Book: Fyodor Konyukhov “My Travels. Fedor Konyukhov my travels My travel grooms

Fedor Konyukhov

My travels

For reasons unknown to me, I was born not for an easy life, but to enjoy it through overcoming difficulties.

Fedor Konyukhov

Matachingai, the way to the top

Solo climb to the top of Mount Matachingay

Height - 2798 meters above sea level

Mysterious peaks

I have long been planning a solo ascent to some peak. I chose the mountains of Chukotka, Matachingai. And when the icebreaker “Moscow” introduced the ocean transport “Captain Markov” into the Gulf of the Cross, breaking the ice with its mighty stem, even then I was not disappointed in my decision.

This is the highest ridge in Northeast Asia. Snowy peaks disappear into the clouds, it seems that Matachingai is securely closed from human eyes. This attracted me, I was convinced that I must definitely make the climb and see these mysterious peaks. And everything that will be revealed to me will be displayed in my paintings to show people.

Already on the second day after the “Captain Markov” moored at the pier of the village of Egvekinota, for warm-up he climbed a nearby mountain about a thousand meters high. I made my way to the very top and from there I saw the magnificent Etelkuyum Bay with Egvekinot. I set up a bivouac and started drawing. After the first lines appeared on a blank sheet of paper, I felt that it was blasphemy to draw the dazzling white contours of mountains with pencils. Literally everything was white - from the foothills to the peaks; there was no reminder of the color black. Overwhelmed by this whiteness and silence, I closed the album and went downstairs.

The beginning of the way

In the morning I left Egvekinot and went to the foot of Matachingay: I loaded the all-terrain vehicle with climbing equipment, a tent and food supplies for several days. Locals They expressed some concern about my idea of climbing to the top of the ridge alone, but I didn’t want to hear anything about taking anyone else with me. I was warned that at this time the snow on the peaks was unreliable, and they advised me to go only at night, when the frost holds the cornices. And I will follow this advice.

From here you may never return

I decided to climb the main ridge and follow it all the way to high point Matachingaya. Today I started climbing. There is a lot of snow below. It was hard to walk. Hot. And as soon as I stopped, I immediately began to freeze. I rose about two hundred meters and entered the fog, accompanied by fine snow, and felt that I did not have enough strength and calories to work at a fast pace.

The fact is that I had not yet rested from the previous expedition (in the Laptev Sea), where I was skiing with Shparo’s group. On a polar night with low temperatures, we skied 500 kilometers along the hummocks of the polar sea. I remember before, when I was going on any kind of hike or expedition, I prepared thoroughly - I trained, gained weight. But now, over the years, the desire to prepare has dulled. Yes, and there is no time. Some recent years I am constantly on hikes or expeditions. I am not at home in Wrangel Bay for eight or nine months.

I decided to rest, made myself comfortable under the eaves and said to myself: “Still, Chukotka is incredibly beautiful.” He spoke in a whisper so as not to disturb the pristine silence. I refreshed myself with biscuits and waited until night fell on the ridge and it was possible to continue the ascent.

It would be strange if, at my age, I began and ended the topic of travel with a book by a sixteen-year-old Australian crazy girl who went around Earth in singles circumnavigation. The tenacity of a teenage girl, who sought and achieved something that not every adult and experienced person would dare to do, at one time became a sensation on the green continent, and even more so what happened in the book was wonderful for me. Did you achieve it? Survived? Back? Is it true? However…

Also, despite Jessica Watson's several storms, I found her journey...too easy. Therefore, having finished with one book, I began the work of no longer a girl, but an adult man, no longer from sunny Australia, but from the shores of the Azov Sea.

As I guessed from the very beginning and now I can say with confidence, “My Travels” creates a kind of contrast with “The Power of Dreams” in almost everything, except perhaps admiration for the open spaces that opened up for both travelers. Perhaps someone will say that it is wrong to compare these books. And I partly agree with this, but... It just so happened that in my case one of them followed immediately after the other and in both a significant number of pages were devoted to solo sailing on a yacht around the world. To avoid any misunderstanding, I will say that I do not compare books, much less compare persons, but exclusively my impressions.

Age matters. “The Power of Dreams” was remembered, among other things, for its unadulterated teenage delight and spontaneity. Getting a charge of youthful energy is very good! But the years take their toll and, if we talk about travel, you want to go off into the distance with someone the same age or with someone who has an even greater wealth of knowledge and experience behind them. Fyodor Filippovich Konyukhov, remembering his forty-year-old self in 2015, came in handy in this regard!

“I dream of fantastic worlds! Close friends and my family often try to stop me. They say that it’s time to give up fantasy. Fantastic worlds do not exist - these are imagination and fiction! There are no longer undiscovered islands, there are no places where no person has set foot. Only a schoolboy who has read adventure books can live the way you live. In my soul I understand and agree with my opponents. But in the depths of my consciousness there is still childhood, and over the years it does not leave my bodily shell. And I am glad about that.” (With)

Not a small quote, but worth it! Let this be only my feeling, but I stubbornly see forty-year-old Fyodor Filippovich as a man in whose body it is as if there lives a village old man who is already quite tired of life, of the purest soul, and an eternally irrepressible young man, ardent for new impressions and testing himself for strength. And as soon as the old man happens to yearn for home, for the peace of the family hearth, for his wife and children, as soon as he feels sorry for himself, lost in yet another wilderness, and then, having finally gotten out of trouble, returns to his native village of Wrangel on the shore of the bay of the same name, how immediately the same young man, already burning with a new journey, expedition or campaign, pats him by the shoulder.

And no matter how tired the old man is, the young man will never allow him to stay in one place for a long time, to plunge into ordinary, petty vanity full of dirt. And while the inspired young man straightens his shoulders, the artist, for whom all long journeys are in no way a goal, but only a means, is quietly and peacefully waiting in the wings. A means that again and again gives inspiration to convey with pencil and paint to those who do not want or cannot leave their circle of comfort, the enthusiastic reverence Konyukhov has experienced many times before the beauty, grandeur and power of the world created by the Lord God!

“Many people think that an artist creates canvases while sitting in a warm studio. Not everyone is like that! I get my graphic sheets differently, my works are events that I have experienced and felt, these are my thoughts, my perception of the environment” (c)

If the book had only contained Konyukhov’s description of his inspiration and creative process, I would have finished the previous paragraph and moved on to a completely different topic. But I was lucky to read a publication on whose pages there were photo reproductions of the author’s paintings, whose content perfectly complemented the text. Of course, looking at monochrome images on a six-inch screen of an e-book is not at all the same as seeing in front of you a page of a paper book one and a half times larger in area, or even more so visiting a house-museum that has repeatedly surprised the world and broken a bunch of records, a traveler. In other words, “My Travels” is one of those books that, even in our electronic age, it would be better to purchase in classic paper form.

From a book of one voyage to a book of many paths. I have no idea whether Jessica, who has now become a young woman, will become famous for other records and achievements on land and sea, or whether the triumph of the conqueror of the elements and open spaces that happened in her youth will remain unique until the end of her life.

Once he has overcome all the obstacles on the way to his cherished goal, he deserves respect, but literally within a few years he conquered the mountains of Chukotka, then reached the North Pole, then sailed on a yacht on a solo trip around the world and continues to travel in all imaginable ways at the present time, I’m not afraid of that word, Amazing!

“To leave that call is to dry up like a pea pod.” (With)

Naturally, I knew about Konyukhov’s travels long before I got to “My Travels,” but it was thanks to the book that I discovered him as a real all-rounder, capable of going through fire, water and copper pipes, that is, ugh, through swamps and snow , rocks and waves raised by the storm to the skies! Madness in pure form? Or the happiest of destinies? At least one of them? :)

Thanks and in spite of. Kindly supported first by her family, and then by a significant part of society, business and even politicians, the Australian schoolgirl went to the ocean spaces to prove her strength to skeptics and the elements. Our compatriot had to almost stealthily get from Russia to Australia, and then, with the money of one and only, judging by the text, sponsor, purchase a yacht, purchase the necessary things and depart along the route without any pomp or applause from the crowd. However, this is all empty, because the difference in time and mentality is obvious.

But what “My Travels” struck me with was the number of trials that befell the honored traveler and his yacht “Karaana”! I don’t know which of those who sailed around the world from Sydney to Sydney were more fortunate with the weather and which were less fortunate. But, if the battle with severe storms for the pink-painted, high-tech yacht was not only a short, but also not particularly significant in terms of time, stage of the journey, then the voyage of the “Karaana” controlled by Konyukhov is as if a test sent from above from successive testing man and ship to the breaking point of storms.

By the way, it was no coincidence that I spoke about the “Pink Lady”, which is equipped with the latest technological progress and belongs to Jessica Watson. Someone may disagree with me, but in my opinion, my teenage trip around the world did not turn into a tragedy, including because the course was repeatedly adjusted based on images obtained via the Internet from meteorological satellites. But Fedor Filippovich did not have such an opportunity in 1993 and used satellites exclusively to determine coordinates using the triangulation method.

Enjoying the moment and thinking about eternity.

Naturally, a teenage girl and an adult man, already quite wise in life, react differently to the obstacles that confront them, including life-threatening obstacles, successes in overcoming and loneliness in the vast expanses. Therefore, if “The Power of Dreams”, in full accordance with modern trends, glorifies initiative and tolerance by gender and age, then “My Travels” is a travel journal, exceptionally bright memories of a barefoot, rural childhood and the sacred awe of a believer before the beautiful and beautiful creation of the Lord God. at the same time terrible, because formidable, nature.

“People busy with worldly affairs usually look at each other, delve into other people’s lives, judge or try to change the lives of loved ones and never try to look at themselves from the outside. And traveling alone gave me this opportunity.” (With)

Of course, in each of his journeys he strives to achieve his goal and even his prayers to God are focused on the fact that the Lord will give him the courage to climb a mountain, reach the North Pole alone or with a group, sail around the world, and so on, so that, in the end, , “to raise the bar of human ability even higher than it was raised by my predecessors.”

And at the same time, having passed the fortieth birthday mark, he thinks more and more often about home, about his relatives, with whom he has to communicate in fits and starts every few months, about the large and small mistakes accumulated over four decades, and even about whether he is tempting God with your tenacity to go anywhere and everywhere?

Many, if not all, travelers periodically think and dream about a quiet home and a quiet life with those whom they have to leave in difficult anticipation every time. Someone dies on the next route, without having time, or perhaps simply not wanting, to turn off the path leading into the alluring unknown. Some people still manage to settle down, devoting themselves to their family, creating their own business, or taking over one of the helms of a large or small organization that is at least roughly involved in what they did before.

And let this be only my feeling, but if somehow it had happened that I knew absolutely nothing about Konyukhov and would have discovered him only now, in “My Travels,” I would say that, probably, in several years after the events described in the book, having completed several more risky expeditions, he finally calmed down and settled on his native shore of Wrangel Bay. Yeah! Why!

As soon as I typed a query into Google, materials about a successful solo voyage across the Pacific Ocean on a rowing boat in 2013 - 2014 and which took place in 2016 appeared before my eyes. trip around the world on hot-air balloon in eleven days! And then I learned about Fyodor Filippovich’s plans to go on a rowing boat again, only this time not across the Pacific Ocean, but on a three-stage trip around the world. And again in a hot air balloon, only this time there are already two revolutions around the Earth! And in a hot air balloon to a height of 25 kilometers, into the stratosphere!

Someone will admire, someone will mix admiration with horror, someone will twirl their finger at their temple, sympathize with the family and friends of the damned madman and begin to swear: D But I simply have no words. I can’t right now, but in the near future I will definitely get to “My Travels. The next ten years,” and to other books by Konyukhov. My regards!

Author Fedor Konyukhov

Fedor Konyukhov

My travels

The publication is intended for persons over 18 years of age

Legal support for the publishing house is provided by the Vegas-Lex law firm.

* * *

For reasons unknown to me, I was born not for an easy life, but to enjoy it through overcoming difficulties.

Fedor Konyukhov

Matachingai, the way to the top

Since the beginning of the world, the snow that has accumulated here has turned into ice blocks that do not melt either in spring or summer. Smooth fields of hard and shiny ice stretch into infinity and merge with the clouds.

Xuanzang, 7th century

Solo climb to the top of Mount Matachingay

Height – 2798 meters above sea level

Mysterious peaks

Already on the second day after mooring the “Captain Markov” at the pier of the village of Egvekinot, I climbed a nearby mountain about a thousand meters high to warm up. I made my way to the very top and from there I saw the magnificent Etelkuyum Bay with Egvekinot. I set up a bivouac and started drawing. After the first lines appeared on a blank sheet of paper, I felt that it was blasphemy to draw the dazzling white contours of mountains with pencils. Literally everything was white - from the foothills to the peaks; there was no reminder of the color black. Overwhelmed by this whiteness and silence, I closed the album and went downstairs.

The beginning of the way

In the morning I left Egvekinot and went to the foot of Matachingay: I loaded the all-terrain vehicle with climbing equipment, a tent and food supplies for several days. Local residents expressed some concern about my idea of climbing to the top of the ridge alone, but I didn’t want to hear anything about taking anyone else with me. I was warned that at this time the snow on the peaks was unreliable, and they advised me to go only at night, when the frost holds the cornices. And I will follow this advice.

From here you may never return

I decided to climb the main ridge and follow it to the highest point of Matachingay. Today I started climbing. There is a lot of snow below. It was hard to walk. Hot. And as soon as I stopped, I immediately began to freeze. I rose about two hundred meters and entered the fog, accompanied by fine snow, and felt that I did not have enough strength and calories to work at a fast pace.

The fact is that I have not yet rested from the previous expedition (in the Laptev Sea), where I was skiing with Shparo’s group. On a polar night with low temperatures, we skied 500 kilometers along the hummocks of the polar sea. I remember before, when I was going on any kind of hike or expedition, I prepared thoroughly - I trained, gained weight. But now, over the years, the desire to prepare has dulled. Yes, and there is no time. For the last few years I have been constantly on hikes or expeditions. I am not at home in Wrangel Bay for eight or nine months.

The snow was falling quietly, the stones became slippery, I walked in great tension, knowing that mistakes were unacceptable. The frost intensified, the fur mittens were warm, but without them my hands instantly froze. I had to constantly cut down the steps: with one hand I drove the bracket to fasten the logs into the ice, then, holding on to it and maintaining balance, I worked with the ice ax. The muscles in my legs became numb from tension to the point of colic; stability was difficult. The sharp pricks of ice floes splashing into the face from under the ice ax complemented the unpleasant sensations.

A blow with an ice ax, another blow... The step is ready. I didn't look down. It is best to look at your feet or up - there stretched an ice ridge, sharp as a knife blade, covered with a thick gray veil of Chukchi fog.

The thought flashed: should I go back? After all, I risked a lot. But another thought forced me to continue climbing: I must feel the mountains, without this a series of graphic sheets about the peaks of North-East Asia will not be possible.

Many people think that an artist creates canvases while sitting in a warm studio. Not everyone is like this! I receive my graphic sheets differently, my works are events that I have experienced and felt, these are my thoughts, my perception of the environment.

Thick snow began to fall, so I climbed to the top of Matachingay blindly - the ridge itself led ahead. Steel cats have ceased to be a reliable support. Every step, more often than usual, I chopped the support step. The blue ice angrily threw away the ice ax and did not want to succumb to its blows.

I stopped more and more often, rested my head on the ice ax to catch my breath and relax my back muscles, then again furiously pounded the steps. He worked like this for about eight hours until he came to a small stone ledge. On his side the ice was softer and more pliable. By morning I had hollowed out a niche in it and made a roof out of a storm jacket. The makeshift house was insulated by thick, endless snowfall.

I boiled half a mug of tea on the primus stove - saved the gasoline, since I took very little of it due to the decent weight of the backpack. He drank it uncooled. The darkness in the house put me to sleep. As soon as you closed your eyes, a treacherous warmth spread throughout your body and you felt light and calm. “Don’t sleep,” I ordered myself, “otherwise you may not return, you will forever remain here, on the ridge of Matachingay. There's a lot left to do down there!"

He ran his hand over his mustache and beard, collected a handful of icicles that had frozen to them and put them in his mouth. But they caused even greater thirst. “The devil took me to these mountains,” I thought, “there were three expeditions this year. Old fool! And everything is not enough for you. When will you live like other people? Scolding myself in every possible way, I firmly decided never again to climb the mountains alone, especially in the north. True, I have given such vows before.

I threw off the jacket covering the entrance to my ice cave, looked at the ridge of peaks - the mountains looked like they had stepped out of Roerich’s paintings. I took out my album and pencils and started sketching. I stopped self-flagellation, with each line came the confidence that I was doing everything right: climbing mountains, walking on the ice of the Arctic Ocean, chasing Eskimos on dogs in Chukotka... “No museum, no book,” said Nicholas Roerich, “will give the right to depict Asia and all sorts of other countries, if you have not seen them with your own eyes, if you have not at least made memorable notes on the spot. Persuasiveness is a magical quality of creativity, inexplicable in words, created only by the layering of true impressions. Mountains are mountains everywhere, water is water everywhere, sky is sky everywhere, people are people everywhere. But nevertheless, if you, sitting in the Alps, depict the Himalayas, then something inexpressible, convincing will be missing.”

I made several sketches with colored pencils, and what I didn’t have time to do, I marked with words: where is what color. And he continued the main work - climbing to the top.

Affirming the "spirit of man"

A wary, sensitive silence reigns here. Even the wind had completely died down, everyone seemed to be in anticipation of something. It's creepy.

I stand indecisively, there are several hundred meters to the top. I say to myself: “Well, Fedor, are you ready? Naomi Uemura had it harder.”

I often repeat these words. After all, Uemura is an ideal for us travelers; he constantly affirmed the “spirit of man.” And now, being here on the ridge of Matachingaya, I can more acutely understand the loneliness that the Japanese traveler experienced.

He is no longer alive; on February 12, the climber climbed Mount McKinley, whose height is 6193 meters, and did not return to base camp. On this highest peak North America Uemura climbed for the second time - McKinley was first conquered by him in the spring of 1970.

Before Uemura, no one had attempted to climb this peak in winter. But he did it! Last time The climber was spotted on February 15 on a slope at an altitude of 5180 meters. But then his trail was lost, and he never got in touch again. On March 1, a message appeared in the press: “US Search and Rescue in Alaska refused to continue further searches for Japanese traveler Naomi Uemura.”

This man had restraint and inner strength, he said: “Death is not an option for me. I must return to where they are waiting for me - home, to my wife.” And he added: “I will definitely come back, because I need to be fed at least sometimes.”

The Last Journey of Naomi Uemura

What do you call this feeling?

At three o'clock in the afternoon a large snow cone opened up. Here it is, the top, a few meters left to reach it. And only then did I feel cast-iron fatigue throughout my body. He stopped, took out a piece of sausage, and began to chew, looking around. The picture is familiar, familiar: the peak is like a peak, stones peek out from under the snow and ice. I've seen this many times. But still there was a feeling of joy that I had reached my goal. Next to this joy, displacing fatigue, another feeling grew. It poured warmth into me, warmed my soul. What do you call this feeling? Pride? Happiness? Feeling of your own power? May be. In any case, now I was confident that I would be able to create a series of paintings, “The Peaks of Matachingaya.”

For some reason, I remembered the autumn of 1969, when I, as a cadet at the Kronstadt nautical school, climbed onto the boom topmast of the training ship Kruzenshtern.

When I received my leave from work in the city, the first thing I always did was go to the embankment on the shore of the Gulf of Finland. From there there was a view of the port, all crowded with ships. Plumes of black smoke and white steam erupted from their chimneys and smoothly rose to the gray Baltic sky. Under the endless horns of tugboats and a uniform loud roar large ships, which were weighing anchor or entering the port, I walked along the embankment and inhaled the fresh sea air mixed with various aromas: citrus fruits brought from the island of Madeira, spices from India, Siberian wood. I watched in fascination as the holds of ocean-going steamers were unloaded and loaded. Boxes, bales, and some equipment flashed by.

But most of all I liked admiring the silhouette of the sailing ship Kruzenshtern. It had been standing at the pier for repairs for several years, its masts proudly rising above this bustle. One day, with my heart beating with excitement, I approached the ladder of the bark and hesitantly began to climb onto the deck. The sailor on watch noticed me - a young guy with a thin face. I immediately liked him for some reason. “I want to see your ship, can I?” – I asked quietly. After carefully examining me, he replied that it was possible.

I was overcome with joy. Nature smiled along with me - the sun came out from behind the clouds, illuminating the deck with light - a rare phenomenon in Kronstadt. I felt that the sailboat accepted me.

The deck was littered with ropes and cables, chains and sails. It was impossible to take a step without hitting something. And in this strange environment, which seemed like chaos to me, people were working - they were repairing running rigging.

Emboldened, I asked the watchman to allow me to climb onto the yards. “Find what you want,” he answered, laughing. “When you graduate as a sailor, come and work with us.” And then you’ll climb on them so much that you’ll get sick of it.” But I insisted, and the watchman said to come at night.

That day my comrade Anatoly Kuteinikov was the company orderly. He woke me up, as I asked him, at 00:00. It was dark in the cockpit; midnight was the time to go AWOL. I jumped off the bunk on the second tier, put on my pants and pea coat, put on my shoes and left the cockpit, only hearing Tolik carefully close the door behind me. I immediately smelled the coolness of the night, overhead, between the stars, the moon was shining. In one fell swoop he climbed over the fence and rushed straight along the stone pavement to the port.

Seeing that I had finally arrived, the watchman clarified: “Will you climb?” “Yes, of course,” I answered and headed towards the railings. I began to climb up, climbing higher and higher between the tangled ropes, all the time checking whether they would support my weight, and trying not to lean on the rope steps. Walking meter by meter, feeling the air getting colder, the visibility getting wider, the yard and gear being smaller, I finally reached the topmast - the highest part of the mast.

The starry night surrounded me. The deck remained far below, the outlines of the ship and the rigging on which I had just climbed disappeared into the darkness. The lights of Leningrad were visible in the distance. I turned towards the sea and imagined myself during a storm, working...

My travels Fedor Konyukhov

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Title: My travels

About the book “My Travels” Fedor Konyukhov

Fyodor Konyukhov’s book “My Travels” will take us into the world of exciting and exciting travels and give us many bright and colorful emotions, letting us feel the smell of adventure. After all extraordinary adventures described in this book are not a myth, but the real travels of a very famous person, a legendary Russian traveler Fyodor Konyukhov.

Fyodor Konyukhov became famous for his wonderful travels, which he makes alone, while reflecting their events in his travel notebook and recreating their images with the help of paintings.

The life of Fyodor Filippovich is filled with a constant desire to understand the world and the surrounding nature. Having a large family, as well as employment in various fields of activity, such as visual arts, writing and even priesthood, nevertheless, Fyodor Konyukhov constantly strives for his magical journeys, captivating with his closeness to nature and the achievement of his goals.

Fyodor Konyukhov has many awards and honorary titles related to his contribution to the development of tourism, achievements in the fields of literature, art, church activities and, of course, for incredible achievements in the field of geographical expeditions.

The education of the great traveler is quite diverse. Having first graduated from a vocational school and received the profession of an inlay carver, Fyodor Konyukhov then studied at the Odessa Naval School to become a navigator, and later received the profession of a ship mechanic in St. Petersburg, where he also studied at a theological seminary. Konyukhov is an academician of the art academy in Russia, he is the author of several thousand paintings. As a writer, Fyodor Filippovich has published almost two dozen books in which he describes unforgettable impressions and events of his own travels. Among them are such as: “My spirit is on the deck of the Karaana”, “Oarsman in the Ocean”, “Under scarlet sails", "My path to truth" and others.

The book “My Travels” will reveal to us Interesting Facts and the events of Fyodor Konyukhov’s travels, starting from the very beginning. We will go to the mountains in Chukotka, follow a traveler to the North Pole, and then climb to the top of Everest. And this is just the beginning. There are still trips around the world ahead.

On our website about books you can download the site for free without registration or read online book“My Travels” by Fedor Konyukhov in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find last news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginning writers there is a separate section with useful tips and recommendations, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary crafts.

Quotes from the book “My Travels” by Fedor Konyukhov

In the late 70s I worked as a graphic designer at a factory in Nakhodka. There were two of us artists - me and Ivan. Why are artists at the factory? To write posters and slogans: “The Five Year Plan is ahead of schedule,” “Tomorrow we will work better than today,” “Our work is for the Motherland,” “My factory is my pride.”
We, of course, understood that our slogans to the workers gave a damn - the party organizer needed all this. Every society has its own drones, so they try to ensure that all the walls of the factory are hung with our art. As everyone painted over, he received a letter from the city committee. This means that in the near future he will be transferred from the factory party organization to the city party committee as an instructor. And this is already a big man.

For reasons unknown to me, I was born not for an easy life, but to enjoy it through overcoming difficulties.

Since the beginning of the world, the snow that has accumulated here has turned into ice blocks that do not melt either in spring or summer. Smooth fields of hard and shiny ice stretch into infinity and merge with the clouds.

Fedor Konyukhov

My travels

For reasons unknown to me, I was born not for an easy life, but to enjoy it through overcoming difficulties.

Fedor Konyukhov

Matachingai, the way to the top

Solo climb to the top of Mount Matachingay

Height - 2798 meters above sea level

Mysterious peaks

The beginning of the way

From here you may never return

The snow began to fall quietly, the stones became slippery, I walked in great tension, knowing that mistakes were unacceptable. The frost intensified, the fur mittens were warm, but without them my hands instantly froze. I had to constantly cut down the steps: with one hand I drove the bracket to fasten the logs into the ice, then, holding on to it and maintaining balance, I worked with the ice ax. The muscles in my legs became numb from tension to the point of colic; stability was difficult. The sharp pricks of ice floes splashing into the face from under the ice ax complemented the unpleasant sensations.

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