Ski Touring in Georgia: 11 Days Between Caucasian Silence and Freeride in Gudauri
Empty slopes under Kazbek, huge terrain and uncrowded pistes in Gudauri. 11 days in the Caucasus: what worked, what we'd rethink, and why Georgia looks completely different after 15 years.
Georgia had been on our minds for a long time. For me it was a return after 15 years, for Zuzka a completely new adventure. An interesting combination: I had in my head a country from over a decade ago, while she simply wanted to see what all the fuss was about.
Fifteen years ago there was exactly one shop in Stepantsminda. It was called Google Market and its sign was a reworked search engine logo, letter for letter, color for color. That was basically the entire local retail infrastructure.
We landed after a night flight on Saturday morning, so the first day was written off in advance, and that was fine.
Stepantsminda, or three days and one tour
Stepantsminda in March is a peculiar place. Outside the summer season, when the expeditions to the summit start, the town practically falls asleep. We were the only guests in the hotel, most of the restaurants were shut tight, and in the evenings all you could hear was the wind and dogs barking somewhere down the street. On one hand that's nice, on the other this silence can feel almost unnatural at times.
The first day went on recovering from the trip and scouting. We checked what was open at all, and then walked up to Gergeti Trinity Church to see whether it's possible to leave town on skis. No point in sugarcoating it: you walk on asphalt, cars with tourists drive past, and there are zero views along the way. But we got a clear answer. The snow only starts right below the church, and there's nothing to look for lower down.
Lesson one: check where the snow really starts before you plan the ascent. Photos and maps can suggest that you can set off from the center of town. In March the snow line lies higher than it seems, and driving up to the church is not a convenience but a saving of an hour of walking on asphalt and of energy you'll need higher up. The first day after a night flight is perfect for this kind of check.
On the second day we went for what we came for: the classic tour toward Café 360, in the direction of the Sabertse pass. In line with the conclusion from the previous day, we drove up to the church and only there did we put on our skis.
Kazbek is simply there. Huge, white, and watching your every move the whole time. You'll find a detailed route description with elevation gain and times here.
We quickly found out how treacherous the sun can be here.
Lesson two: the Georgian sun doesn't forgive. All it takes is a moment for the snow to start turning to slush. And a moment later, as soon as you step into the shade or the wind catches you, it turns into a hard, unpleasant crust. In the Caucasus the temperature difference between a sunlit and a shaded slope can translate into completely different conditions within a hundred meters. Plan your weather window with a large margin and check your watch more often than you'd like.
But what struck me most was something else. It was a Sunday, perfect weather for touring. And we didn't meet a single person all day. On such a popular route.
On one hand it's the freedom you dream of in the Tatras, on the other a quick lesson in humility.
Lesson three: in Georgia you're on your own. There's no equivalent of TOPR in this country. If something happens to you, nobody will fly in by helicopter within ten minutes. An empty trail, which in Poland would be a reason to celebrate, here means that every decision, about the descent line, about the pace, about whether to turn around, weighs much more. There's nobody who will notice that something has gone wrong.
We reached the pass with the stone cross, and that's where the decision about the descent was made.
We chose a line on the other side of the gorge and it was spot on. It turned out to be not only the safer option, but also much more interesting for skiing than the ascent route. This route has no big steep sections, the descent is long, fairly gentle and leaves plenty of room for wide turns. If it weren't for the variable snow, it would have been a dream line. Despite the fight with the crust, those kilometers of space just for us did the job.
On the third day the weather fell apart. Strong wind, snowstorms, visibility down to a few dozen meters. We took a rest day, because the rest of the trip in Gudauri was still ahead of us and there was no point in burning out. But to be honest: it wasn't only about recovery. We simply had no idea where to go in such conditions. Take transport somewhere farther away? With such an uncertain forecast it's a lottery we didn't feel like playing.
Lesson four: in Stepantsminda there is no plan B. In good weather it's a great base. In bad weather you're left with the hotel and a walk around town, because you have neither a lift nor an easy alternative within fifteen minutes' drive. If you're planning more than two or three days here, expect that some of them may simply be lost.
This, by the way, leads to a conclusion I'm taking with me for next time. Stepantsminda makes sense more as a day trip from Gudauri than as a separate base. Everything you can ski from here is also reachable by driving from Gudauri. The difference is that in Gudauri, in bad weather, the lifts are always there, and here nothing is. You pop over for one day, do a tour toward Kazbek, and come back. Then three days of March whims don't cost you a third of the trip.
Gudauri: lifts, skins and the descent to Kobi
We stayed in New Gudauri and it's a logistical masterpiece. You walk out of the building, click into your skis and go. No fiddling around, looking for parking or carrying gear.
Our routine for the following days was simple and repeatable: combine lifts with ascents. The gondola takes you high, and from there you add a bit on skins and leave the groomed runs for terrain where you have everything to yourself. These are huge spaces and big vertical drops, on a scale that's hard to get used to after the Tatras. An interesting touch is the local snowmobile taxi drivers: for a few lari they'll drop you higher up if you want to fit in more descents during the day.
The best day ended with a descent to Kobi. We went down a wild gorge, where along the way we came across a small waterfall, and from the bottom we took the gondola back up. Several minutes of skiing in a place where you don't see anyone else's tracks the whole way, and then a relaxed return without arranging any transport. Freeride heaven on earth. You just have to catch the right weather. We have a separate write-up of this line.
We also happened to hit a moment when the slopes were surprisingly uncrowded, and it's worth separating two things that are easy to confuse. There were few tourists mainly because of the war in the Middle East: for that market Gudauri is the closest and cheapest ski destination, so when that stream dries up, it gets empty. Russians, on the other hand, are plentiful, because after the aggression against Ukraine their entry into the EU is restricted and Georgia has become one of the few destinations available to them.
And it was against this backdrop that the sign standing in front of one of the bars on the slope stuck in my memory the most. Written by hand in chalk, in English: if after all this you support Russia's imperial policy, there is no place for you in this venue. Below it was a list of countries with dates. Poland 1918 and 1939 at the very top, Georgia 1921, 1989, 1992 and 2008 written in a different color, and at the end Ukraine 1918, 2014 and 2022. Georgia earns real money from Russian tourists, and yet it can have its own opinion and show character. Putting up such a sign at the entrance costs something, and somebody decided it was worth it.
As for the infrastructure itself, it's Georgian-style. The buildings look new and modern, but inside something is always lacking: a tap leaks here, the wifi lives its own life there. You just have to accept it as part of the charm. The same goes for getting things done. If you need something, transport, advice, a repair, you ask the owner of your accommodation, and he already knows someone who knows someone. WhatsApp is more important here than any website.
What changed over 15 years
Google Market is gone. In its place there's a SPAR, a bank branch and a bunch of modern hotels, and Stepantsminda has gone from a stop along the way to quite an atmospheric little town. The roads are better, the infrastructure has moved forward, but that distinctive Georgian chaos is still there, thankfully.
One thing did sting a bit, though. Khinkali taste just as good as fifteen years ago, it's only getting harder to find a restaurant that serves them at local prices rather than tourist prices. That's probably the natural order of things and I don't hold it against anyone. But when you come back somewhere after so many years, it's exactly such little things that you measure most closely.
These 11 days showed us that Georgia is a great destination, but for people looking for something more than groomed runs. It's raw, sometimes chaotic, and you need to have eyes in the back of your head, because out in the terrain you're on your own. But it's precisely those moments of absolute silence under Kazbek that make us already plan our return. This time with a base in Gudauri and a day trip to the north.
Have you been to that part of the world? Which appeals to you more, raw Stepantsminda or comfortable Gudauri?
Planning your own trip? All the logistics, flights, costs, gear and timing are in a separate post.