Could-a, would-a, bicycle chain*

“I’ve been hiking with an ice pic and crampons in the mountains… staying in a stinky freezing cabin with no heating or running water that smells of feet and dogs at best..took crap on the mountains at 3 o’clock in the morning with -25 winds on my ass when attempting to climb kazbek, had a cry and turned back after trying to climb the last 800 metres of the 5060 bastard metre mountain…”

Gemma Griffiths, email to a friend, 2014

Around the time of last week’s post we and the Germans (Veronika and Christoph) were making our way between the secluded valleys of Tusheti and the singular mass of Mount Kazbek. 4.5hrs drive by 4×4 up a long, steep rock and dirt road, Tusheti is an alpine oasis hidden behind a wall of mountains. As we went up many of the shepherds and herders were bringing their livestock down (making for some aggressive horn-action and haunch-slapping from our driver). Snow and cloud covered the high pass, but lower down as we wound through the last narrow gully there was still enough sun to fill the open expanse of rolling hills and green pastures that unfolded in the Tusheti reserve. Patchwork squares of cultivated land carved long shapes from the lush basins that gathered around small collections of stone and wood houses. Unlike Svaneti (or Kazbek, for that matter), the lack of a main road and separation from the main towns gives Tusheti a unique sense of calm and unhurried quiet. Our plan was to head north towards Chechnya, but early snowfall meant that the border guards had closed the pass, instead we decided to join the Germans on their attempt to climb Gerogia’s most famous mountain, Kazbek.

If we needed a reminder of the harsh reality of life in the mountains, it could not have come more vividly than it did as we traversed the snowy height of the Albano pass that leads to Tusheti. As we passed another vehicle on the narrow pass, the elderly driver stopped; on the back seat a still body was covered in a white sheet. The driver’s face was grey, his eyes glassy and red. In the passenger seat his wife wailed and cried. We later discovered that it was the body of a 27-year-old local shepherd, struck in the head by a falling rock less than an hour before. Our driver knew the man well, and spread the sad news to others as we went.

In stark comparison to the calm and traditional-style of Tusheti, Kazbek is a town with clear purpose. Immediately visitors are inundated with the twin propositions ‘Taxi?’ … ‘Guesthouse?’. Just above the town is Tsminda Sameba, centrepiece of Georgia’s most iconic image described in the Lonely Planet as a ‘symbol of Georgia for its beauty, piety and the fierce determination involved in building it on its lofty perch’. In reality, though the monastery is pretty enough, there is little we found that was all too remarkable about it apart from the mountains that frame it; and the steady stream of tourist traffic now ebbing and flowing from its carpark distinctly undermines the stories of struggle it took to get the church built so high up the mountain in the first place.

Looming large over the nave of the small church is the domineering bulk of Mount Kazbek. Standing at 5060m high, Kazbek is the sole reason many people visit Georgia. It’s the reason our new German friends came to Georgia. The climb to the summit takes 3 or 4 days. Day one is a 6-8hr assent to the meteo station, a large concrete edifice just above a glacier that acts as basecamp for most attempts on Kazbek (many people don’t make the summit). Everything we needed was brought up the mountain with us; food, warm clothing, sleeping bags, cooking equipment, snow boots, harnesses, crampons, ice axes (yep, they gave us axes). There was no running water, no heat and no electricity. At least, that’s what we were told. When we actually got up there, the small room used by the guides boasted a diminutive wood burner (useful for just 2 hrs a day), a galley kitchen (no need to carry the bastard pots after all) and, for a couple of hours at least, there was even a little electricity chugging from a temperamental generator (it worked just long enough for our guide to charge his iPhone). Either way, we were equipped. Sort of.

At night, the inside of the meteo station reached -10. Our bunk was a broad slab of thick plywood with a thin skin of cheap mouse-eaten foam lain on top. To keep warm, the four of us slept side-by-side like stuffed vine leaves, tightly wrapped in our sleeping bags and fully dressed in pretty much every piece of clothing we had brought. With windchill, the summit was forecast at -25. The whole place smelt of dog and feet. By the time we left, we smelt of dog and feet.

When we first arrived in the base town of Kazbegi, our group was told that the weather was forecast snow all week and was too bad for us to attempt an ascent. It’s the very end of the climbing season and the only mountain agency with the key to the meteo station had already begun packing up. Their office was one floor of a deserted concrete shell with no heating and no electricity. We tried to argue our case for pushing ahead by exaggerating our experience and enthusiasm, but, with her good eye, the lady who ran the place gave us a stern look of reproach and cast us aside with an unenthusiastic “maybe tomorrow”. Downcast, we went for a drink. But, by the next day the forecast had improved a little. By the time we left it had improved a lot.

Day two is acclimatisation, so we soaked up the sunshine and made the short 2-hour walk up to a little shrine/temple thing perched on a nearby cliff. Lots of pasta for tea and an early night as we were due to leave for Kazbek at 3am. The next morning was dark, cold and snow-covered. After escorting Gemma home I scampered through the mist to rejoin the group and we continued on for another hour until, with little visibility and a new snowfall moving in, our guide finally called us to a halt and turned us back just as we reached the foot of the last glacier. With no sleep, no change of clothes for 3 days and the same terrible food, a hot shower, comfy bed and decent meal were calling us. If we could have made it down the mountain, we probably would have, but weather prohibited. We were stuck there for another night at least. Next morning Christoph and I set out with Lado (our guide), for our last attempt. This time we woke at 2am and left at 3am. The girls stayed in bed.

The morning was clear and the deep, fresh snow piles sparkled under the moonlight like glitter glue on an albino drag queen’s powdered backside. The walk was long, extremely cold (Christoph may have frostbite), very windy, very steep and very, very tiring. Though we joked about the equipment being overkill, it turned out that we really did need the ice axes, ropes and crampons to claw our way to the top. Because of the deep snow it took us 7.5hrs to get up; even the guide said he was knackered. But we made it, and it was well pretty up there: