Season Diary - Day 15

Monday 23rd February 2026 - Mestia, Georgia

Was this Henry’s most perfect ski day?

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I want you to sit back and picture your perfect Sunday ski day.

For some of you it’s a potter round the slopes, a nice long lunch with a bottle of rosé, and hitting the après hard and early.

For others, it’s heading out for first lift, scoring some amazing powder whilst it’s still fresh, stuffing a sandwich in on a chairlift, and keeping following the sun around for the best lines in the afternoon.

There’s plenty of in between, too, and whatever your perfect ski day is, I fully endorse and support your decision and will happily join you on any of these adventures.

But you are wrong.

Today was the most perfect ski day.

Again, we drove out of Mestia heading west. Again, we turned off the main road, only this time we followed a side street through a little village, complete with shop and school.

Again, we bumped and ground and writhed our way up a farm track, finishing this time at a cul-de-sac rather than in a farmyard. In the first piece of good news of the day, it was empty – we were the first ones there.

Skins pre-attached, we set off quickly into the mist that hugged the valley, a hangover from the snow that had fallen overnight and kept things humid in the region. Following a snow-over hiking trail we twisted and turned through woods, gaining height steadily but quicker than we did yesterday.

The trail pulled away from the little stream we had been following, then twisted around a hillock atop which was a 10^th century Orthodox-pagan church, complete with sacrificed goats’ heads out front.

Yeah, you read that right …

Anyway, as we came over the ledge, the cloud suddenly cleared, and before us was the whole mountain range. The river had held its level, so that by the time we had gained 300m elevation it was now far below us in a narrowing gorge. Above us, the mountains kept rising and rising, the twin-peaked Mount Ushba hiding its faces from us and the pass we were aiming for shrouded at times in rolling fog, at others in glorious sunshine.

Nevertheless, we persevered, and kept skinning up as the snow started to fall around us, sometimes almost invisible save for a few reflections in the sunlight. We pushed on through 1,000m elevation gain, the first time I had ever skinned more than 1,000m elevation in a day or o a single tour.

Following a last kick up, when the technique and tech issues of the last few days were completely forgotten about, we made a halt after 1,200m of climbing and transition back to downhill – the cloud was closing in and the snow was picking up, making further efforts futile.

This was when we earned our turns. This was the definition of Type 2 fun, something that had to be earned through suffering to be really understood.

We skied down slightly off the line we had skinned up so that we took a slightly different angle on the mountain face – west or north face, allowing us to ski snow that had not been sun affected over previous days. Add in the 10cm or so of fresh that had come down overnight and as we stood there transitioning, and it made for absolute heaven.

The rolling nature of the valley down made sure we could ski and ski and ski. The turns just kept coming, sometimes steep and powdery, at one point steep enough that as I scrubbed out a turn to control my speed I sent a shower of snow all over myself and into my face. It was proper hero conditions, pitched just right and with enough energy left over to absolutely send the hell out of the descent.

And, thankfully, the trail was a wide hiking trail as we skied down, giving plenty of space to scrub speed and slalom around trees and obstacles, occasionally opening up to wide meadows through which we hurtled, as a group, whooping and hollering with joy.

1,200m up. 1,200m down. Amazing powder, stunning views, the catharsis of a long workout, and sharing it with your best mates.

That is my most perfect ski day.