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.