Elbrus Double Summit: A Journey of Triumph and Reflection

On August 12th, we arrived at Elbrus Base Camp, marking the beginning of a challenging yet thrilling expedition. The setup here was different from our usual experiences in the Himalayas—Russians truly do things their own way. The mountain appeared cold and windy, yet not overwhelmingly high. At an altitude of 3,900 meters, the chill was biting, but the excitement was palpable.

Our accommodations were a sight to behold, particularly the LeapRus—an innovative form of bunk lodging that seemed straight out of a movie. Acclimatization was crucial, as we would need to gain nearly 1,700 meters on summit day. We spent 4-5 hours on acclimatization walks, preparing our bodies for the grueling climb ahead.

On August 13th, we ventured out for another acclimatization walk, reaching an altitude of 4,900 meters. The following day, August 14th, was designated for rest. Our team of 20 was divided into two groups: 12 members, along with five guides, would summit on August 15th, while the remaining eight would attempt the summit on August 17th.

The weather forecast predicted strong winds of up to 50-60 km per hour for the 15th. Despite this, we decided to leave camp at 0600 hours, taking a snowcat to 5,000 meters. By 0645 hours, we were at our starting point. The summit was within reach, but the wind was relentless, and the cold pierced through our layers.

As we began our ascent, it quickly became evident that the wind gusts were stronger than anticipated. We had to pause frequently, shielding ourselves from the gusts. Progress was slow, but our hopes remained high, especially on such a significant day—India’s Independence Day.

However, the climb took a dangerous turn when a strong gust knocked down one of our climbers, Bharani. I shouted for the lead guide, Santa, who quickly dug his ice axe deep into the snow, arresting Bharani's fall. She was left hanging upside down from the rope. I descended swiftly to assist her, and soon enough, she was back on her feet, determined to continue.

After another hour, we reached the saddle, where we took a much-needed rest. The path ahead was steep, and the group was roped up again. I took Chirag with me, and as we climbed, I found myself moving faster than expected. Chirag managed to keep up, and after two more hours of climbing, we were close to the summit. I decided to tackle the last 70 meters by climbing backward, with Bharath guiding me from behind. It was both challenging and exhilarating.

At last, on August 15th, we reached the summit—our first of the expedition, marking India’s Independence Day in the most unforgettable way. The descent began soon after, but it was not without its challenges. Chirag twisted his ankle, requiring one of the guides to accompany him back to safety. I guided the rest of the climbers to the saddle, where we waited for the others.

The decision for Baljeet and me to attempt the East Summit was shelved due to time constraints and a shortage of guides. Finally, after a brief wait, we all reached the snowcat point and descended to base camp, happy and safe.

The second half of our team was set to summit on August 17th, under better weather conditions. With only eight climbers remaining and five guides, we left base camp at 0200 hours in bitter cold, though the wind was not as fierce. The plan was to summit quickly and return to the cable car point before 1600 hours, as we needed to leave for Georgia that same night.

After a careful start, the group found its rhythm. Pranil, Vikas, and I reached the saddle point ahead of the others. We rested, refilled, and rehydrated, waiting for the rest of the team. As dawn approached, the view towards the east was breathtaking—a dark red sky that inspired both awe and determination. The sun rose slowly, warming our bodies and spirits.

At around 0730 hours, we reached the summit for the second time in two days. The summit was crowded, but the sense of accomplishment was overwhelming. After the customary handshakes, hugs, and photos, it was time to descend.

However, one of my friends expressed a desire to summit the East Face as well. I agreed to accompany her, confident in our abilities. We decided to take a shorter route, with her following my footsteps. After about 20 minutes, she asked if she could lead. I cautioned her to be careful, as the snow was hard, but her confidence was reassuring. Having climbed with her before, I sensed no immediate danger.

But then, the unthinkable happened. She slipped, and before I could react, she was tumbling down the slope, first on snow, then on rocks. I was frozen in disbelief. You never expect a fall until it happens. I descended as quickly as I could, reaching her in about 10 minutes. The Russian rescue team was already there. I heard her cries of pain—a mixture of relief and panic washed over me.

Her hand, bent at an unnatural angle, was clearly broken. I quickly checked her head—no injuries there—but she complained of back pain. Supporting her with my hand, I watched as the Russian medic administered painkillers. A sense of failure gripped me. Why didn’t I anchor her to myself? Why did I take the shorter route? The questions were endless.

After a brief discussion with the rescue team, a helicopter evacuation was proposed. I agreed, still searching for other team members to assist. After a nearly 45-minute wait, my team arrived, and after another agonising three-hour wait, the rescuers finally decided to transport her to a nearby hospital by stretcher, as the chopper was delayed.

She was taken down on the snowcat, while I led the rest of the team to the cable car. Never before had I felt so low in the mountains. It was my worst experience to date. She reached the local hospital around 1800 hours. The doctors confirmed that there were no life-threatening injuries, though both her hands were fractured. She would recover fully with time—a relief, yet time was now my enemy, tormenting me with regret.

We took a cab to Georgia and flew back to India. Seeing my family eased the pain, but the incident weighed heavily on me. My wife, who had always warned me about the risks of mountaineering, listened patiently as I recounted the ordeal.

In any sport, injury is inevitable. It's not a question of if, but when. Injuries will happen; that is a certainty. The real question is how we deal with them and come back stronger. Quitting is never an option. If every athlete quit after their first injury, there wouldn’t be any left. Yes, mountaineering injuries can be fatal, and that’s what makes it an adventure sport. What happened cannot be undone, but it also cannot define the rest of my life. I promised my friend that we would climb together again, and I intend to keep that promise.

NEVER GIVE UP.