Russia

Bumps in the Road and Farewell to a Friend

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Those of you who have followed this blog since its inception – in 2014 – have heard for a long time about the original “S” (there is a later one, associated with M) but the true original is the 2014 S. S reached out to us prior to our trip to climb Mt Elbrus, one of the Seven Summits, before we were even officially introduced to anyone else going on the trip. He’d seen that J’s email address had an .edu extension, and since he himself was a professor of agriculture at University of Alaska, he wanted to see who the heck he was going to be adventuring with in Russia’s Caucasus Mountains.

We discovered on that 2014 trip that we’d found a soul mate. J and I had already climbed Kilimanjaro (2011) and hiked Machu Piccu and the Grand Canyon (2013), but Elbrus was our first experience with ropes, crampons, and ice axes. We made tons of rookie mistakes, not the least of which was my failure to use any type of sunscreen on my lips on a bluebird summit day, and instead thinking regular chapstick that I happened to find in my coat pocket would do the trick. The third degree blisters on my mouth were a thing of wonder.

Our home at Mt. Elbrus

Through it all, S maintained his unfailing sense of humor and a collection of stories to while away the long slogs up various snow fields and saddles, as well as the ability to maneuver the intricacies of Russian air travel when flights are canceled and it appears a semi riot might break out at a regional airport following your third time of having to retrieve duffel bags off the same baggage conveyer belt.

So when we got the idea in 2017 that we really did want to climb an over 20,000 foot mountain the next year, who else would we reach out to but S. Last night I inadvertently discovered a trove of emails back and forth discussing our trip. He explained he’d talked about it with his wife and since his alternative was Everest she was all for the Stok Kangri trip.

And what a trip it was! A group of 11, only 6 of whom ended up attempting and achieving the summit, some with a lot more grace and speed than others. J and I were definitely ones without the grace or speed, but S was with us all the way to the top.

After the trip, the three of us had an extra day to tour the Red Fort, take a rickshaw to a restaurant that had been billed as a place that served the Moghul emperors but seemed to actually be a small place behind a laundromat with a sink to wash hands as you entered, and even managed to find an uber in the cacophony of live chickens, people, ancient architecture and livestock in the middle of Delhi.

I learned S had passed, at age 61, via a Facebook post last Saturday. The last we’d seen him was on our way to climb Mt. Baker in the Cascades in 2022. That mountain had been on his bucket list. Unfortunately, he had to leave the trip early because a family member had suddenly died and, in typical S fashion, he felt he needed to be with his wife and family. Nonetheless, we carried on and enjoyed spending time with another of his climbing buddies, T, whom he had cajoled into going on the trip.

I was literally just about to reach out to S to see if he had any interest in a potential Mt. Adams climb.

We had planned to go hiking last Saturday at Wekiva Springs with M and the other S. Just as we reached the entrance of the state park, there was a huge rumbling noise and it was clear we had a flat tire. Later we discovered we’d run over a brand new pair of needle nose pliers that still had a label on them. Two hours later, AAA finally showed up, changed the tire in 30 seconds flat, and we had just enough time to get home to make a dinner reservation.

That hiking trip certainly didn’t turn out as expected. And similarly I hadn’t expected to wake up that morning to find out I’d never climb with S again, at least in this life.

I’m not going to say RIP to S. Instead, Godspeed on your next adventure.

For a collection of some of our adventures with S, take a look at the following links. These are only a sampling, and it makes me happy just to read them.

The Descent- Death March on Stok Kangri, India

The Oracle and the Stok Kangri Odyssey

The Adventure of the Red Fort – Another Day in Delhi

Life in the Baksan Valley

Looking Down the Barrel

Steps on the Summit

A Wild Card Day or Summits Don’t End

MCO to Moscow

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Perhaps not an iconic photo of Moscow, but that was the view from our hotel room at 3:30 a.m. this morning when my eyes popped wide open. We are staying at the Hotel Gamma Delta in the Izmailov area, just a few metro stops from downtown Moscow. The hotel is part of a tourist complex built for the 1980 Olympics and there are presently just as few Americans here as I suspect there were back then.

The trip to Moscow went smoothly, although accompanied by the usual hiccups – such as the last minute search for ski baskets for my trekking poles (none to be found in Orlando in June) only for the original six we had purchased months ago to be located under the pile of gear in the guest bedroom. And I shouldn’t omit the re-packing of all our carry-on luggage at the airport when we became concerned our backpacks exceeded the maximum 22 inches in length.

Our first day started with a long traffic jam as we left the airport, during which our non-English speaking taxi driver seemed to take particular delight in playing games of chicken with much larger vehicles. Our route took us past innumerable high rise apartment buildings. Some rehabbed; many not. They stood in stark contrast to the incredible green surrounding the airport. We spent the afternoon recovering from jet lag and exploring the Izmailov area, which includes a reconstruction of a wooden Russian church and brightly painted castle and surroundings, now used for the History of Vodka Museum and weddings. There’s very little English here, and I’ve been looking up how to say “please” and “thank you,” not to mention trying to gain some understanding of the Cyrillic alphabet.

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After dinner at a traditional Russian restaurant last night with our guide and one of our climbing companions (who has climbed Denali and Acongagua, among others), we spent the day touring Moscow. The Armoury Museum at the Kremlin – itself surrounded by 15th century walls, is incredible. The opulence of the dress, crowns, carriages, and jewels rivals Versailles. No wonder there was a revolution. Particularly interesting was seeing the two presidential helicopters land only a couple of blocks from us in the Kremlin, then take off again, and shortly after we saw the presidential car with its two security vehicles exit the Kremlin.

We ended the day with dinner at a very ultra modern Italian restaurant that embodies the new Moscow. Now it’s back to re-packing everything for a long travel day to the Baksan Valley in the Caucasus Mountains where our mountaineering will really begin.

And who knew? The name “Red Square” has nothing to do with the
Soviet Union. The word red means beautiful.

At Red Square
At Red Square

My Bags Are Packed and . . .

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Except they’re not! Instead I’m lying in bed writing this blog while the bed in the guest bedroom remains covered in all the gear for the trip. My most recent interaction with said gear has been taking guests to look at it, as if they were being introduced to some elderly, crotchety relative who lives in a back bedroom, or to view an important but obscure work of art. We gaze upon the equipment reverently, with appropriate looks of awe, and I secretly wish I had less reverence and more knowledge about all of it.

Same As It Ever Was
Same As It Ever Was

In any event, the daunting task of packing, together with other last minute activities, remains. It’s been a harried week, with work and a week long visit from our daughters who are briefly in town (but who have shown little interest in helping their aged parents pack). I can no longer use this blog as my vehicle for procrastination today.

I hope to have decent internet access here and there. Please excuse any typos in posts from the road as they may well be written on my phone. To Russia, With Love!