Season Diary - Day 18

Thursday 26th February 2026 - Ushguli, Georgia

And still it snowed.

---

The broad windows in the currently disused breakfast room look out over a Svanetian defensive tower, built at some point between the 10th and 13th centuries AD.

Whilst yesterday it had been beautifully framed against a pure royal blue sky covered with scudding cloud, today it was almost invisible.

The snow was falling thick and fast past the window and around the tower. The flakes were large and thick, thudding against the window carried upon gusts of wind.

It has started some time in the night, and would continue throughout the day. Contemplating options, out guide and Georgian congoscienti Avto herded us towards his truck which, with little fanfare or warning, ground to a halt in the thick banks of snow that now framed the already narrow roads.

After ten minutes of digging, watched on by a gaggle of stray dogs that are ubiquitous across Georgia, and after snapping a tow cable from a woefully unsuited Mitsubishi Delica mini-van, we were soon off again. Our destination was only a few minutes away, in the heart of Ushguli's village centre, from which we stepped down and across the stream and clipped into our skis.

The tour began simple enough. With the snow still falling thick and fast around us, we huddled into our shells and hats and hoods and trudged onwards up the valley through the forest. We hugged a brook the whole way, it burbling away beneath the snowpack and occasionally proving a challenge as we swapped from one side to the other.

Still we climbed, beginning to climb up more and more as we passed under the ruins of the summer palace of Tamar I, the 13th century Queen of Georgia. The evergreen woods gave way to the bare bones of scattered deciduous trees, as the snow continued to fall and the cloud began to build around us.

Emerging from the graveyard of trees past, the wind suddenly hit us. It had ebbed and flowed up the valley, at times pulling at the hems of our jackets and searching for a way in to freeze us to our bones; at others it had ran and hid in the woods, watching, waiting.

Up here, there was no escape. It hit us, buffeted us, blew us sideways. And still the snow fell, now weaponised by the wind so it clustered in creases and folds, seemingly piercing our skin as we still trudged on.

At times, we kick-turned into the wind, and fought against it and the howling snow as we continued up the hill. And when we turned leeward, still it continued, pushing against our backs and scraping the snow into a quickly forming wind slab.

Finally we reached the top, and, huddling for shelter on a barely sheltered face leeward of the force of the wind, transitioned to downhill mode. Fighting frozen brakes, frozen fingers, and frozen layers, we fought and fought to change modes and cover ourselves back up as quickly as possible. We cursed the wind, cursed the snow, and vowed, swore, never to return to this place amidst these conditions.

And then we set off downhill.

And found a level of powder we had not seen before.

Straight lines down the hill threw blower powder up over our shoulder.

Turns pushed our skis deeper and deeper into the plunging snow so our boots, our shins, and knees were buried deep within it.

We whooped. We hollered. We fought back against the driving snow and brute of the wind, dropping 400m in mere seconds before stopping and dreaming of what we had just done.

Someone - and I can't remember who - suggested heading back up and doing it again.

In spite of our vows and curses mere moments ago, within two minutes we were heading back up the hill.

And still it snowed ...