Part I. The First Steps

It was supposed to be nothing more than a weekend escape.

Four students from Moscow—Mikhail, Lena, Sergei, and Katya—set out into the Caucasus foothills in the spring of 1967. They were young, restless, and eager to test themselves against the mountains. None of them were seasoned hikers, though Mikhail had read a guidebook and insisted he “knew enough.”

Their backpacks bulged with bread, sausage, vodka, and a single map—an old tourist pamphlet already smudged with ink. They carried no compass, no spare clothing, and only one small hatchet for all four.

The first hours were joyful. They sang, laughed, took photographs of blooming valleys. The trail seemed clear, the air crisp, and the mountains ahead inviting. They pushed higher, deeper, without thought of time.

But by late afternoon, the sky darkened. Clouds gathered like wolves. The path that had been clear turned muddy, then vanished under snow patches. Sergei joked uneasily, “Maybe we should turn back.”

Mikhail waved him off. “Nonsense. The lodge is just over the next ridge. I saw it on the map.”

The others trusted him, though unease stirred in Lena’s eyes. She glanced at Katya, who only shrugged and followed.

By nightfall, rain lashed the forest. Their thin jackets soaked through, their bread turned to paste, and their map smeared into blur. They huddled under a pine, shivering, watching lightning claw across the peaks.

It was their first mistake—not gear, not food, not even direction. Their first mistake was believing the mountain would forgive inexperience.

The mountain never forgives.

Хочешь, я продолжу сразу с Part II — где их ошибки накапливаются: неправильный выбор пути, игнорирование погоды, трата сил впустую?

You said:

да

ChatGPT said:

Продолжаем
Вторая часть рассказа для статьи №10 "Common Beginner Mistakes in Hiking That Can Cost Lives".

Part II. The Weight of Errors

The rain did not stop with the night. By dawn, their firewood was soggy, their bread a mush of mold, their spirits hollow. They pressed on anyway, teeth chattering, boots squelching in mud.

Mikhail led, insisting he recognized landmarks, though each ridge looked like the last. Sergei questioned him once, pointing at the map now torn and waterlogged, but Mikhail snapped, “Do you want to sit here and rot? We keep moving.”

So they moved—uphill, downhill, in circles they did not see. The second mistake: no compass, no clear plan. The forest twisted them into confusion, and pride kept them from admitting they were lost.

By midday, Lena’s lips were blue. “We need shelter,” she murmured. “Not just another ridge.” But no one listened. They wasted hours climbing higher, chasing illusions of lodges that were never there.

The third mistake was silence. Each of them felt fear clawing, but none voiced it fully. They told jokes, cursed the weather, even sang once more. But the truth pressed heavier with every step: they were not hikers. They were children in a labyrinth that cared nothing for them.

When night fell again, they collapsed in a clearing. Sergei tried to light a fire, but the matches were wet, their single hatchet dull. Sparks hissed out on damp bark, and darkness swallowed them whole.

Katya wept quietly, huddling against Lena. Mikhail stared at the rain, jaw clenched, pride cracking.

They had food, but no heat to dry their clothes. They had legs, but no direction to use them. And above all—they had hope, but it was thinning like smoke.

The mountain had begun to teach them its lesson: each mistake alone is small. Together, they are a rope tightening around the neck.

Хочешь, я продолжу сразу с Part III — где начнутся опасные решения: неправильное питание, усталость, и рискованные шаги, ведущие к катастрофе?

You said:

да

ChatGPT said:

Продолжаем
Третья часть рассказа для статьи №10 "Common Beginner Mistakes in Hiking That Can Cost Lives".

Part III. The Descent into Risk

By the third day, their laughter was gone. Hunger gnawed at them, but their food was spoiling—sausage slick with mold, bread crawling with damp. Sergei bit into a piece anyway, gagged, and spat it out. “We need fire to cook it,” he said, but fire was still only a dream.

The fourth mistake: poor food planning. They had brought plenty of weight, but nothing that could last against rain and cold.

Mikhail, hollow-eyed but stubborn, pointed down a steep slope. “The river’s that way. Villages always lie by rivers. If we reach it, we live.”

Lena frowned. The slope was slick with rain, jagged rocks hidden under moss. “It’s too steep. If we slip—”

But Mikhail was already moving, sliding, grabbing branches. Pride once more carried them all downward.

Halfway, Katya’s boot skidded. She cried out, tumbling onto her side. Only Lena’s desperate grip stopped her from falling farther. They hauled her back, trembling, scraped raw, but alive.

It should have been a warning. Instead, they pressed on, because turning back felt like defeat.

The fifth mistake: wasting strength. They stumbled through bogs, climbed ridges only to find dead ends, forded icy streams that soaked their boots and froze their bones. Every wrong turn was energy they could never regain.

By nightfall, Katya was limping, Sergei’s cough rattled, and even Mikhail admitted, voice low, “I don’t know where we are.”

They huddled in silence, soaked and starving, the truth finally undeniable: the mountain had stripped them of illusions. They were lost children playing at hikers.

And in the wilderness, play always ends in blood or bone.

Хочешь, я продолжу сразу с Part IV — где их силы начнут иссякать окончательно, и каждый неверный шаг станет вопросом жизни и смерти?

You said:

да

ChatGPT said:

Продолжаем
Четвёртая часть рассказа для статьи №10 "Common Beginner Mistakes in Hiking That Can Cost Lives".

Part IV. When Strength Runs Out

On the fourth night, the rain turned to sleet. Their clothes froze stiff, their boots heavy with ice. Katya’s limp worsened—her ankle swollen, purple beneath the skin. She tried to hide it, but every step tore a whimper from her throat.

Sergei coughed through the night, his breath wheezing. Lena wrapped her shawl tighter around him, but her own lips were pale, her hands shaking from cold and hunger.

The sixth mistake: no proper clothing. Cotton soaked and froze, leather stiffened, wool was scarce. They had dressed as if for a spring picnic, not a mountain trial.

By morning, they could barely rise. Mikhail, gaunt and hollow, urged them forward. “We can’t stay still. If we stop, we die.” His voice cracked with desperation more than leadership.

They stumbled along a ravine, searching for shelter. The cliffs pressed tight, shadows deepening. Then—a cave. Shallow, but dry. They collapsed inside, the first true refuge in days.

But safety was illusion. They had no firewood, no strength to gather it. Their food was gone. Only cold stones surrounded them.

The seventh mistake: poor energy management. They had wasted strength on pride and haste. Now, when rest was possible, their bodies had nothing left to give.

Lena whispered, “We should have turned back the first day.” Katya pressed her face into her lap, silent tears freezing on her cheeks. Sergei rasped, “We won’t make it.”

Mikhail sat apart, staring into the dark. His hands shook, not from cold, but from realization. Leadership built on bravado had led them here.

That night, the cave echoed with silence broken only by coughing and the wind’s cry outside. The mountain had stripped them bare—of food, warmth, and now even hope.

Хочешь, я завершу историю финальной Part V — где они испытают последний предел, и рассказ завершится выводом о том, что ошибки в горах стоят дороже всего?

You said:

да

ChatGPT said:

Завершаем
Финальная часть рассказа для статьи №10 "Common Beginner Mistakes in Hiking That Can Cost Lives".

Part V. The Price of Mistakes

By the fifth day, the mountain no longer tested them—it judged them.

Katya could not walk. Sergei’s cough tore his chest raw. Lena’s eyes were sunken hollows, her hands trembling even when still. Mikhail wandered outside the cave at dawn, staring at the endless ridges, his face gray with guilt.

The storm had cleared, revealing a sky sharp and blue, but it was no mercy. Sunlight only showed them how far they were from any road, any smoke, any sign of life.

Their last mistake was the oldest one: believing that the wilderness bends to will. It does not. It bends only to preparation, to humility, to respect.

On the seventh day, searchers found them. A shepherd had seen smoke days earlier and reported it, though the storm had delayed help. Rescuers carried them down the ridge, half-conscious, weak as children. Sergei survived, though his lungs never healed. Katya limped for months. Lena never again trusted another’s confidence without question.

Mikhail… spoke little after. When asked what happened, he never blamed the weather, nor luck, nor the mountain. He only whispered:

“We thought it was a game. We forgot that every mistake in the wild is a coin. And the mountain makes you pay.”

Epilogue

Years later, Lena told the story to younger hikers, her voice firm:

  • “Never go without proper maps and compass.”

  • “Never trust the weather to stay kind.”

  • “Never eat what you cannot make safe.”

  • “Never waste your strength on pride.”

  • “And never think the mountain forgives.”

Her audience always grew quiet. Because her story was not about heroism, but about survival bought at the edge of death.

And on that ridge in the Caucasus, the wind still whispered around the stones, carrying the lesson for anyone willing to hear:

Beginner’s mistakes are the sharpest blades. In the wilderness, they cut deepest of all.