Elbrus - Part 2

15/8/7

Veni, Vidi, Vici. Although conquered is perhaps not always the right word to describe a mountain, on August 13th, standing atop the roof of Europe, I truly felt Caesar-esque. Just a few hundred kilometres north east of Zile in northern Turkey, where Caesar scored his blitzkreig-like victory over Pharnaces II of Pontus in 47BC, I fell to my knees in tears atop the summit of Elbrus.

They say the true measure of success lies not in the victory, but in all the pain and suffering endured to achieve your goal. That was never more true for me than on this climb. Physically, emotionally, mentally, I had to reach for everything I had, and then beyond.

After a bout of food poisoning hit our group the night before Summit Day, many had to drop out. Some still managed to climb through the pain. Although not as severely hit, I had a terrible night's sleep and an upset stomach by the time the 3AM wake up came along.

Lying in bed, I had no idea whether I would be able to get out of my sleeping bag, let alone to the summit. In some ways, I was reminded of Willis Reed in Game 7 of the 1972 NBA Finals. After a badly sprained ankle sidelined him for Game 6, no-one, including Willis himself, knew, as the rest of the Knicks left the locker room, whether he would play. Play he did, and the Knicks won the championship.

I still don't know exactly what took me out of bed. But after the first few steps out of the room, a growing sense gripped me that this was something I WOULD achieve. Like a Robert Frost poem, I would take the road less travelled, the one towards the roof of Europe.

As we stepped out of the Rat Rack at Patsuhov Rocks, greeted by negative 10 degree weather and a wind chill factor that probably took it down another 10 degrees, I will always remember Neil's words, "Welcome to paradise."

By the time we reached the saddle, between the two peaks, I think I had gone beyond the point of exhaustion. There was so much mental energy required to focus, over so many dangerous curves, where a mis-step meant a 300 metre fall.

I think some of the local guides could see this in me, as I regularly got told to turn back as we approached the Western Summit. I wanted to say, although I didn't, "You couldn't drag me off the mountain at this point."

And after 8 hours of narrow ledges, blistering cold and a 1000 metre ascent, we finally saw it in front of us. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I approached the last 100 metres. As I reached the summit, I fell to my knees and broke down. I had never been through anything tougher in my life. This was ten times harder than Kilimanjaro, and I felt I went beyond every logical limit I had.

I can still remember rubbing the ring, Grandpa's wedding band on my finger, and feeling a sense of strength from my own family.

There were many places I had to look for inspiration, but none moreso than my family. Honestly, if not for Cory and raising money for Autism research, I don't think I would have made it to the summit.

And then of course, we had to deal with the descent, which took us past all the same dangers. I had reached exhaustion on the way up, so it was almost blind autopilot that somehow took me down.

Even a day later, as we reached our hotel in the Teskol Valley, I don't think the gravity of the moment had hit me. Today, sitting in the shade of the courtyard, as the sun illuminates the picturesque Caucaus Mountains, the serenity and tranquility of the moment, gives me pause to absorb this massive achievement.

A sense of calm washes over me, as I remember favourite saying of my Grand Uncle, Dr. Anandatissa de Alwis, one of the finest intellectual minds of a generation:

"Quiet his mind is,

Quiet the speech and deed,

As such by thorough knowledge,

Emancipated, Calm."

- Buddha