Powder Mad Chronicles: Ushguli madness – deep in the Georgian backcountry

The day kicked off in classic style—a killer breakfast at Nino’s Guesthouse, fuelled by Turkish coffee so strong it could raise the dead. The crew piled into the minibuses, squeezing in with Goga, our fearless guide, for what could only be loosely called a “road” to Ushguli—Europe’s highest permanently inhabited village. 40km of off wriggling mountain roads later, we arrived, skins on, yoga stretches done, and befriended a few local mountain dogs before the real adventure began.  

It was cold, but we started bold, charging straight up a steep shaded face, knocking out 350m of vertical, while Ushba—that iconic beast of a mountain—stood watching us across the valley. Breaking out into the sun felt like surfacing from the depths. Time for a snack break—Kutasia bazaar’s finest: “fruit leather” and nuts (because who doesn’t want to chew on something weird mid-tour?).  

As we caught our breath, the sunlit terrain sparkled like glitter, and just when we thought we were alone in the wilderness, some Italian skimo nutters blitzed past us like they were late for espresso. We pushed on, the climb steepening, a long traverse leading us further before the last climb to the top, where the whole mountain opened up into a wide, flat, ridge line with north-facing descents waiting like untracked invitations.  

The views? Unreal. Mount Shkhara (5201m) loomed in the distance, flanked by hanging glaciers and giant peaks. But we weren’t just here to stare—we transitioned fast, prepped for the descent, and dropped into pure, silky, untouched powder - the conditions we hunt. Goga, the snow whisperer, kept an eye on the snowpack, guiding us one by one through the first pristine 400m drop. Regrouping at a safe zone, we readied for the next big pitch.  

Cue Jamie and the drone. This next descent needed capturing—the crew dropped in one by one, slicing through perfect snow, finishing the 600m of high alpine terrain before approaching the tree line, this is where things got tight, technical, and a little bit trippy. Silver birch trees everywhere, skiing the maze, dodging branches, and occasionally tree-hugging our way down to the valley floor.  

At the bottom, lunch turned into a feast—smoked ribs, fruit leather, nuts, and whatever else we’d raided from the bazaar. Then, with legs burning and stoke levels maxed, we skinned out on flat terrain to a guesthouse, cold beers waiting in their fridge like an oasis. One last van ride—an hour and a half back to Mestia—buzzing, laughing, reliving every turn.  

Another powder mad day in the bag. Georgia delivers once again.