A First Ski Descent in Chechnya's Final Frontier

By Aaron Rolph 

The ridge narrows to a snowy corniced knife-edge. Beyond it, the valley plummets into cloud - a white abyss we’ve come halfway around the world to ski. Usually, it’s good practice, or at least reassuring, to climb the line you plan to ski beforehand. On this occasion, however, in a bid to minimise time spent in the Russian-occupied Republic of Chechnya, we’ve chosen to approach from the Georgian side; after all, as a Brit, a Slovenian and an American, we have no business being on Russian soil.

A few weeks earlier, the idea had started to take shape. Joining forces again with Bine Zalohar and Tom Grant, the Georgian Caucasus had been calling our names for a while. Together, we’re a strong and motivated crew, but with an easy-going approach and crucially, a great sense of humour. The western side, around Mestia and the better-known ski areas, has had its fair share of foreign visitors over the years, but the eastern end of the range remained a bit of a mystery: big mountains, few trails, and very little information about any previous ski forays. Exactly the kind of place that rewards curiosity, or punishes optimism.

Through some determined trawling (mostly by Bine, who has the patience for that sort of thing), we discovered that Tebulosmta - Chechnya’s highest peak had, as far as anyone could tell, never been skied. Moreover, this 4,493-metre giant boasted a snow-covered north face that looked irresistibly skiable. The plan was simple enough: a last-minute spring trip with conditions apparently excellent after a big winter: go there, ski it, and hopefully stay out of the Russian gulags.

Getting there, of course, was the first hurdle. The tiny hamlet of Khone, our last outpost of civilisation, was cut off for all of winter and much of spring. Speaking with locals beforehand, we’d learned that the Datvisjvari Pass (2,689 m) usually didn’t clear until mid-May. That left us a slim window - late enough to get in, but early enough to still have a chance at a well-covered snowy face.When we arrived in the small mountain villages at the foot of the pass, we were met with that famous Georgian hospitality: warm guesthouses, vast meals, and toasts flowing as freely as the chacha. We spent a few days exploring the Chaukhi Mountains, getting our ski legs back while the road crews continued clearing snow and debris. From 50 kilometres away, Tebulosmta looked magnificent through binoculars - still white, still loaded. A local villager who happened to be the one clearing the road assured us, with typical Georgian optimism, that we’d be able to get through “in a few days.”

Sure enough, a few days later, we got the go-ahead and loaded up our trusty 1990s Toyota Sequoia. The “cleared” road turned out to be a loose description for a single-lane dirt track peppered with fresh rockfall and the leftovers of some truly colossal avalanches. We bounced our way deep into the valley until the inevitable happened: one of the tyres blew. From there, we continued on foot and, thanks to our host, by horse the rest of the way.

Khone itself felt like a step back in time: self-sufficient farms, wood smoke in the air, and locals who looked understandably baffled by the sight of skis. Our hosts worried aloud for our safety, a concern echoed by a Georgian army captain at the border. Despite our permits being in good order, he insisted on verifying our story over a long, half-English WhatsApp call before finally giving us the nod.

From there, the real work began. We hauled impossibly heavy packs up 2,300 metres toward the Georgian-Russian border ridge, each step a small victory in deep spring snow. Of course, we’d carry tents, a warm sleeping bag, all our mountaineering kit, and, crucially, enough gas and food for a week should we need to hunker down. When we finally reached the ridge and pitched our tent directly on the frontier, exhaustion gave way to quiet awe. Tebulosmta stood before us... austere, immense, and beautifully intimidating.

Unfortunately, our dream line - that pristine north face had been stripped bare by wind, revealing gleaming sheets of glacial ice. Just as we were questioning our life choices, we spotted a slender, serpentine couloir threading between rock and ice. It wasn’t the line we’d come for, but it looked good enough to justify the journey. Technically, it sat on the Chechen side, but standing there on that lonely ridge, it felt like no one’s land at all.After waiting out another burst of wind, we set off in the early morning, bootpacking up the mountain’s East flank. The 45-degree snow was firm but stable, perfect climbing conditions.

And here we are, late morning and on the summit of Tebulosmta, 4,493 metres. The horizon ripples into Russia, Georgia, and beyond, a panorama of everything and nothing. We’re slightly stunned that the ascent has gone so smoothly; honestly, part of me had expected more drama, but we were far from out of it yet.

Crossing a precarious knife-edge ridge to reach our chosen line, we decide to downclimb a short section rather than attempt a blind ski start on ice. Finally, we clip our skis on and drop in. The line flows beautifully, weaving between ribbons of blue ice, each turn bleeding tension from the past few days. It’s not deep powder, but it’s grippy, fast, and unmistakably ours - the first descent of a mountain few have even heard of.

At the bottom, we find lynx tracks, the only sign of life and follow them back up toward Georgia. By the time we descend to Khone, the few villagers greet us with a feast and wide-eyed disbelief. It seems no one had ever seen skis here before, so you can understand their palpable relief at our return.

A few days later, back in Tbilisi for Georgian Independence Day, tanks roll through Liberty Square - a far cry from the silence of the border ridge. In less than two weeks, we’d gone from chaos to calm and back again - a short, unlikely adventure to a forgotten corner of the Caucasus.

For me, that’s the essence of it all: a wonderful mix of uncertainty, a good slog, and the joy of carving a new line somewhere nobody thought to look.

Edited by: Rhiannon James

Words & Photography by: Aaron Rolph

Featuring: Bine Zalohar & Tom Grant

Setup: Faction Agent 3.0 with ATK Kuluar binding & HEAD Kore 99 with FR15