Our Story

Wednesday, January 20th, 2021 — 5:00 p.m.

We’re watching our first sunset from the top of Malam Jabba’s hill, and everything suddenly makes sense. We’re finally here, ready to begin one of the most intense journeys of our lives.

Back in 2019, after my accident in the Hunza Valley, I decided I wanted to help mountain communities access snowboarding equipment. In the winter of 2020, I sent 60 complete snowboard kits to Pakistan, and the incredible feedback from local riders made me realize it was time to go deeper with this idea. A few months ago, The Zom Connection was born—an organization dedicated to the authentic development of winter sports in the Pakistani mountains. Our first project has taken months to organize, with Covid adding uncertainty right up to the last minute.

Our team of nine brings together a wide range of skills: Jean Remi Ceron (cameraman), Arthur Ghilini (photographer and ski instructor), Victor Lanel (economist), Paul Millet (ski instructor), Gilles Herry (ski instructor), Mathieu Maynadier (Himalayist and mountain guide), Helias Millerioux (Himalayist and mountain guide), Victor Daviet (pro snowboarder), and myself.

With support from many people along the way, we finally got the green light. After traveling nonstop for 40 hours, standing here watching the highest mountains on earth glow with sunset light feels like the greatest reward.

Malam Jabba itself is a small village. Skiing arrived here almost by accident when the government installed a small chairlift on the slope above. After 9/11, the area experienced instability, the Taliban briefly occupied the region, and the lift was destroyed. The region has been peaceful for over a decade now, and the lift has been rebuilt—though police and military remain very present. Local tourism is growing steadily, with visitors from major cities coming in winter for snow or in summer for fresh mountain air.

The ski resort invited us to join their 2nd annual Snowboard Festival, giving us the opportunity to explore the area and teach the local riders. More than 50 snowboarders from Afghanistan, Chitral, Gilgit-Baltistan, and Lahore showed up, eager to learn. From beginner slopes to icy red runs, we did our best to teach the basics and help them prepare for competition.

To our surprise, the organizers asked us to set the Giant Slalom course for the next day’s race. None of us had done that before, but without our help, the competition wouldn’t happen—so we got to work.

The following morning, we ride the smokiest lift ever—a groomer towing a platform—and do our best to create a Giant Slalom course suitable for everyone. Our team ends up taking the top three podium spots and decides to donate the prize money (1,000 euros) to send equipment next year to the Malam Jabba community.

In the afternoon we’re asked to prepare a Parallel Slalom as well. We thankfully get knocked out early and enjoy simply being spectators. The final race, illuminated by the last rays of daylight, is unforgettable. A young local snowboarder crosses the line first—and wins.

What happens next is surreal: local kids and Afghan riders sing together, hugging and celebrating for a long time. It’s a beautiful reward after such a long day.

Before arriving, Malam Jabba was, for us, just a chairlift—a tool to help Pakistani riders progress faster before we headed out together into the Hindu Kush. In some ways we were right: the lift allows our friends to ski more vertical in a day than they often did in the past ten years. But we never expected the friendships that developed with the younger riders. From day one they wanted to ride the lift with us, follow us into the backcountry, or play UNO with Victor D. They even joined us enthusiastically for a trash cleanup after we noticed the litter along the slopes. We ended up taking them on short backcountry runs from the lift, watching sunsets from the ridge before racing down to the village before dark.

On our last day, we explored a bit farther on our own. After hours of hiking ridgelines, riding couloirs and pillows, and skinning through gentler terrain, the whole team stood on the highest point of the area—3,000 meters—with an incredible 360° view. With better snow coverage, the potential here is enormous. For now, we enjoyed mellow couloirs filled with safe, old powder.

After five days, it was time to move west toward our main destination: the Madaklasht Valley in the Hindu Kush. After emotional goodbyes to the kids and an eight-hour minivan journey, we reached Drosh—the headquarters of our generous hosts, the Hindu Kush Winter Sports Club. Their welcome was extraordinary. After enjoying far too many local delicacies late into the night, we woke up to discover yet another incredible panorama.

Hasham, the club president—and also a prince of Chitral—owns a large house and extensive land. He is deeply dedicated to developing winter sports in the Hindu Kush. After visiting the garden and meeting the horses, we loaded into jeeps for our final push to Madaklasht.

Madaklasht is unique in Pakistan for the sheer number of local riders. The valley has 3,500 inhabitants—and about 1,000 registered skiers. Introduced by the British army in the 1920s, skiing became a local tradition, with villagers crafting and riding handmade wooden skis. With smartphones and 4G now common, the younger generation has discovered the global freeride scene and is eager to use modern equipment and explore the hidden corners of their home mountains.

Arriving with over a ton of equipment, we knew we brought as many challenges as we did joy. After hauling everything into two schoolrooms, the lack of organization during packing became obvious—there was far more sorting to do than expected. Following advice from locals, we decided to keep everything under the ownership of Zom Connection instead of giving gear personally. With the help of the local council and the Hindu Kush Snow Sports Club, we set up a system to give everyone equal access. Soon, dozens of skis, snowboards, cross-country skis, and ice skates were being loaned out daily—and the smiles on the kids’ faces quickly erased any doubts.

Unlike previous Pakistan trips, this time we truly lived the local way for almost two weeks in the heart of winter. Thanks to the club, we stayed in a simple (and cold!) village house and ate local food every day. Sunshine warmed the valley for only a few hours before long, freezing nights. With temperatures dropping to –15°C, we heated our room with a small stove that filled the space with smoke whenever the wind shifted.

After two days, the 3rd Hindu Kush Snow Sports Festival began. Despite limited accommodation, many Pakistani tourists arrived to experience winter sports. For the community, it was a true celebration—children playing outside, racing, and attending small conferences. I gave a short talk about global warming and gender equity in sports. Our team spent its days teaching ice-skating, hockey, cross-country skiing, snowboarding, and alpine skiing—and our evenings learning local dances. After three intense days, the festival ended in pure joy, and the valley slowly calmed again.

The next day was dedicated entirely to girls. At first we didn’t know what to expect, but more and more girls arrived at the storage room—shy at first, then laughing and excited to try something new. Watching them improve so quickly was incredible. Teaching cross-country skiing to a group of smiling girls was one of the trip’s highlights for me.

Between teaching, organizing equipment, and participating in the festivities, we still found moments to explore the area for ourselves. This winter’s unusual weather—heavy snowfall in November, then nothing—created the sugariest snow we had ever seen. With no layers above it, stability was surprisingly good. The terrain has huge potential, from steep 4,000–5,000 m couloirs to playful pillow lines near the village—though often dangerous and suitable only for skilled skiers. After climbing and riding a long shaded couloir above 4,000 meters, we realized how long the approaches are and how cold it gets in late January. Tired, we shifted our focus to lower-elevation terrain—tree runs, a homemade banked slalom, and narrow couloirs between cliffs. Seeing old bootpacks showed us just how much the locals had already explored.

The most experienced riders joined Victor D for a Safety Shred Day. Since we brought over 30 avalanche kits (transceivers, shovels, probes), educating locals about avalanche safety was essential. Over the next days, we toured with them, teaching technical skills while discussing mountain hazards and risk management.

A large part of our project also involved an “inception phase” to better understand how we can contribute long-term to development, energy solutions, and education. We quickly learned that hydro-powered energy is already efficient here, and communities are self-sufficient. But plastic waste is a major problem—trash thrown everywhere, in roads and nature. We hope to contribute to solutions soon.

Time flew, and soon it was already time to leave Madaklasht. After cleaning and organizing the storage area and setting up a fair daily distribution system, we left everything under the management of the Hindu Kush Snow Sports Club and the local council.

Victor D headed out with a group of local snowboarders for a three-day “Trip Roulette,” while most of us moved on to explore another area. We were excited for a new place but also aware that foreigners won’t come to Pakistan solely to visit Madaklasht. Developing skiing opportunities in neighboring valleys may be the key to future ski tourism in the region.

Hasham had told us many times about a village called Karimabad in the Chitral area. Having spent many weeks previously in Karimabad in the Hunza Valley, I was curious. After a four-hour drive—from paved roads through Chitral city to rough, exposed tracks with incredible views of snowy slopes and old moraine walls—we arrived at a peaceful and authentic village at nearly 3,000 meters. Surprisingly, no locals knew how to ski here, even though the slopes seemed softer and more accessible than in Madaklasht. It would be an ideal place for ski infrastructure, though Pakistan is still decades behind in resort development.

With only a few hours of daylight left, we climbed to the first slopes above the village. We soon found ourselves swimming in sugary snow; higher up, a thin crust sat above the sugar. After a few big whoomphs, we kept things conservative and descended carefully. Most surrounding slopes were either dry (south-facing), sugary (north-facing), or too far for our tired legs. Still, we found a mellow sun-softened ridge for our final ski day in Pakistan with Gilles and Helias.

Fifty meters below the summit—at around 4,400 meters—we encountered another unstable sugary slope and had to turn back, missing the view on the far side. But riding spring snow for the first time all trip felt amazing, and we finally understood the huge potential of this area beneath the region’s highest peak: Tirich Mir (7,708 m).

The next day, the whole team reunited in Drosh and prepared to return to Islamabad for our Covid tests before flying home. My friend Hamza showed us the storage in Rawalpindi, where nearly a ton of our equipment awaited distribution across northern valleys. Leaving this peaceful country to return to the chaos of Covid back home was difficult. But we’ll be back soon, Inshallah.

Throughout this journey, we made countless connections through our shared love for the mountains. We found reliable partners, amazing friends—and, most importantly, we connected motivated Pakistani riders from different regions with one another. We hope they will become the future builders of winter sports in Pakistan.

A huge thank you to Shamyl for his essential help during the project’s creation, to Shahid Mahmud for logistics and transportation, to the Hindu Kush Snow Sports Club and to Hasham for hosting us, and to all the locals we met for their kindness and joy.

And another big thank you to everyone back home who helped make this adventure possible.