One last uphill, one last adventure…or…debacle. At the top of a hill, Leonid decided to deviate off the trail down to the river and camping spot for tonight by bushwacking. Off he went, flying through brambles, stinging nettles and stabbing bushes with the “jets” close on his heels. ex-Marine and I were hauling *#*, huffing and puffing just trying to keep up and Leonid in sight. I did not want to get lost again and this was not hiking…it was broken-field running. Mercifully, Leonid came to a rest stop and asked where Rob was. How the hell would I know? Rob was shepherd as usual…and always the last one down. Marlynne and Michael gasped up to us and Leonid asked the same question…”Where is Rob.” Marlynne said Rob was behind her and little cook behind Rob. Rob told Marlynne to go on ahead as he wanted to wait for little cook. Now, little cook approached the group but still no Rob. We threw ourselves on the ground and waited for one hour, calling and whistling while Leonid ran back up the mountain, in circles and finally came back down to where the group was sitting…without Rob.
Leonid and Slava decided to get us all to camp as quickly as possible and then they’d set off with the horses to look for Rob. Leonid now led the group on Bataan Death March #1, down to the proposed camp site at a super-super-fast pace through more bushes…under the blazing sun…no water to drink and the group is hauling butt! Major collapse at camp AFTER putting up the tents. Brian and I then had a “boo-boo” contest, comparing legs and arms to see who had more skin missing, cuts, gouges and blood dripping. It was close and we both were a mess. By now, the iodine tablets were being rationed and I was running out of bandages.
Almost too exhausted to eat it was a very somber evening in camp worrying about Rob. Rob had a military background, and was an expert mountaineer but he still was in shorts and had very little on him to spend a night in the mountains.
Breakfast, such as it was, and still no Rob. Leonid and Slava set out again to search and Victor, the other horsemen was put in charge of getting the group down to the river where a raft was waiting to float us across. Bataan Death March #2 began with Victor leading in double-time through more weeds, bushes, nettles, most shrubs over my head (I’m 5’3″), ripping and flaying whatever skin was left off arms and legs. Finally…a meadow clearing…and who is standing there…Rob…safe after spending the night sleeping in the woods and not too much worse for the experience. Rob led us the remainder of the way to the river, thankfully at a slower pace, and then HE and VICTOR left to find Leonid and Slava.
There was absolutely nothing to enjoy about these last two days except the fact everyone survived, and it was over. The entire trip had become nothing but one huge Saturday Night Live skit.
Everyone now together, a hike through Kucherla, the last populated area on the way in and out of the mountains trying to avoid a drunk grabbing one of the women on the way through his village. Siberia, and these isolated villages, have a huge problem with chronic alcoholism. Unemployment…isolation….just a few of the causes…and these people can get very rough.
It was time to raft across the fast-flowing Akkem River with its very strong current current…but first some decisions on who the strongest paddlers would be…not me…that was a given…
…everyone safely on the other side, a long wait for our Russian driver to fix whatever mechanical problem the bus was having, and head back to Vysotnik Base Camp, euphoric that we had survived…