“Sorry Lasha,” I interrupt, anxiety rising, “but I can’t see Hamish anywhere.” The wilderness path, sinister as it runs against the border with Russia, is closing in. The woods crowd inward, turning mountain passes into shaded cloisters in my mind.
“Hamish is a bolter,” I blurt out. “You’ll have to keep him in line.” Lasha, our guide, replies calmly, “He’s young. I can only ask once.” Eva, another traveler, adds with a hint of seriousness, “If he gets lost, we will leave him here.”
We’re approaching the border control point through trees knotted like muscled bodybuilders. My frustration grows, knowing my son often trusts too easily in improvisation, with little calculation of risk. Just wait till I get to him, I seethe, imagining every calamity from falls to avalanches.
Suddenly, Hamish appears on a high, jagged outcrop, shirt billowing in the breeze. “You are OK?” calls Lasha. “Yep,” says Hamish, with an infuriating Tom Sawyer grin. I can’t hold back and, when he descends, give him a tongue-lashing. Hamish simply raises one hand, calling a truce. “It’s perfectly safe, Mum,” he says, oblivious.
Exploring Mestia: A Blend of Old and New
We emerge into a clearing with an active Georgian guard encampment. Eyes are watchful, but there is no razor wire. “Is this it?” I ask. Lasha gestures vaguely, indicating the border is “just up there out of reach in the mountains where we are disinclined to go.” We retreat along the 12-kilometer return trail back to Mestia.
The town sprawls across the valley floor in a delightful confusion of centuries: medieval stone towers pressed against alpine chalets advertising “free Wi-Fi”; bareback horse riders jostling for space between gas-guzzling rough-terrain vehicles. Our guesthouse offers a fully operational shower and soft mattress. Boots off. “You beauty,” says Hamish.
By nightfall, we gather around a rustic table, tucking into khachapuri (cheese bread), khinkali (soupy dumplings), pots of beans, and crispy pan-fried cornbread. The table symbolizes the spirit of supra – the ritual of communal feasting – and we enjoy ancient Georgian winemaking techniques with a dry, natural wine fermented in a clay vessel underground.
Hamish and I retreat to our room to sprawl on twin beds, swapping stories about old friends, flames, and travelers. By morning, the air is calm, the sky blue. Hamish perfects his packing routine, collects clean laundry, and unplugs the phone charger before departure.
Adishi: A Village of History and Resilience
On the fifth day, the trail towards Mount Tetnuldi rises and falls like a rollercoaster, inducing vertigo above boisterous rivers surging with glacial rapids. We wade through a landscape daubed with blue bellflowers and pink anemones. “You’ve forgotten about yesterday with this Alpine meadow amnesia,” says Eva. She’s right.
By sunset, we’ve hiked more than 15 kilometers in five hours, descending into remote Adishi. It’s an astounding village with ruined fortress towers scattered like broken teeth down a steep mountainside. Avalanches in 1987 shook lives to their foundations, leaving only four households amid the stones.
The gate to our guesthouse opens onto a lush haven, spooling with butterflies and a natural spring for splashing water on faces. My dream is a jug of fresh milk on the table and cream rising to the surface for tea. “What would we do if we lived here, Hamish?” I ask wistfully. “Leave,” he replies.
Winter besieges this region with isolation for months, and the medieval towers that make Adishi historically significant are crumbling without hope of restoration. Ketevan Kaldani, the 71-year-old matriarch of our guesthouse, stands at her kitchen window cutting into a cauliflower. She looks impenetrable, part of a fiercely independent subgroup with its own language, but her words are infused with memories.
“Adishi is Georgia,” she says. “Georgia is Adishi.”
Nature is spectacular but not always kind. Our flimsy tenure on the Earth’s crust might end with the slightest adjustment beneath our feet, but it’s a storm, not an avalanche, that keeps us awake all night. Lightning flashes across walls, rain thickens on roofs, and Hamish has a nosebleed. “Do you often get nosebleeds?” I ask, concerned about emergency medical care in high-altitude outposts. It’s a shadow from his childhood. “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he snuffles.
Reaching the Highest Point
The trail ahead winds like a secret along a flat plain where it intersects the river. There is no bridge, so we must cross on horseback with icy torrents breaking in short, steep waves up to our thighs. The hardest hike to Chkhutnieri Pass lifts us to the highest point of our trek at an elevation of 2730 meters. We stand at the top – panting, jubilant – a glistening arena of silvery peaks encircling us.
Hamish captures the Adishi glacier on his phone – “before it disappears” – beneath the frozen summit of Mount Tetnuldi (4858 meters). The final day of hiking follows the Enguri River, past remnants of a bridge washed away in last night’s tempest, to the base of Georgia’s highest peak, Mount Shkhara.
Mount Shkhara is a divine chalice held up in a blue sky, but I’m sweaty and footsore shouldering my backpack up another punishing incline. I’m finally defeated, wondering ‘will I even make it?’. Then I see Hamish ahead. Just waiting. For me. We tackle the last boulders together, then sink down beside roaring meltwater, gazing at the gargantuan pewter smudge of Shkhara glacier.
“What are you thinking about, Hamo?” I ask. “The future,” he says. “Wondering or worrying?” I ask. “Both.”
My son is preparing to take possession of his new life, and our journey arcing over two generations is over. Tomorrow, we head back for Tbilisi. He will go his way, and I will go mine. I know I’ll wake in a sweat flying high above Dubai, feeling hollow with the absence of my son, wandering deep down below somewhere in the Fann Mountains of Tajikistan. It’ll be all right, though. This won’t be our last adventure.
The Details
- Fly: Turkish Airlines to Tbilisi via Istanbul
- Hike: World Expeditions’ 10-day Transcaucasian Trail Hike Georgia includes accommodation in comfortable, often basic, hotels and guesthouses; guided hikes with one guide (sometimes supported by a local guide); transfers and local meals cooked by guesthouses and restaurants, from $3890 a person. See worldexpeditions.com
- Health: A good level of fitness is required with a recommended training schedule before hiking at a steady pace of six to eight hours daily. Luggage is transported to accommodation, but trekkers carry their own daypacks with daily essentials.
- Safety: Exercise normal safety precautions in Georgia overall. Travellers should avoid the regions of South Ossetia and Abkhazia. See smartraveller.gov.au
Five Emerging Hiking Trails
- Gidjuum Gulganyi Walk, NSW: The “Old People’s Track” starts at Unicorn Falls in Mount Jerusalem National Park near Uki in northern NSW and ends at Minyon Falls in Nightcap National Park, 45 minutes from Byron Bay. It’s the newest of 13 multi-day walks being rolled out by NSW National Parks, featuring the Northern Rivers’ first-ever glamping experience. See visionwalks.com.au
- Atlas Mountains Trek, Morocco: It offers diversity in landscape, culture, cuisine, and history. A nine-day premium hiking adventure takes you through the Atlas Mountains, across semi-desert landscapes to the Atlantic coastline in Essaouira, staying in high-end riads and hotels. See intrepidtravel.com/au
- San’in Region Walking Tour, Japan: A pioneering guided tour explores west Honshu’s little-visited San’in region beside the Sea of Japan. Ancient coastal paths wind through historic castle towns and villages, with traditional inns offering onsen hot springs and regional cuisine. See walkjapan.com
- Tian Shan Mountains, Kyrgyzstan: This journey begins in capital Bishkek, weaving cultural discovery by road with a five-day trek through mountains, staying in traditional yurts, tented campsites, and local guesthouses. See worldexpeditions.com
- Madeira’s 25 Fontes Trail, Portugal: Six days across Madeira featuring volcanic rock pools at Porto Moniz, sweeping ocean views from Vereda da Ponta de São Lourenco, and the climb to Pico do Ruivo, the island’s highest peak. See intrepidtravel.com/au
