It has taken me too long to get to this. Partially it was because there were a lot of mixed emotions amongst the team for a few days and I didn’t want to be insensitive to anyone; partially it was because even after the summit attempt, we’ve been busy and active non-stop; partially it was I hadn’t fully figured out how I felt about the results of the climb; but mostly it was because I was just exhausted and a bit lazy.

The day before summit day, I got a few hours sleep in the afternoon and woke to hear that our summit attempt had been pushed back from 3am to 5am. We were expecting bad winds, and the later start meant we’d reach the most exposed parts of the mountain, the saddle (between the East and West peaks) and our goal, the higher Western summit, after the sun came up when it would hopefully be warmer.

We also met our third guide for the summit attempt. His job was to lead down any trekkers who had to pull out early for any reason. He appeared to be a transition year student on work experience and immediately upon arrival, one of the ladies in the team had set him to collecting stones and timber to build a path to her hut, the mountain equivalent of doing the photocopying.

Although our itinerary included a spare summit day, most amateur climbers, including me and most of our team, wouldn’t have the condition to make two summit attempts on consecutive days, so it was important we picked the best of the days on which to take our one shot. We (our guides) checked three separate weather forecasts and all said the same thing: high winds on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. As the weather wasn’t going to change, we decided to stick with our original plan and make our attempt on Friday. It was the right decision at the time and for the right reasons.

At dinner before the climb, our local guide threw a minor spanner in the works. He offered a snowcat ride to 5,100m, rather than to 4,700m as we’d planned. A snowcat is like a tractor for the ice. Cutting out the 400m climb would save us 2 hours and cost us €400. Some baulked at the additional cost and most felt uncomfortable hitching a ride up the mountain, rather than walking up. I already felt weird taking the snowcat to the Pashtakova Rocks at 4,700m, but most of us reasoned that as we’d already hiked to 4,700m on foot, we had already covering the section under our own steam, just on separate days.

The new offer meant skipping an entire section. It was an all-or-none decision for the 11 Earth’s Edge participants; the guides couldn’t and wouldn’t decide for us. I was anxious about potential disagreementa but luckily everyone felt the same way and as a team, we unanimously rejected the offer. It was the right decision at the time and for the right reasons.

The Australian who was sharing our huts and who liked my hat, he took the offer; he’d already walked to 5,100m the first time he’d attempted the mountain. That first time, altitude sickness had turned him around on the saddle. Given his history on Elbrus, I guess he was happy for anything that reduced the chances of another turnaround; it’s a long way from Melbourne to Moscow.

We tried to sleep, but it wasn’t easy. We got up at 3.30am and I started faffing. I was wearing four layers in most places and made a big deal of grtting them all on right. Some bits can’t go on before others, for example, you should never try and put on trousers while you have shap spikes strapped to your feet. Other bits work best when they overlap, or at least that’s what I assumed until my first attempt at going to the loo on summit night: even after finding my fly under my down jacket, harness and windproof layer, I had to dig through the fleece, trekking pants, base layer,  long johns and undies before any relief could be had. I feel more sorry for the girls in the group who had a much tougher time on the rare occasion we could afford a pee break.

We started trekking from 4,700m at about 5.45am. The sun should have been up but we couldn’t see it. We were surrounded by cloud all day.

My first problem was that I’d tied one of my boots too loose and needed to adjust them. Like a right plonker, the first thing I did was lift my snow visor off my face allowing it to fill with freezing air which frosted up the front, leaving me half blind.  When our Irish guide risked his fingers to clear it for me, I realised two things: one, the cloud was so thick that nobody could see much anyway; and two,  my goggles were rubbish anyway and designed for someone with a much smaller head than mine.

My second problem was that my drinking water froze. The same thing happened to me on Kilimanjaro and I thought I’d learned. On Elbrus, my waterbag was insulated in my bag; my drinking tube was covered in a thick foam layer; but it all made no difference. Other people’s water wasn’t insulated at all and didn’t freeze. I had the biggest pipe in the team (ooh err) but after two hours I couldn’t get a drop no matter how hard I sucked (ooh err). Luckily did have spare water in my bag, but carrying a 2 litre ice cube up a mountain is a little annoying all the same.

As we got higher up the mountain, the wind got stronger and the cloud got thicker. Occasionally there’d be a break, and we’d see the sun for a few seconds, or catch a glimpse of the valley below and we’d think we had finally climbed out of the cloud, but tge bright patches never lasted.

It started to rain and hail too. Despite our measured, slow pace, I was already panting with each step due to the altitude, but now I had to use the balaclava to keep the hailstones off my face. It’s very difficult to breathe through a balaclava. It seemed like my choice was: breathe fast through a wet  towel or get shot in the face with marbles; it’s not an easy choice. The upside is that I now understand why Darth Vadar sounded like he did.

Luckily my fingers and toes were mostly toasty. My heavy boots did their job. So did the mitts, except I had to strip down to liner gloves to get anything from my bag or go to the loo, after which my fingers felt like icicles for five minutes afterwards. Our Irish guide had his gloves off regularly to help others with silly bits and pieces. I’m pretty sure if I had my hands bare as often as he did, this blog would be typed using my elbows.

Despite the wind, hail, cold and cloud, we were all moving fairly well when we got to the saddle. When we did, we got a taste of what hell freezing over would be like. Saddles between two peaks,  like the one we were on, cause the wind (and with it the hail) to speed up going through it. It’s basically a wind tunnel full of shards of ice. We met other teams there and learned that quite a few of them had turned back at that point, while others only made it down with frostbite. Our transition year guide accepted this news while crouched in the foetal position. It was too noisy to tell if he was whimpering.

Our local guide offered to turn us back. We later found out these were the worst conditions he’d seen in years. However as we were all still strong, we decided to push on, hoping that once above the saddle the weather would improve. It didn’t; it got a whole lot worse.

I think everyone of us (including one of the guides) was knocked over at least once on the climb towards the summit. The wind came in sudden strong gusts and changed direction at random, so if you were mid step when it caught you, you went down. There is a fixed line to prevent serious falls at the steepest part of the final ascent, but we didn’t even make it that far. Although it felt difficult enough to deserve it.

At one point our lead guide was knocked to the snow and waited for the gusts to calm down before standing up, but they didn’t calm down. We all just crouched and waited behind him wondering what was happening. After about five minutes, he turned to us, ran his fingers across his throat and started pointing down the slope.  He couldn’t go any further and he certainly couldn’t bring us any further. My altimeter said 5,430. The summit is at 5,642.

It took a while for the message to get to everybody. With the wind, we couldn’t hear anyone more than three feet away. There were a lot of shocked disappointed faces,  but there was also some relief.

Had we kept going, we had at least an hour and a half more to climb. Probably more, given the conditions. There is a ridge between the top of the climb and the summit proper, where the winds were likely stronger again than where we’d been knocked from our feet. We also had to get back down. Turning around was the only safe option. It was the right decision at the time and for the right reasons.

Our guide has told us that the first time Reinhold Messner tried to climb Elbrus, he had to turn back. The first time Tensing Norgay tried it, he had to turn back. The first time I tried to climb Carrauntoohill, I had to turn back. Sometimes it’s the only thing that makes any sense, even if you’ve done everything right up to the then.

Although I am very disappointed at not reaching the summit of Elbrus, I am as happy as I can be about the circumstances in which it happened. It wasn’t my loose boots, my frozen water, cold fingers or cheap goggles that caused it. It wasn’t anyone’s nosebleed, blistered feet, weak knees or improvised head torch. Everything that was in our control, we did right. All our key decisions were right.

It wasn’t even altitude sickness, which isn’t in our control, that turned us around. Individually,  and as a team, we were as fit, equipped and prepared as we needed to be to get to the top; only the weather was against us.

The weather was against us all the way down the mountain as well. The hail and wind kept up and added to the growing tiredness and effects of altitude sickness (headaches and tiredness), it wasn’t a pleasant descent. Once we got below the cloud, the hail turned to rain and we could see lightning on some of the surrounding peaks. On the highest mountain on the continent, carrying an ice axe and wearing crampons is not really where you want to be in a thunderstorm.

We all found our way home at our own pace. I was pretty slow as my legs felt like concrete blocks. When I opened the door of the hut, it was already bubbling with the aroma of six other sweaty waterlogged disappointed men who hadn’t washed in four days. Plus their socks. It was oddly pleasant and welcoming.

Since that first attempt at Carrauntohill, I’ve been up four or five times since. I’m not sure if or when I’ll ever be back on Elbrus. We may not have made it to the summit, but at 5,430, we still got higher than any other mountain in Europe and we did everything we could have done to make it happen.

The waterproof, dustproof, shockproof, freezeproof camera never left my pocket.

Down safe and sound. We had to turn around 200m from the summit due to terrible winds. Completely exhausted and somewhat devastated.

We learned ice axe arrests and learned the French, American and Charlie Chaplin techniques. None of which are as exciting or as fun as they sound.

I learned how to put my ice axe down my backpack and draw it forth like He-Man. That was cool. By the power of GraySkull!

The theme tune for the French technique is Nelly the Elephant, which will now be in my head all night.

A few minor injuries in the team. A swollen lip, some sore feet, a lot of sunburn.  And I got a splinter in my thumb. Oweee!

At one point today the snow gave way beneath guide’s feet, then beneath mine. Scary stuff. Luckily the rocks weren’t far below.

We’re doing some last minute gear checking, packing and repacking. We’re meant to be resting, but everyone is fairly worked up.

It’s quite difficult to keep devices charged and get signal. Thanks to all for the good wishes. Follow Earth’sEdge for news if you don’t hear from me.

We met an Aussie climber from Melbourne. He was the first person to properly appreciate my hat. That was nice. We start out at 3am!

Just heard that due to high winds at the summit. We’re delaying our departure to 5am, which means a warm sunny descent with no water.

(This post was sent by text message to a friend who has uploaded it to Baldfeet on Dermot’s behalf.)

People were camping there and lounging half-naked in the snow. There’re crazies everywhere, I guess.

The sun was very hot. My lovely Lidl chocolate bar melted in my bag, but froze again within a minute of unwrapping it. I am also melting and refreezing often.

When we felt cold y’day, our guide told us it was warm. Today we sweated and he told us it was cold. Our perception is not reality – it’s an Inception thing.

We used crampons for the first time. Sharp blades on my feet like a shitty version of Wolverine. Ability to walk awkwardly on ice: worst mutation ever.

It was our guide’s birthday today, we got him a big blinking badge, but he won’t wear it. We also had a sparkler with dinner and 1 bottle of wine between 13.

Rest day tomorrow in preparation for our summit attempt at 3am on Friday morning. I’m getting a bit nervous now. I think we all are.

(This post was sent by text message to a friend who has uploaded it to Baldfeet on Dermot’s behalf.)

All good here. Little or no phone signal. Up at huts. Better food than hotel and my mountain boots feel like warm kittens on my feet.

We went up to 4300 yesterday after lugging 27 bags, two barrels of food and 55 litres of water up three chairlifts to our camp.

Very little sleep last night cause of altitude. Weather is perfect today. Very bright hot sun. Cold wind though.

(This post was sent by text message to a friend who has uploaded it to Baldfeet on Dermot’s behalf.)

You might have noticed that I’ve changed the titles from ‘Mount Elbrus’ to just ‘Elbrus’. Our Irish guide informed me that I’m perpetuating a fallacy by calling it Mount, so I’ll stop. He also told me he doesn’t like my shorts and would like to take my gloves if I don’t make it. I’m taking this as positive feedback on my choice of gloves, but I’ve stopped wearing the shorts. Feeling hurt.

Tomorrow we leave our hotel in Terskol for the huts up on the mountain. So this could be my last blog post until Saturday or Sunday. If possible, I’ll try and get something out.

I’ll miss my bed and our little suite of rooms. I’ll particular miss the very special shower – it has a regular nozzle, an overhead waterfall function and little horizontal powerjets to waah your back. It even has a built-in Am/Fm radio!  How cool is that?! It doesn’t actually work, but kudos to the designer (except for the whole water + electricity thing, I guess).

Today we took our first steps on Elbrus itself. We took a cable car up to 3,500 metres and walked up to 4,100 metres from there. We were above the snowline most of the time.

One of tge side effects of altitude and diamox is that it’s a diuretic. You need to keep drinking water and then you need to pee. I wandered a few metres off the track at one point to answer a call of nature until Olek shouted at me to stop as I was approaching a crevasse. After that scare, stage fright was not a problem.

The weather was very changeable. We started in the snow in t-shirts, got to a little chilly when it was windy and when we stopped walking and ended by running back to the cable car in raingear as rain and hail pelted us and a bolt of lightning struck a pylon less than a hundred metres from us.

To aid our acclimatisation, we did a little exercise at altitude. We first visited the skankiest, smelliest,  most vile set of toilets in existence. Basically it involved balancing on a few warped planks a few feet above a giant pile of human waste. Luckily this is not where we are staying.

We also visited the brand new Italian Huts. Sci-fi looking cylinders balanced at the side of a cliff. They were clean,  spacious,  warm and had hot showers and (I heard) a television where a gang of German hikers watched the match last night ‘bis zum bitteren Ende’ in preparation for their summit attempt tonight. Unfortunately this is not where we are staying either.

When we stopped for lunch we learned about defibrillators and their relative pointlessness on a summit attempt where there is no access to follow up medical attention. As we discussed this we watched three Russian hikers strip off their tops and roll around topless in the snow, grunting.  I’m told they looked like Newcastle supporters and were clearly kept very warm by ample layers of sub-cutaneous chip fat.

We heard about the world high altitude sex record, set by a couple on Denali at 6,200 metres in minus 42° C temperatures while waiting for a storm to pass. A lot of us were unsure whether we’d be able to participate in such a record attempt in those conditions.  But like all high altitude activities, the best solution to any difficulties is going down.

Our journey down in the cable car was dependant on each us agreeing to carry a black refuse sack of rubbish in the lift with us. It was a rather odd end to the day, but as we were 1.5 kilometres above our hotel in the middle of a thunderstorm, we didn’t have much of a choice.

Tomorrow we head back up to out huts. We’ll do a few more days acclimatisation and training then, if we get the weather, we’ll summit on Friday and come down Saturday. If not, we have a spare summit day Saturday, so we’d only be down Sunday. Wish us luck!

Well done to the Concern climbers who summited Carrauntoohill in the rain on Saturday while I was blagging pretzels off middle-aged ladies on airplanes.  They had a very tough day and raised a chunk of money for a great charity. If you like the hills you should join them on their next challenges. Or if you fancy something a little more adventurous try the crowd who are bringing me up Elbrus, bringing me up Aconcagua and slagging my shorts, Earth’s Edge. My own fundraising page in aid of Concern’s work in the world’s poorest countries is here.