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Ushba 2016
Climb report · Myshlyaev route
Caucasus Mountains · Alpine ascent · Grade ED (6A)
Caucasus Mountains · Alpine ascent · Grade ED (6A)
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This climb report describes a 2016 ascent of Ushba (South Peak) via the Mishlyaev route in the Caucasus Mountains — one of the most technically demanding alpine climbs in the region.
This climb report describes a 2016 ascent of Ushba (South Peak) via the Mishlyaev route in the Caucasus Mountains — one of the most technically demanding alpine climbs in the region.
Expedition Details
- Location: Ushba Massif, Svaneti, Georgia
- Peak: South Ushba (4,710 m)
- Region: Caucasus Mountains
- Year: 2016
- Route: Myshlyaev Route
- Climbing Style: Alpine climbing
- Terrain: Mixed terrain
- Difficulty: ED / Russian 6A
- Duration: 4 days on the route
- Team Konstantin Markevich, Alexey Kurochkin, Dmitry Skotnikov
Introduction
Ushba has a dark, almost mythical reputation. It’s called the Witches’ Mountain, a bringer of misfortune, a killer peak, and so on.
I’m not a fan of this kind of “dark” PR, but Ushba really is a special mountain, from start to finish. Powerful, beautiful, dominating everything around it no matter which side you look from. The kind of mountain that makes your nerves twitch when you come up close to its walls. And of course, there are hard facts that have made more than one climber stop and rein in their youthful boldness and ambition.
In August this year, five people died here. On the glacier, gear and the remains of bivouacs from 20th-century ascents are melting out of the ice. In short, the mountain starts testing you psychologically long before you even begin the climb.
I’m not a fan of this kind of “dark” PR, but Ushba really is a special mountain, from start to finish. Powerful, beautiful, dominating everything around it no matter which side you look from. The kind of mountain that makes your nerves twitch when you come up close to its walls. And of course, there are hard facts that have made more than one climber stop and rein in their youthful boldness and ambition.
In August this year, five people died here. On the glacier, gear and the remains of bivouacs from 20th-century ascents are melting out of the ice. In short, the mountain starts testing you psychologically long before you even begin the climb.
Preparation
Pillar
South Ushba Pillar — a large rocky buttress and near-vertical section of the wall on South Ushba’s southwest face, crossed by difficult routes to the south summit, including the Myshlyaev, Monogarov, and Kustovsky lines (6A/ED)
I know currently of two more or less safe ways to climb Ushba in summer, both from the Georgian side: the classic route to the North Summit, and one of the Pillar routes to the South Summit.
Kostya had already tried Ushba back in 2012. From his stories, we gathered one thing: don’t expect good weather. That time, all attempts ended with a week stuck in base camp under rain. In the second week, realizing they were unlikely to get up the Pillar, they switched to the classic route and spent three days sitting on the shoulder under nonstop snowfall. So that pretty much set the tone for this year.
Back in Moscow, we were planning to climb Kharakternik. Closer to Georgia, we started to think that if the weather wasn’t great, Mishlyaev would probably be the smarter choice. And after talking to Sasha Lange and Matvey Orlikov—who had recently tried the pillar and barely escaped after getting hammered by a thunderstorm and rockfall—we made the final call: better to go for something more modest, but do it well.
We reached Mazeri around 2 a.m., knocked on a few guesthouses—everyone was asleep. With no better idea, we crashed on the second-floor veranda of the nearest house. The hosts were kind enough not to throw us out in the morning. Foreign tourists, stepping out of their rooms, whispered “This is Russian alpinist” and carefully took selfies with us sleeping in the background like proper dirtbags.
The sun was shining in Mazeri, and it held while we spent a full day ferrying loads to the border post, and another day moving up toward base camp. We were actually hoping the weather would turn bad during our acclimatization carry—dump everything early so we could climb afterward in stable conditions. But it never did. Then we got a forecast: three days of clear weather.
So we decided to go for it right away, even though we hadn’t properly acclimatised—and the route has about 1700 meters of altitude gain.
Kostya had already tried Ushba back in 2012. From his stories, we gathered one thing: don’t expect good weather. That time, all attempts ended with a week stuck in base camp under rain. In the second week, realizing they were unlikely to get up the Pillar, they switched to the classic route and spent three days sitting on the shoulder under nonstop snowfall. So that pretty much set the tone for this year.
Back in Moscow, we were planning to climb Kharakternik. Closer to Georgia, we started to think that if the weather wasn’t great, Mishlyaev would probably be the smarter choice. And after talking to Sasha Lange and Matvey Orlikov—who had recently tried the pillar and barely escaped after getting hammered by a thunderstorm and rockfall—we made the final call: better to go for something more modest, but do it well.
We reached Mazeri around 2 a.m., knocked on a few guesthouses—everyone was asleep. With no better idea, we crashed on the second-floor veranda of the nearest house. The hosts were kind enough not to throw us out in the morning. Foreign tourists, stepping out of their rooms, whispered “This is Russian alpinist” and carefully took selfies with us sleeping in the background like proper dirtbags.
The sun was shining in Mazeri, and it held while we spent a full day ferrying loads to the border post, and another day moving up toward base camp. We were actually hoping the weather would turn bad during our acclimatization carry—dump everything early so we could climb afterward in stable conditions. But it never did. Then we got a forecast: three days of clear weather.
So we decided to go for it right away, even though we hadn’t properly acclimatised—and the route has about 1700 meters of altitude gain.
We packed, to put it mildly, generously. I was in charge of food and brought enough for six days—hot breakfasts, lunches, snacks, and proper dinners. The guys, of course, figured the quartermaster just liked to eat, but really it was concern for the team. After all, Diman and Kostya’s declared “sport weight” didn’t even reach 70 kg—combined, as far as I could tell.
The idea was that if the weather turned bad, we’d sit it out on the so-called Georgian Ledge—basically a ridge—eat, and wait for a window. A bad idea. You understand that the moment you see it in person. In serious weather, a tent would get shredded—there’s nothing to anchor it to. The next established bivy (below the top of the pillar) isn’t any better: in strong wind, same story.
To be fair, we didn’t do much better with clothing and gear than we did with food. We brought a lot of everything—including a #4 Camalot…
The idea was that if the weather turned bad, we’d sit it out on the so-called Georgian Ledge—basically a ridge—eat, and wait for a window. A bad idea. You understand that the moment you see it in person. In serious weather, a tent would get shredded—there’s nothing to anchor it to. The next established bivy (below the top of the pillar) isn’t any better: in strong wind, same story.
To be fair, we didn’t do much better with clothing and gear than we did with food. We brought a lot of everything—including a #4 Camalot…
Route
We left base camp at dawn. The glacier is best crossed on its right-hand side, where it’s least broken, trending toward the Mazeri wall. From the glacier, you gain the ridge via a steep scree slope.
The ridge, it has to be said, took a lot out of us—especially with packs weighing around 25 kg each. In some places you need to fix ropes; in others, traverse using old in-situ lines. One of the sketchiest ropes we later replaced with a newer one we found on the descent.
The ridge, it has to be said, took a lot out of us—especially with packs weighing around 25 kg each. In some places you need to fix ropes; in others, traverse using old in-situ lines. One of the sketchiest ropes we later replaced with a newer one we found on the descent.
We dragged ourselves into the bivy around 6 p.m. and immediately decided to dump half the food (we should’ve left two-thirds) and a third of the gear (should’ve been half). Nothing resets your priorities like hard physical labor.
We sat down, drank some water, checked the forecast, thought it over—and decided to trust it. The plan was simple: one day for the pillar, one day for the summit, then descend back to the tent we’d left on the pillar. After that, get down no matter the weather. Once we’d made the decision, Kostya went up to fix as many ropes as he could on the lower part of the pillar before dark.
At 7 the next morning, we started climbing the pillar. The Mishlyaev corner is logical and solid. In fact, not a single rock fell on its own along our line the entire time. But there are plenty of ledges, and no matter how careful you are, you’ll knock something loose—sometimes onto yourself.
We didn’t move fast—first it was cold, then damp in places, then some ice appeared—but we kept a steady pace.
We sat down, drank some water, checked the forecast, thought it over—and decided to trust it. The plan was simple: one day for the pillar, one day for the summit, then descend back to the tent we’d left on the pillar. After that, get down no matter the weather. Once we’d made the decision, Kostya went up to fix as many ropes as he could on the lower part of the pillar before dark.
At 7 the next morning, we started climbing the pillar. The Mishlyaev corner is logical and solid. In fact, not a single rock fell on its own along our line the entire time. But there are plenty of ledges, and no matter how careful you are, you’ll knock something loose—sometimes onto yourself.
We didn’t move fast—first it was cold, then damp in places, then some ice appeared—but we kept a steady pace.
Kosty led. He described the climbing as “creepy in places, with several short 6b sections.” In the corner we came across wooden pitons—probably from the first ascent—as well as plenty of rappel slings and one fairly new dynamic rope. We planned to take it on the way down, but that didn’t happen.
Incidentally, the first ascent team in 1960 was ahead of its time: they climbed as a pair, more or less in fast-and-light style—mainly because they dropped their pack somewhere below the top of the pillar. We couldn’t find the original report, but did come across a couple of articles describing the ascent.
Incidentally, the first ascent team in 1960 was ahead of its time: they climbed as a pair, more or less in fast-and-light style—mainly because they dropped their pack somewhere below the top of the pillar. We couldn’t find the original report, but did come across a couple of articles describing the ascent.
The Mishlyaev corner runs about eight 50-meter pitches. But the pillar doesn’t end there. To reach a proper ledge, we had to climb four more pitches of loose, slabby terrain.
The bivy fits three lying down. Old rappel lines run through it, which, as we later realized, connect the top of the pillar to the upper part of the central chimney, weaving across the Monogarov, Golubev, and Kharakternik routes.
While the heaviest member of the team set up the tent and cooked dinner, the two more “athletic” ones fixed another interesting pitch above the bivy, over a small roof. The night was incredibly calm and warm.
The bivy fits three lying down. Old rappel lines run through it, which, as we later realized, connect the top of the pillar to the upper part of the central chimney, weaving across the Monogarov, Golubev, and Kharakternik routes.
While the heaviest member of the team set up the tent and cooked dinner, the two more “athletic” ones fixed another interesting pitch above the bivy, over a small roof. The night was incredibly calm and warm.
Summit push
The next morning, we realized we still had a couple of mid-grade pitches left to reach the top of the pillar. Dima took the lead.
The gendarmes along the ridge are bypassed on the right (there’s a bivy there as well) via slanting ledges. From there, the terrain traverses onto a snow-and-ice slope, followed by six pitches of rotten 45-degree ice mixed with rock, leading to the base of the summit tower.
About one pitch below the tower, we made a sudden and completely unnecessary navigation mistake, sending Dima left into the inner corner of the Kharakternik route. We quickly came to our senses—realising that’s exactly where we’d get benighted—and found a sharply slanting 50-meter ledge that bypassed the summit bastion on the right, narrowing with every step.
That pitch is beautiful — solid, exposed, and especially engaging for the second, and even more so for the third.
Then two more moderate pitches up and right, and you’re on the start of the long summit ridge. Our altimeter watches, thankfully, were way off, showing we still had almost 500 vertical meters to go. My well-trained partners suggested we verify that in reality—thankfully.
We simul-climbed the entire ridge. At times, the thought crossed our minds: just get to that bump ahead, and it wouldn’t be such a bad place to die—but behind it was another bump, and then another, and eventually dying didn’t seem relevant anymore.
The gendarmes along the ridge are bypassed on the right (there’s a bivy there as well) via slanting ledges. From there, the terrain traverses onto a snow-and-ice slope, followed by six pitches of rotten 45-degree ice mixed with rock, leading to the base of the summit tower.
About one pitch below the tower, we made a sudden and completely unnecessary navigation mistake, sending Dima left into the inner corner of the Kharakternik route. We quickly came to our senses—realising that’s exactly where we’d get benighted—and found a sharply slanting 50-meter ledge that bypassed the summit bastion on the right, narrowing with every step.
That pitch is beautiful — solid, exposed, and especially engaging for the second, and even more so for the third.
Then two more moderate pitches up and right, and you’re on the start of the long summit ridge. Our altimeter watches, thankfully, were way off, showing we still had almost 500 vertical meters to go. My well-trained partners suggested we verify that in reality—thankfully.
We simul-climbed the entire ridge. At times, the thought crossed our minds: just get to that bump ahead, and it wouldn’t be such a bad place to die—but behind it was another bump, and then another, and eventually dying didn’t seem relevant anymore.
The summit is stunning. The North Summit, the vast saddle stretching toward us, Elbrus, Shkhelda, and beyond. We took it in, snapped some photos, picked up a note left by a Georgian team, checked the time—and the approaching cloud of a distinctly unfriendly color—and started heading down, retracing the entire route in reverse.
We descended the summit bastion directly—“following the line of falling water,” as the saying goes. After two rappels and one belay right under a proper waterfall, we understood exactly what that meant.
Below the bastion, we more or less followed our ascent line. We rappelled back to the tent around 23:00. Celebrated with gourmet instant noodles and were ready to pass out, convinced the bad weather would finally hit the next day—but instead got a message saying the weather would hold until we reached base camp. We could hardly believe our luck and fell asleep immediately.
We descended the summit bastion directly—“following the line of falling water,” as the saying goes. After two rappels and one belay right under a proper waterfall, we understood exactly what that meant.
Below the bastion, we more or less followed our ascent line. We rappelled back to the tent around 23:00. Celebrated with gourmet instant noodles and were ready to pass out, convinced the bad weather would finally hit the next day—but instead got a message saying the weather would hold until we reached base camp. We could hardly believe our luck and fell asleep immediately.
Descent
We decided to descend the pillar using old fixed lines, apparently left by a Georgian team. We thought they would lead us back into the Mishlyaev corner, but instead they took us onto the vertical line of the Monogarov route.
None of us had ever seen so many bolts. They were everywhere—like cockroaches. There wasn’t a single spot where the spacing exceeded a meter. At one anchor, I counted eighteen. But given their age, the sheer number didn’t exactly inspire confidence. I looked at them, and it felt like they were looking back at me.
Apparently, the number of bolts placed on a route played a role in rankings at Soviet championships in the 1960s—otherwise I have no explanation.
Following the old lines, we descended to the top of the central chimney, then continued rappelling on our own ropes almost straight down the center of the wall.
At the Georgian Ledge, we caught our breath, collected everything we’d left behind before the climb, and started trudging down.
Apparently, the number of bolts placed on a route played a role in rankings at Soviet championships in the 1960s—otherwise I have no explanation.
Following the old lines, we descended to the top of the central chimney, then continued rappelling on our own ropes almost straight down the center of the wall.
At the Georgian Ledge, we caught our breath, collected everything we’d left behind before the climb, and started trudging down.
Moving fast wasn’t an option. On the way up, a rock had hit Dima in the shin, and it had since swollen and gone numb. The worn welts of our boots kept popping off crampons, Kostya had slightly frostbitten his toes in rock shoes, and I had simply battered mine so badly it took a couple of months to recover.
But eventually, we made it back into the embrace of friends—kisel, whisky, food, dry socks, and clean teeth.
But eventually, we made it back into the embrace of friends—kisel, whisky, food, dry socks, and clean teeth.
Afterword
We flew out of Moscow on August 14, and by August 23 we were already back in base camp, recovering after the climb. The weather during the ascent was phenomenal, but Ushba still showed us its harsh, unpredictable side.
A thunderstorm can roll in within five minutes, engulf the mountain completely, and light up the valley with lightning — we saw it with our own eyes from the tent in base camp, calmly sipping whisky. And personally, I couldn’t get enough of the spectacle, knowing we were safely below.
Which brings me back to the beginning. Mountains aren’t often personified, but with Ushba it’s hard not to. The mountain didn’t just let us go—I’d say it actually saw us off. Probably to make sure we wouldn’t come back.
In its own Svan way, Ushba turned out to be remarkably hospitable—and we’re grateful for that.
Original text: Alexey Kurochkin
Translation: Aleksandra Markevich
Photos: Konstantin Markevich
A thunderstorm can roll in within five minutes, engulf the mountain completely, and light up the valley with lightning — we saw it with our own eyes from the tent in base camp, calmly sipping whisky. And personally, I couldn’t get enough of the spectacle, knowing we were safely below.
Which brings me back to the beginning. Mountains aren’t often personified, but with Ushba it’s hard not to. The mountain didn’t just let us go—I’d say it actually saw us off. Probably to make sure we wouldn’t come back.
In its own Svan way, Ushba turned out to be remarkably hospitable—and we’re grateful for that.
Original text: Alexey Kurochkin
Translation: Aleksandra Markevich
Photos: Konstantin Markevich