Mount Kazbeg ascent

An extinct volcano, the third-highest mountain in Georgia, the seventh-highest in the Caucasus, the place where the mythical Prometheus was chained, one of the most visited five-thousanders, and the dominant feature of the view from the village of Stepantsminda. All of this can be claimed by Mount Kazbek (5,054 m) in northern Georgia.

07/ 2025

From the city to the Mountains

Packed, ready — off to the mountains. I am the first to arrive at the airport, accompanied mainly by a crowd of security guards. A hoarse announcement informs us that, for security reasons, the security check has been temporarily suspended. Fire engines flash outside the building. In the end, we never find out what happened. Our backpacks are accepted as usual and we just barely make the flight.

Before we even finish our tea, we are in Warsaw. After boarding, we are loaded onto a bus. We wait twenty minutes for a two-minute ride. Seated on the plane, we listen to an announcement about further delay and continue waiting. Cabin baggage is checked again and the fresh air runs out. This results in a medical check for one of the passengers. All in all, a two-hour delay. We leave Poland and three and a half hours later land in Georgia. Arriving at five in the morning turns out to be far better than the originally scheduled three a.m. We pass through all procedures relatively smoothly, shake off persistent taxi drivers, and take a Bolt to the bus station.

We quickly find a marshrutka with a “Kazbegi” sign. We wait for another pair of passengers until the vehicle fills up, and then we set off. The fare includes two sightseeing stops. The first is Ananuri Fortress. The majestic castle above the reservoir on the Aragvi River once guarded the road from Mtskheta northward into the Caucasus.

The second photo stop is at the Russia–Georgia Friendship Monument on the road between the ski resort of Gudauri and the Jvari Pass. A vast mosaic depicting key historical events surrounds a panoramic terrace. The view itself is a work of art. Finally, mountains.

We cross the 2,400-metre Jvari Pass and hurtle down wild switchbacks into Stepantsminda. The Georgian Military Highway is heavily trafficked — a key route between Tbilisi and the Russian city of Vladikavkaz. This challenging section is expected to be replaced in the future by a long tunnel emerging near the village of Kobi. Today we pass a massive construction site run by Chinese engineers.

Stepantsminda, Saint Stephen, Kazbegi

The accommodation we booked through Booking turns out not to be operating. We sit in a café with a view of our objective. Kazbek hides in the clouds, but it is there. In front of it stands the beautiful Gergeti Trinity Church — the one from the Georgia travel brochures. That photograph is still missing from my personal album, so tomorrow…

In the meantime, we find new accommodation. It is farther away, up a rougher road, but offers a better view. From the terrace we look straight into the clouds wrapping “our” mountain. The afternoon is devoted to catching up on sleep before dinner. For that, we head into the lively centre of the village.

Our cheerful host can handle anything when it comes to liquid products. I order a baked potato. He has to check whether the cook can manage such a demanding task. What could possibly go wrong? Apart from forgetting it. After two hours, I receive a homemade “free cake” as an apology for the “potato issue”. Well… tomorrow is another day.

A Cultural Stop in Gergeti

In the morning we enjoy the pleasant coolness on the terrace, sip coffee, and feed leftover breakfast to an overweight dog keeping us company. We leave a few unnecessary items in storage and set off for adventure. Across the river and straight up — the first vertical half-kilometre to the church. It is the one. The iconic building whose photograph, with mountains in the background, illustrates the beauty of the region. The frame must be carefully composed so that the huge car park full of eager taxi drivers and a few horses rummaging through overflowing bins remain out of sight. A classic “Instagram vs. reality.” Our photos are further enhanced by scaffolding and workers carefully installing shiny copper sheets on the medieval dome, observing what might be described as an eastern interpretation of safety standards.

To enter the sanctuary, we must adjust our outfits appropriately. At the door we borrow apron-like scarfs to cover our bare knees. The 14th-century church is one of the most photographed in Georgia. In the 1980s, the Soviet government even built a cable car to it, but locals disliked it and it did not last long. Finding the remains of the lower station in the village below takes some effort. The building, nicknamed the Twin Tower because it resembles a ski jump, now serves as a canvas for street artists.

360° and epic camping

We examine two options for tackling the next 700 vertical metres. The path splits, leading either along a ridge or through a valley to the left, rejoining just below 3,000 metres at a glass-fronted café called Café 360°. With heavy packs, we choose the route where we see supply horses descending. It will likely be easier. Soon it becomes clear that the main benefit of this choice lies elsewhere. We ascend a gentle slope that steepens only at the end. Until then, we have time to reflect on what we forgot.

Garlic. We forgot to buy garlic in the village. The entire expedition is doomed…

Minutes later, crushed eggs lie scattered on the path — probably dropped by a horse. No pancakes at the hut tonight. A few steps further: a clove of garlic. Perfect timing. Next to it we collect two whole bulbs. Saved. We can continue upward.

The slope eases at just under 3,000 metres where the glass building of Café 360° stands on a panoramic ridge. Even the toilet has a glass wall overlooking a precipice. One of the local four-legged guardians pokes his nose into our snack — until he samples the garlic.

There is still mobile signal here. A gentle climb brings us to the huts Alti Hut and Deka. We refill water from a spring and continue along the edge of a gorge with a muddy river roaring below. Several tributaries must be crossed near small drops where grey glacial water plunges into the depths. There is plenty of water, but a dry crossing can always be found. With heavy packs, our leaps are remarkably graceful and coordinated.

We camp just below the glacier. The map calls it an “Epic place for camping,” so why not. At 3,250 metres, it is perfect for today. Among the boulders we find shelter from the wind and a water source nearby. The views down the valley are epic, and looking up at our objective inspires respect. Only one stray dog passes by. An evening wash in the grey stream flowing directly from the glacier is a little bit abrasive.

There are three of us. We were supposed to be four, so we carry two two-person tents. Our agreement on stoves was so successful that we have three in total — but only two spoons for the group. Mountain guides on holiday…

Meteostation - better not...

The morning is clear. I consider shorts, but long trousers prove wiser — the sun soon disappears into mist. We step onto the glacier: soft, grey, dusty. Horses walk here without crampons, so we do not bother digging ours out of our packs. Except for a slightly uncomfortable “glassy” section at the end, this proves a good decision. The horses supply the hut and faithfully mark the safe route with their droppings.

Betlemi Hut (3,650 m) is considered the base camp for Kazbek. An acclimatisation hike typically leads about 200 vertical metres above it to a small metal chapel.

The former weather station now serves as a mountain hut and campsite used mainly by agencies. Maintenance — or even cleaning — may have last occurred in some long-gone regime. In short: rubbish everywhere, broken glass, and behind every larger rock lurks used toilet paper. Even the hardy avoid the official toilet. Enough “praise” of our eastern colleagues — we do not plan to stay here.

On the porch we still catch a weak signal and check the forecast. Not promising. Tomorrow looks like a rest day. For today, about half an hour of moderate ascent remains to the junction where the marked route to Mount Ortsveri branches off. We are not the only ones unwilling to spend the night at the weather station, but most camp at the small cross on the horizon — the highest internet spot for checking forecasts. We continue a little further and find another excellent campsite, all to ourselves. Tents are pitched in stone windbreaks beside a small stream.

It seems the sun might break through and reveal the glacier, but then a drop falls. And another. Suddenly, far more than enough. We retreat to our tents. Before the storm passes, we are all asleep. I only drift off after failing to solve a crossword clue. We wake for dinner and finally Ortsveri appears. In the right light, the route across the glacier is visible — though it remains unclear how to reach it through the maze below.

Thin air fuels imagination. An ice slab on the north face of Ortsveri resembles a tiger’s head. With time, more animals emerge. The crossword fills the rest of the evening. After dinner, back to sleep — this time with an alarm set.

Acclimatisation weather

A violent thunderstorm arrives overnight. Thunder and lightning directly above us. At 1 a.m., I stuff all the packs from the vestibule into the tent. I try to sleep, but even the rocks beneath my sleeping mat rumble.

At two, the tent sags suspiciously. Horrified, I realise it is weighed down by a heap of snow. A heap. I shake it off and look outside. A full-blown snowstorm. Even more unsettling: several groups of headlamps descending the trail above us. In this weather? It has lasted at least two hours. They do not appear to be searching for anyone — just descending. I cannot make sense of it and retreat back inside. This weather was in no forecast.

At the agreed 5:30 a.m., I peek outside. We quickly agree to continue our current activity — lying down.

Breakfast happens three hours later during a break in the rain. The glacier has partially cleared and the tiger’s beard have melted

Views vanish again; rain returns. We divide pages from a week-old newspaper and retreat to our tents. Mist alternates with rain all day. We brew tea and count down to dinner. The forecast for tomorrow looks hopeful, so our busy programme ends with an early night and a 3 a.m. alarm.

Rain drums on the tent all evening. Overnight it intensifies. I am grateful for my heavy but sturdy tent. Even so, I fear it may be shredded. In the morning I discover only one anchor has failed.

Ortsveri

Budíky zvoní ve 3, ve 4, v 5 a v 7. Hlavní výstup se odkládá na zítra. Když se trochu vyčasí, vyrážíme aspoň na Ortsveri. Tato hora bývá popisována jako nižší, méně známý, ale technicky náročnější aklimatizační vrchol. S tím můžu souhlasit. Po krátkém nástupu se navazujeme na kraji ledovce a traverzujeme ho k prudšímu výšvihu do sedla. Jako nejlehčí jsem nominována na začátek lana a tedy i k prošlapávání stopy. O své pomalosti se přesvědčím až na zpáteční cestě, když procházím kolem křížků a koleček namalovaných hůlkou do sněhu. Ti dva prevíti za mnou prostě hráli piškvorky.

Alarms ring at 3, 4, 5 and 7. The main summit push is postponed to tomorrow. When the weather improves slightly, we at least head for Ortsveri. This mountain is often described as a lower, lesser-known but technically more demanding acclimatisation peak. I agree. After a short approach, we rope up at the glacier’s edge and traverse towards a steeper rise to the saddle. Being the lightest, I am nominated to lead and break trail. I realise how slow I am only on the descent when I pass crosses and circles drawn in the snow with a pole — the two rascals behind me were playing tic-tac-toe.

From where the “marked” route ends on the map, a brittle ridge leads to the summit — a mix of wind-scoured snow and loose scree crumbling under the ice axe. We settle for a lower fore-summit and descend to the sheltered saddle for lunch. We watch strings of climbers below. It is already late, yet some are still heading up. Today we focus on rest before tomorrow’s summit attempt.

In the evening, at the internet corner near the cross above the hut, we meet a group of Belarusians. One appears to be the leader and passionately criticises the many groups who arrive one day and head for the summit the next — zombies on the march.

On the way back we chat with members of a seventeen-strong Czech team. Their expedition forms part of a birthday celebration. What a party.

The usual evening negotiation follows: is it dinner time yet? Half past five? Not yet? How long?

We go to sleep before sunset. The forecast promises the first rain-free night.

Alarm set for 3:30 a.m. Plenty of time to sleep.

Summit Day — Worth the Waiting

I wake shortly after three. Footsteps and headlamp beams flicker across the tent. The summit caravans are already moving towards the glacier. We eat calmly and depart within the hour. We want daylight on the glacier.

We have the advantage of camping higher than the hut — and this is our third night here. Our assumption that better acclimatisation would keep us from becoming zombies proves correct. We move efficiently. There are only three of us — no cumbersome group logistics.

At dawn we pass beneath the feared Khmaura wall, notorious for rockfall. Wind carries red dust across the glacier, highlighting the beaten track.

Roped up, we continue ascending. It feels good; acclimatisation is evident. We overtake caravans burdened with an astonishing array of equipment. Fascinating ensembles. Standard gear includes Russian foam-mat harnesses tied on with string, ascenders and ice screws as fashion accessories, boots fit for Everest, and even harnesses worn backwards. Some large groups are roped at two-metre intervals. Local dogs wander among them.

We head for Pereval Kazbekskiy (4,478 m), where the first sunlight reaches us. The summit is in sight. Here, the route unofficially crosses into Russian territory — only by a few metres, but politically sensitive terrain nonetheless. Fortunately, snow and ice do not reveal borders, and the dogs roaming up to 5,000 metres do not seem to mind. In the saddle, 150 vertical metres remain. We unrope to avoid tangling with others on the final slope. At 8:30 a.m., we stand on the summit. Four hours from the tent.

Kazbek. 5,054 metres above sea level — and a sea all around us. A sea of mountains and endless horizons. Impossible to tire of. We spend nearly an hour there. To the west rises the white cone of Mount Elbrus. Perhaps another time — when the political situation allows.

We descend to the saddle and enjoy a snack in the sun, shared with a black-and-white dog. The descent continues swiftly; temperature rises sharply with decreasing altitude. The lower glacier turns into slush strewn with debris from the Khmaura wall. Finally, we remove crampons and walk the rest on rocky terrain. We reach our tents shortly after noon. We could pack and descend all the way, but there is no rush. We savour the sunny afternoon and a well-earned coffee.

The next day we descend to the village. Tents packed, we shoulder heavy loads for the two-kilometre drop. We do not linger at the weather station and hurry towards the glacier. A crevasse requires a jump. I am reluctant, so first the backpack — with assistance from two gentlemen — then I follow. We could have crossed elsewhere. Supply horses slowly approach from below, reluctant on the ice but with no choice.

The stream above the waterfall got bigger over the past days. The boys leap across a large rock, but I dont like the jump even without a pack. No need for heroics — a ford lies slightly downstream. I roll up my trousers and wade through rather than risk slipping.

We refill water at Deka Hut and reward ourselves with coffee on the terrace of Café 360°. Then down past Gergeti Church and by early afternoon we are back in the village. With two spare days, we return to our proven accommodation with the panoramic terrace and plan excursions nearby. 

Culture and sightseeing

On the first day we take a taxi to the Juta Valley. Two kilometres before the village, the road ends in a landslide and the rest must be walked. We are surprised locals do not simply drive through. No matter. A walk is welcome. A group of impeccably outfitted Japanese tourists awaits their transfer. The destination is Chaukhi Lake and a long-closed snack stand. A bonus is a refreshing waterfall at the valley’s end

The second day we head into the Truso Valley. The turn-off from the main road lies near the village of Kobi, where the new tunnel will emerge and where a cable car leads to Gudauri. Our route goes the opposite direction past an abandoned mining complex. We rattle along to the village of Kvemo Okrokana and continue on foot, though vehicles occasionally pass along the dusty road. After about an hour we reach the famous travertine monument. Hot mineral springs gush from the rock, forming terraces and shallow warm pools. Jeeps from local agencies drive shamelessly across this natural spectacle. A little further on we find the bubbling Lake Albano. Carbon dioxide rises from the depths, making it look as though divers are swimming below the surface. Lingering here in calm weather is not recommended. The Truso Valley also boasts a medieval history, with once-renowned monasteries in Abano and Ketrisi. We, however, head back to Stepantsminda — and tomorrow to the metropolis

We enjoy one last breakfast on the terrace and descend to the marshrutka stop. Two and a half hours of brake-and-accelerate driving await us. The driver has three teeth, the steering wheel on the right, and an abundance of courage for overtaking anywhere — especially before blind corners or crests. The fact that he likely sees the least of anyone on board does not trouble him. Better not to watch.

As we descend, the temperature steadily rises — eventually reaching over thirty degrees. One night remains in Tbilisi: an evening stroll, a full day of urban exploration, a farewell dinner, and a night flight home. I know Tbilisi fairly well, yet there is always more to discover. The contrasts between old and new architecture never cease to amaze me. Summer tourism fills the streets; the city centre remains lively late into the night. Our accommodation boasts an excellent location and wildly eclectic décor.