Climbing Into the Unknown: A Journey to Lenin Peak and Beyond
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Dreaming of the summit
Last autumn, I found myself flipping through the expedition section of a mountaineering magazine, casually mentioning to my wife how incredible it would be to embark on such an adventure. However, I resigned myself to the idea that with a family, opportunities like this are nearly impossible — you’re either too old, or you lack the time and money. To my surprise, she suggested, “Why don’t you go on such an adventure for your upcoming birthday?” Realizing she was serious, we talked it over, and I started exploring the possibilities.
After considerable research, numerous emails and phone calls, and a thorough budgeting exercise, I decided to join an expedition to climb Lenin Peak (Ibn Sina), a stunning 7'134-meter (23'406 feet) giant, one of the most prominent summits in the Pamir Mountains right on the border of Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan.
Reactions from friends and family ranged widely, from “Why does she let you do that?” and “I wouldn’t do this if they paid me for it!” to “You’re crazy!” and “Wow, this is so exciting! I’d love to join you!” Opinions are like arseholes — everyone has one.
Nevertheless, I pressed on, dedicating countless hours, days, and months to researching the necessary gear. I meticulously compiled lists, comparing equipment prices and weights, and visited numerous shops and websites to ensure I had the best possible gear (which I later found out was well worth the effort!). High-altitude mountaineering isn’t cheap — unless you’re skilled and lucky enough to attract sponsors.
With my experience of climbing 4'000-meter peaks in the Alps and regular mountain runs, I intensified my training, running between 20 and 40 kilometers each week in preparation for the adventure. I was ready.
The journey begins
The expedition began with the arrival in Osh, Kyrgyzstan followed by a transfer to Base Camp at 3'600 meters. The first few days focus on acclimatization with hikes to nearby peaks and ridges. The climb officially begins on Day 5 with a move to Camp 1 at 4'400 meters, followed by progressive ascents to higher camps. After several days of acclimatization and preparation, the summit attempt occurs on Day 17, with climbers reaching the 7'134-meter peak and then descending back to Camp 3 and further down. The expedition concludes with a return to Osh.
Death, danger and idiots
When you google ‘Lenin Peak’, you will find at first sight, that despite its lofty altitude, it is considered one of the easier and accessible 7,000-meter climbs. It thus attracts both seasoned mountaineers and ambitious amateurs from around the world. But also, a lot of completely unprepared ‘tourists’ (we call them Grampis back home in Valais) who really should not be there unless for their attempt to win a Darwin Award.
Let me be very clear: There are no easy and accessible 7'000-meter peaks. None. While accurate data is hard to get, the success rate for the climb on Lenin Peak is stated to be somewhere between 15% and 25% — depending on season/weather conditions. During the time I was there, I would have guessed this number to be even lower, but conditions were far from ideal.
Mountaineering literature frequently cites several reasons why people perish in the mountains:
- Underestimated weather conditions: Always monitor the sky, seek regular updates, and consult with mountain guides.
- Human ambition: Know when to turn back, even if it’s just 30 minutes before reaching the summit. Your life is more important than the summit itself.
- Lack of skill: A high-altitude expedition is not the time to try on crampons for the first time.
- Improper equipment: Decathlon gloves won’t cut it at these altitudes — you’ll lose fingers or toes.
- Lack of fitness: High-altitude mountaineering takes a serious toll on your body. You need to move quickly to avoid the increased risks of avalanches and crevasses in the afternoon.
Some of those “Grampis” up there made sure they checked every goddamn box on the list.
Yet, it’s not only inexperience that brings tragedy to Lenin Peak. The mountain is also notorious for its inherent dangers, with monuments all around the valley (Base Camp) marking the sites of several major disasters. The most infamous occurred in July 1990 when a massive avalanche at Camp II (around 5'300 meters) claimed the lives of 43 climbers. It remains one of the deadliest incidents in mountaineering history and starkly illustrates the risks of high-altitude expeditions in avalanche-prone areas.
Another tragedy struck in 1974 when a Soviet expedition lost eight female climbers during a severe storm near the summit. These incidents underscore the lethal conditions on Lenin Peak, where even experienced climbers can be overwhelmed.
Back to my expedition: Upon arriving at Base Camp after 28 straight hours of travel, we had just finished dinner when we heard the first report of two deaths — a Turkish and an Iranian climber who hadn’t returned from the glacier. Another climber I encountered coming down from Camp III had lost eight fingers and severely damaged his nose, which had turned black.
During my time on the mountain, other incidents occurred, and on summit day, I even had to pass by a deceased climber in the snow. Initially, I mistook the body for abandoned clothing — a clear sign my brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity due to the altitude. On Razdelnaya Peak (6'148m), I tried to draw a star into the snow. It took four attempts to successfully do so and when trying to text my wife that I made the summit— I forgot what the peak was called (I normally have a relatively solid memory).
The physical and mental challenges of high-altitude mountaineering are profound. At Camp III, situated at 6'100 meters, you’re left with just 48% of the oxygen available at sea level. On the summit, it’s only about 41%. Every step becomes increasingly difficult, and your breathing feels like you’re running when you’re merely walking uphill.
Acclimatization is crucial; the body needs time to adjust to the lack of oxygen and the pressure differences. Headaches are common, and unless they’re severe or persistent, they can usually be managed with over-the-counter medications like Aspirin or Paracetamol.
Temperature fluctuations added another layer of difficulty, ranging from -40°C at higher altitudes to +40°C in Osh — a nearly 80-degree Celsius difference that takes a significant toll on the body.
Despite the excellent food at Base Camp and Camp I, I still lost nearly 10% of my body weight during the adventure, even though I started out in good shape.
Summit day
After being up and down the mountain for the purpose of acclimatizing, we were facing summit day, an incredibly demanding challenge, where one must contend with the high altitude, exhaustion, and difficult weather conditions. The ascent to the summit ridge starts very early. We set off just after 01:00 AM, adding the challenge of freezing temperatures and the lack of proper sleep. Once on the ridge, we faced two particularly steep sections, one of which (‘The Knife’) is exposed and equipped with fixed ropes for safety. The ridge itself is generally broad with varying elevations, presenting an additional test of endurance. About ten times, I thought I had reached the summit, only to find out I hadn’t. Finally, after 7 hours and 40 minutes — a relatively fast time — we reached the top. As exhilarating as it was to stand on the summit, I knew the journey was only halfway over. We descended the long way to Camp III, grabbed an hour of sleep, and then continued down to Camp II for a slightly better rest.
Facing the melting giants
The impact of global warming was brought home to me through a chilling story shared by a Scottish professor at the bar. He explained how the retreating glaciers are now revealing the remains of climbers long thought lost. In one instance, they discovered the remains of a German climber, identified through personal items, including a camera with film that was sent to a university for analysis. This eerie reminder of the past underscored how much the environment is changing.
We encountered these changes firsthand on our last day. As we began our descent from Camp II, an uneasy feeling set in. The temperature had risen alarmingly, turning the once-stable path into a treacherous gauntlet. The previous afternoon and night had triggered two avalanches along our route, leaving the terrain scarred and unstable. Navigating our way down, we had to leap over gaping crevasses, some of which had been crossed using ladders that now lay shattered, swallowed by the icy void below.
The fixed ropes we depended on for safety were barely secure, some precariously anchored by bags of (now warm) snow dug into the ground. Each step was filled with tension, every movement calculated with the utmost care. Our eyes scanning constantly for the next hidden crevasse. This descent was no longer just a journey back — it had become a desperate race against the mountain’s shifting, unpredictable wrath.
As I descended, with the memory of those precarious crevasse jumps and shattered ladders fresh in my mind, I couldn’t shake the thought that Lenin Peak was a microcosm of the changes happening all over our planet.
My mountain guide, a man of few words and very basic English, broke his usual silence when we finally reached the bottom of the ‘Ice Fall’ between Camp II and Camp I. He looked at me, his expression serious, and simply said, “OK, this was dangerous. Let’s not do this again!” I agreed.
Reflections
Reflecting on my journey to climb Lenin Peak, I find myself deeply transformed by the experience, both physically and mentally. The adventure tested my limits in ways I hadn’t anticipated — each step up the mountain was a confrontation with not just the harsh environment, but also my own resilience and determination. The reality of global warming, made evident by the retreating glaciers and the grim discoveries they reveal, added a sobering layer to the climb. It’s one thing to read about these changes, but quite another to witness them firsthand in such a remote and unforgiving landscape. This journey wasn’t just about reaching the summit; it was about confronting the fragility of life, the urgency of environmental stewardship, and the profound impact such challenges can have on the human spirit. As I return to my daily life, I carry with me a heightened sense of awareness and a deeper appreciation for both the natural world and the resilience required to navigate its most extreme corners.
Some more impressions:
If you have any questions, concerns or you think I’m writing a bunch of gibberish, please get in touch!
