Second acclimatisation climb Photo: Dr K Henderson

The second day began with sobering news. An Austrian climber had been killed on Elbrus the day before.

It may sound foolish, but it had not crossed my mind until that point that the mountain might actually be dangerous. Sure, I was worried about reacting badly to the altitude. And yes, it could get very cold. But surely it was more dangerous to fly Aeroflot than to climb a mountain as benign-looking as Elbrus.

Ever since Moscow, however, we had been hearing rumours that in winter the long flanks of Elbrus are covered with ice, not snow. The climber had apparently been using crampons when he tripped. Unable to stop himself, he had slid 400m, stopping only when he hit the fearsome-sounding Pastukhov Rocks, where he incurred a head injury.

We prepared for our climb in a sombre mood. Although it looked like our summit attempt would be on crampons, we would continue to use our skis on the acclimatisation climbs. We were to be driven to the Adil-Su Valley. There we would skin from Jantugan (2,130m) to the Koiavgan pass (3,500m), which forms part of the border with Georgia.

The northern province of Georgia, Svanetia, is very poor. Apparently if you're not vigilant, the Svans have a tendency of nipping over into neighbouring Balkaria and Karbadia for a spot of rape and pillage, and their preferred routes are the Adil-Su Valley, and its sister the Adir-Su.

I found it hard to visualise the Svan hordes, sweating up to the pass on touring skis, intent on evil, but the Russians are certainly taking no chances.

There is quite a strong military presence throughout the Baksan valley. The transportation which had been laid on to take us to the start of the day's tour was part of it: a field ambulance, driven by Sherapi, a fierce-looking Balkarian, whose eyebrows merged seamlessly with his hairline, and who appeared to have been gene-spliced with a pack of cigarettes.

Our climb began with a gruelling walk up to the snow-line. It was an hour before we could put our skis on. Once on, we quickly got into our rhythm, climbing steadily to lunch at the Green Hotel (2,450m). This is serious mountaineers' territory - the Green Hotel itself seems to be a hut maintained by the Moscow University climbing club, on a high snow-covered meadow surrounded by fearsome, jagged peaks. All day long Kirill was happily pointing out famous routes climbed by mad adventurers with palms like suction cups; Alan and Peter nodded a lot and look happy, I have no idea if they were just being polite.

Georgia on my mind...the top of the Koiavgan pass looking into Svanetia Photo: Dr K Henderson

The dehydration of the long walk-in began to take its toll, and soon I was suffering from a splitting altitude headache.

With the Doc apparently in good shape, I couldn't turn back so I forced myself along, hoping to reach the pass quickly. For what seemed like an age we climbed, the valley becoming flatter and flatter until eventually we could sprint for the top and have a look over into Georgia. No sign of any Svanetian invaders labouring up the other side - what a relief. We took a few photos, stripped off our skins and headed down, enjoying the only real powder skiing we were to find on the whole trip.

Back at the hotel, Kirill introduced us to our high mountain guide, also called Valera (V2 to us), and promptly disappeared to the bar of the Tcheget hotel. He wasn't seen until late the next day.

Meanwhile Alan took stock. The group was strong, and the weather looked set fair. We decided if it was sunny the next day, we would move to the Barrels (3,800m), which were to serve as base camp for our assault on the mountain. We hadn't spent much time at altitude, and hadn't yet been above 4,000m, but we all agreed that it would have been a shame to waste what might have been the only weather window.