

SAMAYA x BRODY LEVEN
TACKLING THE COLD AND STEEP SLOPES OF TAJIKISTAN

Professional skiers Brody Leven and Robin Hill left the USA behind and headed for Tajikistan. In an inhospitable valley, Brody and Robin embarked on impressive ski descents on vertiginous slopes. For Samaya, Brody tells his story.
"Kevin Kelly once wrote: "For exceptional travel, head for an interest rather than a place. Travel to passions rather than destinations." Tajikistan is the most mountainous country in the world, with 93% of its surface area above 3,000 meters. If this region doesn't provoke something in me, no other will. My long-time friend and adventure partner Robin Hill was, as always, very keen to join me in this place where passion and self-transcendence are intertwined.
I've already climbed and skied a lot in Central Asia, yet this place continues to attract me like a magnet: I can't get enough of it. This was only the second time in my career that I'd wanted to visit a country before I'd even figured out what I wanted to do there. On site, we spent more time translating Cyrillic and Russian websites into English than reading useful information. It was incredibly difficult to get enough information to guide us and enable us to make a decision.

Finally, we decided to climb a 5,200-metre mountain named by the Soviets, Pik Energia, at the head of the Chapdara valley in the well-travelled Fann mountains. Our acclimatization to this altitude was straightforward. We started walking at 2,500 meters, set up our first camp nearby at 2,750 meters, established our advanced base camp at 3,700 meters (the highest we slept) and climbed to at least 4,500 meters three or four times before reaching the summit. The last 300 metres were, of course, difficult. We chose a mountain of this scale because, in the past, we'd climbed peaks at 5,000 and 6,000 metres, which had given us intense sensations of pleasure and priceless shared emotions.
My expeditions generally take place in a style not described in books or shown on television. We don't use porters and don't spend more than a month on the glacier. We carry all our own food and equipment, including to base camp. It's as if we were traveling alpine style from the moment we left home. So we're acutely aware of the importance of weight and multi-functionality. In some cases, we sacrifice weight for quality, knowing that we simply couldn't afford for certain equipment to be destroyed. With the Samaya tents, we didn't feel we had to sacrifice either. This was our first time using these tents, without having had the opportunity to test them before departure. The Samaya2.5 was both light enough to be transported to the advanced base camp, yet large enough not to give us the impression of being in a "road tent", allowing us to sleep side by side with our personal gear stowed next to each of us. Outside, the vestibule was just the right size for one of us to sit and cook during storms while holding our loaded ski backpacks and boots. For us, it's the ideal tent setup. I'm obsessed with organization, and a little extra personal space in a tent helps me keep it that way. Deep in this cocoon Samaya, I loved listening to the sound of light snow sliding down the walls. I was galvanized by the feel of the warm sleeping bag inside, being simultaneously protected and embraced by the mountains.

This type of expedition offers phenomenal quality time with rope partners, which is almost impossible to experience any other way. After years of interruption due to the global Covid-19 pandemic, I was so honored and excited to return to experience these emotions in such majestic mountains with my friend Robin. We not only laughed, but also had difficult conversations that forced us to grow as individuals and as friends.
It's important to have such deep relationships, especially when things don't go as planned. Maybe that's part of what makes an adventure an adventure. This time, a very specific equipment failure led me to a complete emotional crisis, questioning everything and wondering if I'd ever go on an expedition again. I didn't think we'd be able to overcome this challenge. But we did. But the emotional cost will remain with me.

We wished we could have skied more than one mountain, discovering new possibilities as we went deeper into the valley. After our first descent down a gigantic, steep and icy face, we knew it was time to start leaving the mountains. If my repaired equipment had failed on this mountain, I'd have been dead. We didn't want to take the chance.
My return home always fills me with mixed feelings, conflicting emotions and big questions that I find hard to deal with. I struggle with the why. I question many things, both up in the mountains and down in the valley. I wonder if and when I'll do something similar again. After 17 years of trips similar to this one, I still can't articulate, even to myself, why I put myself in danger. The reason I ask friends to do the same. I now have a wife, a lovely dog, a wonderful home and yet I regularly pack my ski bags and leave, assuming - but not knowing for sure - that I'll be back. I always intend to come home, if only to pet my dog and get ready for another adventure. I can't resist the urge to leave, I embrace it."

Photos by Brody Leven and Robin Hill @brodyleven @chefrobinhill