Threading the Needle

Tom Grant and co. sought to carve out a bold first ski descent in the eastern Caucasus, chasing a fine line between ice and rock - and between beauty and consequence. Reaching Tebulosmta was a challenge in itself, and the mountain made it clear it would only give up an opportunity in exchange for patience, precision, and poise.

At the end of a long season of skiing and guiding in the Alps the change of pace of an expedition and the lure of remote, unknown terrain was enticing. Committing to a plan in an unfamiliar area teeming with big ski terrain was a mentally refreshing goal for the late spring. An idea started where many adventures originate; poring over Google Earth, trying to decipher slope angles, aspects and what could constitute an interesting ski objective. Teaming up with Aaron Rolph and Bine Zalohar, two close friends who I’d previously been on an expedition to Pakistan with, I knew we shared a vision for exploratory skiing and I was confident we’d be able to handle whatever situation we would find ourselves in with humor and flexibility.

The Georgian Caucasus was a logical place to combine these desires and experience something completely non-routine in a new country. While the western Caucasus has hosted foreign ski expeditions over the years, we could find very little information on the eastern part of the range. Through Bine’s methodical research, we discovered that Georgia’s 7th highest peak, Tebulosmta (also the highest in Chechnya due to the shared border intersecting the mountain), appeared not to have been skied.

At 4,493m, Tebulosmta dominates the surrounding region and has a prominence of over 2,000m. The only media we could find of anyone on it was a propaganda video of Russian Spetsnaz special forces being dropped by heli near the summit and climbing the last part of the ridge. It also appeared to have a 1000m north face with a logical direct line from the summit and a sustained and steep top face. Armed with the dream of freeriding north facing powder on a pristine 1000m face, then, we set off on our adventure.

Getting to the end of the valley where we could begin to approach the mountain presented a substantial logistical hurdle in itself. The remote farming hamlet of Khone, the closest outpost of any form of civilization to Tebulosmta, is cut off for most of the winter and spring by road. After renting a 1990s Toyota Sequoia, our trusty companion for the journey, we headed into the mountains.

Even though it was late May, the road to Khone was still not open for the summer season. Only just cleared of snow, there was recent rockfall and landslides that had to be removed from the dirt roads. Staying in a series of guesthouses and enjoying amazing Georgian hospitality and traditional food, we headed into the Chaukhi range to make some first turns and get eyes on Tebulosmta from afar. It appeared that the north face was white and full of snow covering the glacial ice on the steep upper part.

Finally, the roads were clear enough that we could make the day’s drive to hopefully reach the final guesthouse in Khone. Inching closer on the rugged dirt ‘road’, we blew a tire and temporarily abandoned the Sequoia, taking everything we needed and making the final stretch on foot. Reaching the guest house we were greeted with an idyllic setting of self-sufficient farms - homely, and seemingly cut off from the modern world.

One of the biggest unknowns to us was the best way to get to where we wanted to set up camp in front of the mountain. Reaching the spot we’d identified involved a 2,300m climb and many kilometers of both hiking and skiing, carrying massive bags with everything we needed for three or four days. This long slog upwards finally delivered us to the dividing ridge between Georgia and Russia, where we established our camp.

The north face of Tebulosmta rose before us and to our disappointment had been ravaged by strong winds which stripped the snow down to bare glacial ice. We soon spotted an attractive looking ski line, though, which weaved serpent-like between ice and rock for over 1,000m vertical. Pitching our tent directly on the border ridge, we hastily cut snow blocks to protect us from the strong winds. Looking down into Chechnya, we saw nothing but endless wilderness.

After waiting out some more windy, unsettled weather, we bootpacked up the mountain’s right flank, not knowing exactly if the summit ridge connected to our line. My main concern as we ascended the north face was whether or not these giant 40-degree-plus slopes were stable enough to safely climb. Thankfully, they were, and we summited Tebulosmta without too much difficulty. Our attention quickly turned to the matter of reaching the start of our line. Cramponing across some delicate terrain, we inched forward feeling out the best way to continue across the knife edged ridgeline. Deciding that downclimbing was the safer option than trying to ski on sight an unknown section of ridge, it was with some relief when we clicked into our skis and successfully completed our first turns.

The line unfolded into a logical and aesthetic descent, the snow quality being better than we expected. Dancing between blue ice and shale rock, the tension felt up till now soon dissipated as we relaxed into the skiing. At the bottom of the face the only sign of life coming from the Russian side were what appeared to be lynx tracks heading back into Georgia. Following these, we enjoyed a near endless descent on spring snow to the bottom of the snowline and then made the final hike on foot back into Khone. Exhausted, we were presented with a characteristically warm greeting and a feast for dinner by the baffled locals who had never seen skiers there before.

Back in Tbilisi, it was Georgian national independence day. Full military hardware on display, heavily armed soldiers mingled with families in a convivial atmosphere on Liberty Square. Enjoying the crowded streets and party atmosphere, it was a stark contrast from the unpopulated border region with Russia we had just returned from. Within eleven days of arriving in Georgia we were flying out. A mini expedition shared with two close friends to a remote peak, perhaps previously untouched by skiers yet within easy reach of western Europe, it added fuel to my motivation for future exploratory trips to new ranges.