green valley along a river none us knows the name of. We would try to ask our driver, but his limited english requires supplemental hand gestures so it is agreed that on such a winding narrow road it is proper to respect the water's anonymity. We sleep. We snack. Richard fiddles with another feature on his I-phone. It is a four hour drive. We arrive.

The Red Square mystery

Richard and I met our Guide, Mike Roberts, at breakfast this morning. A friendly, knowlegable, and very patient man, he endured our many questions about what lay ahead. We came away from this discussion reassured, especially after his firm refuttal of the Man Eating Yeti rumor I had read about somewhere on the internet.

Afterwards, Richard and I took the Metro (subway) to Red Square, which by the way isn't red at all. The bricks are black. There is a tall red wall that runs the length of one side. It keeps the tourists off the Kremlin lawn. But if that is where the "Red" reference comes from they should call it "Red Line." Not as snappy, I know, but infinitely more accurate. I'm going to leave a note in the suggestion box. Todd Williams would be proud.

We walked around Moscow, through Gorky Park, and down Old Arbut St. We bought a few souvenirs for the people back home, had some lunch, then rode the Metro back to our hotel. It was quite an adventure in a beautiful city. Just ordering lunch is an adventure here. Since the Russians write in the Cyrllic alphabet there is no guessing even what a word means. I just open the menu and point at an item and hope for the best. I ended up having a sort of pork cutlet stuffed with tomatoes, bacon, cheese, and vinegar. I like it!

This evening we met the other two members of team, Paul and Ankita from New York. Ankita has climbed Kilimanjaro and trekked to the Everest Base camp. This will be Paul's first mountain climb. They are a fun couple.

Tomorow morning we will fly to Mineral Vody, then shuttle for 4 hours to the village we will base out of. More on that later.

Richard and I just landed in Moscow. Tired but glad to be here. My internal clock is lost somewhere between the 11 hours difference and the tiny snatches of sleep I managed. Waiting to see our luggage with all important climbing gear.

Why I Climb

People ask me "Why do you do this?"
I have asked this question of many high-altitude climbers and generally found they are no better at answering it than non-climbers. They will start off talking about having a goal, then wander away from that notion sensing it's much more than that. What seems tangible and clear at first becomes sand passing through their fingers. As there are numerous excellent reasons to not participate in this type of activity, it would seem one should at least know what over-riding consideration shifts the balance of rationale.

I've often told my boys that it is more important to know when you are on your path, than to know where it is going. It's like a gravel trail winding through a meadow. If you were blindfolded you would have to trust your senses, listen to the sound beneath your feet. This is part of my answer. I believe I am suppose to do this. It is on my path. It will make perfect sense somewhere down the trail. In the mean time I am committed to my path. The other part of my answer deals with how that gravel sounds beneath my feet.

I want to first differentiate between visual and experiential beauty. People talk about how beautiful child birth is. But anyone who has ever been there knows they aren't talking about visual beauty. There's a screaming sweaty woman, body fluids... You get the idea. So, clearly we are talking about experiential beauty here, which I believe is on a higher order than visual beauty. The memory of one Hawaiian beach eventually fades into the next. But ask a woman about when she gave birth and she has no difficulty taking herself back to that moment and even seems, in the retelling, to relive some measure of the joy that came with it.

There is little question the mountains can be visually beautiful, but the beauty of a snow-covered slope tends to fade after ten or more days of living on it. Under the trying conditions of mountain climbing such a place becomes a cold and featureless landscape devoid of smell and stingy of comfort. Yet we still find ourselves talking about the "beauty" of it. We may trek through vast landscapes of dusty lava rock and camp in winds that claw at our tents all night. In the morning we will still find ourselves using the word beauty. At some point, it seems, visual beauty may evolve into the higher order of experiential beauty.

The man-made world is designed to make beauty available at no risk. We have guardrails, nets, and walls of one fashion or another which allow us to take without risking. But it's not that way in the natural world. I believe nature rewards us with experiential beauty on a scale commensurate with the risk taken, the offering made. It is the tender received in a fair transaction. It is abundant and accessible, and, I believe, in its highest state takes the form of Love. I believe that love comes from the source of your spiritual faith.

You don't have to climb high mountains to experience this. And you don't have to put your life on the line either. When I say "risk", I mean that in many different forms. For some it might be confronting your fear of public speaking.

To me this is the sound of gravel beneath my feet. It is how I choose to live.
It is why I climb.

Ready

I went to U-tube the other day to freshen up on some of the knots I will need for the climb but haven't tied in awhile. At some point I realized I had wondered into videos on how to bait a dead-fall trap (a stick holding up a big flat rock that falls on whatever knibbles on the bait). My mind is elsewhere.

It reminds me of the time during college I became preoccupied with a theory I knew I would be tested on in a final exam the next day. I was standing in front of the stove in the kitchen of the boardinghouse I lived in when someone asked what I was doing. "I'm not sure," I answered honestly, "I started off making tacos, but now I'm just cooking meat."

I am packed, vaccinated, trained, equiped, visa-ed, and ticketed. I have said my "see you later"'s to most of the people in my life. I leave for Russia Sunday morning, but in many respects my mind has already boarded an earlier flight.

I am ready.

There are two Dentists I know named Dick and Mike. They just got back from doing this very climb. It was their second attempt, having been turned away just 800 feet below the summit on their first try last year. They are both world-class climbers who used wise judgement in not challenging bad weather up high. Though the weather was far from friendly this time, it was at least workable. They both summited.

I had lunch with Dick yesterday and bought his remaining Rubles. He is so alive from the experience you can feel the energy spinnng off of him. It's like one of those static electricity generators they had in science class where your hair stands on end if you place a hand on it. He shared many pointers, and eagerly answered the list of my questions. Today he called to offer the use of any of his equipment if I should find I'm short a piece. I can tell part of him would like to go along an do it all over again. As consolation, that part will know satisfaction in seeing me realize the same experience. He wants me to have what he has. But what exactly is that?

I've been in the place Dick is now and know it's almost impossible to articulate what you are feeling and why. So I didn't bother asking such questions. But it remains an issue worthy of exploring.

A client of mine greets me with the word "Why." On the phone or in person, our conversations always start with him asking "Why?" There's no context and there doesn't need to be any. We both know what he is talking about. I usually offer some short response, a pop fly in a tied ball game, then say the real answer is just too long. But it seems suitable that I should answer that question here, before my body catches up with my mind and I find myself far too busy. So my next entry will take a serious swing at this. I will title it "Why I Climb."

About thin air; Redux

Earlier in this Blog I published a piece about Thin Air. One of the cool things about writing in a public forum is that some really smart people end up reading your work and they help you to get it right when a concept seems off center. My earlier piece suggested O2 is the same wherever it's found, even at 20,000 feet. There is no such thing as "thin air." I know, I know. I've already used this term many times in my Blog and there has even been a best selling book entitled Into Thin Air. How is it possible such a basic and intuitive notion could be as manufactured as Jack Lord's hair piece? (see Into Thin Hair).

A reader named Rick commented; Dear David,
I beg to differ on your concept that "Thin Air" doesn't exist. I went to Webster's New Riverside University Dictionary (1988) which defined "thin" as {3. a. Not dense or concentrated: sparse (thin vegitation) b. More rarified than normal (thin air)}. I believe in Naoh Webster.

What you are really trying to explain is how the partial pressure of oxygen inside a fixed volume of air between low and high altitude affects people. When you inhale, your lungs create a fixed volume (about the size of a party balloon). Whether you inhale deep underwater (SCUBA divers), at sea level or at elevation (Mt. Elbrus), the lungs create this same fixed volume. The differential pressure between the air inside your lungs and the air outside your lungs must be equalized. Therefore the air is literally pushed into you from the outside pressure. What changes between altitudes is the pressure of the gas flowing in and out of you. Since pressure is determined by the number of gas molecules occupying the same physical space (Boyle's Law)there are fewer oxygen molecules occupying the same inhaled volume at higher elevations. The "partial pressure" of the oxygen in the air drops as you ascend, and it is the partial pressure of the oxygen that keeps us alive. Too much of it (deep underwater) and you can get CNSO2 (central nevrous system oxygen) toxicity. You pass out. Too little and you get anoxia. You pass out. As the altitude increases and the partial pressure of oxygen decreases we can do one of three things to survive: grow larger lungs, breathe faster, or "thicken the soup" by adding more oxygen to the mix.

What I was trying to say is that in the absence of differing pressure all oxygen would be the same. Oxygen itself is neither thin nor thick on it's own account. So one is well advised to focus on the illness (low barometric pressure) and not the symptom (thin oxygen volume).

Thanks, Rick. Great contribution, and thank you for taking the time!

This was just a sidebar to the piece. The bigger discussion focused on how that air (thick, thin, or otherwise) gets into your lungs and the importance of barometric pressure in forcing it in. Here is the rest of the article.

It is common understanding that we "draw a breath" in when inhaling. But the fact of the matter is that we draw in almost nothing. When we inhale we create an open space. It is the barometric pressure of our immediate environment which fills that space, forcing oxygen into our lungs. Less barometric pressure means less oxygen.

I always laugh during the pre-flight demonstrations of commercial airlines. What gets me is the part where they say "This airplane's cabin is pressurized for your comfort." This is true in as much as dying is uncomfortable. At the typical cruising altitude of 30,000 feet, having just come from sea level, a non-pressurized cabin would see most of its passengers expiring within fourty minutes.

Barometric pressure is greatest at sea level along the equator, diminishing as we move higher or further away from the equator. Thus any high altitude summit is going to have considerably less barometric pressure than what would be experienced at sea level in that region. As well, a given altitude 2,000 miles from the equator will have less barometric pressure than that same altitude only 1,000 miles from the equator. This becomes particularly important when we consider summits like Denali, 20,320ft high and far enough north to be next to the Arctic Circle. In terms of barometric pressure, Denali's summit is the rough equivalent of 23,000 ft on Mt Everest (much closer to the equator).

Barometric pressure will also fluctuate as weather conditions shift. The result is a change in the amount of oxygen we take in. Next time you hear the weather forecast talk about rising barometric pressure take note and see if you don't "just feel better" that day. Most people do. You are getting more oxygen.

Bottled oxygen is typically used by climbers above 23,000 feet on Everest. The pressure provided by the compression in the tank essentially imitates the barometric pressure of a lower altitude. But once they start using supplemental oxygen they must continue until descending below 23,000 feet. That adds up to a lot of bottled oxygen, which means a fair bit of extra weight to carry up hill. I am often asked why we don't take bottled oxygen along as a precaution on these climbs. It's a practical choice. A person can only pack so much weight. When you are already counting ounces for the gear you must have, there just isn't the spare load capacity for something very heavy that you probably won't need. Teams of Sherpas pack these bottles up hill on Everest. A suitable stockpile of oxygen is accumulated for each climber and ferried up to increasingly higher camps. As you might guess, the support logistics for an Everest attempt are truly monumental.

On Elbrus we will be well below the elevation that might typically require supplemental oxygen.

Bolts and Blood

I have a boat that I like to take out fishing on the salty waters of Puget Sound. While it is short enough to trailer, it is heavy enough to cut tire grooves in the hot asphalt. So it goes that the unfortunate trailer which carries this beast started breaking down soon after I bought it. There was one bolt in particular that kept shearing off where the frame attaches to the axle. With the boat riding on the fenders I would limp to the nearest hardware store and buy a replacement bolt, then set about making repairs there in the parking lot with a complicated network of jacks, oars, and scavenged cinderblocks. What I lacked in knowledge of metallurgy I made up for with a dillusionary sense of engineering.

A few weeks would go by where I was only fighting electrical problems with the taillights, then the same bolt would break again. I sought out the counsel of a neighbor who runs a machine shop. He listened respectfully as I described my hardship, nodding with a hand to his chin. “You need to get a better bolt, or a bigger bolt,” he said.

It’s kind of like that with blood too. With high altitude climbing there just isn’t the same amount of oxygen getting to your blood as would be the case at sea level. At 14,000 ft on Denali a breath takes in only 50% of the oxygen you are breathing now. At the 20,320 ft summit its down to about 18%. So that same old blood just won’t due. You need better blood, or bigger (concentrated) blood.

The process of acclimation tries to give you both.

Better blood, in terms of high alt climbing, means more red blood cells. These are the guys that carry oxygen in your blood and a “more is better” philosophy definitely works as oxygen becomes harder to come by. Red blood cells are produced in the marrow of your bones. Given a chance, a healthy body will respond to lower oxygen levels by producing more red blood cells. But you have to give it a chance. By that, I mean you can’t rush into high altitudes.

But first your body will temporarily throw off some of the important fluids in your blood to make room for those extra red cells. This is part of making bigger blood. It’s also part of edema, a medical term referring to the gathered fluids spun off by this process. They have to go somewhere. The problem is where? A person’s blood pressure typically increases as they ascend; this begins the process of forcing the fluids out of the blood. With a measured and reasonable rate of ascent the body may manage these fluids in a variety of ways. But if it doesn’t, the result may take the form of either HAPE or HACE.

HAPE, high altitude pulmonary edema, is the gathering of fluids in the lungs. It kills. If an afflicted person doesn’t die from HAPE, it is probably because the early signs were recognized and that person descended immediately. If you are going to go into the high altitudes you should know the signs of HAPE. Take this stuff seriously.

HACE, high altitude cerebral edema, occurs when fluids gather in the brain. I think you get the idea. Bad stuff here again. It is important to know the early indications and descend immediately at the first signs of HACE.

There are a number of drugs which may prove helpful in buying time while getting a climber stricken with HAPE or HACE down. Collectively they form the small but high octane pharmacy no high alt climber should be without.

Studies show that most people can go to 12,000 feet without difficulty. Between 12,000 and 22,000 some of us can acclimate. Above 22,0000 feet elevation your clock starts running down. It may run down quickly, or it may run down slowly. But to be certain it is running down. We are not meant to be at these altitudes and our bodies go to great lengths to communicate this to us. Light-headedness, nausea, sleep disorders, and a ferocious caloric burn rate all become commonplace. You probably can’t eat as many calories as your body burns at high altitude, so it starts feeding on itself. Substantial weight loss, and loss of muscle mass are typical.
As a result, most high altitude attempts incorporate a strategy designed to spend as little time as possible in the thin air. A climber will acclimate with hikes or load carries in the 12,000 to 17,000 ft elevations for many days, all the while beefing up his physiology. Then he will move into position at high camp and hope for that "Blue Bird Day," clear skies and no wind. Thats when he takes his shot and gets down. Success or no, he gets down. It is a very bad idea to linger, and being weathered in at high camp is among the least favorable outcomes one may encounter.

Our strategy on Elbrus features a series of acclimatization hikes. Each one taking us higher, then descending to sleep low that night. Two of these hikes will have us returning at days end to the comfort of a high mountain ski lodge. Nice. A great deal of thought has gone into how we will acclimatize in the most measured and sensible ways. We will also know the reassurance of having highly trained and experienced Guides leading us ...and I'm not just saying this because I know my Mom will be reading this Blog.

See you there

I was interrupted recently by someone who informed me that I will go to hell. This came as bad news. As such, I couldn't help but inquire as to why.
"Those tattoos on your leg," she said, pointing an accusing finger.
"These," I asked.
"Those," she said, adding "It says in the Bible Thou shalt not tattoo thy skin."
"It actually uses the word Tattoo in the Bible, " I asked, suspecting this was a word of more recent invention.
"Yes," she insisted, "the word Tattoo."
Suddenly everyone had somewhere they had to be.

For the record, I have two tattoos on my right shin; the outline of Denali and that of Kilimanjaro with the dates I summited each.

To be certain this was disturbing, because what she lacked in bedside manner this person made up for with fiery wild-eyed conviction. So it seemed like time well spent that I should look into the issue and share my findings here, for the sake of myself and other readers who may have or be considering the notion of getting a tattoo.

The exact verse being referred to in this case is from the Old Testament book of Leviticus, specifically Leviticus 19:28; "You shall not make any cuts in your body for the dead nor make any tattoo marks on yourselves: I am the LORD." This seems pretty clear, and if that's all there is to it then I am indeed headed somewhere warm. But wait, that section of Leviticus also forbids Christians from doing a number of things that might in anyway alter the appearance God gave them. You can't cut or dye your hair, trim your beard, pierce your ears, apply makeup, undergo plastic surgery, have orthodontia treatment, etc. By that account I will have a lot of company where I am going ...including the woman who raised this issue since she was wearing clothing made of two different kinds of cloth. Hmmm. So what really is the story here?

In her role as Christian Guide at About.com, Mary Fairchild recently wrote about this topic.
"It's important, however, to look at the verse in context. This passage in Leviticus, including the surrounding text, is specifically dealing with the pagan religious rituals of the people living around the Israelites. God’s desire is to set his people apart from other cultures. The focus here is prohibiting worldly, heathen worship and witchcraft. God forbids his holy people to engage in idolatrous, pagan worship and sorcery which imitates the heathens. He does this out of protection, because he knows this will lead them away from the one true God.

It's interesting to observe verse 26, "Do not eat meat that has not been drained of its blood," and verse 27, "Do not trim off the hair on your temples or trim your beards." Well, certainly many Christians today eat non-kosher meats and get haircuts without participating in the forbidden worship of pagans. Back then these customs were associated with pagan rites and rituals. Today they are not.

Pastor Chuckk Gerwig of The Santa Cruz Bible Church writes The tattoo of today is much different than it was for those who originally received the Pentateuch. Today tattoo is a decorative means of self expression and personal decoration. In our current culture people modify their appearance for beauty in many ways such as clothing choice, makeup, plastic surgery, haircutting and coloring, weight loss, body-building, and ear piercing. Some of these practices have a history in ancient ritual and false religion, but in our cultural context they do not denote a connection with evil or false faith. In the same way tattoos today do not link the wearer to cultic worship practices and is not generally practiced for ancient religious purposes, tattoos today are for ornamentation.

I found other references, including catalogues of Christian Tattoos and continued debate between the word and the spirit of the word. In the end I came away with the sense that this will be a matter between each person and God. And for my part, I'll trust that God will know whether the ink on my leg worships a pagan practice or celebrates moments when I felt closest to him.

Intestinal Fortitude

I received a call yesterday from my climbing partner, Richard. Lin and I were walking down Cannon Beach on a perfect Oregon summer day. "I'm wondering when the last time was you saw your Doctor," He asked. This can be the lead-up to some very bad news when it's a Physician asking the question. True, I've noticed my gum's bleeding when I floss, but how could he have known this?

"Five months ago," I answered with a sense of resignation, "when I went in to get my High Altitude Meds renewed."

"Well there's a new vaccine out to prevent Travelers Diarrhea and I think you should look into it." Richard recalled how a bout of this had afflicted me the day before our summit push on Kilimanjaro. His wise counsel led me to quit the Imodium I had started taking and shift straight away into full doses of Cipro. My condition stabilized and two days later we watched the sun rise over Kenya from the highest point in Africa. "You take it orally, but it should be administered two weeks ahead of time," he added. I calculated that I was already a few days short of that.
I asked Richard to text me the correct spelling so I could get a prescription from my Doctor. A few minutes later the message chimed in; Dukoral.

It seemed odd that the nurse hadn't heard of Dukoral. "It's new," I explained. "I heard about it from a friend of mine who's a Physician ...in Canada ...with the exchange rate you would think we have 18% more medicines than they do. It must be somewhere on the menu." She said she would look into it and call me back, and friends that's exactly what she did.

"It's not approved for use in the United States," she said. "So we recommend you use Cipro. "
I told her I have Cipro and have used it with success. I explained that using something that prevents me from getting Diahrea would be one logical step better than waiting until I had contracted such an unpleasant condition then addressing it. She agreed and expressed her regrets. I pointed out that it was going to be very hard for me to admit to my friend that the Canadian health care system was a step ahead of us on this thing. I asked if there is some horrible side effect like causing men to grow breasts. She said "No." I pleaded that she give me something to work with. She had nothing.

I tried the side effect approach at first. "Dukoral is not approved for use yet in the USA," I texted to Richard, then adding "Something about a side effect where men become prone to weeping and watch a lot of Oprah." He did'nt buy it.

So I conceded. "We Americans have a long biological legacy built on the mis-guided notion that defiance is a component of preventive treatment." In short, I will "just say NO" to Travelers Diahrea.

Sharks and Mountain Climbing

I just came back from doing the Cedar Lakes climb again. I'll get in three more of those before I leave. I feel good. I feel ready. At this point its all about staying healthy, maintaining my training, and coming into the climb with good energy.

As the time draws near I find people become more candid about their concerns. My Mom wants to see me as much as possible before I leave, and she thinks I should be bringing more of my own food. A client asked me yesterday who he should work with if I don't come back. Another client suggested to the gathered group at a seminar I held that they all pitch in and buy a life insurance policy on me (note: I am uninsurable owing to this very activity). One of my colleagues asked if I'm concerned about leaving the boys behind if something should happen.

I was thinking about these things as I lugged my pack full of water up the trail today. The questions people ask demonstrate a touching measure of concern. I appreciate that. But at once they seem to be asking if I am worried or how I deal with the prospect of adverse outcomes in the runup to this climb. Let me say that I don't brush these risks off, and I don't believe any amount of macho beats the mountain. I have made a thorough study of this climb and what it will take to get up and down. I have trained appropriately. I have the best equipment money can buy. I will be climbing with world-class professionals. I have made necessary arrangements for evacution if things go sideways. But there's something more.

I have a nephew who grew up on the Hawaiian island of Kuai. In the many visits we have made through the years I have known the pleasure of being taken along on several of his varied and vaguely dangerous adventures. On one trip John invited me to join he and his friends as they snorkel dived for octopus off the outer reef on Kuai's south-east coast, an area known for sharks.
"Don't you worry about the sharks," I asked as we geared up. His expression set a serious and instructive slant. "No no, uncle Dave. Never think about the sharks. It attracts them."

There is a lot of truth in that. Whether its a vibration we put out through the water or the nebulous hand of fate at the switch, we seem to attract that which we think about. Those who contemplate negative outcomes are rarely disappointed. It's not just positive or wishful thinking I am talking about. This is more about the absence of certain thoughts, a refusal to grant them real estate within the sphere of your spirit.

Another version of this idea was proffered by a motivational speaker I listened to many years ago. Brian Tracy used the example of of two Grand Pianos alone in a room. If you hit a C sharp on one piano, you could then observe that the C sharp string was vibrating on the other. He said this was a law of nature, the "Law of sympathetic resonance." His point being that we attract like kinds. Not a novel notion to anyone who has had a significant relationship, but interesting in the sense that it suggests once again that our thoughts and feelings release a signal that is perhaps observed and or affects the constituency of our environment.

So then. If you are snorkeling in shark infested waters with tasty octopus on your catch stringer try to think about happy, friendly, harmless fish ...but keep your eyes open. If you are climbing a high altitude mountain think about the successful end of that day ...and mind your ropes.

Training

OK, so that was kinda grim. Improv (most of you already know I perform live Improv at the Upfront Theatre) has the innate ability to find humor in unlikely places and mountain climbing surfaced as a theme during several scenes after I returned from climbing Denali. In a show I did with Ryan Stiles we improvised a scene where a group of stranded climbers turned cannibalistic. "More Phil," he offered. "No, I'm full" the another actor replied.



I am about to leave for the Gym to do today's training. There are many things beyond the control of a climber which can result in not reaching the summit. So it goes I am committed to doing all I can about those things that are in my control. Conditioning is one of them.



As long as a person has some kind of base-level fitness from which to start, conditioning for Elbrus probably doesn't need to get under way until a few months before the climb. Here is what I have done.



Gym workouts Mon, Wed, Fri from 1:30-3:00. I start with 30 minutes of stepmill (stair climber machine), followed by 30 minutes of weights and core strength exercises. I then finish with 30 minutes of running on the treadmill. No resting in between. Just bang bang bang. By the time I'm done I've sweat through my shoes. My old roomate would be proud.



Outside training Tues, Sat. Nothing can prepare you for packing weight up a steep hill like packing weight up a steep hill. On these days I load an expedition pack with 50 pds of water and grind my way up the trail to Cedar Lakes, a 1,400 ft elevation gain in about 50 minutes. I pour out half the water to save my knees on the way down (a tip from famed High Altitude Climber Vern Tejas) then descend. I like these sessions. I typically listen to music on my I-pod and concentrate on my efficiency of movement. Efficiency of movement is pretty important up high. As there is little air to be had, one must make the most of what he can take in. I started to feel light-headed during our final summit push of the Kilimanjaro climb last year. We were at about 18,500 ft. I began conciously examining my efficiency and realized I was swinging my left arm. That's all it takes. I relaxed the arm, letting it hang, and clarity slowly returned.

It should be noted that opinions differ on some of this. I just spoke with Richard Birkill, my climbing partner on Kili and this climb, and he sees no need to train packing weight since our loads are likely to be light, perhaps ten pounds. To his credit, Richard is a physician. I made the case that 50 pds at low altitude is about what 10 pds will feel like up high, so better to build sufficient muscle and stamina. He counters that more muscle requires more oxygen so this type of training may in fact be counter-productive. At this point I suggest that maybe he is in fact Chicken, adding "Bocka Bocka Bocka," and not up to truly rigorous training. Which he counters with a lot of medical terminology that I wouldn't understand even if I were a doctor because his native South African accent forms such an impossible contango with his efforts to sound like the Canadians of his immigrated homeland. An extended pause follows as I try to sort out whether or not I've been insulted. Uncertain of this, I decide to throw another round of "Bocka Bocka Bocka," at him as insurance.

Just a donkey ride?

In the California of my youth it was popular to have the donkey ride guy at your Birthday party. He would back four or five animals out of his trailer and they would immediately start following each other's tail. There were no harnesses or saddles or big metal turnstile. They just fell into place and started pacing out a big dusty circle, all the while silently bearing the indignity with sad Pat Paulson faces.

From the earlier description of Elbrus, with as many as one hundred climbers moving up the mountain on busy summer days, I'm already getting a picture that's mindful of those donkeys. Sure, it is the high summit for Europe, but is it such a big deal? It seems like lots of people climb it and lots probably make it to the top. So where is the adventure, the danger, the challenge?

First of all, Mt Elbrus is tall. Compared to the better known European summits The Eiger (13,025ft), The Matterhorn (14,692ft), or Mont Blanc (15,771), Elbrus (18,481ft) is singularly monumental. That altitude means thin air, cold temperatures, and nasty weather. I'll talk about each of those in this blog. The sum total of these and other considerations is illustrated in this 2005 account;

On May 9, nine people died and two more disappeared on their way down from the peak of Elbrus. Sixty rescuers, including volunteers, took part in the search, and so far, some 389 journalists have written about it. Approximately 30 people die every year in the mountains of Russia; of them, ten or so die on Elbrus. This time Elbrus has gathered its annual norm in one serving. […]

More on Prometheus

My son, Chase, just pointed out that Prometheus must have had a very large liver to feed an eagle day after miserable day. Though it is also possible this was a very small eagle. In any case, the whole notion of this episode is, in the fashion of all great greek legends, fraught with implausibilities.

Chase further notes, with a carefully cloaked James Bond reference, that this same liver was probably the reason Prometheus did not die. In other words ...Liver let die. He couldn't help himself. It was right there.

Not liking the Prometheus part

So I have to say I'm not fond of this Prometheus connection. In particular the part where "it embodies themes of the over-reacher, who strives for Romantic ideals of knowledge and experience, as opposed to religion and incapacity. This over-reacher is struck down for his ambition."

This certainly sounds like mountain climbing. Ouch.

I'm not wild either about the part where he is chained to a rock while an eagle eats his liver.

So, through the magic of blogging I will herein change the Prometheus story so "it embodies themes of niceness, where pleasant weather and an abundance of baked goods greet climbers as they pass through flowered meadows full of napping puppys."

A Greek I knew

The Prometheus reference in the last post intrigued me. I don't know who Prometheus was since the only Greek I've studied was a co-ed named Lamia . She was a raven-haired brooding type who often smoked clove cigarettes and spoke of "the nature of things." The most mysterious thing about Lamia was how she had managed to have a room for herself in what was otherwise a brimming capacity of side-stepping residents. I often sought respite from my heel-clicking ROTC roommate by dropping in on her. Lamia's space was comfortable and low lit in a way that makes one consider growing a goatee. There, her wandering rants were tolerable as fair exchange for not having to worry that at any given moment I might have to drop and give twenty. By the third quarter of that year she was forced to take a roommate, a loquacious communications major named Joan. From that day forward I found Lamia to be much less interesting.

So once again I go to Wikipedia;

The Myth of Prometheus is a series of five panels painted by Piero di Cosimo.

Prometheus in Greek mythology is the son of Iapetus, a Titan. He created the first man from clay, stole fire from the gods to give to mankind, and was punished by Zeus, the father of the gods, by being chained to a rock where an eagle came everyday to feed on his liver. According to Ovid, whose work inspired much of the mythological episodes painted by Piero, Prometheus made the figure of a man from clay in the image of the gods. He is shown before a life-size statue which stands on a pedestal.

The Myth of Prometheus

Artist	Piero di Cosimo
Year	1515
Type	Oil on panel
Location	Musée des Beaux-Arts, Strasbourg

The myth of Prometheus is widely seen as central to the Romantic poets' of the late 18th - early 19th century, since it embodies themes of the over-reacher, who strives for Romantic ideals of knowledge and experience, as opposed to religion and incapacity. This over-reacher is struck down for his ambition.

Examples of this are Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein' and 'The Last Man', Percy Shelley's 'Prometheus Unbound', and other examples from the likes of Keats, Byron, and others

This painting-related article is a stub. You can help Wikipedia by expanding it.

The Mountain

Here is a brief outline, courtesy of Wikipedia;

Mount Elbrus is a peak located in the western Caucasus mountains, in Russia, near the border of Georgia. Mt Elbrus at 5,642 m (18,506 ft) is considered to be the highest mountain in Europe.

Elbrus stands 20 km (12 mi) north of the main range of the Greater Caucasus and 65 km (40 mi) south-southwest of the Russian town of Kislovodsk. Its permanent icecap feeds 22 glaciers which in turn give rise to the Baksan, Kuban, and Malka Rivers.

The ancients knew the mountain as Strobilus and believed that Prometheus was chained here. The lower of the two summits was first ascended in 1868 by Douglas Freshfield, A. W. Moore, and C. C. Tucker, and the higher (by about 40 m) in 1874 by a British expedition led by F. Crauford Grove. During the early years of the Soviet Union, mountaineering became a popular sport of the masses, and there was tremendous traffic on the mountain. In the winter of 1936, a very large group of inexperienced Komsomol members attempted the mountain, and ended up suffering many fatalities when they slipped on the ice and fell to their deaths. The Germans briefly occupied the mountain during World War II with 10,000 mountaineer soldiers; a possibly apocryphal story tells of a Soviet pilot being given a medal for bombing the main mountaineering hut, Pruit 11, while it was occupied. He was then later nominated for a medal for not hitting the hut, but instead the fuel supply, leaving the hut standing for future generations.

The Soviet Union encouraged ascents of Elbrus, and in 1956 it was climbed en masse by 400 mountaineers to mark the 400th anniversary of the annexation of Kabardino-Balkaria, the Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic in which Elbrus was located.

From 1959 through 1976, a cable car system was built in stages which can take visitors as high as 3,800 meters. There are a wide variety of routes up the mountain, but the normal route, which is free of crevasses, continues more or less straight up the slope from the end of the cable car system. During the summer, it is not uncommon for 100 people to be attempting the summit via this route each day. The climb is not technically difficult, but it is physically arduous because of the elevations and the frequent strong winds.

The Caucasus Mountains are the result of a tectonic plate collision between the Arabian plate moving northward with respect to the Eurasian plate. They form a continuation of the Himalaya, which are being pressed upwards by a similar collison zone with the Eurasian and Indian plates. The entire region is regularly subjected to strong earthquakes from this activity, especially as the fault structure is complex with the Anatolia/Turkey and Iranian Blocks flowing sidewise, which prevents subduction of the advancing plate edge and hence the lack of volcanoes (though some minor dome structures, such as Elbrus' peaks, do exist).

Mount Elbrus should not be confused with the Alborz (also called Elburz) mountains in Iran.

This article is licensed under the GNU Free Documentation License. It uses material from the Wikipedia article "Mount Elbrus".

To go where some men, and women, have gone before!

I am going to attempt to climb Mt Elbrus. The purpose of this blog is to report on my thoughts and experiences leading up to, and hopefully during, the climb. I am new to blogging and can't help but feel like William Shatner making an entry in the Captain's Log. I will pause now to offer the split V "live long and prosper" hand sign popularized by the Vulcans of the same series.

Though I am not going "where no man has gone before," I am most certainly going where this man has never gone before. If you look at it that way there can be adventure in the most mundane endeavors; A Hemp Festival, that new dry cleaner, or an H&R Block open house might all qualify. Look at you!

Though in this case, there is nothing mundane about where I am going. Mt Elbrus is in Russia, it is the highest summit in Europe, and I will have twelve days to reach the top. Afterwards, I will take a night train to St Petersburg to recoupe and take in the culture for 5 days.

So I'd like to share as much of this as possible. I'd also like to see your thoughts and comments as I blog away. Let's do this together. Let's "make it so!"