THE HEAVENLY MOUNTAINS

After testing her ambitions on several big walls in the Alps and Patagonia, in recent seasons Chiara Gusmeroli has turned her attention to the most remote walls in Central and South Asia.

She embraces a “less is more” approach, which prioritizes adaptability and the excitement of discovery over the glory of photographs on the summits of the world’s most
iconic mountains.
A new chapter begins in April 2026: the ski mountaineering exploration of the Tien Shan, in the heart of Kyrgyzstan. A group of friends, a vague idea of ​​the snow conditions, an old map of this chain of unclimbed peaks, and a strong desire to redeem an unsatisfactory winter. These are the ingredients of an expedition in search of old-fashioned adventure, in a region where uncertainty reigns.

You know when you’re gasping for air in a choking cloud? Well, the expedition to Kyrgyzstan came at the perfect time for me. The last few months had left me feeling dissatisfied, in part due to end-of-the-year aches and pains and in part due to the late arrival of winter in Valtellina.

These factors had only dented the extreme positivity with which I’d always viewed the world and people, but the need to get away in order to lose myself and find myself again had nevertheless reached its peak.

I finally find myself in front of my big bag full of hardware, heavy clothing, and two light blue skis that haven’t seen climbing-skin glue for too many weeks. With me are my good friends and companions in adventure Irene, Luca, Billy, Nico, Matti, Ale, and Marco.
My legs are heavy, but my mind, in contrast, feels lighter at the mere thought of setting off again with so many questions about what we’ll find.

The Tien Shan Valley had been on my radar for a few months, thanks to Irene — she’d first mentioned it to me shortly after my return from the Rangtik Valley in Indian Ladakh. The two valleys are only 1,000 kilometers apart as the crow flies, and although this was “exploratory ski mountaineering” and the other “exploratory mountaineering,” the idea of ​​being catapulted once again into a remote and wild environment that I could explore only by relying on the strength of my
own legs and with good friends was enough to convince me.
Different disciplines, same language: fair means, uncertainty, moving carefully.

Our target is the Tien Shan mountains, a long ridge with sharp peaks rising above 6,000 meters. We’re in the heart of Kyrgyzstan, and to make sense of the area we have only a couple of photos and an old Soviet map printed on A3 sheets.
Beyond the mountaineering aspects, the valley’s appeal is further enhanced by the value these lands hold for the Kyrgyz people. According to the local religion, the “celestial mountains” represent the bridge between the human and the divine and can only be climbed with authorization from the leaders of the communities that inhabit the region.

The legs of our journey, in order: flight to Bishkek, transfer to Karakol, departure for base camp (3,200 m), and exploration of the surrounding peaks, guided by our instincts in the ocean of white around us.

Kyrgyzstan is a study in contrasts at the height of spring as we leave the capital. On either side of the jeep taking us to the first point on the map, sheep and horses rush by across the dry, literally endless grasslands. In the background, the burry ridges gradually become clearer, easing our initial concerns about the abundance of the one element necessary for our objective.

As we proceed at a walking pace, my companions and I remain in absolute silence, completely absorbed by the outdoor paradise that has suddenly opened before us. Among the peaks our guidebook names, I am particularly riveted by Khan Tengri (6,995 m), with its rocky northwest face forming a perfect triangle. The sight of this pyramid of rock and ice, so unattainable, has awakened something within me.

Finally, after crossing countless dirt roads and pastures, and after extricating our vehicle from the mud of the jailoo, we reach base camp.

After a relatively quick flight, the wait had become wearisome. Without even taking time to comprehend where we’ve ended up, we empty out our bags to pack up our gear. For now, we have to keep our skis on our backpacks, but as we tackle the initial climbs, we realize that the hunt for first tracks is on. In less than an hour, we reach a picturesque promontory from which we can admire the expanses stretching out to the horizon.

The descent at sunset offers us curves on pleasant firn. A tasty appetizer for the feast awaiting us in the days to come.

We spend the next few days in the various valleys that make up the Sary-Jaz Valley. The plan is always the same: we hike for several kilometers on grassy terrain with skis on our backpacks, then put them on when we reach the first glacier ice — significantly retreated from what is shown on our maps. We are just eight colored dots, sliding our skis with curious determination across the snowy blanket of these eternal mountains. The sense of smallness, combined with a feeling of
total adventure, excites and entices me.

There’s no rational explanation for this feeling, just the awareness of how strange it is to sometimes have to go so far to rediscover one’s essence.
In a world full of photos of all the most beautiful mountains, framed from every angle, I find myself amazed by and drawn to these unknown, nameless, eternally majestic peaks that no one has ever set foot on. Every day I want to ski the most beautiful peak in the valley, and my legs keep going, ignoring the tiredness and the weight of my backpack; the crevasses are gateways, and crossing them gives me, strangely, a sense of lightness and a sense of belonging to this
corner of the world.

In summary, we complete seven climbs and descents between 4,200 and 4,400 meters, some of which we give names to:

 Anticima Dell’Oro (3,891 m)
 OSA Peak (4,201 m), unclimbed
 Pala dei Due Faraoni (4,143 m), unclimbed
 Cima q. (4,262 m)
 Tenishtick Peak (4,311 m), unclimbed
 Patrol Peak (4,317 m), unclimbed
Named in honor of our driver Tenishtick and his unstoppable Nissan that allowed us to gain precious
ground on the valley floor
 Cima 75° OSA (4,337 m), unclimbed

In reaching the summit, the sense of accomplishment is minimal compared to the sense of infinity you feel up there, while your heart rate finally returns to a steady rhythm and your eyes sparkle as you gaze upon the immense Tien Shan range with its towering peaks, its hanging seracs, and the sheer rock faces that not even snow can settle on.

In a season with some negative stretches, I find myself energized by the purity of the celestial mountains. Now that I’ve settled the score with an up-and-down winter, I can get back to climbing.