Lenin Peak, Kyrgyzstan (23,406’)

Preface

A heavy rain descends on us, and all passengers wait patiently. The storm must pass before the airplane takes off. I just finished 13 days traveling in Slovenia, exploring the farmland, the sea, and the mountains. Both fatigue and excitement smolder simultaneously in my soul.

Passengers begin to stand and converse to pass the time. Most people around me communicate in a Slavic language, predominantly Russian, since the flight is traveling from Ljubljana to Moscow. I introduce myself to Alexsi, who is sitting next to me. A prominent Russian man, looking clean and professional, speaks to me in broken English. He often travels between Russia and three countries he owns property in Slovenia, Croatia, and Cyprus. Holding a company with nearly 1,000 employees, he flips houses on a large scale, with his employees renovating and remodeling. His warm nature is evident as he proudly tells me that he speaks five different languages – I must admit I would be as well. Alexsi begins chuckling deeply. With his hefty stomach and shoulders heavily involved in the action, he manages an amused gasp, “t-sey want tuh sihng” before laughing further.

In the modest buzz of the passengers, a man’s distinct voice erupts. A curiosity of the man’s vocals silences the majority of the peripheral background noise. The man has a deep baritone voice that emanates notes both beautiful and haunting. These tones and their organization strike me deeply. As others join in the song, the harmonies flow together extraordinarily. Leaning over and continuing in broken English, I interpret Aleksi whispering, “This is an old Russian music style – an ancient traditional music. This song is called When We Were At War.” Countless phones rise above respective seats to capture the moment. Some passengers clap to the rhythm of the music, and others modestly smile with wide eyes: Europeans, Russians, at least one American, and other people from around the world beam.

Song: When We Were At War (Russian)

Leaning closer to me to combat the volume of singing, Alexsi carries on, saying that “I can never verbalize or discuss my thoughts on the Russian government publicly since I could lose the livelihood I worked so hard to build. Even today, Russia can take everything from you: your house, your business, your money, and cars.”

Due to the language barrier and unclear explanations with Alexsi, I research further on my phone while serenaded. This type of music is from the East Slovak Cossack’s who are predominantly Orthodox Christian and was both banned and illegal to sing until around 1990 due to its strong independence and anti-communist sentiments. Many songs refer to Vladimir Lenin from the WWI era. One article states that “modern Cossacks trace their heritage to the self-ruled communities of horsemen who arrived in the 14th century in what is now known as southern Russia and Ukraine (Washington Post)” and later fought Russian opposition groups.

Without warning, tears well up in my eyes, and I have to look out the window. “What has struck me so hard,” I wonder? Intense emotion and thoughts consume my mind. After a few minutes of introspection, I discern that there are incredible individuals, societies, and cultures all over the globe with families, passions, struggles, talents, dreams, and lovers. People with beating hearts that wake, breathe the cold morning air, and smile at the rising sun. Modern media fuels discrimination, prejudice, and racism worldwide. In the United States, the media fuels prejudice principally towards Russia and China. I think back to the numerous conflicts America has had with Russia and know that such discord and violence originates from questionable government motives: war profiteering, land, religion, and corruption. Citizens of one nation combat citizens of another nation to fulfill the agendas of the governments.

Listening to the fourth song of the Cossack acapella group, I ponder - why must we go to war? Every military and respective country feeds political propaganda to citizens only to aid an easier task to harness civic obedience, dehumanize the enemy, and improve the military population. Civilian-ranking men and women are the ones on the front lines shedding blood, taking lives, or losing their own. When we retract from the information feed and experience people from different nations, it is clear to see we are all human. Humanity’s altruistic and nourishing behavior is exemplified in the famous Christmas Truce (Smithsonian Magazine) of 1914 during World War I, where men came together from opposing sides to exchange gifts, cigarettes, and play soccer during the holiday.

Feeling composed once again, I reminisce of the radiance in similar Russian music I have heard (see video online) and remember a passage I came across two years ago. I will never forget the expressive and stirring quote that English Captain Charlie May wrote in his diary on June 17, 1916:

            ". . . I must not allow myself to dwell on the personal - there is no room for it here. Also it is demoralizing. But I do not want to die. Not that I mind it for myself. If it be that I am to go, I am ready. But the thought that I may never see you or our darling baby again turns my bowels to water. I cannot think of it with even the semblance of equanimity.
            My one consolation is the happiness that has been ours. Also my conscience is clear that I have always tried to make life a joy for you. I know at least that if I go you will not want. That is something. But it is the thought that we may be cut off from each other which is so terrible and that our Babe may grow up without my knowing her and without her knowing me. It is difficult to face. And I know your life without me would be a dull blank. Yet you must never let it become wholly so. For to you will be left the greatest charge in all the world; the upbringing of our baby. God bless that child, she is the hope of life to me. My darling, au revoir. It may well be that you will only have to read these lines as ones of passing interest. On the other hand, they may well be my last message to you. If they are, know through all your life that I loved you and baby with all my heart and soul, that you two sweet things were just all the world to me.
            I pray God I may do my duty, for I know, whatever that may entail, you would not have it otherwise."

- Capt. Charlie May died on July 1, 1916

Thinking about the quote surfaces emotion, and lacking control, tears trail down my cheeks once again. Again I must look out the window, and I inconspicuously dab at them to avoid questioning from Alexsi. I cannot, nor do I want to verbalize all of these thoughts to him. Though I do chuckle to myself as I speculate Alexsi’s potential thought of “This guy is going to Kyrgyzstan to attempt a high-altitude climb, and he is weeping in the corner because some people are singing? Something is wrong with this picture.”

After some time, the storm clears, and we are finally airborne. I think of Alexsi on a deeper level as he proudly shows me the photos of his two sons. One of his sons is the same age as me, and he is nearly the same age as my father. As people, we couldn’t be more different, but his blatant love and zeal for life, the Croatian coast, the Mediterranean Sea, fresh seafood, fine wines, Moscow, Russia, and its people are evident with each word that comes from him. Fools we are, as humans, to cut each other down, flesh and bone, for the sake of what? Unique minds, pulsing energy, and critical thinking of this world, all of which make us uniquely human, had wives, lovers, families, and dreams just like Captain Charlie May. Now their stiff corpses rot in the mud. Their bodies are not returned home, and their funerals are conducted around a hollow casket.

As I progress towards a country formerly part of the USSR, Kyrgyzstan, I will prepare to climb a mountain fatefully named after Vladimir Lenin – Pik Lenin.

Maps

Three maps provide helpful context for the ensuing story. The first map is interactive, showing Lenin Peak as the red pin on the Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan border. For the second and third maps, I uploaded our exact route via GPX files from my GPS watch.

Map depicting the ascent route of Lenin Peak, as well as respective acclimatization points, and extra summits along the way. Purple way points portray each camp, red way points show the three different acclimatization hikes, and the mountain symbols are the three peaks we climbed during the expedition.

Zoomed out map of the expedition, the Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan border, and town to the north, Sary-Moghul.

Base Camp to Camp 1

Base Camp (11.9k) to Camp 1 (14.6k) - 8 miles, 3,300 feet gain

I read Swedish climber Goran Kropp’s book, The Ultimate High, a year ago. On his progression as a mountaineer, he climbed Kyrgyzstan’s second tallest mountain, Lenin Peak (7,134m or 23,406 feet). At the time, I didn’t even know where Kyrgyzstan was on a map, nor did I know anything about Lenin Peak. Intrigued, I conducted some research.

Debating between climbing Denali (20,310’) in Alaska or Lenin Peak, I ultimately chose Lenin Peak primarily because it dwarfs the altitude of Denali by more than 3,000 feet. Additionally, Kyrgyzstan is a part of the world I haven’t been to, and it sounded fascinating. I wanted to climb something that I could develop experience at high altitude without being subject to hard technical rock and ice climbing demands. Lenin would serve as a building block for the future – and I had the perfect climbing partner in mind.

Cody West and I only knew of each other while attending Montana State University and pursuing Civil Engineering degrees. We never had any courses together since he was a year ahead of me. He specialized in structural engineering, whereas I focused in the environmental subdivision. I remember seeing him in the halls on occasion or studying in the computer lab. From social media, I was aware that he spent a year working abroad in Ireland after he graduated. At one point, he trekked and hitchhiked all over Iceland for three months alone. I knew he was doing interesting things, was an intellectual, and adventurous. In 2017, he had finished his work in Ireland and was in Nepal trekking the Annapurna Circuit.

Coincidentally, as soon as my commercial salmon fishing season in Alaska ended and I returned to Seattle, I was also headed to Nepal to trek. I decided to reach out. We both had desires to attempt the Three Passes Trek in the Khumbu (Everest) region, which, to complete, required some 30 days. What started as a near-blind introduction and foreign handshake transformed into a life-long bond over the month together.

A brief phone call to Cody was all that was needed to convince him to travel overseas. “Hey Cody, there is this big mountain in Kyrgyzstan. I’m going this fall. Do you want to climb it with me?” He talked to his boss and was able to get the time off work. We spent more than six months organizing for the expedition as we prepared food, gear, and refined both our skillsets and cardiovascular engines.

Cody and I allotted roughly three weeks to acclimatize and pursue the mountain properly. We would utilize the Russian Rest acclimatization strategy derived from legendary high altitude mountaineer Anatoli Boukreev. In the Russian Rest style, one ascends and acclimates on the mountain normally and ends the acclimatization by spending a night at roughly 1000m (3,300 feet) below the summit. In this case, we would sleep at C3 (20.1k) and return to base camp at 11,900 feet the following day. After resting for 3-4 days and waiting for the appropriate weather window, we would harness all of the benefits of our acclimatization in tandem with a complete resting recovery period. With a tent and supplies tactically positioned at C2, our efforts for a summit bid would increase as we can climb light and fast to the summit from BC in 3-4 days.

After Cody and I arrive in Osh, we have two days to organize gear, acquire food and fuel before getting a shuttle to base camp. I have to wrestle with moderate jetlag coming from Slovenia, while Cody has to contest with more severe jetlag flying directly from Utah. Cody brought a substantial quantity of food from the US, but we still had to acquire most of our supply from markets in Osh. With all the labels, nutrition facts, and ingredients in Russian – we are forced to play a literal game of Russian roulette. Admittedly, having a bit of a sweet tooth, I acquired an unreasonable amount of candy from the store. I’ve never seen most of these candies before, nor can I read the labels, and when we return to the hotel, Cody and I sample everything. We laugh wildly at various strange textures and flavors that we nearly end up on the floor in tears trying not to choke. Unable to find kerosene or white gas for our liquid fuel-burning MSR Whisperlite stoves, we were limited to the use of gasoline. We think we are frugal and thrifty as we scavenge a solid 1-gallon clear jug from an overflowing trash can in the street and fill it with gas. Later, when our hotel bathroom was pungent with a strong and peculiar gaseous aroma, the evidence surfaces that our bottle was indeed leaking all over the bathroom floor – partially saturating the absorbent shower mat.

I rush to clean the bathroom while Cody starts bringing our baggage downstairs and loads it on the bus. After a 6-hour shuttle, we arrive at a detailed base camp equipped with several yurts, around 50 large seasonally installed tents, a shower, bathrooms, and a sauna. We elected to purchase a small package of services with Central Asia Travel to utilize some basic features in BC and C1, which included a set number of prepared meals at each respective camp and use of their tents. Beyond C1, we are entirely on our own.

*Cody and I soon after arriving to Base Camp*

The second day in BC, Cody and I took an acclimatization hike to Traveler’s Pass, halfway to C1, with the aspiring young French climber, Erwan. Resting at the high point of the day, 14,100’, I write the following passage:

*Old Soviet truck parked at the end of the ‘road’ on the way to Traveler’s Pass*

Traveler’s Pass – 8/5/2021
“I sit at 14,100 feet gazing at the immense mountains in front of me, knowing it is but a pinprick of the Pamir. I have traveled to multiple continents worldwide, intending to see foreign places, cities, cultures, landscapes, and mountains. With all that I’ve seen, this is something completely otherworldly, near extraterrestrial. A place that is almost impossible to describe – perhaps akin to a Christian after a lifetime of devotion walking through the gates of heaven itself, tongue limp and inoperable, attempting to describe what cannot be described. Or perhaps a Norse pagan, slain in a great battle, walking through the arches of Valhalla to dine with his brethren and feast. I feel in some way that I, too, have reached a gate of my own baffling and enigmatic paradise – astonished and speechless.
Our shuttle drove through the prairies, streams, and over rock beds on the long drive from Osh. Far below, yurts pepper the landscape surrounded by near manicured, wind-scoured, and sun-bleached grass. From where we stand, we can observe the stunted vegetation moving higher into the valley, climbing steep mountainsides and up to 13,000 feet – an elevation taller than any mountain in Montana.
To the north, a vast glacier moraine stretches more than 15 miles as the crow flies across the Alay Valley to the village of Sary-Moghol (Сары-Могол), where the valley collides with another mountain range. We can see this northern section of the Alay range burdened by immense fuming clouds. These soaring clouds are an equivalent height above the tallest peaks as the peaks are above the valley – a staggering 7,000’ prominence for each medium. Just above the mountains is a dark lens of rain, snow, and wind.
Across the glacier moraine to the east, lush green vegetation instantaneously transforms into an iron-rich colored mountain. This vibrant green and bright iron-red collide together in the most miraculous way – a line so sharp and harsh, it is as if someone drew it with a mile-long ruler in any assortment of angles. Higher, the soil and rock take on a homogenous pale yellow, adding to the vivid masses of pigment. Even higher, the pale yellow turns dark black with rocky and icy vertical bands.
My eyes continue south towards Lenin Peak and the Tajikistan border. One by one, the high peaks contain more and more snow, glaciers, and intense elevation. On the surface, the glacier moraine contains only a dark and depressing gray stone, extending in this fashion with increasingly sprawled veins like roots of a tree. At the convergence of Spartan Peak (20k) and Lenin Peak glacier moraines, bizarre brown icy stalagmite-like formations vent suddenly and vertically for 200 feet, with brief intermissions between each spire cut from organic decomposition like a knife through butter. Without a clear trail, the complex micro-elevation gains and losses would make travel arduous and dangerous, especially near the convergence of exposed rock, ice, and snow.
The high mountains themselves are shrouded in thick snow-producing clouds. The glaciers look like immense bubbling lava flows that were, in an instant, frozen in time against gigantic blank rock faces black as a moonless night. Glaciers hang from cliff bands, presenting two, three, four, or five hundred foot overhangs laden with wide crevasses. I see a degree of crevasses that cannot be quantified, and my body trembles as I speculate how many are unseen and buried by the, at times, remarkably smooth and deceptive snow. The sun glimpses through the clouds, the wind chills us, and slow constant snow falls through the warm air. I can only imagine the severity of such a place in winter, the sound of snapping seracs or fragments of the steep glacier popping off the mountain and brutalizing all that is secure below. I feel that our detailed route of the impending climb on Lenin’s sub-peak, Razdalneya (20.2k), to be juvenile compared to anything else in front of me.
I can hear the sound of rushing water two thousand feet below me but cannot see but a few chocolate-colored pools of water and a faint line of a stream.
How can I one day return home and appreciate climbing those comparably grainy warts of the earth? How can a heroin user derive pleasure after the first dose enters their veins? Any contrived sin, sex, wealth, or other perceived pleasure appears dull when you stand below such a beast waiting with the audible crescendo of beating drums at the dawn of war.
For the better or worse, I feel as though I’ve just picked up the needle.”

*View from the top of Traveler’s Pass, looking to the mountains east of Lenin Peak*

That evening in base camp, I wrote the following in my journal:

Lenin Peak Base Camp – Characters and Behaviors
“With such a mountain, I find many strong personalities exist here. The majority of individuals are on a guided trip with a variety of concrete goals. Most want to summit Lenin, but many are targeting a sub-peak near C3 – Razdalneya Peak (20,200’). With the mountain’s notoriety and the ability to drive directly to base camp, I see now that many woefully unprepared individuals have shown up for a guided experience. I wonder why people don’t attempt to learn some of these skills on their own.
Though most people I’ve met have been incredible, a few people have been quite jarring. A Spanish woman, Sabana, particularly grinds my gears. Although she is a mountain hiking guide by training and profession, she is the highest maintenance person at base camp that I’ve encountered. During our bus ride to base camp, Sabana told Cody that she rarely takes photos while trekking or guiding in the mountains to be in the moment and organically absorb the experience. Less than 48 hours later, she communicated openly with several people, including myself, how much validation she is getting from sending loads of photos and videos to people with the free internet she pawned off the base camp host promising social media exposure and positive reviews. With such a need for constant validation, I wonder her reason to climb her goal mountain, Razdalneya, and maybe more interesting – why not go to the top of Lenin?
At BC, we are served three excellent 3-4 course meals per day, and at each meal, she refuses to consume one or two because it “looks distasteful” or further rejects it if the food appears to be “wet". She went as far as to tell the Kyrgyz server that she desires a strict ketogenic diet – at Lenin Peak’s remote 11,900’ base camp.
Upon request, I watched another experienced climber show Sabana what a basic prusik fiction hitch is and how to adjust her new crampons to her mountaineering boots. Not thirty minutes later, this woman, who likely has never stepped on a glacier, confidently volunteered information and guidance to Gion, a French grocery store owner and fellow climber in her group, on precisely what he needed for a complete crevasse rescue kit. Gion brought a perverse amount of accessory cord, progress ascenders, pulleys, ice screws, and sling lengths. With the assortment of brand-new gear sprawled on the large table, he stared blankly at them as if they were core components of a rocket ship. Although I was in the vicinity of the conversation initially, I had to walk away as more people with a range of knowledge and experience talked over each other to express their opinions of the equipment. I certainly don’t claim to be a veteran expert in glacier travel nor crevasse rescue. Still, I wouldn’t ask my father how to change the oil in my car, claim mechanic proficiency, and promptly instruct my friend on restoring a transmission. Furthermore, Gion brought gloves that were, perhaps, only suitable for a short walk to his grocery store in drizzling rain, and he did not bring any rain jacket – only a light micro-puffy. Thankfully, he was able to rent additional equipment at base camp from Central Asia Travel.
A few hours prior, Gion had reported a low blood oxygen saturation percentage via pulse oximeter. During lunch, I brought him my pulse oximeter to confirm his data with a second device. Then, I briefly discussed the comparison of quantitative and qualitative data. Sabana, of course, forced her way into and overpowered the conversation to personally instruct me of one or two of the most basic nuances of the device. In the last two weeks, I have communicated directly with my highly decorated endurance coach, who specialized in high-altitude physiology in graduate school, about such topics. Additionally, I read an entire 20-page master’s thesis on “The Use of Pulse Oximetry in the Assessment of Acclimatization to High Altitude” during my flight to Kyrgyzstan. I see no point in a confrontation, so I calmly try to continue discussing with Gion.
Following these interactions, I feel as though I am observing a large-scale sociological experiment rather than participating in an expedition.
Conversely, I find the Bosnians to be delightful and charming. They are in their 30’s and 40’s, and three out of four in their group were each other’s best man at respective weddings. Jaka jested to a group that, “we all must work hard as a team to find the 4th man a wife.” Additionally, when another climber asked if he had attempted other big mountains, he responded, “Yes, 12 years ago, I climbed Mount Elbrus (18.5k) in Russia. It was great acclimatization for Lenin!” Everyone roared with laughter. This group of guys came here for a purpose. They have studied, are unquestionably passionate, and are well-equipped with the appropriate gear and knowledge to attempt the mountain on their own terms.
Rather than focus on these energizing or strange interactions, I focus on what is important to me: my climb, the initial summit, and a potential subsequent speed summit ascent. While others are in the common area laughing, drinking, and playing games late into the night, I prepare for war. Before coming to base camp, I was curious and perhaps charmed by the community aspect during high-altitude climbing as portrayed in movies and social media. Although I have met many interesting and dedicated people here, I came to focus, organize, and be meticulous. I didn’t come here to broadcast my athletic resume, play poker, drink half the night, or prove anything. With that being said, I think regarding the climb and the mountain ahead – let’s play some games.”

On the third day at BC, my stomach begins to feel sick. Over the next 24 hours, I lose what I can only assume to be the majority of available fluids in my body. One of the Bosnian climbers, a handsome German native, tells me that his mother and grandmother would have him swallow a clove of garlic to help with such issues. He tells me that “swallowing that garlic whole allows it to digest in your stomach as a sort of extended-release medicine.” That evening he retrieves a few garlic cloves from the kitchen and brings them to me in my tent just before Cody and I go to sleep.

As Cody lies down and puts in his earplugs, I stare at the rather large clove, thinking, “I don’t know if I can swallow this whole thing,” wanting anything to help with the unsavory symptoms. I pop the clove in my mouth and take a large gulp of water. The vegetable immediately lodges in my throat, entirely blocking my airway. Panicking, I spontaneously take another large gulp, which only pushes it a millimeter further down my trachea. I stare at Cody, with my eyes bulging, and impulsively heave. The garlic erupts from my mouth, flying through the air, as I vomited the article and a throat-full of water on the tent floor. With the chaotic sound, Cody sits up with eyes as wide as mine. Regaining my breath, we both have a well-deserved laugh.

A well-trailed approach to C1 is nearly 50% glaciated, although this section is mainly dominated by rocks and boulders of all sizes covering the ice. Many horse packers shuttle gear and supplies back and forth between these two camps. We opt to send one bag to C1 to avoid taking two trips back and forth, though we still carry 50-60 pound backpacks. This section is quite difficult because my body is not calibrated to the large bag and hefty load. Thankfully, my bag wasn’t this heavy during the entirety of the expedition.

The main river crossing close to C1 swells significantly during the warmth of the day, forcing approaching climbers to cross through the freezing river barefoot or with sandals, often with heavy backpacks. On colder days, glacial and superficial snowmelt from the high mountains is much less severe. River flow rates reduce dramatically, allowing for one or two short hops to cross without submerging the feet in the water.

Camp 1 to Camp 2

Camp 1 (14.6k) to Camp 2 (17.7k) – 4.4 miles, 3,000 feet gain, 100 feet loss

Yesterday, Gion got dropped on his first acclimatization hike to Petrovsky Peak by his guide as Cody and I intersected him on the way up. He expressed frustration with his €7000 investment with Central Asia Travel, though I have no idea what he paid for to make it so expensive.

Today, a conglomeration of climbers, including Cody and I, all move to C1. Gion has a bad headache that continues into the evening. He looks very pale sitting in the yurt, hunched over with his hands on his forehead. Beginning to show grim symptoms of acute mountain sickness (AMS), he tells us that he previously climbed a few moderate elevation mountains in Nepal and Kilimanjaro (16,893’) in Africa. I can see his spirit and ego bruised from being left behind, as he was far too slow. His body not acclimatizing well, his apparent lack of cardiovascular fitness, and the stress of his unwise investment pile on him in an overwhelming weight. Unable to recover physically nor spiritually, he pays $300 to have a horse transport him from C1 to BC at midnight in a snowstorm and promptly vanishes from base camp the next day.

*Cody and I setting up our crevasse rescue rope system in the tent at Camp 1*

The following day, after Gion leaves, Cody and I meet a pleasant, soft-spoken 70-year old Russian woman, Olena. Although our conversation is stunted with a language barrier, I discern that she climbed Lenin 30-40 years ago. When I ask her why she came to the Pamirs to climb at this point in her life, she says she “wants to remind herself of her former life and to see this place which always held a special part of her.”

She is older now, with children and grandchildren, and wants to come to explore these places again to see how they’ve changed, just as an adult might return to their childhood home or elementary school. While walking around the dark halls and into rooms, one is flooded with memories of what once was. Her goal for this trip is to summit Yuhin Peak (5130m/16,929’), which she succeeded earlier today! When I ask what her family thinks of her coming to do this, she looks at me with brightening eyes, and her sweet smile curved upward at one corner of her mouth in a near mischievous fashion before slowly saying, “t-hsey tsink I am cray-see!”

She was close friends with a large group of eight Russian women who all died on the mountain in 1974 during a storm (New York Times, 1974). Although she didn’t explicitly tell me this, I speculate that she also has come here as a tribute to these women and remember them.

The next day, Cody and I acclimatized on Yuhin Peak (16.7k). Near the summit, Cody looks at me and says, “Do you feel that? In your hair?” Since I am wearing a tight-fitting hat, I can only feel it in my beard - static tingling from a nearby electric storm. Standing at the high camp where people acclimatize, I look at the summit only 50 feet higher than where we stand.

*Beautiful view on the way to Yuhin Peak*

“Ok, let’s leave our bags and tag the summit real quick,” I tell Cody. A woman camping in the vicinity is smoking a cigarette and informs us, “I wouldn’t go up there. There is electricity in the air.” I stare at her blankly and say, “Well, I don’t think you’re much better off standing where you are.” Cody and I make for the summit, and a few minutes later, the electricity dissipates.

We make our way back down to C1, and I relax and write in the C1 yurt alone when Sabana walks in. During our conversation, I mention that I found the initial BC to C1 hike quite challenging. She smiles and snorts, “Oh really? I thought you were an ultra-marathon runner! I thought it was pretty easy actually, and I feel really, really good right now.” Unwilling to call her out for having a 2kg backpack and using horses to carry all of her gear to C1, while I took a 50-pound bag with a 90L capacity complete with my food and equipment, although heavily agitated, I remained aloof and moved on with the conversation.

She had just returned to C1 from the same acclimatizing hike on Yuhin Peak. When Cody and I passed her, she had no pack, food, or water on her person – her guide was carrying it all for her. Her objective of this trip was to climb to C3 and summit nearby Razdelnaya, but she ended up turning around at C2 due to “back pain”.

*Beautiful color contrast after a recent snow near Camp 1*

The food we receive from Central Asia Travel at BC and C1 has been particularly delicious and traditional to Kyrgyzstan and Russia. Dinner this evening was no exception, as it is both filling and delicious. Central Asia Travel skillfully markets the cuisine as a “cultural experience,” but in reality, they only serve food available in the country. As Cody and I head to bed, I pull out the three cloves of garlic remaining and say, “There is no way in hell I am going to try to swallow this thing whole again. I’ve learned my lesson, so I’ll just eat it.” Having similar gastrointestinal issues, I offer one to Cody too. We pop the garlic in our mouths, chew, and swallow the potent clove.

Before a minute passes, I experience a strange sensation as I stand at the tent entrance. My mouth begins heavily salivating, emitting a fluid with an equivalent viscosity as water that drips on the floor. Déjà vu hits me like a freight train, and remembering this sensation, I immediately exit the tent and walk some distance away before violently vomiting several times. As the heaving ceases, I hear Cody from the tent, “you all right, man?” Spitting the residual debris from my mouth, I respond with the first thought that came to my mind, “Damn it - that was a really good dinner!” Walking back into the tent, we both start laughing at the ridiculous situation.

After two nights acclimatizing at C1 (14.6k), including the day hike to summit Yuhin Peak (16.7k), we head to C2 (17.7k). Due to the exposure (avalanche, cornice, and serac fall paths) from the mountain’s steep north face, as well as avoiding the heat of the day on the glacier, we understand that people generally leave C1 at 2-4 am for a 5-8 hour climb to C2. The climb to C2 is where the climbing gets real – and you have to do the trickiest part in the dark. The anxiety of the impending climb on the glacier, paired with knowing that I’d only get 5 hours of sleep maximum, made for a sleepless night.

Partway to C2, the darkness transforms to the dim glow of the sun, which erupts brilliantly orange and red, roughly a third of the way up the climb. We step or jump over many crevasses with heavy, cumbersome backpacks. The most significant crevasse to cross in the series has a very narrow 20-foot snow and ice bridge that feels somewhat equivalent to walking the plank on a pirate ship. By the time we reach C2, the solar radiation on the glacier makes for unbearable, windless heat. We set up our tent and crawl inside, incredibly dehydrated and feel like shriveled worms on the asphalt.

*Sunrise on the climb from Camp 1 to Camp 2*

One of the nights at C2, when I was in the tent and Cody was just outside, I heard an explosion and immediately smelled strong gas fumes. I began frantically smelling each corner of the tent and our fuel canisters, as I was afraid that one of our butane gas fuel canisters exploded. During the search, I found a lighter I bought had exploded into many pieces due to pressure from altitude or extreme heat – likely a combination of both.

Camp 2 is infamously known as the ‘frying pan’ and is home to the largest mountaineering disaster in history, wherein 1990; an earthquake triggered a large avalanche that killed at least 40 climbers (New York Times, 1990). Cody and I quickly found out how C2 got this name and invented our favorite and comical “hide from the sun” game which we play from 10 am-5 pm each day. On occasion, during the day, we would keep our tent door open for ventilation and hear the crunch… silence... crunch… silence... crunch… of snow as a climber walked up the hill to the center of C2. As the morning progressed into the afternoon, people looked more and more physically haggard and mentally defeated. After they passed, Cody and I would look at each other and say in a calm voice, “dude, that sucks,” knowing how miserable it would be.

*The final approach to Camp 2 tucked on the hillside, to protect from potential avalanches*

Though C2 is baking hot during the day, a strong breeze and snow are typical in the evening, making for cold nights. Additionally, since this camp is nearly at 18,000’, we start seeing other climbers having more common and severe symptoms of AMS. One German guy complains of rattling fluid in his chest, foaming coughs, and an intense, prolonged headache. Showing notable signs of high altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE), he and his partner retreat down the mountain the following day.

When discussing the frying pan with other climbers, Cody nor I heard anyone reminisce of C2 in fond nostalgia – only loud resonating groans.

Camp 2 to Camp 3

Camp 2 (17.7k) to Camp 3 (20.1k) – 2.3 miles, 2,400 feet gain, 150 feet loss

After two nights of sleeping at C2, Cody and I hike with light bags to C3 and back for acclimatization. For all of our strategic ‘hike high, sleep low’ acclimatization hikes, we attempt to remain at the high point for around one hour. The final ascent to get to the knoll that is C3 is on steep and sustained snow. Although this section is possibly only 0.5 miles and 1,000 vertical feet, many people take 1-2 hours to climb it. The wind and resulting temperature are incredibly unpleasant at the top of C3 and Razdalneya’s peak (20.2k), a 10-minute walk from C3. We only stay at the summit of Razdalneya for 5-10 minutes – just long enough to take a few photos with our gloveless hands and retreat to the frying pan.

*Lenin Peak’s north face rising nearly 6,000 vertical feet above Camp 2*

Cody and I thought it would be wise to start the climb to C3 early in the morning to avoid the heat of the day. Still, we didn’t anticipate that C3 would be significantly colder and windier due to its exposure to the Tajikistan side south of the ridge. Thus, during our move to C3, the temperature stayed frigid, and we got utterly beaten by the wind and spindrift.

Descending from C3 to C2, I cross paths with a Kyrgyz porter, Kolya, hauling gear up to C3. When I ask how he is doing, he stops to catch his breath and responds in perfect English, “I am so tired. I shouldn’t be this tired.” Curious, I question, “where did you come from today – C2?” He stood up straighter, leaning on his hiking poles slightly, and said, “No, I started by carrying 30kg from C1 to C2 and now am carrying only 20kg from C2 to C3”. My jaw drops, and I stare at him incredulously. “Jesus, dude, you should be tired. That’s a hell of a day! You realize that none of the climbers here could do what you’re doing right now, right?”

*The final steep climb to Camp 3, with the sun peeking through the clouds*

Not wanting to be too critical, I continue cautiously. “From BC to C1 to C2 and C3, I have seen climbers of all ages, body types, experience levels, and fitness. Regardless of these assorted variables, most climbers have one thing in common. They all have near brand new, high-end gear, which is commonly color coordinated and vibrant. Sometimes behind, and often in front, porters with dated, cracked gear carry massive loads, soloing the dangerous crevassed section, with only a single hiking pole and no ice axe. Still, they are often hiking faster than the foreign “mountaineers.” I saw a 6-person Ukrainian group paying an exorbitant amount of money to get gear shuttled from C2 to C3, paying for every ounce of opportunity for a summit, attempting to conserve energy. Then the next day, I saw them walking up, each with a 3kg backpack, which had just enough space for some snacks and water for the day. There is no doubt that if all climbers had to carry their gear up the mountain, a summit would be a sporadic occurrence. You and other porters carry way more weight than most climbers and climb twice what they do in a day. Do you ever look at these climbers and think – what a bunch of privileged wimps?”

He looks at me with raised eyebrows, smiles, and holds up his hand for a fist bump. “I appreciate that you can see the reality of these types of climbs. It’s not every day that climbers recognize that. But to answer your question, no, I don’t view the climbers as wimps. Everyone coming to Lenin Peak is supporting our economy, and the climbers like these Ukrainians give me a job. When people pay for porters, I have a job and can support my wife and four children living on the other side of the country. This is how it works up here. And we are happy to have a job.” With a mutual understanding, we shake hands and continue on our way.

Camp 3 to Base Camp

After ascending to Camp 3, Cody and I return to C2 for the night and ultimately return to BC to wait for our weather window for a summit bid. Having been on the mountain for eight days thus far, I’ve found that such an exciting conglomeration of people exists here. Though most of the climbers are Russian, I’ve met people from all over the world; Kyrgyz, Kazakh, Ukrainian, Bosnian, Austrian, German, Uzbek, Scottish, Slovakian, Israeli, French, Spanish, Dutch, Bulgarian, British, Portuguese, and Italian. Lenin Peak was renamed in 1928 after the Soviet Union’s former leader - Vladimir Lenin. This name echoes the remnants of post-Soviet influence of the 20th century.

We first met Slovakians Marek and Danko on an acclimatization hike to Traveler’s Pass (13.7k). While many climbers were resting, eating, and appreciating the views, they hand-rolled a cigarette and announced their vision to smoke a cigarette on the top of Lenin Peak.

They planned to move from BC to C1 to C2 to C3 to attempt a summit and return to BC in daily sequence. They thought if they summited in 5 days, they could capitalize on their 2-week vacation in Kyrgyzstan. We saw Marek and Danko two days later in the yurt at C1. They had made it to C2 and told us they felt so “fucked up, debilitated, and nearly incapacitated with symptoms of AMS; they highly considered calling for a helicopter rescue over the radio.” All they could do was lie in their tent and suffer the brutal heat of C2 in the frying pan. Thus, the following day, they retreated to C1 to rest for one day.

After meeting again in C1, we became friends with these motivated and hilarious guys and were ultimately tent neighbors at C2. Previously, they told the C1 manager that they wanted a team name, Žochari, which more or less means “trash person” in Slovakian. At least three times per day, the C1 manager would contact each team via radio in spotty English two questions. “Vher are you? How you dwo-enhg? Vwat your plahn?” For the entire expedition, we heard the updates of Žochari over the radio. The C1 manager addressed us over the radio only as ‘Branden Joy’ for some unknown reason. Later, we contested the team name to be inclusive to Cody – we wanted to be addressed as “screaming eagle,” but after much confusion with our request, we gave up the effort.

Team Žochari told us they didn’t think they had enough cigarettes remaining to smoke one on the summit. When I asked how many they had, they said, “We only have around 30 remaining.” If all went well, they had only 36 hours until they would reach the summit. They made for C3 the next day.

Roughly 36 hours after we last saw them, Danko trudges into C2 alone. He tells us that he made it halfway from C3 to the summit and then had to return. He continues, “I could probably have made it to the summit, but I have no fucking clue how I’d have the energy to get back.” Marek, however, continued to the summit alone and suffered severe audible and visual hallucinations near the top as he “saw faces in rocks and nonchalantly talked with them.”

“When Marek returned to C3 after summiting, he collapsed in the tent. I had to help him get his jacket off and get in his sleeping bag”, Danko says. He promptly slept for 16 hours straight (at 20,100’). Since Danko couldn’t bear the thought of another night at C3, and when Marek was situated, he descended to C2 where we met him, and he relayed the story. Anyone that has spent time at C2 and C3 knows that the often windless plateau is unbearably hot and unpleasant yet is still much more manageable than C3. I strategically traded him a melatonin pill to help him sleep for some European snus; thus, we were both happy campers! As we stood in outside our skin-tight thermals outside in the baking sun, equipped with oversized mountaineering glasses that stemmed back into the mess of our unkempt, greasy hair, the three of us ate dinner together and drank hot chocolate.

The following morning, Marek returns to C2 as we pack up camp and joins us for the descent. Both of these guys are strong as bulls. Marek has been steadily climbing and doing endurance sports most of his life, and maybe more impressive, Danko tells us he has only been hiking for a mere two years – and he made it to 6500m!

As Cody and I descend to C1, we notice something different about the many crevasses that we cross. On the initial climb, a meager step or awkward crawl was all that was required to overcome the crevasse. Now, the maneuvers require a giant step or a sizeable jump. The ‘walk the plank’ section is losing its structure to the crevasse sidewalls, and guides have installed a fixed line in case of collapse. We attribute the change in crevasse widths to the mountain climate in recent weeks. Even though a large amount of spindrift is transported each day and night, without much new snow and lots of sun, the fractures could not recover or bond normally.

This experience was a great learning lesson - just because the route is in a particular condition on the way up doesn’t mean it will be in the same state on the descent.

*‘Walking the plank’ on a snow bridge prior to the installation of the fixed line. Most porters did this section solo, unprotected, and with enormous bags.*

At C1, Marek buys a bottle of Russian vodka, and we all partake in a celebratory shot. As we walk back to BC, I talk with Marek, who continues to slug vodka from the opaque glass bottle as we walk. I ask if he was willing to die for the climb, and he responds, “No, when I was younger, I did a lot of crazy shit in the mountains and took ultimate risk. Now, I wouldn’t do that.” I calmly respond, “But you realize you took a severe risk going to the summit with no backpack, only 1L of water, and 300 calories (2 GU gels and 1 granola bar), don’t you?” He grins, “Yes, now I’m not risking my life. If I have a 60/40 chance to live, I’ll take the chances.”

Arriving at BC, Marek has nearly finished the bottle of vodka and purchased another from the small shop. We all sit down in chairs outside in the warm sun. Marek refills our coffee cups with the pungent, bitter liquid, which is more representative of lighter fluid than liquor that makes us cough, gag, and wince more with each successive gulp. Bottle after bottle appeared, and by the night’s end, we consumed four bottles of vodka, only to capitalize late in the night with a traditional Finnish sauna running back and forth naked between the sauna and cold shower.

On the first round to the cold shower, Marek and Danko charged in butt naked on three younger, unsuspecting, and (previously) innocent Kyrgyz women cleaning the shower, who promptly run out giggling and whispering to each other. During another round in the sauna, Danko, who cares deeply for his friend, pushes Marek to recognize the risk he took, which Marek eventually acknowledges with no words, yet a bowed head of agreement. Marek and Danko leave the next day to continue their travels, having nearly one whole week to explore Kyrgyzstan. Even though most climbers would agree their summit plan was unwise and borderline irresponsible, I feel that these two guys, at the mere age of 30, have lived more life than most people do in their entire existence.

During our one full rest day at BC, the weather showed that our potential summit bid was four days away. When we checked the weather, there appeared to be a small weather window on the morning of the 17th. Ideally, Cody and I would have had 3-4 days to rest in BC before our summit bid, but with the end of the climbing season drawing near, weather windows were getting smaller and tighter. Cody and I agreed that this was our chance to summit.

The afternoon of the 17th, the forecast predicted the winds would pick up as another storm system entered the area. For the next five days after the 17th, the weather looked utterly impossible for a summit bid, and after that, the climbing season could be over for the year. Pushing for the summit on the projected day meant we had to leave the next day for C1 and sequentially to C2 and C3. Before sunrise on the 17th, we would push for the summit and return to C3 or C2 the same day.

Summit Bid

Camp 3 (20.1k) to Lenin Peak (23.4k) round trip – 8 miles, 4,600 feet gain, 4,600 feet descent

The most challenging day for most mountains is the summit day – Lenin Peak is no exception. Lenin’s summit push is incredibly spicy, containing an extra-brutal 4-mile slog to reach the summit, starting with a 700-foot descent from C3, which you immediately gain back with the remaining near 4,000 feet net gain the summit. The entire distance between C3 and the summit is on a ridgeline, straddling the Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan border. Looking south to the Tajikistan side from the ridge, you see what seems to be an infinite glaciated mountain range.

From what we heard, most teams started between 2-4 am and took roughly 13-18 hours round trip to the summit and back.

Based on the weather forecast we received on the radio, the wind on the high mountain would peak in the night and diminish slightly as the day progressed. Wind chills were predicted in the night and morning to be -30F and “warm up” to around -26F during the day.

*Looking Lenin Peak from Camp 3. The summit is 4 miles and more than 3,000 vertical feet above us.*

Thus, we developed our strategy. We would start later – circa 5 am. We chose this for two main reasons:

Based on our experience hiking in the proximity of other teams during our time on the mountain, we knew we would be faster than at least 90% of the groups. Additionally, we were a team of two, giving less opportunity for the ever-present hazards of frostbite, altitude sickness, physiological or physical fatigue-roulette that large groups had to play. Unless a group unethically drops someone, the party travels at the pace of the least (slowest) common denominator.
We heard the wind rips from the south over the ridge constantly from the Tajikistan side, and the dark only makes the experience slower and more uncomfortable. By starting at 5 am, we only had 1-1.5 hours in the dark, versus nearly 4-5 hours that people starting at 2 am would endure.

When we initially arrived at C2, there was a peculiar water hole in the snowy glacier, six inches in diameter, that most people were collecting water from and sterilizing. Unfortunately, there are no installed bathroom facilities in C2 or higher, so small snow walls are erected, and everyone defecates in a congregated area. I remember arriving at C2, and the Slovakian pointed to the “bathroom” 50 yards away, where we could see part of someone’s back and exposed thigh. He merely laughed and said, “We are all brothers and sisters here!”

On the morning of our final ascent to C3, the water hole is totally frozen for some unknown reason. Rather than melting snow with our stoves and filling our water capacity, we move to C3, where the wind is constant and brutal. After digging for 45 minutes to place our tent and anchoring it with a picket, we begin to melt snow. Without a vestibule for my Black Diamond Eldorado 2 tent, we have to try to shelter the stove in the tent’s pit. I stand outside the tent, growing increasingly cold as the wind and spindrift whip me, constantly putting out the flame. I fumble with the lighter, dropping one in the snow, which instantly stops working. Thankfully, Cody has a second lighter with him. After three hours of determination, the stove won’t work at all, and my body shivers incessantly. I retreat to the tent with only three liters of water total. As a result, Cody and I have 1.5 liters each for the evening and the entire summit day, which could be 10-16 hours round trip. Granted that the body doesn’t experience the usual cravings of thirst and hunger above 6000m, I feel anxious that we are limited to this small fluid volume.

We try to sleep during the night at C3, but brutal winds and spindrift bury our tent – compressing the tent walls on all four sides. Fine snow particles and vapor from our breath quickly clog the two small vents in the roof of the tent. I frequently wake in the night, either gasping for air or from intense nightmares of drowning, suffocating, and dying, only to discover the tent has been buried another 6-inches or more. I aggressively kick the door of the tent to try to keep the snow from completely entombing us. I feel this situation is indicative of being slowly buried by an avalanche and wonder how much of the tent needs to get submerged before we suffocate and die. Even though my sleeping bag is rated to -40F, I still feel the dense, cold snow behind my head, on the left side of my body, and on my feet, creeping into my bones.

Due to the vents sealing in the night, strange ice leaves and other dangling formations grew inside from our breathing. They clung to the tent ceiling and walls, dislodging on our sleeping bags and exposed faces with the lightest contact with the nylon. Additionally, the inner material of the tent had formed a comprehensive lens of frost, as if we were sleeping inside a freezer.

*Our tent in ‘the pit’ at Camp 3, before it got buried with snow*

After our descent from the summit, we find our tent in Camp 2 engulfed in snow. The following morning, when we finished our descent to Base Camp, we spent a grueling hour digging the frozen tent, picket, and stakes out of the snow.

I’ve experienced numb hands and feet a lot in my life. Over time, I have personally established two categories of numbness. There is ‘normal-numb’ in moderate cold, which I don’t often worry about, as it poses more of an inconvenience than a threat. Then, there is ‘scary-numb’, where the hands or feet are so violently cold and lacking blood flow that any use of the appendage is totally extinguished, and you need to operate with stubs at the end of your arms or legs like an amputee. I generally don’t worry about frostbite until the appendage progresses to ‘scary-numb’.

Due to the compression of the down in my sleeping bag at the tent door, my feet are violently numb. Unable to sleep, I position my -20F rated gloves on my feet, something that could only resemble Frankenstein’s socks. I toss and turn, unable to regain circulation. I eventually sit up, pull the boot liners out of my La Sportiva G2 mountaineering boots (rated to 7000m), and put them on. Over the next 30 minutes, one foot recovers to feel relatively normal, while the other foot improves condition to ‘normal-numb’, which allows me to try to salvage the remaining few hours of rest and sleep if I am lucky.

In the morning, I gear up and wiggle out of the upper foot of the tent door like a hatching larva. I excavate the tent entrance and backpacks out of the snow, breathing hard in the night.

For the first half of the climb, my hands are ‘scary-numb’. I frequently stop, plant my poles in the snow, and swing my arms violently up and down to attempt to force blood back in my hands manually. At one point, Cody looks at me as says, “You good man?” Near aggravated by pain and the situation, I sharply retort, “No, obviously not. Do you think I’m standing here waving my arms around for fun?” Later, I feel bad about how I responded, but there is no time to discuss such emotions – and I think he understood. There is nothing to do except occasionally stop to facilitate blood flow and carry on walking before feeling the life rapidly get extracted again, and again, and again - repeating the cycle.

"If you're going through hell, keep going."

- Woodrow Wilson

Our strategy paid off! Cody and I summited at 12 pm for a 7-hour summit and a 4-hour return, yielding 11 hours total. Expectedly, every successive stride we took from C3 to the summit was both a little slower and more challenging. Many false summits exist towards the top of the climb, which posed an additional psychological battle, that after the fact, climbers laughed about with wild eyes.

Cody and I both developed mild frostbite on our fingers, along with many people who attempted a summit. There is one fixed rope on a steeper snow section, but it is not necessarily needed. After returning to C3, we packed up our gear and tent to continue descending to C2 for a better night’s sleep and set us up for a C2 to BC descent the following day.

Continuing down to C2, with Cody slightly behind me, I cross paths with a woman in her 30’s. From the sound of her voice, she is terrified and panicking. Equipped with two hiking poles and a small backpack, she leans forward awkwardly. “Help, help,” she says. Although she doesn’t speak English, the situation is clear to me. Her guide is either in front of or behind her, and she has very little or no experience using crampons or traveling on steep snow. She also likely has never practiced self-arresting with an ice axe.

With the thought of falling and cartwheeling 500 feet or more to the plateau below, she can barely function, let alone take off her backpack to get her ice axe out. I walk behind her, untie her ice axe from her bag, and replace it with one hiking pole. Now standing next to her, and with singular word expressions, I simulate a slow demonstration of falling forward and planting the ice axe in the snow before handing the ice axe to her.

Still, she is near trembling and points the 500 feet up to C3, saying, “Up, up, up.”

After nearly 12 consecutive hours moving above an average altitude of 20,000 feet, I cannot jeopardize my own safety to spend an additional grueling hour or more climbing. Moreover, if I walked up with her, I would be walking back to C2 in the dark. If she had a life-threatening injury, needed water or food, I could and would surely stay to help. But in this case, just being scared, I left her to manage the fear and the problem she formulated.

Throughout the expedition, I observed and heard of all types of injuries - both physical and mental. People like Cody and I came down from Lenin Peak with frostbitten fingers or hands. Without wearing the appropriate amount of sunscreen on their face, others had lips turn black and blistered, which later cracked or popped and bled. Nearly everyone had gastrointestinal distress at some point, usually at BC, which lasted anywhere from 1-4 days. I can say with a high degree of certainty that no one gained weight during their expedition. Conversely, most people lost anywhere between 5-15 pounds, possibly more, due to physical exertion, spending time at altitude, and the inability to eat sufficient calories or drink adequate fluids (malnutrition and dehydration). I likely lost around 10 pounds during the 2-week climb. The body requires an immense amount of additional calories when in cold climates for constant thermal regulation. When subsisting at altitude, the body must work much harder to sustain life, transfer reduced available oxygen in the blood, etc.

*Image taken from the summit - looking south to Tajikistan*

As mentioned earlier, the German at C2 had HAPE symptoms of fluid buildup in lungs, which rolled side to side with gravity, foaming sound while inhaling or exhaling, and coughing. Everybody suffered from headaches at some point, some more lasting and severe than others. Acclimatization is purely dependent on genetics, and neither age nor fitness plays a role in the body’s adjustment. Danko told me that he came across a climber on his descent to C2, lying in the snow alone and completely exhausted, hand outstretched exclaiming, “Help! I don’t want to die!” If not appropriately acclimatized, one can surely suffer hallucinations, as Marek did near the summit. During our time on the mountain, we also heard of two deaths.

So, what did I feel on the summit, you might think? Over the past few years, I’ve come to realize that I feel no exhilaration, no exaltation, and no enlightenment when reaching any summit, rather a slow extraction of satisfaction over time as I acknowledge the dedication, sacrifice, and passion that went into making the project a reality. I have never conquered and will never conquer a mountain – I have only learned from them.

“Mountains are not Stadiums where I satisfy my ambition to achieve,

they are the cathedrals where I practice my religion.”

– Anatoli Boukreev

Two years ago, in 2019, I climbed the Matterhorn via the Hornli Ridge. Now, the Matterhorn, similar to Lenin Peak, is not an outrageous climb for elite-level mountaineers. However, for me, having never climbed in the Alps before, soloing without a rope for the 4000-foot vertical ascent and down climbing the entire mountain was somewhere between courageous and utterly absurd. While on the summit, I didn’t know how I could possibly descend safely and thought I would die. I wrote the following passage shortly after enduring the Matterhorn. Although Lenin was much less death-defying for me, these post-climb sentiments echo within me, especially in describing the experience and what it meant to me, as these climbs are powerful and deeply personal. Still, I feel these verses resemble part of my Lenin Peak experience as I reflect on why I attempt these climbs, what I benefit from them, and what is worth dying for.

Matterhorn – 7/10/2019
With each movement – every step, twist, pinch, and crimp
You must be as sure of its sincerity and integrity
As you are sure that tomorrow the sun will rise
As sure as the newborn will cry at night
          And the old are weary in the day
As sure as the fish dies on the shore
          And the horse swallowed by the sea
With every move –
You must be as sure as you have a pulse and your heart beats now
          Else it may be no more

Though I will try, I recognize the attempt to fully describe
          The intimate experience and personal meaning
Is as futile as it is to describe
          An infinite starry night to the blind
          Taste to the man with no tongue
          A lion’s roar to the deaf
          And love to the virgin
It is as futile as to describe sin to God

I choose a mortal life – to live and learn and love
          Fully uninhibited by fear or failure
To embrace life, confront death, and relentlessly pursue my passions
To sharpen the mind, harden the body
          To explore their convergence and limitations
This mentality may one day bring me death, yes
Though in the interim, it will give me a full and vibrant life.

Death on Lenin Peak

Cody and I walk into base camp the evening following our summit. There are a few familiar faces, but camp is mostly deserted since this is the end of the climbing season. The weather is growing increasingly cold, windy, and violent. Soon after we arrive, we hear of a death at C3 the previous night, where we passed by just 24 hours prior. The details are not entirely clear, but we hear that a Polish climber accidentally left the gas on in his tent and died from carbon monoxide poisoning for one of two reasons. Camp 3 is unbelievably miserable, cold, and windy. If people stand outside their tents and talk, they do so only in oversized down jackets that make them look like the Michelin Man. Occasionally, climbers use their fuel-burning stoves in their tent to warm themselves, but this is incredibly dangerous for obvious reasons. A situation is also possible where the climber brings their stove in their tent after cooking. The gas regulator is open slightly, allowing for fumes to enter the tent and asphyxiate those inside. One of these two scenarios likely happened to the Polish climber. Upon being aware that one of their comrades passed away, his team of around ten immediately descended to BC. Cody and I also heard that the Polish team’s guide had their expedition stay three consecutive nights each at C2 and C3, waiting for a weather window to attempt a summit bid. According to another guide I talked to later, this strategy was foolish and negligent due to the force of the high mountain. The Polish team arrived to BC in the middle of the night, piled into a van, and were whisked back to Osh.

This is the second death we have heard of since coming to Lenin Peak. Soon after arriving to BC, we heard that a British woman died while descending from C3 to C2 in adverse weather. The route from C3 starts heading north and curves down to the east to reach C2. Instead of taking the right-hand turn (east), she went west and was neither heard from again nor, to my knowledge, was her body found.

A day later, Cody and I find our 22-year old French climber friend, Erwan, looking haggard and smoking a cigarette outside in the rain under a canopy. He had summited the day after us along with his guide and three other Russian climbers. He was woken up the following morning by his guide, who said, “Erwan. We have a serious situation. Last night, the guy in the tent next to you died. The corpse needs to be transported down to base camp while the body is fresh. Normally, I would help with the rescue, but my priority is ensuring that our group gets down, and there aren’t many people at C3 now. You have shown tremendous strength during this expedition, and there are three porters here ready to take the body down. Would you be willing to help take the body down?”

*Wind rips through Camp 2 the day after our descent. Some shelters are completely destroyed. Photo: Compliments of Erwan*

I can only imagine the look of surprise and bewilderment on Erwan’s face after these few sentences. Yet, he tells me that he felt honored with the invitation, promptly packed his equipment, and joined the team. Erwan tells me, “These porters had clearly not performed a rescue like this before. We had to try several different formations amongst ourselves, with the rope and the body, to find what worked best. We kept the body in the sleeping bag and secured it with rope.” Each team member had a section of rope attached to the body, creating what looked like the beginning of a spider web” The way from C3 to C2 has no open crevasses and is more or less a very steep highway on snow. The real challenge wasn’t getting the body down or pulling hard like a team of horses - the problem was gravity. After several iterations of positioning, they found that the system worked best, having three people behind (uphill) of the body to serve as the brakes while one person remained in front to ask as a steering mechanism. Halfway to C2, the team started crossing paths with climbers ascending to C3 that had “incredulous, bewildered, and near panicked” looks on their faces, without understanding what happened to this person and justifiably contemplating if they might have the same fate.

Passing through C2, the team was able to acquire a sled to put the body in. While this transition happened, a Russian climber in his mid-20’s, an aspiring filmmaker, appeared out of his tent with a large camera and began filming the team as they continued their descent. He circled the team with his chest-mounted camera stabilizer. The rescue team evolved from mildly irritated to aggravated. Eventually, one of the porters turned and looked at him, saying something to the effect of, “You need to fuck off. Right now.” Erwan says at this point, “all of the team was completely exhausted, and it was beyond disrespectful to just pace around us filming like it was a circus.”

The first half of the route from C2 to C1 is comparable to C3 to C2, but the second half is the technical crux of the entire climb. Even with a small team of people, each only carrying their equipment, this section can be tricky and arduous.

The rescue team couldn’t take the body across the standard route, so they created their own. Using their ice axes as anchors in the snow and stepping on them for extra support, they performed a series of rappels in tandem with lateral traverses. Since they were using all the rope to manage the body, they all climbed unprotected. “At one point, one of the porters slipped and fell. He was sliding down the mountain at an alarming rate, only to self-arrest with his ice axe right before he plunged into a large crevasse”, Erwan said. Below the crux section is a mile-long stretch of the flat glacier where horses could travel and transport the body to base camp.

The two photos below depicts two of the systems the rescue team could have used ice axes to control the body:

ice axe anchor (death on lenin section).jpg

After Erwan finishes his story, I look at him and ask, “So, how do you feel about it now that it’s all over?” He grinned as he exhaled the chalky smoke from his lungs. “I loved it. I really loved it.” He laughed, “I loved that I could do something to help. The whole experience was intense and deeply satisfying.”

*Horses moving between Camp 1 and Camp 2 for a rescue situation*

I see something compelling in this young guy. We aren’t stuck on an ice flow in the early 1900s, eating our sled dogs for survival and constantly battling for our lives like Ernest Shackleton and his crew. Still, the following quote is powerful, and I see Erwan embodying a large part of this passage in his spirit. He could have been a crew member on Shackleton’s boat. Whether in mountaineering or elsewhere, I think this man will do great things in his life.

“To be brave cheerily, to be patient with a glad heart,

to stand the agonies of thirst with laughter and song,

to walk beside death for months and never be sad –

that's the spirit that makes courage worth having.”

- Ernest Shackleton

Following the expedition, I tried to research the number of deaths on Lenin Peak each year. I was unable to find any information other than the two or three major mountaineering tragedies. Quickly, it became clear to me that Kyrgyzstan and guiding agencies such as Central Asia Travel do not want this information to be public. Yet, they advertise the climb as “the most frequently summited 7000m peak in the world”. We frequently hear of deaths on the 8000m peaks such as Everest, Nanga Parbat, and K2, as news reporters and magazines watch it closely. More obscure peaks get left in the dark. Who knows how many people have died on Lenin Peak?

On my final night at BC, Cody and I partake in a celebratory sauna. We meet Italians Nuccio and Lorenzo, in their 40’s, who merrily drink beer and chat with us. Nuccio has summited several 8000m peaks in Pakistan and Nepal and successfully executed a solo ski descent of Lenin’s north face, while his friend, Lorenzo, attempted Lenin Peak as his first high altitude climb. Both men are highly knowledgeable about mountaineering and its demands and are involved in search and rescue in the Dolomites.

While discussing people and other climbers on the mountain, their ups and downs, Nuccio says, “Look, it doesn’t matter where you’re from. Finland or Canada. It doesn’t matter if you’re from Peru, Egypt, or Japan. We are all the same – all of us! We come here for the same reason, and we’re here, in some sense, for each other.”

I find his perspective astonishingly refreshing. And that is, that there are good people all over the world. People that are passionate, loving, and dedicated. People that have families and people that have struggles. People that have failed and people that have success. I reflect on my conversation with Alexsi on my flight to Moscow. I think about his love for his family, fine wines, and the Mediterranean. I remember his deep, whimsical chuckle. Once again, I am reminded that we all have beating hearts. We all wake and breathe the cold morning air and smile at the rising sun.

I leave Lenin Peak base camp, feeling like my work is done here. Yes, I have learned many things about the mountain and high altitude climbing, but much more substantial; I feel as though I have learned something critical about the world. For the days and weeks following the honest conversation in the sauna, the words and perspectives resonate and echo in my mind - giving me hope for humanity and giving me hope for our future.

Expedition Schedule and Training Load

The following two tables concern the climbing schedule, distance, and elevation gain and loss during the entirety of the expedition. During the entire expedition, we slept at an average altitude of 15,100 feet!

	Day	Distance	Vertical Gain	Vertical Loss	Avg. Elevation Sleeping
	(#)	(mi)	(feet)	(feet)	(feet)
Totals	14	86.24	31600	31480	15100

Below is a second table displaying the daily schedule and statistics.

Date	Expedition Day	Distance	Vertical Gain	Vertical Loss	Daily Task
--	(#)	(mi)	(feet)	(feet)	--
8/1/2021	--	--	--	--	Fly from Slovenia to Osh to meet Cody
8/2/2021	--	--	--	--	Prepare food and gear in Osh
8/3/2021	--	--	--	--	Prepare food and gear in Osh
8/4/2021	--	--	--	--	Transport to Lenin Peak base camp
8/5/2021	1	7.64	2123	2123	BC to 'Acclimatization #1' (14.1k) on Travelers Pass and return
8/6/2021	2	5.00	2247	2247	BC to 'Acclimatization #2' (14.1k) near Petrovsky Peak and return
8/7/2021	3	8.16	3271	731	BC (11.9k) to C1 (14.6k)
8/8/2021	4	5.09	2615	2615	C1 (14.6k) to Yuhin Peak (16.7k) and return
8/9/2021	5	4.41	3025	128	C1 (14.6k) to C2 (17.7k)
8/10/2021	6	1.19	689	689	C2 (17.7k) to 'Acclimatization #3' (18.5k)
8/11/2021	7	4.41	2520	2520	C2 (17.7k) to C3/Razdalneya (20.2k) and return
8/12/2021	8	12.57	768	6145	C2 (17.7k) to BC (11.9k)
8/13/2021	9	--	--	--	Rest day at BC (11.9k)
8/14/2021	10	8.16	3271	731	BC (11.9k) to C1 (14.6k)
8/15/2021	11	4.41	3025	128	C1 (14.6k) to C2 (17.7k)
8/16/2021	12	2.33	2434	151	C2 (17.7k) to C3 (20.1k)
8/17/2021	13	10.3	4844	7127	C3 (20.1k) to Lenin Peak (23.4k) to C2 (17.7k)
8/18/2021	14	12.57	768	6145	C2 (17.7k) to BC (11.9k)

Physiological Data and Quantitative Analysis

During the entirety of the expedition, I took detailed notes of my quantitative physiological metrics and documented them in an all-weather notebook. I used a $20 pulse oximeter commonly found at drug stores and is readily available online. This device is similar to what a nurse will put on your finger at the doctor’s office. The device measures both blood oxygen saturation (SpO2 %) and heart rate (HR) in beats per minute (bpm).

As far as determining how well one is acclimatizing, the non-quantifiable observation that is much more vital than the quantifiable data from the pulse oximeter is how you are actually feeling. The difficulty lies in that self-analysis is entirely subjective. At any point during the climb, your blood oxygen saturation could look very good, but if you have symptoms of AMS, it is clear that you are not acclimatizing well – something is wrong.

Thus, the pulse oximeter provides confirmation data rather than conclusive data.

Although I have an equivalent amount of HR and SpO2 data in both categories, I will omit most of the heart rate data as this metric is extremely sensitive to movement, hydration, caffeine intake, sleep, and activity level. For example, I found that after any uphill exertion, my heart rate stayed elevated for hours afterward due to the hypoxia and physical exertion. Thus, this data is mostly a moot point without a regimented protocol implemented prior to the expedition. However, what I expected to see and what I did see is an increased heart rate at higher elevations in general. As I acclimatized, the given heart rate at a specific altitude dropped due as the body adapted.

Note: For most of the following data, I omitted the few data points post-summit, as this does not pertain to the acclimatization period.

*Documented table of physiological metrics during the expedition*

To keep consistency with the measurements, I set some basic standards - similar to an experiment. Several factors can contribute to inaccurate data from this instrument. The main factors that I took into primary consideration include (National Library of Medicine):

Excessive movement
Poor probe conditioning
Excess ambient light
SpO2 saturation below 70%
Cold-induced vasoconstriction
Skin pigmentation

Other factors that result in skewed or inaccurate data I felt to be more minor or simply out of my control.

I tried to take readings consistently each day: in the morning, afternoon, and evening. If we did an acclimatization day-hike, I would take a measurement at our maximum altitude for the day. My default conditions to take a reading were sitting or resting for at least 5 minutes, keeping the hands warm if possible with proper blood circulation, keeping the hand at a lower elevation than the heart, and consistent probe placement. For each reading, I took several measurements, and in cases where a single value was not observed, I noted a range and ultimately an average for the following graphs.

Note: I was unable to take any readings above C2 (17.7k) due to extreme cold, vasoconstriction, and projected SpO2 measurements less than 70%, which would result in skewed or inaccurate data.

As far as the blood oxygen saturation, I expected to see a similar trend as heart rate. Thankfully, this metric is not quite as sensitive to rapid fluctuation as heart rate.

Graph portraying the blood oxygen saturation levels for all data.  Between initial reads at an elevation, and being fully acclimatized, the SpO2 level increased between 5-10%. Note: The first data point was upon arriving to Osh, with SpO2 at 99%. — Graph portraying the blood oxygen saturation levels for all data. Between initial reads at an elevation, and being fully acclimatized, the SpO2 level increased between 5-10%. Note: The first data point was upon arriving to Osh, with SpO2 at 99%.

Graph displaying the start initial read at each camp (BC, C1, and C2) versus the acclimatized (maximum) SpO2 value during the duration of the expedition.  The acclimatized values all occurred when we made for the summit bid.  This verifies our acclimation process was indeed successful. — Graph displaying the start initial read at each camp (BC, C1, and C2) versus the acclimatized (maximum) SpO2 value during the duration of the expedition. The acclimatized values all occurred when we made for the summit bid. This verifies our acclimation process was indeed successful.

This graph portrays an overall downward trend with heart rate over time at C2. The HR spike in the middle of the chart is indicative of the HR increase and extended recovery after we did a 3-hour acclimatization hike between C2 and C3.

Graph showing blood oxygen saturation over the entire duration of the expedition.  The low point in the middle is representative of arrival to C2 and SpO2 increased over the next 3 days at C2.  SpO2 continued to increase as we descended to BC and dropped again as we started climbing on 8/14 for our summit bid. — Graph showing blood oxygen saturation over the entire duration of the expedition. The low point in the middle is representative of arrival to C2 and SpO2 increased over the next 3 days at C2. SpO2 continued to increase as we descended to BC and dropped again as we started climbing on 8/14 for our summit bid.

The final four graphs portray acclimatization data for BC, C1, and C2 over the course of the expedition:

This graph shows an overall upward trend in SpO2 over the first few days at BC. The two drops in SpO2 on 8/5 and 8/6 were post-acclimatization hike. As mentioned before, both HR and SpO2 take time to recover after attaining a higher altitude during the day. We left BC for 5 days, and upon return, the SpO2 was expectedly lower, having come from C2 (17.7k). As we recovered over the next 36 hours, my SpO2 increased to its highest level.

*We didn’t spend much time at C1, and I missed a couple SpO2 readings, but my SpO2 increased about 4% in 24 hours after our arrival. The final data point was on our way for a summit bid.*

This graph demonstrates acclimatization more clearly and dramatically than BC or C1 – primarily since this camp is so much higher. After spending 3 days and 3 nights at C2, including two acclimatization hikes, my SpO2 increased 10%, and I felt much better than upon arrival to C2. Again, the final data point was on our final assault to the summit.

The final graph shows all three camps and the respective blood oxygen saturation levels. After acclimatizing at C2, my Sp02 was higher than when I initially arrived at C1! I’d be curious to see the maximum Sp02 level my body could reach with extende… — The final graph shows all three camps and the respective blood oxygen saturation levels. After acclimatizing at C2, my Sp02 was higher than when I initially arrived at C1! I’d be curious to see the maximum Sp02 level my body could reach with extended time at C1, C2, or C3 and how that would compare to other climbers.

Conclusion

I will preface this section by saying that I’m just a guy. I’m just a guy that wants to see the world. I want to see and experience different cultures. I want to feel the rain and the sun on my skin. I want to feel the cold air of the night creep into my bones. I want to sweat and bleed. I want to feel the wind on my face and pass through my hair. I want to know that I am indeed alive. And, ultimately, I want to leave this world in a better position than when I arrived. I know I am not the simplest man in the world, nor am I the most complicated, neither the weakest nor the strongest, and neither the most fearful nor the most fearless. Perhaps a naturalist, I want to understand the natural world, how it operates, and how it may alter under the influence of climate change. After seeing many sensitive and beautiful hidden corners of the planet, I want to help preserve it. I am also a guy that needs to have exciting goals that motivate me each day. Objectives such as Lenin Peak are the inception of a spark on a long-burning candle and gives my brain incentive and focus.

Resting at BC following the climb, Cody and I agreed that we came to the mountain in the best physical and mental form possible. We took a crevasse rescue course together, took an avalanche safety course, and studied the mountain and its climate, route, and pertinent gear requirements. Our specific preparation before the climb ultimately entailed the cultivation of our skillsets, refining gear, and training our bodies. At the summit, we were both tired but knew we still had gas in the tank. We could have gone further and higher. And now, we want to do both of these things. In reflection, there is nothing that we could have done as far as planning, our acclimatization strategy, communicating with each other, or execution that we feel we could have done better. We came to Kyrgyzstan with our i’s dotted and our t’s crossed.

I have done a fair amount of extreme endurance sports, racing, and expeditions in my life thus far. Yet, I have never experienced a particular sport as multidimensional and comprehensive as this high altitude climb. Every type of extreme endurance project requires different skill sets. Running 100 miles continuously in the mountains and finishing an Ironman 140.6 (2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike, 26.2-mile run) is more physically and mentally difficult than climbing Lenin Peak. These endurance races are only usually one day in length, require cultivated fitness, planning, nutrition strategy, and adaptive thinking to work through. However, just because you complete one of the above races doesn't qualify you to ascend Lenin Peak tomorrow. One does not have to manage the laundry list of hazards and other considerations in these endurance races.

The mutually independent events of high altitude mountaineering contain both subjective and objective hazards considerations:

Subjective Hazards:

Physical fitness, fatigue, and recovery speed (personal and team)

Mental fitness, fatigue, and recovery speed (personal and team)
Technical ability in relation to route difficulty
Acclimatization and adaption
Current altitude
Camp location determination
Water rations
Food rations
Navigation
Route finding
Equipment integrity
Emergency considerations – rapid egress, rescue, first-aid, and medical knowledge, etc.

Objective Hazards (cannot be eliminated):

Fall paths – gravity and climate (snow; avalanche, serac, cornice stability, ice fall, rock fall)
Current weather, weather forecasting reliability, mountain range weather patterns
Other climbers (aka remote triggering)

Such mountaineering expeditions require immaculate planning, organization, fitness, and near flawless execution. Still, with the high mountains of the Himalayas, Karakorum, Pamir, Tien Shan, Hindu Kush, and Alai mountain ranges, many high altitude expeditions fail simply due to any of the one or more above factors not being up to par.

High altitude mountaineering is like a game of chess. Think about the above list of subjective and objective hazards like a “move”. Your opponent, the mountain, has the freedom to make any move for any given point in the game. You have to project what variables are likely to change in the future to change the game. You have a defined set of moves from your position that are always dependent on your opponent’s last move. At times, you are forced to play defensively, while other times, you can play offensively. With each move that ensues, new risks or new possibilities surface. The goal is to come out on top and avoid a stalemate, or even worse, checkmate.

Last fall, I managed many subjective and objective hazards in the Montana Top 50 (podcast link) project. I sustained rock climbing daily, was completely solo, fully self-supported, and self-sufficient, and planned my route on route-less peaks. However, I didn’t have to manage the harshness of snow, glaciers, and altitude as on Lenin Peak. For Lenin Peak, we had to be willing to withstand temperatures of -40F, be mentally prepared to be stuck in our tent for days, and haul each other out of a crevasse if we were to fall.

I did find during the Lenin expedition that there was a lot of waiting and sitting around. You can only gain so much altitude per day (for acclimatization), and often the weather isn’t suitable to move up or down the mountain. In contrast to what I’ve experienced in my previous two expeditions, we have to be very tactical about our movement, rather than getting from point A to point B as fast as possible.

“Need to put footstep of courage into stirrup of patience.”

- Ernest Shackleton

Before heading to Kyrgyzstan, I remember reading specifically on Central Asia Travel’s website. In the first sentence on their main page describing Lenin Peak and the variety of services they offer for the climb, they say that “Lenin Peak is considered to be one of the most popular, easily access and hence most frequented summits among 7000m peaks.” In the same paragraph, they go on to say that “failure of your Lenin Peak expedition is often dependent on such treacherous factors as weather and the ever-pressing altitude.”

Upon arriving to BC, I then assumed that the summit rate was so low (20-25%) primarily due to the year-round severe weather on the upper reach of the mountain that barred summits. But let’s be honest – what 7000m peak has cheery weather suitable for a picnic on the peak? While observing other climbers during the expedition and keeping a keen eye on the weather forecast, I found that the weather should be the least of the climber’s worries. The summit rate is so low because many of the climbers who show up have absolutely no idea what they are doing and are nowhere near the fitness to summit. That wouldn’t be a great marketing strategy though, would it?

Why does Lenin Peak have a 20-25% summit rate, while the fourth highest mountain in the world, Lhotse (27,940’), has a 67% success rate? Lhotse is much more technically demanding, the weather is considerably worse, the expedition is much longer in duration, and the mountain is more than 4,500 feet taller.

Lenin Peak is the Matterhorn equivalent of Central Asia – not in terms of elevation, but rather in terms of popularity. If you Google ‘easiest 7000m peak’, you’ll likely come across Lenin Peak. Thus, if someone is looking for their next natural stepping stone after Kilimanjaro, Aconcagua, Mt. Elbrus, etc., they often find themselves on Lenin. The accessibility to base camp, in addition to the amount of information available, gives people self-assurance. The number of people climbing the mountain at any time during peak season also gives people a false sense of security of aid or rescue.

Central Asia Travel requires all climbers to have specific travel insurance to cover a helicopter evacuation. Still, to my understanding, talking with other climbers – you have a better chance of winning the lottery than getting a ride from a helicopter. If you do need a rescue, Central Asia Travel will send a few of their skilled and acclimatized cooks, porters, or guides to carry your bag and others to assist or drag you down the mountain. Just above C1, you can be put on horseback and transferred to BC. We must remember, this is not the Swiss Alps, and this is not Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Plan to be responsible for yourself.

All in all, climbing Lenin Peak was a great experience, and I look forward to playing chess in the future with an 8000m peak.

I am now quarantining in Bhutan and will have time to further digest this experience and the three other mountaineering excursions I elected to do in Kyrgyzstan post-Lenin.

Gratitude

I want to thank my fantastic coach, Chantelle, with Carmichael Training Systems (CTS), who has been my mentor for the last year and a half. She has been an invaluable resource for training, preparation, and ultimately execution while on these expeditions. We can keep in touch via Garmin InReach, and I receive daily weather updates and monitoring while out of cell service. My parents also have helped with weather forecasting and updates while I’m on these trips!

I received the Live Your Dream Grant from The North Face and American Alpine Club to attempt this climb – helping make this project possible. Furthermore, Arc’teryx and Black Diamond provided top-notch gear that was invaluable for both expeditions I pursued this year.