FWT Chronicles – Georgia Edition #3 -Face Check and Frozen Feet

ფეის-ჩეკი და გაყინული ფეხები [feis-cheki da gaqhinuli pekhebi]

Today is Face Check day. After losing the Kaseb face, we're heading back for a competition on Kakhiani, the original face that delivered thrilling performances last year. Max and Marcus, we won't forget you anytime soon.

To reach Tetnuldi, the resort that grants us access to the face, we need to drive up the entire valley. The journey should take about 45 minutes.

Early departure. The thermometer reads -19 degrees. After last weeks spent in Kicking Horse, Canada, we're not even surprised anymore. We quickly load our skis onto the roof of our Mitsubishi Delica, a Japanese off-road vehicle modified Georgian-style, and set off for a 45-minute drive. This time, I'm sharing the ride with the big names: Nicolas Hale-Woods, Joris Vautier, and Berti Denervaud. I remain discreet, feeling like I'm entering a space that was previously off-limits to me.

The atmosphere is very quiet. Only the radio occasionally emits sounds that break this monastic silence. We recognize Damian Marley or Supernature, artists I hadn't listened to in a long time.

The windows are completely frosted over, making it impossible to truly enjoy the view. So, I inspect the car: right-hand drive, all safety instructions in Japanese. It amuses me, and I think it's quite something to know how to say "fasten your seatbelt" in Japanese.

We arrive in Mestia, which still seems asleep after the grand celebration of yesterday's opening ceremony. Even the dogs, usually the first to wake up and bark at passing cars, haven't risen.

To keep us awake, we can count on the few cars we pass. The drivers engage in a horn-honking contest to greet each other. It might wake the entire world, but the drivers don't care and don't forget their manners.

We leave the town and take a bumpy icy road. We're jostled around like sacks of potatoes. I narrowly avoid giving myself a nasty bump by hitting the window.

The sun begins to rise. It illuminates the distant mountains, casting a palette of ochre hues over these whitish landscapes.

Occasionally, the Mountain Ops helicopter flies over us. We hear the rotor's noise approaching from afar. On the radio, they confirm that the cargo has arrived or that refueling is needed. Enough to understand the purpose of this aerial ballet.

We catch up with the cars that left a bit before us. We form a small convoy of Delicas, creating a real Japanese highway!

Next to me, Nico takes advantage of the defrosted windows to scrutinize the surroundings. It's clear he's not observing with the same innocent eyes as we are. He meticulously examines every couloir, every ridge, likely scouting for other faces to ride on future trips.

I view this with a more novice eye. I don't have thirty years of experience behind me, haha. But I'm simply awestruck by the landscape before us. This type of mountain, I'd only seen in freeride films where riders venture to Alaska or other far-off destinations. And here we have these landscapes in Europe! Though, with our 24-hour journey from Switzerland, it's not the most easily accessible destination.

Anyway, I gaze, mesmerized, at these gigantic melted candles that are these mountains. Imagine wax that has dripped for hours, then replace the wax with snow. That should give you an idea! These snow-laden peaks are obese with large rolls, like big cakes covered in a thick layer of icing. The horizon is filled with these mountains as far as the eye can see; it's dizzying.

The higher the sun rises in the sky, the more time passes. So much the better; it will warm this hostile environment where -24 degrees (yes, it's gotten colder as we ascend) would drive away any sane soul. It almost makes me question the reason for my presence here, haha.

Finally, after a few more jolts over icy bumps, we arrive at our destination. Some riders are already present in the parking lot, waiting to unload their equipment. It's very cold, but it's sunny; we take comfort in that. I take the chairlift with Timm Schröder and his crew. We share our impressions of the country. For them, it's the best FWT destination, and they already plan to return in April to film footage. After taking two chairlifts, we find ourselves stuck before the third and final one we were supposed to take to reach Kakhiani. Power outage. We have to ascend by snowmobile, towed by a rope. Timm and his two companions hop into their improvised taxi; I have to wait for the next one since there were only three spots. Maxime Chabloz and his girlfriend arrive; they'll be my co-riders. The snowmobile that's going to take us up arrives. I was about to sit on the back seat to let the couple stay together. But they suggest I take a rope with Maxime instead. I don't refuse, haha. And off we go, being towed alongside the 2022 world champion!

Maxime shared a crucial technique with me: instead of holding the rope directly, thread your poles through the knot. This prevents your hand from becoming sore from the towing for the rest of the day.

I was taken aback by our driver's sudden start, but I managed to stay upright on my skis. It was incredibly fun; we did a few side-by-side slaloms, and I couldn't stop laughing. This will remain a memorable moment for me.

Upon reaching the summit, the once-smiling faces turned serious. The face was right there, and it was time to scout it with utmost seriousness, especially since Maxime needed good results to make the Cut. He had this event and Fieberbrunn left to secure podium finishes.

The Georgian mountain guides checked our avalanche transceivers, and we were ready to explore. I followed Maxime to Start Gate 1.

We walk in a single file along the ridge. We arrive at our destination, the very spot where Max Hitzig threw his unforgettable backflip last year.

It’s incredible to imagine that he pulled that off with such confidence, considering the drop is at least 15 meters. A few riders are already down below, looking tiny from our position near the finish line, observing the summit through binoculars. From where we stand, all we see is emptiness, with mountains in the background. Other riders join us on the ridge. I greet, among others, Justine Dufour-Lapointe, Michael Mawn, Anna Martinez, and Noémie Equy. It’s her first time in Georgia, and like me, she is charmed by the country. But this isn’t the time for chit-chat; I let them concentrate. I watch them meticulously analyze every detail of the face and wonder what’s going through their minds. Are they feeling fear? Or are complex calculations unfolding, measuring curves and angles?

The two forerunners are scheduled for 10:30 AM. All the riders begin descending from another side to join those already waiting at the bottom. Kevin Guri will be the first to drop. I see him doing small exercises to stay warm. The helicopter flies over us one last time. Then comes the dance of the drones, which will follow the two riders, capturing footage of snow conditions and potential lines. The poor drone pilots have to take their gloves off to control them—I can’t imagine how their hands must feel afterward.

I’m still lost in thought when I hear “1 minute” on the radio. Everyone focuses. Kevin steps to the last section of the ridge, facing the void. No one speaks. Then: “3, 2, 1, drop in!” And he’s off. We lose sight of him, so we focus on the drones tracking him. We can guess his position thanks to them. Suddenly, we see a tiny rocket speeding across the visible section of the face. A huge spray of snow flies with each turn. Victor De Le Rue, the only Tour rider who stayed up top, remarks, “Whoa, Kevin doesn’t usually ski like that.” Indeed, they often ride together in Val Thorens with the Freeski des Belleville crew. After a few more meters, Kevin disappears again. Then the radio announces: “Kevin has reached the finish line. We’re waiting for his feedback.” Everyone awaits the verdict. Kevin then speaks: “It’s completely different from last year, quite ‘sharky.’” Damn, bad news—the show might not be as spectacular as last year. Fortunately, they’re expecting between 15 and 20 cm of fresh snow in two days; hopefully, that will fix the issue.

The second forerunner drops in, and it’s the same scenario—we can’t see anything from up here. Maybe I should have gone down with the other riders after all, but I couldn’t resist watching a start from the exact Start Gates. And on top of seeing nothing, we’re freezing. The -24°C temperature, combined with the rising wind, is taking its toll—I can no longer feel my feet. We wait for the radio to confirm that Tao, the second forerunner, has arrived safely. As soon as we hear it, I make my escape! I rush down the ridge I had climbed with Maxime Chabloz, clip into my skis, and descend as fast as possible.

I reach the base of the station and step inside the only restaurant. A few colleagues are already there. I also spot Michael Mawn, engaged in a full-body warm-up to save his feet. He jumps, blows on them—doing anything to bring them back to life. I follow his lead, removing my boots and warming my toes. The door slams open as a group of riders pile into this makeshift refuge. Their faces are marked by the cold. We all start hopping around, doing whatever we can to warm up. A debate sparks: was it colder in Canada, which also recorded -25°C on competition day? I won’t get an answer—two opposing teams argue, and neither side backs down.

Once we’ve regained some warmth, we head toward the cars to drive back. We spot our vehicle, but there’s no sign of our driver. We start to worry and feel the cold creeping back.

I turn again toward our car. Then I see the front seat fold back, revealing our driver. He had simply reclined his seat for a nap. We all burst into laughter. We quickly load everything onto the roof and finally leave this icy hell. Our driver seems to understand our distress: he's now speeding at 70 km/h on the same small icy roads. But I'm thrilled, thinking about the hot shower awaiting me, and I almost enjoy this impromptu rally. What a morning!

by Victor Le Vély, PR & Media Coordinator