A Day on the Freeride Camp: Hour by Hour
People ask what a freeride week in Gudauri actually feels like. Not the highlight reel, the real rhythm of it. So here’s an ordinary day, day four, the one where the week starts to click. The zones we ride are mapped out in our Gudauri freeride guide.
It’s not glamorous. There’s a lot of eating, a lot of waiting for people to adjust layers, and more discussion about snow than you’d expect. Somebody is always looking for a glove. The guesthouse boiler is always a topic. It’s also the best week of most riders’ winter, and the reasons have very little to do with the photos.
07:00 — Breakfast and the Weather Argument
Breakfast at the guesthouse. Coffee, eggs, bread, too much jam. The guide has already looked at the forecast, the wind and yesterday’s snow. Over the table he lays out two options: a tour towards Deda Ena, or staying in the resort and working the off-piste zones by the lifts.
Nobody votes. But everybody listens, because by day four you understand that the decision is based on things you can’t see from the window. Wind direction at 3,000 metres. Whether last night’s snow fell on a crust. What the guide felt under his skis on yesterday’s last run, which is usually more useful than any app.
The first two days, this conversation washes over you. By day four you have opinions. By day six you are the one asking whether the north side will have loaded up overnight, and whether that changes the plan for the pass.
08:30 — Gear Check, Again
Beacon check in the yard. Skins, crampons, probe, shovel. Someone’s boot buckle is broken; someone else forgot their goggles in the room. This happens every day, and it’s why we leave margin in the schedule.
The check is not a formality. Everyone stands in a line, switches to transmit, and one person walks down the line confirming each unit. Then we do it again at the trailhead. It takes ninety seconds and it is the single most important habit of the week, because a beacon left in a bag in the minibus is worse than no beacon at all.
There is also the quiet business of sorting out kit that doesn’t work. A liner that has packed out. A pack strap that rubs. Gaffer tape, which fixes most of it. Somebody always needs tape.
09:00 — Skinning Out
The first twenty minutes are the worst. Everyone’s layers are wrong, the track is steep, and conversation dies. Then the pace settles, the group strings out, and the mountain gets quiet.
This is the part that hooks people. Not the descent, the climb. You’re moving through a landscape that lifts can’t reach, at a speed that lets you actually look at it. You notice things you’d never see from a chairlift: animal tracks, old avalanche debris, the way the wind has carved the ridge into waves.
The layering rule is simple and everybody breaks it on day one. Start colder than feels comfortable. Within ten minutes you’ll be warm. Within twenty you’ll be opening every vent you have. The people who dress for the summit at the car park spend the first hour sweating and the rest of the day cold.
11:30 — Transition and First Descent
At the top: skins off, heels locked, snack out. The guide talks through the line, where to enter, where to stop, where not to go. Then you ski, and it’s over in four minutes.
That ratio never stops being funny. An hour and a half up, four minutes down. It’s also why touring descents feel so good: you earned every turn.
What nobody tells you is how much thinking happens in those four minutes. Stay left of the rock. Stop above the roll, not below it. Keep the person in front in sight but don’t follow their exact track, because their line was chosen for their speed. Skiing well off-piste is mostly a series of small decisions made before you point them downhill.
13:00 — Lunch, Then a Second Lap (or Not)
Lunch from a pack, sitting on snow, usually with someone’s cheese being passed around. Then the decision: another lap, or head back? On day four, the group is fit enough to want the second lap.
This is where the coaching happens most. Not in formal lessons, but in small corrections: your kick turn is too wide, your pole plant is late, you’re standing too upright on the skin track. Nobody gets a lecture. You get one sentence, then you try again, and by the third attempt it’s yours.
14:30 — The Second Lap and the Correction That Sticks
The second climb is always easier than the first. The track is set, the body is warm, and the group has stopped faffing. It’s also when people start talking properly, which is half the reason the week works. Five riders is small enough that nobody gets left out of the conversation.
The second descent is usually the best of the day. The snow has had another hour of sun or shade, the light is flatter, and everyone is skiing better because the nerves have gone. This is the run people describe when they get home, not the first one.
On day four the line is on Deda Ena, and the guide saves the last pitch for the group to choose. Somebody picks the obvious shoulder. Somebody else argues for the trees. Both are defensible, and that’s the exercise: making a call, explaining it, and living with it.
17:00 — Back at the Guesthouse
Boots off, tea, shower, and the bit everyone underestimates: the evening session. Sometimes it’s a snowpack lecture. Sometimes it’s a route-planning exercise with a map. Sometimes it’s just watching the day’s footage and laughing at yourselves.
The lectures are shorter than you’d expect and better attended than you’d think. Forty minutes, a whiteboard, and a guide who has been doing this for years and can answer the question you were too embarrassed to ask on the hill. The avalanche session is the one everyone remembers, and there’s more on how that works on the avalanche training page.
19:00 — Dinner and the Plan for Tomorrow
Dinner is Georgian, which means too much of everything and a serious conversation about whether there’s room for more khachapuri. There always is. For the full country-wide picture, see our Georgia freeride guide.
Somewhere between the second toast and the tea, the guide sketches tomorrow. Not a fixed itinerary, a set of options with a preferred one. If the wind changes overnight, the plan changes with it, and nobody is surprised in the morning. That predictability inside an unpredictable week is what makes the camp feel calm rather than chaotic.
What Days Five and Six Feel Like
Day five is Bidara, with navigation and group tactics, then a descent through the Aragvi forest. The forest is the interesting part: you learn to read tree spacing, avoid the wells around the root balls, and keep your speed in snow that is heavier and warmer than what’s above the tree line.
Day six is the big one. Transfer to Stepantsminda, then a tour from Gergeti through the Arsha pass to the meteorological station at 3,650 metres, and a night in the hut. It’s a full mountain day, steady climbing, changing terrain, and the pace is deliberately conservative. Nobody is racing to a hut at that altitude. You eat, you drink, you sleep badly because huts are huts, and you get up early because the mountain is already awake.
Day seven is Black Cross at 4,000 metres and then Ortsveri at 4,350. It’s the highest most people in the group have ever stood on skis, and it is also the quietest. Then the descent back to Gergeti, boots off, transfer to Tbilisi, and a long drive in which everyone falls asleep except the driver.
What the Week Actually Builds
- Technique: skins, kick turns, transitions, descent in variable snow
- Judgement: reading terrain, snow and group dynamics
- Fitness: by day five, 800-metre days feel normal
- Confidence: the thing you actually came for
If you want the full itinerary, it’s on the 7-day freeride camp breakdown. If you want to know whether you’d be in the beginner or advanced group, read this. And if you’re wondering what to pack for days like these, the guide to what to wear ski touring covers it better than a list of brands.
How It Compares to Our Other Programmes
The camp is the most structured week we run. If you’d rather have more freedom and fewer drills, a Gudauri week or a Gudauri freeride trip might suit better.
If you want variety, the multi-region programme moves through Gudauri, Goderdzi, Bakhmaro and Svaneti in one trip. And if powder forests are your thing, the Goderdzi freeride programme is the one to look at. For something with a motor and a roof, there’s heli-ski and cat-ski, which is a different kind of week entirely.
Traveler’s FAQ
How many hours a day do you ski?
Four to six hours of moving time, depending on the day and the group. Touring days are longer but slower.
Is there free time?
Evenings are yours after dinner. Most people are asleep by ten.
What if the weather is bad?
We adjust. Sometimes that means staying in the resort, sometimes it means a shorter tour, occasionally it means a rest day with lectures. The guide’s call is final. There is a longer explanation of how we think about conditions on the safety page.
What is the food like?
Georgian, plentiful, and heavier than most people expect. Breakfast and dinner are included at the guesthouse. Lunches are your own, and the local shops in Gudauri are perfectly adequate for bread, cheese and chocolate.
Would I be the slowest?
Somebody always is, and it’s rarely the person who worried about it. The group moves at the pace of its slowest member, which is not a polite fiction, it’s how a guided week works.
Come Ride a Week
Seven days, five riders, four dates in 2027: 1–7 February, 15–21 February, 8–14 March, 15–21 March. $1,300 per person with accommodation included.
Full details on the Freeride Camp in Georgia: Gudauri page, or browse all freeride camps. If you’re still choosing dates, the guide to the best time for freeride in Georgia explains what each month gives you.
