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.