The next day the storm calms down, but breaking trail along a twelve-kilometre ridge at seven thousand metres with just two people seems impossible. The only option is to descend and put the Snow Leopard title on ice for at least another year.
Katka Mandulová has stood on the summits of the four highest seven-thousanders of the former Soviet Union, and only one more – Pik Pobeda – separates her from the Snow Leopard title. Some years nobody even attempts this mountain, while there are queues beneath the eight-thousanders in Nepal. Katka climbs mountains that stand off the beaten track, and few would call her a climbing celebrity. Despite that – or perhaps because of it – she is hugely inspiring. Among other things, she has met the Dalai Lama, hitchhiked across the whole of Russia to Vladivostok and learned from the people of Siberia how to dress for the cold. And last but not least, she is a key lawyer at Deloitte Legal. Read our chat with Katka Mandulová.
Let's start gently. What did you have for breakfast today?
An egg – that's about the only thing I can cook.
What book are you reading at the moment?
Two Poor Romanians Speaking Polish (Dwoje biednych Rumunów mówiących po polsku) – a slim little booklet I found in a book-swap box, and it really made my day.
Now a bit deeper. Can you remember the last thing in the mountains that made you happy?
I was happy with our last expedition to Pik Pobeda. We had some beautiful moments high up in the Tian Shan, the Heavenly Mountains – what more could you want? We had some good climbing, came back alive and we're still friends.
And the other way round – what really disappointed you in the mountains?
This year we didn't make it to the summit, and that's always a bit of a letdown. But in the end it's not the most important thing. At least it's a reason to go back to Pobeda and take down the imaginary bag we hung up there.
Judging by your love of old Jasan wooden skis, you must be quite a nostalgic. What do you miss most in the mountains from times gone by?
I'm not a nostalgic. I'm just drawn to things that aren't mainstream at the moment. Whether it's hitchhiking, skiing on old wooden skis or seven-thousanders. Everyone wants the eight-thousanders, yet the future of climbing lies in the sevens. They're often unexplored mountains, out of sight of the crowds, and the expeditions heading there tend to be non-commercial. They promise new, endless possibilities for climbing and adventure. From times gone by, I miss some glaciers that have completely disappeared or are disappearing. Or trees being wiped out by bark beetle. It's worrying, but hopefully we'll find a way to save the beauty of nature.
You've written two books, and you have my great admiration for that. How did you get into writing books?
I'm a natural scribbler. And I have a thousand stories in my head from my travels around the world, so at some point I decided to share them. Vladivostop was a kind of upgrade of my travel articles, which people devoured. And Jasanové básně (Ash-Wood Poems)? That's for a more discerning audience. Above all you have to be a skier to really appreciate them. Anyone who shares my passion for skiing will enjoy reading them.
Can you briefly introduce the books?
Vladivostop is a travelogue about hitchhiking across the whole of Russia to Vladivostok. Hence Vladivostop. I self-published it in 2010. It's a hitchhiking bestseller and an inspiring read. Some readers even shot off eastwards after finishing it. Jasanové básně is really an encyclopaedia of skiing in verse. It came out the year before last, and I have fun sometimes reciting the poems to skiers right there on the trail. Both books have an original design – I always worked with interesting creatives – so they're little works of art.
You've travelled a good chunk of the world. South America, Russia, China, Iran and more. Did you meet anyone on your travels who influenced you significantly?
At Lake Rewalsar I briefly met the Dalai Lama, which was of course wonderful and, given my experience of travelling in Tibet, also sad. But I value much more the real friendships that came about on my travels or because of them. I have many good friends among climbers and I draw inspiration from them for what I do.
Climbing seven-thousanders undoubtedly means a lot of sacrifice. You already have four under your belt – Khan Tengri, Peak Korzhenevskaya, Peak Communism and Lenin Peak. What do you miss most on expeditions?
I don't particularly suffer up there. I don't miss material things – I'm happy to live simply. On the other hand, if you decide to spend every summer somewhere on a glacier, you logically miss out on other opportunities that are at least as tempting. When you've been stuck in a tent for a week and can't move, you start wondering whether the whole thing makes sense and whether you'd be better off at Lago di Garda, say. In the hard moments especially, despondency creeps in, but with time everything looks different again.
How do you cope with the cold? Especially your hands, I'd guess. Women often struggle with it in the Czech mountains, let alone on seven-thousanders at minus twenty.
I once had frostbite on my feet. The blackened tips of my toes healed in the end, but it was an unpleasant experience. Since then I've been very careful. I learned my lesson and bought better boots. Gear matters. I learned that in Siberia, when I was finding out how the locals cope with the bitter cold. Siberians are nothing special compared with other people. They just know how to dress better.
Was it ever like that up there, where you told yourself: “Well, if this doesn't work out, that's it.”
In the high mountains you move through terrain that is anything but friendly. The slopes are avalanche-prone, there's often a risk that a cornice will break off with you and carry you down into the valley. Or when the wind has been lashing your tent for days on end, all you want is to be out of there. These aren't conditions you can endure for long. You have to hope you'll somehow slip away, that the mountain will let you go – up, or at least down. I've taken conscious risks many times, but I've never been in a situation where I was truly fighting for my life. That, of course, can change your perspective too.
Do you feel like coming back from the mountains to civilisation? To normal life and the daily grind at work?
Surprisingly, yes. I'm a lawyer and my work makes sense to me. Any work makes more sense than endless loafing around. Travelling doesn't have to be just loafing, but after a while the travelling life runs its course in its own way. Years ago, when I was coming home after a year on the road, I almost envied shoe-shiners for being more useful to the world than me. It's good to know why you travel, what it gives you and what it gives the world around you. Once that sense of the new, of discovery and adventure fades, it's better to go home.
When you climb mountains, are you interested in their history? Who discovered them, named them, first tried to reach the summit? Does that inspire you?
I'm mainly interested in the exploration of Central Asia. Alexander the Great's phenomenal expedition to somewhere in northern Pakistan, or the monk Faxian's journey to Turkestan, made a big impression on me. I'm also fascinated by the work of the geographical societies in the imperial era and the so-called Great Game played over this territory. That included crossings of the high mountain passes of the Karakoram and Hindu Kush, secret incursions into the closed kingdom of Tibet, the journeys of the famous explorer Przhevalsky and the mapping of the mountain terrain of the Tian Shan. That's what I grew up on, and it's why I keep coming back to this part of the world.
Why do you climb mountains?
Because the mountains reveal what really matters. It's easier to see what's worth it in life and what isn't. Through climbing I get to know myself, my new possibilities and my limits. I love giving my body a proper workout, taking a deep breath of fresh air, getting a bit frozen and clearing my head. It toughens me up, gives me resilience, the inner strength to handle big things calmly and, above all, joy. Wouldn't you like to look at the world from above?
These days there's a cable car up almost every hill. In the Pitztal they're bulldozing the glacier for the sake of the skiing experience. A snowcat will take you almost to the top of Elbrus, and Everest is now climbed mostly by those who have the money. Do you ever think about how we could repay the mountains for the indelible mark we leave on them as humans?
When I walked around the sacred mountain of Kailash, home of the god Vishnu, I learned from sad Tibetans that the Chinese want to build a road and a McDonald's there. I don't understand how anyone could even think of it. We're losing respect for spiritual places and for nature, and in doing so we impoverish ourselves. We choose shortcuts, comfort and short-term profit. The only way to turn it around is by setting a personal example and educating others. It would be great to change the trend so that cheerful modesty became the highest virtue again. I'm not entirely consistent, but at least when travelling I try to do no harm, minimise my footprint and inspire others.
And the last question. If you could tell the readers of this interview one single thing, what would it be?
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"Almost everyone who was on the summit when the storm hit never made it back down. Of five climbers, only one reached base camp. The others died."
Thanks to her achievements and her approach to the mountains, Katka Mandulová has earned the support of our brands Asolo, Lowe Alpine, Rab and Bridgedale.
