I picked up this book randomly on a visit to a marvellous bookshop in Madrid - the Librería Desnivel, devoted entirely to travel books, mountaineering and so on. Well, maybe not entirely randomly - who could fail to be intrigued by the title 'Stalin's Mountaineers'? Once I picked it off the shelf and looked at the cover it practically demanded to be bought.
And it didn't disappoint. This is the story of the Abalákov brothers, born at the turn of the 20th century into a relatively well-off family towards the eastern end of what would become the USSR. Entranced from an early age by the hills and mountains nearby, the brothers became practically household names as they 'conquered' peak after peak in the USSR, most of them over 7000 metres high, and with equipment that would be regarded today as insufficient if not positively dangerous.
Part of the fascination of the story lies in the fact that the brothers didn't always see eye-to-eye and didn't always accompany each other on their climbs. The younger brother, Yevghueni, achieved considerably more than Vitali and this led to inevitable tensions, the working out of which would give too much away to anyone who hasn't read the book and might want to do so. (You should).
Cédric Gras backgrounds the biographical material with a (more-or-less) even-handed history of the USSR as it developed from the 1920s to the 1980s, just before the fall of the Berlin Wall when everything changed for ever. Inevitably the lives of Yevgueni and Vitali were touched or impacted by Stalinism (the verb you choose depends on the brother you're talking about) in ways unimaginable in most other political-historical contexts.
What did it mean to be a mountaineer under Stalin? It meant following crazy orders, like carrying an entire weather station to the top of a 7,400 metre mountain and making it work. It meant carrying busts of Stalin and Lenin up numerous mountains and leaving them there. It meant dutifully naming peaks after revolutionary heroes and institutions (every colonising country does this of course). It meant developing a proletarian methodology for mountain climbing: no sherpas, who represented the capitalist use of slave labour, an emphasis on mass ascents where possible (no bourgeois individualism), and rigorous safety procedures (the Soviet state as protector of the masses).
I was truly sorry to get to the end of this book, especially as one of the delights afforded by the internet is the vicarious journeying it prompts when reading it. Photos of pretty much every mountain mentioned in the book are easily found, sometimes with helpful routes to the summit overlayed on the photograph. I spent about as much time day-dreaming as reading, so thank you, Yevgueni and Vitali for your extraordinary lives, and thank you Cédric Gras for bringing them back from the dead.