Mountain Altai
This mountain system is partially located in Russia, as well as Kazakhstan, Mongolia and China. The highest point of Altai - Mount Belukha (4506 m) - is also the highest point of Siberia.
The relative inaccessibility, the absence of large industrial centers, weak (point) tourist activity, the general remoteness and the enormous scale of the territory allowed Altai to preserve what modern citizens call wildlife. These are magical mountains, completely unlike any other.
The snow-white pearl among the boundless sea of the taiga - the beautiful Belukha - is not just a mountain, an object for climbing. This is the living heart of Altai, trembling, beating, powerful energy node. The ascent to Belukha becomes for man a stage of personal spiritual evolution, radically changing his attitude to the world, to people, to himself.
Nicholas Roerich spoke a lot about the mysticism of Belukha and its spiritual significance. The followers of his teachings still organize pilgrimages to the foot of Belukha, which they revere. Due to the almost complete absence of tour service, all mountaineering and trekking routes in the mountains to one degree or another are multi-day expeditions.
Even in order to reach the foot of the Belukha along the most popular route, 3-4 days are needed, but the whole trip from Moscow to Moscow takes at least 12. However, it is the wildness and inaccessibility of Altai that attract tourists here - there are not so many places on Earth where you can feel all the strength and power of nature, the pristine beauty of the mountains.
August is starting to get light. Dense streaks of fog cross the road from time to time, our minibus is drowning in it, highlighting a vague white spot in front. The sky brightens
it is already possible to distinguish gentle ridges covered with small, neat birch groves scattered here and there.
The day was rapidly approaching, but the fatigue did not recede: the long road from Barnaul affected by 18 dusty hours affected. The bus braked tiredly, and a cloud of dust, overtaking us, slowly sailed for the lowered barrier - without checks and passes. PPC. Another absurdity of Russian reality.
Nobody checked the identity of passengers from photographs in passports, but the list of the group with passport data had to be rewritten twice by hand ... For whom is paper mucking? Why great Russia torment travelers with this abundance of pieces of paper ?! Not only did you have to wait two months to get here, now it’s also a feeling of complete helplessness in front of the guys in camouflage, who simply scoff at the passing tourists, justifying their presence here with meaningless demands.
Who and from whom are these guards of the border guarding, to which no kilometers are known from here ?! And you can get around their barrier through neighboring bushes. Finally, I return to the car, clutching in my hand the coveted pass into the border zone. Just a couple of hours of monotonous driving along a bumpy dirt road, and then a suspension bridge across Katun appeared - a brilliant work of Soviet-era engineering, with gouged, stitched huge nails boards, rusty thick cables and scary supports.
But overall, the design inspires respect. Respect for the era that gave rise to it. We drive into the village of Tungur - the last major settlement on this road, from where almost all expeditions to the Belukha region depart. Before they had time to put up tents in a neat meadow, two solid women purposefully directed towards us from neighboring bushes, and their expression did not clearly foreshadow hospitality.
- You can’t put up tents here, this is our territory, leave. - How so "your" ?! There is no fence, no signs. Why can't we stick here? “There,” the aunt waved her hand somewhere into the distance, “see the fence?” This is the territory of our base, and the entire adjacent territory is also ours! By tone, it became clear that the aunts were used to behaving this way with tourists.
The conversation dragged on. I introduced myself and asked to introduce myself in response. Our opponents were the managing director and chief accountant of a neighboring camp site. However, the aunts clearly neglected the official interests: no offers to use the services of their base. Just stupid aggression, the desire to dispose of what does not belong to them.
Typical Russian situation. However, traveling through our endless homeland, I have long gained immunity to such claims. Shrugging my shoulders, I went to the car, pulled out another tent and laid it out at the feet of the angry ladies. - First, submit documents confirming your right to this territory, then we will consider your claims.
In the meantime, there’s nothing to talk about. - Well, wait a minute! You won’t spend the night here anyway, now our guys will come and explain everything to you! The threat was obvious. It remained either to “dump” or wait and look at the “guys”. Our group was very tired after a long journey, and I decided not to go anywhere. What for?
The place is good, the village is nearby, the river is also, and I did not want to indulge in evil arbitrariness. The conflict did not have to wait long: four Altai people arrived on an old Ural motorcycle with a sidecar. Completely drunk. - Hey, why did you put your own tent on my mowing? Take it away, I'll mow it right now. - And it was almost dark.
The speaker tried to get off the motorcycle and nearly fell. But still, I’ve been traveling in these places for 10 years. Despite the threatening behavior of the guests, I handed the main mug with vodka: "On, drink, you need to at least get to know each other before cursing!" The Altai hesitated, but still took the mug. - Why put a tent on my mowing?
Not answering the question, I asked if they had horses - the next day we needed to move to Lake Akkem. The cloudy look of the interlocutor suddenly became meaningful. The Altai quickly drank, shook himself, sobered up. - Horses, how much do you need? - Ten, cast to Akkem, pay for three days. - Agreed. How many horses to drive?
Then we sat around the fire, drank, talked for life. They vowed me that no one would bother us in this clearing anymore, and nobody’s draw, what kind of mowing is there, the grass doesn’t grow here, live, they say, to health. Evil aunts from the camp site strolled along their fence in anticipation of the expulsion of arrogant tourists.
They didn’t wait: those who were supposed to drive out the enemies instead began to say goodbye to them in a friendly manner. In the morning, I specially rode a horse past the accountant standing at the fence, who had so aggressively shown herself on the eve. Instead of answering my greeting, she turned away. But everything could be different. Nobody would refuse to spend the night at the base in comfortable conditions.
And horses could help us find, earn extra money. However, there are things more expensive than money. Stupidity, for example ... The path to the Beluga Horses slowly walked along the path, broken by many hooves. The higher our small caravan went up, the less forest became, thickets of currants gave way to rare bushes of honeysuckle.
Sometimes on the go it was possible to grab a branch with heavy blue berries and slightly brighten up the monotony of the ride. Tired horses were indifferent to arriving at the first camp, located near a rocky ridge in the middle of an upper plateau covered with dwarf birch thickets, near the Kara Turek weather station.
This route wasn’t the first time for horses, they knew very well that they couldn’t find any food here, and tomorrow would be a harder day: crossing the Kara Turek pass from the Kucherly valley to the Akkema valley is the steepest and highest part of the path. The first overnight stay in the uninhabited. Far below were all the bureaucratic obstacles, embittered people ...
A wild mountain country stretched for many kilometers around is not bound by any shackles of the civilized world. It is so strange to feel the transition from our usual reality into the real world. Yes, it is he who is the real one. In the coming days, we have one task: to come close to Belukha. And, if you're lucky and the local spirits will be supportive, rise to the top.
A few days of crossings, a heavy backpack, dirt and wet stones of the trail, rain, glaciers. For a person accustomed to the comfort of civilization, this is a series of tests for the strength of the body and spirit, a continuous struggle for survival. But from the victory over all the inconveniences of the path, a feeling of one's own strength is born, a sense of restored connection with the source of natural energy.
Camp under the top. Tents are deeply buried in the snow in case of wind. The primus hisses, the snow in the pot is gradually turning into water - the most important product for survival in the highlands.
Water is tea, porridge, this is life ... We need a lot of water to have enough for dinner and breakfast, because early in the morning, or rather, late at night, we will try to fulfill the main point of our program: to reach the highest point of Siberia.
Before it, you can already say a handshake - over a ridge above the camp you can see a piece of a rocky ridge crowned with a snow cornice. It seems so close ... True, the weather was in doubt. The sunset was adorned with long clouds looking like disheveled cat tails - a well-known sign of worsening weather.
But, poking my nose out of the tent in the middle of the night, I became convinced that the sky was relatively clear and the whole mountain was visible: from the camp to the silver-peaked peaks in the sky. Although the horizon is not well cloudy. There was a risk, but also a chance. Why not give it a try? They gathered quickly: the equipment was prepared in the evening, the water for tea was also pre-heated the day before.
A sip of tea with chocolate and dried fruits, and on the street, wear "cats." Contrary to expectations, the snow did not freeze overnight in a hard crust, it was quite warm - another warning sign. But stars shine above your head, there is no wind - this means that the weather will not bring suddenly, in case of danger it will be possible to turn the back of the village. We knit with a rope, backpacks on our shoulders - and forward.
How many times have I climbed this route, but the pleasure of climbing does not become less. It seems to be nothing special: a gently sloping, snow-covered glacier, an uncomplicated rocky ridge, and where several ridges meet, there is a peak. But it’s strange: there is some kind of crazy joy from movement, from breathing, from the creak of snow under the teeth of “cats”.
If you take a deep breath, you want to laugh, as if from tickling; feeling as if a large lump of joy were inflated inside and torn out. A feeling of overwhelming energy, proximity to something very clean and bright. Sense of the Present. At such moments, you especially acutely understand the significance of Roerich's canvases, where the blue ridges go into the blazing horizon and the fog conceals the secrets of the ancient sanctuaries.
This is about Altai. And about Belukha in general, there is a special conversation, this is the most sacred place in Altai, the concentration of its energy. The beginning of the ridge was thoroughly covered with snow. Falling above the knee, I broke a path to the rocks and secured the rope. Moving on with insurance, the rocks are pretty steep.
We slowly rise from the station (the point of fastening the rope. - Ed.) To the station, a bright string of rope twists between the spots covered with lichen rocks. The crest is not long, 400 meters, this is 1.5–2 hours of leisurely movement. But the horizon in the east is already being drawn in by a dense film of clouds. By the time they reached the snowy top of the ridge, dense fog crept in and quickly covered the group.
Some 100-150 m remained to the summit, but there was no visibility. It is unfortunate that there was only half an hour left before the enchanting sight of dawn from the top of Belukha. However, you can not argue with the weather. We continue to climb in dense fog. There is no wind. A few more snow take-offs, and we go out to a wider snow ridge.
The climb into the foggy obscurity seems endless. Suddenly, something black appeared on the left. This is a rocky island with tablets and an ice ax stuck in a cleft - our desired goal. At last! For the sake of this minute, today we continuously climbed up for 6 hours, walked to the mountain for several days, traveled thousands of kilometers by plane and car.
All for the sake of one minute of happiness at the top, happiness from achieving the desired goal. But there is no time to enjoy the joy of victory for a long time. The fog becomes denser, large flakes of snow began to fall out of it. The weather lasted exactly as long as needed to climb to the top. However, the success of the ascent is not only the achievement of the summit, but also a safe descent to the camp. Long rips between the crest cliffs.
Visibility completely disappeared, snow began. The remnants of joy disappeared into fatigue and irritation, especially at that moment when the rope still got stuck in the last section of the descent. We pulled, pulled, but the vile fortune frankly scoffed: at that moment, when I almost believed that we were already down, I had to climb up again, to the station where the tip of the rope stuck between the stones.
And again in our reality, a small stream, ringing next to the tent, froze by morning. It got colder. The sky of some unreal depth of blue inspired confidence that today would be successful without rain. After all the adventures, I want to calmly and comfortably get to Tungur, where tomorrow we should be picked up by a car that will take us to Mongolia.
The most difficult part of the consolation is behind, where the two-headed silhouette of Belukha whitens against the sunset sky. I can’t even believe that at the very tip of the left peak we drank tea from a thermos yesterday and cautiously enjoyed the feeling of victory over the elements.
The relative inaccessibility, the absence of large industrial centers, weak (point) tourist activity, the general remoteness and the enormous scale of the territory allowed Altai to preserve what modern citizens call wildlife. These are magical mountains, completely unlike any other.
The snow-white pearl among the boundless sea of the taiga - the beautiful Belukha - is not just a mountain, an object for climbing. This is the living heart of Altai, trembling, beating, powerful energy node. The ascent to Belukha becomes for man a stage of personal spiritual evolution, radically changing his attitude to the world, to people, to himself.
Nicholas Roerich spoke a lot about the mysticism of Belukha and its spiritual significance. The followers of his teachings still organize pilgrimages to the foot of Belukha, which they revere. Due to the almost complete absence of tour service, all mountaineering and trekking routes in the mountains to one degree or another are multi-day expeditions.
Even in order to reach the foot of the Belukha along the most popular route, 3-4 days are needed, but the whole trip from Moscow to Moscow takes at least 12. However, it is the wildness and inaccessibility of Altai that attract tourists here - there are not so many places on Earth where you can feel all the strength and power of nature, the pristine beauty of the mountains.
August is starting to get light. Dense streaks of fog cross the road from time to time, our minibus is drowning in it, highlighting a vague white spot in front. The sky brightens
it is already possible to distinguish gentle ridges covered with small, neat birch groves scattered here and there.
The day was rapidly approaching, but the fatigue did not recede: the long road from Barnaul affected by 18 dusty hours affected. The bus braked tiredly, and a cloud of dust, overtaking us, slowly sailed for the lowered barrier - without checks and passes. PPC. Another absurdity of Russian reality.
Nobody checked the identity of passengers from photographs in passports, but the list of the group with passport data had to be rewritten twice by hand ... For whom is paper mucking? Why great Russia torment travelers with this abundance of pieces of paper ?! Not only did you have to wait two months to get here, now it’s also a feeling of complete helplessness in front of the guys in camouflage, who simply scoff at the passing tourists, justifying their presence here with meaningless demands.
Who and from whom are these guards of the border guarding, to which no kilometers are known from here ?! And you can get around their barrier through neighboring bushes. Finally, I return to the car, clutching in my hand the coveted pass into the border zone. Just a couple of hours of monotonous driving along a bumpy dirt road, and then a suspension bridge across Katun appeared - a brilliant work of Soviet-era engineering, with gouged, stitched huge nails boards, rusty thick cables and scary supports.
But overall, the design inspires respect. Respect for the era that gave rise to it. We drive into the village of Tungur - the last major settlement on this road, from where almost all expeditions to the Belukha region depart. Before they had time to put up tents in a neat meadow, two solid women purposefully directed towards us from neighboring bushes, and their expression did not clearly foreshadow hospitality.
- You can’t put up tents here, this is our territory, leave. - How so "your" ?! There is no fence, no signs. Why can't we stick here? “There,” the aunt waved her hand somewhere into the distance, “see the fence?” This is the territory of our base, and the entire adjacent territory is also ours! By tone, it became clear that the aunts were used to behaving this way with tourists.
The conversation dragged on. I introduced myself and asked to introduce myself in response. Our opponents were the managing director and chief accountant of a neighboring camp site. However, the aunts clearly neglected the official interests: no offers to use the services of their base. Just stupid aggression, the desire to dispose of what does not belong to them.
Typical Russian situation. However, traveling through our endless homeland, I have long gained immunity to such claims. Shrugging my shoulders, I went to the car, pulled out another tent and laid it out at the feet of the angry ladies. - First, submit documents confirming your right to this territory, then we will consider your claims.
In the meantime, there’s nothing to talk about. - Well, wait a minute! You won’t spend the night here anyway, now our guys will come and explain everything to you! The threat was obvious. It remained either to “dump” or wait and look at the “guys”. Our group was very tired after a long journey, and I decided not to go anywhere. What for?
The place is good, the village is nearby, the river is also, and I did not want to indulge in evil arbitrariness. The conflict did not have to wait long: four Altai people arrived on an old Ural motorcycle with a sidecar. Completely drunk. - Hey, why did you put your own tent on my mowing? Take it away, I'll mow it right now. - And it was almost dark.
The speaker tried to get off the motorcycle and nearly fell. But still, I’ve been traveling in these places for 10 years. Despite the threatening behavior of the guests, I handed the main mug with vodka: "On, drink, you need to at least get to know each other before cursing!" The Altai hesitated, but still took the mug. - Why put a tent on my mowing?
Not answering the question, I asked if they had horses - the next day we needed to move to Lake Akkem. The cloudy look of the interlocutor suddenly became meaningful. The Altai quickly drank, shook himself, sobered up. - Horses, how much do you need? - Ten, cast to Akkem, pay for three days. - Agreed. How many horses to drive?
Then we sat around the fire, drank, talked for life. They vowed me that no one would bother us in this clearing anymore, and nobody’s draw, what kind of mowing is there, the grass doesn’t grow here, live, they say, to health. Evil aunts from the camp site strolled along their fence in anticipation of the expulsion of arrogant tourists.
They didn’t wait: those who were supposed to drive out the enemies instead began to say goodbye to them in a friendly manner. In the morning, I specially rode a horse past the accountant standing at the fence, who had so aggressively shown herself on the eve. Instead of answering my greeting, she turned away. But everything could be different. Nobody would refuse to spend the night at the base in comfortable conditions.
And horses could help us find, earn extra money. However, there are things more expensive than money. Stupidity, for example ... The path to the Beluga Horses slowly walked along the path, broken by many hooves. The higher our small caravan went up, the less forest became, thickets of currants gave way to rare bushes of honeysuckle.
Sometimes on the go it was possible to grab a branch with heavy blue berries and slightly brighten up the monotony of the ride. Tired horses were indifferent to arriving at the first camp, located near a rocky ridge in the middle of an upper plateau covered with dwarf birch thickets, near the Kara Turek weather station.
This route wasn’t the first time for horses, they knew very well that they couldn’t find any food here, and tomorrow would be a harder day: crossing the Kara Turek pass from the Kucherly valley to the Akkema valley is the steepest and highest part of the path. The first overnight stay in the uninhabited. Far below were all the bureaucratic obstacles, embittered people ...
A wild mountain country stretched for many kilometers around is not bound by any shackles of the civilized world. It is so strange to feel the transition from our usual reality into the real world. Yes, it is he who is the real one. In the coming days, we have one task: to come close to Belukha. And, if you're lucky and the local spirits will be supportive, rise to the top.
A few days of crossings, a heavy backpack, dirt and wet stones of the trail, rain, glaciers. For a person accustomed to the comfort of civilization, this is a series of tests for the strength of the body and spirit, a continuous struggle for survival. But from the victory over all the inconveniences of the path, a feeling of one's own strength is born, a sense of restored connection with the source of natural energy.
Camp under the top. Tents are deeply buried in the snow in case of wind. The primus hisses, the snow in the pot is gradually turning into water - the most important product for survival in the highlands.
Water is tea, porridge, this is life ... We need a lot of water to have enough for dinner and breakfast, because early in the morning, or rather, late at night, we will try to fulfill the main point of our program: to reach the highest point of Siberia.
Before it, you can already say a handshake - over a ridge above the camp you can see a piece of a rocky ridge crowned with a snow cornice. It seems so close ... True, the weather was in doubt. The sunset was adorned with long clouds looking like disheveled cat tails - a well-known sign of worsening weather.
But, poking my nose out of the tent in the middle of the night, I became convinced that the sky was relatively clear and the whole mountain was visible: from the camp to the silver-peaked peaks in the sky. Although the horizon is not well cloudy. There was a risk, but also a chance. Why not give it a try? They gathered quickly: the equipment was prepared in the evening, the water for tea was also pre-heated the day before.
A sip of tea with chocolate and dried fruits, and on the street, wear "cats." Contrary to expectations, the snow did not freeze overnight in a hard crust, it was quite warm - another warning sign. But stars shine above your head, there is no wind - this means that the weather will not bring suddenly, in case of danger it will be possible to turn the back of the village. We knit with a rope, backpacks on our shoulders - and forward.
How many times have I climbed this route, but the pleasure of climbing does not become less. It seems to be nothing special: a gently sloping, snow-covered glacier, an uncomplicated rocky ridge, and where several ridges meet, there is a peak. But it’s strange: there is some kind of crazy joy from movement, from breathing, from the creak of snow under the teeth of “cats”.
If you take a deep breath, you want to laugh, as if from tickling; feeling as if a large lump of joy were inflated inside and torn out. A feeling of overwhelming energy, proximity to something very clean and bright. Sense of the Present. At such moments, you especially acutely understand the significance of Roerich's canvases, where the blue ridges go into the blazing horizon and the fog conceals the secrets of the ancient sanctuaries.
This is about Altai. And about Belukha in general, there is a special conversation, this is the most sacred place in Altai, the concentration of its energy. The beginning of the ridge was thoroughly covered with snow. Falling above the knee, I broke a path to the rocks and secured the rope. Moving on with insurance, the rocks are pretty steep.
We slowly rise from the station (the point of fastening the rope. - Ed.) To the station, a bright string of rope twists between the spots covered with lichen rocks. The crest is not long, 400 meters, this is 1.5–2 hours of leisurely movement. But the horizon in the east is already being drawn in by a dense film of clouds. By the time they reached the snowy top of the ridge, dense fog crept in and quickly covered the group.
Some 100-150 m remained to the summit, but there was no visibility. It is unfortunate that there was only half an hour left before the enchanting sight of dawn from the top of Belukha. However, you can not argue with the weather. We continue to climb in dense fog. There is no wind. A few more snow take-offs, and we go out to a wider snow ridge.
The climb into the foggy obscurity seems endless. Suddenly, something black appeared on the left. This is a rocky island with tablets and an ice ax stuck in a cleft - our desired goal. At last! For the sake of this minute, today we continuously climbed up for 6 hours, walked to the mountain for several days, traveled thousands of kilometers by plane and car.
All for the sake of one minute of happiness at the top, happiness from achieving the desired goal. But there is no time to enjoy the joy of victory for a long time. The fog becomes denser, large flakes of snow began to fall out of it. The weather lasted exactly as long as needed to climb to the top. However, the success of the ascent is not only the achievement of the summit, but also a safe descent to the camp. Long rips between the crest cliffs.
Visibility completely disappeared, snow began. The remnants of joy disappeared into fatigue and irritation, especially at that moment when the rope still got stuck in the last section of the descent. We pulled, pulled, but the vile fortune frankly scoffed: at that moment, when I almost believed that we were already down, I had to climb up again, to the station where the tip of the rope stuck between the stones.
And again in our reality, a small stream, ringing next to the tent, froze by morning. It got colder. The sky of some unreal depth of blue inspired confidence that today would be successful without rain. After all the adventures, I want to calmly and comfortably get to Tungur, where tomorrow we should be picked up by a car that will take us to Mongolia.
The most difficult part of the consolation is behind, where the two-headed silhouette of Belukha whitens against the sunset sky. I can’t even believe that at the very tip of the left peak we drank tea from a thermos yesterday and cautiously enjoyed the feeling of victory over the elements.
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