A Blessing in Disguise

The clouds are finally lifting. The sun warms our skin, the last snow crystals dancing through the air sparkle like crazy, and an almost endless couloir is opening up right in front of us. It seems as if we finally got lucky, a rather rare happening on our journey up until now. We are in the Republic of Tajikistan, in Central Asia. How exactly did we get here? It was Joi's idea, the guy tracking through the snow in front of me, panting heavily and now pointing at the couloir. His passion for Google Earth is infamous. A while ago, he spotted the perfect ski region on the app. A dream come true: No huts, but a glacier ideally suited for a base camp at about 14,000 feet. No ski lifts, but many couloirs and gullies, similar to those you see in Alaska.

And not a single soul to argue over a line. More than two weeks before we reached that couloir, our host family had welcomed us in the small village of Vanj, situated in a green valley, right by the river, directly where we suspected the starting point to our expedition. The only existing maps of this area are from old USSR times, scale 1:250,000. According to Google Earth, a 14,800-foot ridge would stand between us and the glacier, which could serve as the location for our base camp. The first part of the hike took us from the village into a small valley. The trails had been washed away for the most part during the winter. Our donkeys were unable to cope, so we spent most of the time building paths instead of moving forward.

The following days we carried all of our supplies to the glacier in multiple repeat trips. We wanted to spend at least two weeks in camp and hit the surrounding slopes and couloirs from there. After four days of heavy hauling, we could finally take a closer look at the 16,000-feet peaks around us. The snow conditions seemed ideal. Pillows, the size of apartment buildings. But that's when our problems started. On one hand, only three of our team of five were still available for the adventure. Fabi, our key to the local culture, as he had learned Persian, had knee problems. Some yoga and sitting in the tent, waiting, was pretty much all he could do. Lindsey wasn't feeling well either. Luckily, we had Simon, our cameraman.

His camera was running constantly, and he was unstoppable despite his snowboard. After a heavy dump the next night, we released a small snow slab just below our camp, which we had named the "gate to freeride paradise." It wasn't big, but it demonstrated how unpredictable the weather and the snow could be in this area. 300 feet further below, the snow profile proved to be perfect. The weather forecast finally ruined our plans: an estimated five feet of fresh snow were announced for the next couple of days. "Abort; let's get out of here!" Back where we had started, we enjoyed the hospitality of our host family. It was like a journey into the past. Apart from telephones, TVs and a few cars in the village, everything here felt like 100 years ago.

The farmers still cultivate their fields by hand and with oxen. Before school, children in school uniforms quickly release the chickens from their coop. The smaller kids help with the slaughtering. Once a week, half the village bakes bread together. But what was most remarkable was the everlasting hospitality of the villagers. We were invited for tea so many times, the locals must have started a competition. We didn't mind and enjoyed ourselves. We washed our clothes, rode the donkeys, got beat by the kids playing soccer, drank tea, and listened to the weather forecasts. When Joi, Simon and I learned about a weather window, we decided to start a new attempt on the other side of the valley.

A small team, minimal baggage, and off we went to ski a couloir that we had scouted earlier. After a day of hiking through scree fields in the drizzle plus two days of ski touring, we finally reached the bottom of our desired couloir. This was day three we had been sure to make it in one day. For a while, we thought that we took a turn into the wrong valley, but when the clouds finally lifted, everything seemed right. We had simply lost all sense for time and distance. The next morning, we stumbled out of our tent in the dark and put on the skins. We were hiking in dense fog but confident that it would clear up soon. On the way up, we said goodbye to Simon, who made himself comfortable on the opposite slope for better filming angles.

The couloir was much bigger than expected. Three hours had passed, but we were still stuck in the first third of it. And now the fog turned into thick snowfall. Joi was digging his way through the snow in front of me. "Watch out! Sluff!" We were slowly getting frustrated. Every few minutes, we had to jump towards the rocks: one small snow slab after the other made its way down the steep slope. We paused briefly under a ledge at almost 16,500 feet and radioed Simon. "I am sitting in the rain," he said. The same moment, we noticed thick raindrops on our jackets. Oh damn, if it gets any warmer, we'll have to get out fast! Not a second went by, and we heard a loud bang. This time, a full-grown slab raced past us.

We fled the couloir as fast as possible, collected Simon, and rushed back to the village. The day of our departure dawned. Similar to when we arrived, the sun warmed our skin in the chilly morning air. Saying goodbye to the villagers was tough. Somehow, we got used to each other. On the way to the capital city of Dushanbe, we listened to the latest weather forecast: Bluebird. For at least a week or two. Due to corona, we will not have the opportunity to retry our adventure this year. But that huge bag of instant soup that we left in the village won't be lost. We'll be back!