IN THE FACE OF SOUTHERN RUSSIA
(In the Face of Southern Russia)
Overlanding through the Caucasus Mountains is not for the faint of heart, but it’s an experience that will be cherished.
here’s almost nothing better than enjoying weekends overlanding or visiting a local ORV park to spend some time on rural roads and trails. So imagine how great it could be to travel a little farther afield and take an off-roading holiday in a foreign country!
But exploring a little further afield presents some geographical limitations since it may take a few days or longer to get to your destination before you even begin hitting the trails. This is where fly-drive companies come in.
After working with a large trans-Asian expedition company for nearly 20 years, Aljona Dudashili and her husband Andrei decided to limit their travels and focus more on familyand friend-oriented off-roading holiday tours in their home country of Russia. The couple, who have amassed years of experience organizing high-end expeditions for clients such as Volkswagen and Land Rover, arranged an overland trip through the stunning Caucasus Mountains in Southern Russia for some European clients. When they extended an invitation to me, it took all about a mere second to graciously accept.
Rocky Tractor Fields and Dealing with the Devil
The first road out from our base at the luxurious Hotel Dahovskaya Sloboda led up the side of a gravel quarry with large, overloaded trucks hurtling towards the group. For a few minutes, I began to wonder if the Russian idea of ‘soft roading’ was a bit too soft. Nope. In the lead car was Gennady and he turned down an unmarked trail into a forest and I suddenly found myself fumbling for the 4L button as the UAZ slewed around in the muddy ruts.
Some detours around deep water-filled holes forced us to slide around inches from trees, having great fun furiously turning the wheel fully one way and then to the other. But it wasn’t just playing in the mud for the sake of it. After a few kilometres, the group came out on a ridge of karst outcrop called the Devil’s Finger.
Our beautiful UAZs parked high on the side of a ledge, the landscape below, stretching off to distant snow-capped peaks, carpeted with an almost unbroken vista of trees, gently changing to all shades of rust in the early autumn light. It looked like what our distant ancestors would have seen as they stepped out of their caves. The landscape is not quite an untamed wilderness with crisscrossing logging trails and fishermen’s routes. This region of Southern Adygea was where we
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were going to spend a week exploring.
A little later back down in the valley, looking for a way to cross the wide and lazy river, our track took us through a field. It didn’t seem too much at first, but it was primarily for tractors so all of the rocks had to be negotiated very carefully as we all inched along in 2nd low.
To my dismay, my axle beached an unsighted rock in the long grass. The horrible grinding sound it made to get off was terrible, but the UAZ is a tough little machine designed for the rigours of the Russian terrain. The setting sun through the tall grass made for some great photos but then in the falling darkness, there was a broken bridge we had to cross.
Everyone needed a spotter to safely go over smashed pieces of concrete that were all that was left of the bridge. Gennady chose a strange angle for me to ease over. Not knowing what was under the wheels was quite unnerving and it was at that precise moment that an oak tree decided to drop a few acorns onto the roof. The noise sounded just like something in the transmission snapping, but Gennady knew what he was doing.
It didn’t take too long to work out what his hand signals meant and everyone made it over. It’s important to point out that this is no trip for beginners - a good understanding of what a 4x4 can do is needed to tackle a rugged region like this.
Choosing Tough Lines, Unpredictable Bridges and the Highest Peak in Europe
Making it through a good off-road route is all about challenges and rewards. Once over the river, we parked up on the pebble shore of the opposite bank, where there was – surprisingly – a nice restaurant. We dined on shashliks and tea made from local herbs – a combination that would become a theme of the trip.
My favourite day of the week was in the little village of Arkhyz. Despite being in a valley surrounded by snow-capped peaks it wasn’t cold, yet the cafés had stoves burning so the area had a lovely pervading aroma of wood smoke.
Getting to the off-road trail and into the mountains was via a dodgy-looking wooden bridge or a rather deep river crossing. So we did both, and either way wasn’t easy. It wasn't long before we needed 4Low and had to pick a line up a very rough hill. We realized why it was in such bad condition when a massive KAMAZ logging truck came sliding around the corner at what seemed like Dakar speed.
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With muddy pools, side slopes, choosing lines between rocks and over deep ruts, and even a 100 m (328 ft) section that went up the river, the 6 km (3.7 mi) route made this run seem like a mini-expedition.
For normal 4x4s, the trail ends at the beginning of a hiking route and into the river around a huge granite boulder. Gennady spotted me around some of the larger rocks and we tried to get as close to the glacier as possible. But with snow lying in deep drifts, we couldn’t get much further, so we turned around and had a picnic nearby with the most breathtaking scenery. Gennady struck up a conversation with a local, weathered-faced shepherd who was looking after his herd of cattle. With his gravelly voice, hardened by a good half-century of chain-smoking, he called out commands to his shaggy, vicious-looking dog, but still posed for a photo. It was an incredible place to visit but I
couldn’t imagine what a harsh life it must be to live and work in the area.
Once back down the trail, a wooden bridge over the fast-flowing river sagged as we inched across and on the other side, we found a local who made some delicious lamb shashliks for us. Drinking tea with herbs picked from the valley while sitting in the BBQ smoke of your own dinner is a great way to work up your appetite.
The biggest mountain in the Caucasus, and in all of Europe, is the 5,642 m (18,511 ft) Mt. Elbrus, which is actually a long-dormant volcano. The gravel road took us along some barren country with just a few forsaken-looking farmers’ villages, but Gennady knew which random tracks led over the hills to dramatic viewpoints. Through a stunning 100 m (328 ft) deep gorge, the track led up through deeper and deeper drifts of snow and fallen rocks until we drove our way up to another rickety bridge where we came across a perfect tarmac road.
Apparently, it was made so the governor of the region could drive to his country house on the side of the mountain in comfort. “Elbrus is right there,” a member of the group said, pointing ahead, yet the autumn haze made the horizon blank. As we got closer, I could just make out something shining in the sky. I couldn’t work out what it was, but a photo with a filter on the lens showed what I couldn’t see; it was the sun’s reflection on the wind-polished glacier that sits on the top.
When we were finally close enough to see the majestic peak, it was an incredible sight.
It’s approximately 800 m (2,624 ft) higher than even Mont Blanc and the conditions were very cold. But I warmed up plenty enough later that night in a town called Kislovodsk at a traditional Russian banya.
The last evening of the tour was in a plush restaurant with tea served from a large copper pot and plates piled high with barbecued meat, local cheeses and meat pies. At the end of the trip, I was in need of a shave and some sleep, but my mind was full of wonderful impressions and memories. It might have only been a recreational tour but it was a real trip to remember.