Stepping off the plane was like stepping into another world. Firstly, in St Petersburg there is sunlight for 22 hours of the day. The "white nights" mean that you come out of the Kirov ballet at the Marinsky theatre at midnight to blinding brightness – children are running around, birds are chirping, people are walking dogs and taking boat rides down the Moika river. It’s like it’s midday all the time. The sheer quantity of people around, and the fact that they were all holding ice creams (a habit to which we could easily follow suit) has a lot to do with the fact that the country is just opening up. Russians and tourists alike are traveling throughout the country. Also, the starkness of winter is bleak – they only get two hours of sunlight, and sometimes none at all. So as curious tourists, we joined the Russians in their investigation of this great city – St Isaac’s Cathedral, Peter And Paul Fortress and the Hermitage. The latter made me realise what an “amazing” person Catharine the Great was. She owned 1500 dresses and had love affairs up until the age of 80, giving her most precious lovers castles of their own.
The wide boulevards and towering ancient buildings scattered squatting throughout the city like prudent out-of-place guests in the newfound squalor gives you an appreciation of what an awe-inspiring city this place once was. It also makes you think “Sure, build another castle, let your people starve”.
Our climbing battle plans: Waking up at 2am at -30 degrees and watching the trail of head torches snaking up the epic mountain, desperately hanging onto the ice with an ice axe, bruising your hips as they smash against the wall, storms, crampons cutting into overpants, the wind biting your face like ten thousand spiders, the altitude sickness, vomiting, headaches and most importantly the placing of one foot in front of the other, mustering strength you didn't think existed for 12 hours at a time. Here are some of the highlights:
Firstly, rather than staying in tents, we stayed in empty petrol drums euphemistically referred to as “the barrels”. On acclimatisation days I could feel my resting pulse rising – 70, 80, 100 bpm. My heart seemed to angrily beat, sending reverberations throughout my body.
One of the best days was a training day, in which we walked up to Pruit 11, and then practised sliding down an icy slope, forwards then backwards and then self arresting with the ice axe. The sheer adrenaline and speed of the event made me wish that the ferocity of the wind would never make me have to do this in earnest. Finally, after training and practice hikes we were ready for the summit. Yet, this is a temperamental though dormant volcano. And the highest point in Europe wasn't going to give itself up that easily.
On our first summit night I awoke to the viscous cracks of lighting, followed almost immediately by rolling thunder against the metal of the barrel. Outside the snow blanketed the area like a doctor attending to someone with hypothermia. Yet this medicine meant that we had to stay within the barrel for many hours at a time. We all went insane with the dormancy of it all. We amused ourselves in different ways. We all read each other’s books, bored with our own, tried filming anyone that was snoring and put smelly socks in different locations.
The fact that we were prepared for the summit meant that we had to keep doing “dry runs” despite the violent snow storms, in the hope of a weather window. This involved getting up at 2am, breakfast at 3, forcing porridge into our ballooning bodies – adorned in every item of clothing we owned including a thick down jacket. Yet the weather had different plans, and each day we watched as defeated and exhausted teams worked their way down the mountain, not even making it to the saddle. Our time was up, we were being kicked out of the barrels, and were already plotting our return to Russia. Yet, Luis played one more card and bargained for an extra night – we had no food, and had to make it to the valley to catch our flight. It was our last chance, and meant we had to make it to the summit and back to the base of the mountain in one day.
That night, I lay in my sleeping bag wide awake. I was disconcerted with the snoring and then the “chain stokes breathing”, which involves all breath stopping for a number of seconds leaving behind an eerie silence and then an eruption of coughing as the body tries to readjust itself. I was ready to descend into thin air. Despite my anxiety I found myself drifting to sleep. When I awoke, the first thing I saw were stars. Outside the window there were stars. Stars. That meant the night was clear and we could go for the summit!! Due to the white nights in the city, and then the bad weather on the mountain it was the first time I'd seen a cloudless sky since Sydney. My mind whirred. This was our last chance. We were going to march up that mountain, and come down safely and alive. All of us.
At 3:15am Jo woke Luis, our guide. We were fifteen minutes late for our summit day push. Luis, still clouded by sleep told us it was all good, and then continued snoring. We rolled everyone else out of bed and into their ice boots and crampons. The day had begun. The first part of the walk was simple. Yet, I could feel my harness cutting into my waist, and the speed of our climb was making my lungs gasp for oxygen. We were to go up another 1500m in the next few hours. Two days before, Al and Urban had gotten AMS (acute mountain sickness) and were not healthy enough to even attempt the precarious summit. I began thinking of them still dosing in the barrels.
In front of me, Len began to slip. The crampon steps in the ice were rapidly disappearing and he was periodically stumbling. Behind him I too began to lose my rhythm. I was tired and desperately dehydrated. My mind was dense with the idea of vomiting on this holy mountain. On one of the sparse rest breaks I let my head realign itself with the normal world. And then, began to move more slowly. We passed broken humans – some ill-prepared, without water or food, some with broken crampons, others poorly trained. I worried how they were going to get off the mountain.
Soon, Len began to crack. He began falling. Soon he refused to stand back up again. Yvgeni, our Russian guide, whose response to my question “Are there going to be any loose rocks tomorrow” had been (in a thick Russian accent) “Ha-ha nooo, just falling rocks”, didn’t want to put Len on an extra rope securing him to the mountain, but rather just climb behind him and catch him. The Russian school of mountaineering has a long way to come to escape stoic Soviet times.
Four Snickers bars and endless bursts of biting wind later we were standing at the saddle. 200m to the top. Yet at this crippling altitude it would take us two hours. The sun had risen long ago and had silhouetted the mountain like a giant orange pyramid across the skyline. The Caucus mountain range rose formidably around us. We were almost there.
We were one of the last teams to make an ascent that day. We had let the Germans go first to break trail as so much snow had fallen. Next, the AAI team, a group of American mountaineers. Then it was our turn to give all we had and stand on the top of Europe.
It was a false summit. I thought we were there, but there was 1km to go. I wanted to crawl into a giant ball of down and never come out.
Resisting the urge to vomit the Snickers bars, I firmly placed my ice axe ahead of me. A few more steps. Then one more. Len was sobbing behind me. Three more steps. Eyes closed for a moment. Two more steps. The summit was in reach. Yet it was sooo far.
Ahead of me I saw Jo and Rob perched high above. They were the first married couple to do the seven summits. Then John. They smiled, and waved us on.
And then we were there. We didn't celebrate on the top, because most fatalities occur on the way down, because you are too exhausted and delirious to get proper purchase on the ice. We took some photos and then turned quickly. It would be another five hours before we reached the barrels. But we had made it. All of us! To the highest point in Europe. That afternoon, the rope team and our 500kg of luggage all returned to the valley. It had been a big 24 hours.
I just really love these mountains. They are so beautiful. And the challenge of it all makes life and my head feel sane again.
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