Balkan Express

It's 2 am when we finally pass passport control. After a short stopover in Istanbul, we arrived in Mineralnyje Vody, a small city in Russia's most southwestern corner. Giving in to my wanderlust, I had agreed to take a trip to the Caucasus Mountains with Matthias Haunholder and Stefan Ager from Innsbruck. Stepping out into the cool Russian night, we are greeted by several cab drivers directly heading to our ski equipment, ready to load it into their cars. "Net, spasibo," we gratefully turn down their advances. Friends of ours from Innsbruck are already in the area and must have arrived earlier from Arkyz. For the upcoming week, their plans will be ours: Together, we want to explore the Elbrus region along the Georgian border.

The guys xorganize a van complete with driver, and while walking to the car, they crack jokes about what to expect. Everything's a bit different in Russia, they tell us. As I open the van's sliding door, I immediately understand: The door doesn't slide back, but falls out of its hinges, crashing to the ground... Everything is in the car and we head out on the road. We are all looking forward to the trip to the Caucasus Mountains. The feeling only lasts to the next intersection. As the driver is shifting down, we hear a loud noise emerging from the rear axle. Cursing, the driver pulls over and dials a number on his phone. We have no clue what's going on; we need to be patient.

A bit later, we find ourselves behind a tow truck taking us to an industrial park. We are wondering what will happen now. Our driver seems totally relaxed, gets back into the car, turns off the lights, and rests his head on the steering wheel. Looks like we will spend the night in the car. Sitting tightly side by side and shivering from the cold, we eventually fall asleep. Banging noise awakens me. With sleepy eyes, I try to recognize the surroundings through the foggy car window. All I see is a desolate area and some stray dogs roaming in between half-finished buildings. The noise comes from our driver, now smiling at me through the window from outside. He's already busy underneath the car, equipped with all kinds of tools.

He obviously managed to get the spare part and repairs the car himself. He seems to know what he's doing, so this was not his first breakdown. The situation makes me smile. This must be the infamous "Russian Style". We haven't even made it two kilometers from the airport, and we are already in the middle of an adventure! After a successful car repair and a long trip, we finally arrive at our destination. We are in Terskol, a small mountain village at the end of a long, rugged valley close to the Georgian border at the Elbrus foothills. The glacial mountains of the main Caucasus range's alpine wilderness rise in the sky around us. The terrain reminds me of the Stubai Alps back home but everything is considerably bigger.

Prior to our arrival, the region got some fresh snow, and the forecasts announce stable weather for the week. Ideal conditions for some alpine backcountry touring. We spend the first days getting used to our new surroundings. Then we set out to the highlight of our trip. From the valley floor, we had already determined the object of our desire: a gully straight out of a picture book. Aesthetic and steep; magically calling out to us. The locals call her the "Balkan Express". A well-chosen name regarding the dead straight 1,000 vertical meters from top to bottom. We leave early knowing that the climb would be long and demanding. As the sun rises, my feelings range between weariness, tension, and anticipation.

We have to traverse a long ridge to just below Cheget summit where we can access the gully. At some point, we have to attach the skis to our backpacks. Our pace is slow hiking up the rocky terrain. Stepping off the ridge, we have a clear view of the impressive Caucasus Mountains. The region seems to offer unlimited options. It's too bad that we can't stay longer. There is so much to do! We keep underestimating the dimensions. The next crest seems to be only an hour away, but it takes more than twice that long to reach it. One obstacle after another is slowing us down. At some point, we need to rappel. Just before the final climb, we have to ski down a short distance.

A welcome change to the uphill climb that has already taken seven hours, especially because we get to ski perfect powder. One last time, we attach the skis to our packs. Another short climb, then we finally reach the top, exhausted but happy. We inspect the gully. For a moment, I am breathless. A cornice towers over the gully, and we have to jump it. The top part of the run is very steep, about 50 degrees. The valley floor is more than 1,000 meters below us. We don't want to waste any more time and get ready for the descent. Anticipation grows, we want to get our edges onto that snow and feel gravity. Hauni goes first. He disappears behind the rocks after a few turns. Stefan is next and jumps into the gully.

Now I am all by myself, waiting a few minutes. I can barely stand the anxiety until I finally push off and head down the mountain. The first section features great snow. I let my skis go, gravity takes care of the rest. I can feel the flow immediately. This moment is the reward for the exhausting hike! Once again, I am totally overwhelmed by the feeling of skiing couloirs. It's intimidating and magical at the same time: being stuck between two rock walls and following the narrow snow belt is a great feeling. Far below, I see Hauni and Stefan. They are nothing but two tiny spots in the snow. Hauni did not stop once! I am not capable of it, and I have to stop and rest several times. My thighs are burning.

The gully seems infinite; there's not end to it! Arriving at the bottom, I am dripping with sweat and ecstatic. We hug and agree: This was one of the best lines we ever skied.