Day 1, Svolver, Blatinden
We skied up Blatinden right outside Svolver. Even though we arrived in Lofoten the night before, SAS lost our ski bags so they didn’t arrive until 6pm. Itching to get out, we planned a night ski (headlamps required). Unfamiliar with the avalanche conditions and unable to see any overhead hazard, we took a more conservative route.
But we were not so unique; we saw three others taking a night tour, and a herd of reindeer. It is not everywhere that the popular local sport was also our favorite, we felt right at home. Still, the small but mighty objective left us antsy for some big days.
The first reflection I had on the trip pertained to group size. Five is great, but only if everyone has the same goals and ability level. It allows for two groups to go out every day, which accommodates for different energy levels and risk tolerances. It also allows for someone to take a day off every day, which is crucial because you can’t go on a 12 day ski trip and make it all the way through without rest.
Five is great because it allows you to travel one on one with different people each day, creating different dynamics, bringing out different strengths and weaknesses, and providing ample learning opportunities.
Day 2, Kvanndalstinden South West Couloir
The most stunning beautiful couloir yet. The feeling topping out, counting from one to twenty, breathing, and then back down again, that was crazy, it was the only way I was able to get up the final boot pack, which was crazy deep, difficult, steep. I had to zig zag up the slope to get any sort of purchase. I asked the mountain whether we could be in its presence today. I watched, listened, felt, the signs gave me what I needed to feel we were welcome.
Today the stars aligned, weather, powder, un-skied line, pretty stable snow, great group. It’s the sort of skiing I live for, I didn’t even expect us to ski something like that on the trip. I’m incredibly grateful. Ally was so strong, everyone was kind, listened. There was uncertainty, guessing, we made good estimates and got lucky. The ocean views from 3k up, lined on all sides by massive peaks jutting out, unforgettable. I felt like I was in a higher world, a place so dramatically different from what I know but so familiar.
Seven hours later, we arrived back at the car, and Garrett is a running by, a 27 year old American, working a remote Venture Capital job who just moved to Lofoten. What are the chances? We departed full of belonging and inspiration to live our best lives.
Spirituality in the mountains, mantras, awareness, asking for passage, whether today is the day for your journey. There’s superstition involved. Listening, immersing yourself in the surroundings, looking, feeling for clues, signs, and signals, what is the mountain saying? Find humility in gratitude in oneself and then convey that presence to the mountain.
Day 3, Higravtinden West Couloir
The most terrified I have been in the mountains. We were originally going to do an even steeper couloir, but upon arriving at the choke, we saw that it was completely covered in ice. My belay and rappel skills aren’t up to moving through 55º+ icy terrain, and even if I could, I don’t think it would be something desirable. From that point, we decided to ski the backup line to our left which was also absolutely stunning, and as always, we were deceived into thinking it would be a relatively short journey to the top. It was not. I was on my own to lead through deep snow and steep pitches.
At first, counting steps helped, but after a while, it just made the whole ordeal seem even more endless. We were not worried about avalanche danger, the snow was solid and uniform, but there were certainly concerns about exposure, especially once we got into the last two pitches where ice lay concealed two inches below the snow.
The boot pack ascended for almost 3,200 feet; it was utterly exhausting. Moving on that surface was harrowing. Lots of air below me, not much else but some rocks, I felt insecure, almost ice climbing. I was using my ice ax and hammering in foot holds, it took forever to get purchase. I was so determined for the summit. Stupid because I knew even as I ascended that going back down on skis was a terrible idea.
The view was unreal, at the top. Jared was way less spooked by the icy boot pack and skiing (New Hampshire boy), but that influenced me to be less scared and cautious then I should have been, which was a mistake. Ice ax assisted ski sliding, down two feet, re anchor, the fall feeling was eminent and constant, barely hanging on. Those were moments where I wished I was somewhere else, I hated being there, I pushed myself to far beyond comfort. There’s good fear and bad fear, this surpassed the boundary, the first time that had decisively happened.
But once we got off that terrible ice snow at the very top, the slope transformed into deep powder, giving way to a 3,200 foot ski, big powder turns at 40 degrees, unforgettable. One of the best lines of my life, unreal feelings; novelty, that was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before, a “real” big line, big league, confidence inducing.
The big learning was to turn around once I felt uncomfortable ascending, for any reason, getting to the top, the view however epic and final, I should have stopped. Two days in a row of pushing it was overwhelming.
Day 4, Puyehue, Volcan Puyehue
Early start today; we had a long trek ahead of us. I was half asleep, head bumping the roll bar to the rhythm of another rickety dirt road. Before I knew it, Tomi was out of the truck, negotiating passage with a farmer, an old friend of his, complete with insurance terms in case our journey went south. Good thing we brought a local along.
It had been pouring all night making for especially slick, muddy roads; a distinct challenge for our rigs to scale as the road became windy and steep. The struggle did not last long; our truck entrenched itself in a mud trough, we’d have to hike, skis on back, the rest of the way.
The journey to Volcan Puyahue began in the jungle, it felt like we spent most of day in it. Our skis and boots felt like an unnecessary (and heavy) nuisance, how could we find use for such devices in this temperate Eden? All this spurred a lively debate about the maximum acceptable ski to hike time ratio, we decided it depended on the quality of skiing, but generally more than 2:1 was pushing it.
Every so often, a reprieve in the dense undergrowth would reveal the extent of our climb, 1500, 2300, 3200 feet higher provided an opening in the sky for us to spot more volcanoes. Suddenly, we found ourselves surrounded by snow, above treeline, in another volcanic expanse.
Channels and ravines slithered their way down the Puyehue’s broad shoulders, a grand, wide, steep rim crowned the top. The weather was just beginning to make itself known. We had no idea what was in store.
Each day, the chances of getting to the top are unknown. On most of my backcountry adventures, the main risk variable is avalanche danger. Huge snow slides are not much of a concern with ice covered slopes. Instead, we are grappling with unforgiving rhyme conditions on 30+ degree slopes near the summits and fickle weather.
This trip really hasn’t been about “skiing the activity” but “skiing the philosophy.” It is a way of travel on the less taken path, to go somewhere rugged. It is about having the conversations you don’t usually, asking the questions you have not yet pondered.
As we scaled the volcano’s flank, our exposure to the elements grew exponentially. Winds of 30 - 40 mph howled and pelted us with waves of snow and ice. Even with our “drafting” behind Zeb, the whole mission started to feel shaky. Walking into a white out is not exactly ideal conditions for navigating volcanic Cordera.
Not knowing whether you will summit forces a more process oriented mindset, the objective cannot be the major goal. Chile’s winters are shorter than Colorado, they get less snow, it is less cold, but everything is more volatile. There is always a chance of rain and wind, wind, wind.
Many passions in life start out glittery and glorious, loosing their luster over time. I have always expected my love of skiing to fade, largely due to days like today. Somehow, it never does. I always find new reasons to love it.
This environment’s intensity makes me forget about everything for a moment; stress, politics, money, romance, friends, the future. It’s just me and the trees, the snow and the rocks, sense of self changes completely; the need for more stimulation vanishes, these surroundings are enough.
We turned back several hundred feet from the summit, unable to see more than a few ski lengths in any direction. Wind blasted in our ears, loud like jet engines. I would have continued on. Not for the sake of touching the top; I was enjoying the blizzard, the craziness outside brought calm inside.
Zeb made the call, Laura and I agreed. Sometimes, it’s good to practice turning around right before the summit, especially in situations where it is not a necessity; a preparation to make the right call in more pressing situations.
Day 5, Lyngseidet Rornestinden
Our first day in Lyngen; our options were limited to east facing terrain, we set our sights on Rornestinden, a peak I skied with my family during my first trip to Lyngen four years earlier. With experience bias giving me false confidence in the route, I failed to relay others enough information on risk management, route and objectives. That spooked people and led to some interpersonal conflict; I took a back seat for the rest of the day. A good lesson about communication from the helm.
Decision making and evenly disseminating information in a group of five can be tough. We talked a lot about the advantages of everyone being actively engaged versus delegating group leaders. The former is preferable, but challenging.
My heart rate was really high that day, higher than it should have been for the low exertion. That was scary, it felt like my heart condition after the first time I had covid, which would make sense because it was the first time since I had covid in mid February that I really pushed my cardio (leading the boot pack on day three). This got to my head, going slowly when the guys were going quickly, I wasn’t feeling like myself.
The weather was also super fickle, sunny then windy, snowy, then clear, warm and cold, all within minutes. That messed with our heads and decision making because there were clear moments where our objective seemed in reach, where we could easily see the route and the summit, but others when it was very much in doubt.
Day 6
I took the day off while the others went to ski Sophiatinden, a beautiful sunny day, brutal to rest, I only realized later that beautiful weather days in Northern Norway are rare and special. Still, my heart and my body needed rest, and I slept for almost 5 hours during the day. Val normalized taking days off earlier in the trip. With 14 days in total, it was inevitable that at some point I would have to, especially with the scarier heart snafu. Better do it sooner than later. The rest really paid off because the next day I felt phenomenal.
Day 7, Sophiatinden
Dahlia arrives, the plan is to try to ski New Year’s Rocket, but we were scared about wind loading, because the apron of the couloir looked skewered in comparison to the day before when the crew drove past the line on their way to Sophiatinden.
We pivoted; most people took the day off, Dahlia and I skied up Sophiatinden. The weather was iffy, we made it about halfway before high winds and low visibility in conjunction with serious overhead hazard made us turn back. That night was Jared and Jacob’s last, as well as our first at Maria’s cute rustic cabin, so we celebrated with home made pizza, lots of drink, spirit and sauna.
Deep into a passion, you have to really think about how each practice fits into your life, what you want to add, alter, subtract. Having another drink takes on new pros and cons; tomorrow’s endeavor looms in my mind’s eye. What time am I going to sleep? Is this conversation really necessary? Does spending money here get me any closer to my goal? Are these companions on the same page as me?
I am only at the beginning of the reexamination. Some people, the perfectionists, the zealots, take this practice to the millionth degree: “how does this toothpaste formula improve my skiing abilities.” I sure hope I never go there. But I also hope there are a hundred more details big and little that I have yet to discover, additions and omissions from my life in the pursuit of skiing excellence. What is the goal? Easy to say I seek to ski big lines, but obviously it is more than that. I want to thrive in the mountains.
Day 8, New Year's Rocket Couloir
The conditions lined up perfectly (finally) to ski the New Year's Rocket couloir, and the day turned out to be a stunning one. Too stunning actually, because about halfway up the boot pack we started seeing major rollerballs, falling off the sides of the couloir, scary stuff. The first few we noted tentatively and continued, but after a large natural sluff current came down, we heeded the message and turned around, it was a perfect line and made it within 500 feet of the summit (on a 2,700 ft line), we were happy and it skied perfectly. A tight and aesthetic couloir.
The warming spooked us and without knowing much about our overhead hazard or how the heat was changing the snowpack, having an earlier start that day would have been good; though we had no idea it would get so warm. One interesting take away from that outing, there are so many safety measures that can be taken, trade offs always. For example, taking the time to dig a pit means a better understanding of the snowpack, but it also means more time to let things warm (if they are changing rapidly) and more exposure to things falling on you from overhead. In these high consequence zones, the calculus is never straightforward and it is good to make sure everyone is on the same page about priorities. Mental battle with myself, was what we were doing the right choice? Always reasons to go and reasons to turn around, what signals to listen to?
Standing at the top of a line, what’s going through my mind always differs. There’s no logic to it. Could be a terrifying descent full of steeps and exposure; I’m calm and unshaken. Could be an icy chute where falling carries low consequences and I’m sweating. Breathing helps. There are some moments in ski mountaineering, as in life, where you cannot say what comes next. Of the many possible outcomes, some, perhaps most, are bad. But this is an instant where trusting all the work you’ve done, the planning, physical, mental, emotional preparation, the snowpack assessments, weather and avalanche report studies, has prepared you. If you decide to ski it, you better believe that.
You have to trust that of all the possible outcomes skiing a line invites, you will execute. I try to picture it in my mind. At that point there is no reason for delay, the only way to proceed is down. I take a few breaths, equalizing myself with gratitude and hop of the ledge into my first turn. If I am scared, the descent is almost always significantly less daunting in reality than in my mind. Almost always, once in action, fear flees me, replaced by focus and feeling. Each time a mini mental ordeal overcome, each time a bit more self confidence .
Day 9, Steitinden, Urdtinden West Face
We tried to ski Steitinden in the Morning (where Dave Proposed to Julia on our prior family trip). There was a lot of uncertainty about weather that morning, but we figured we would give the route a go. 2,000 feet up in the bowl, storm clouds rolled in big time, visibility reduced to no more than a few feet ahead; scary and tough for navigation. This was a great lesson to always download maps – in the backcountry you cannot always rely on your eyes.
We were hoping the clouds would subside, but after groping around in the storm for some time, we realized our mission was fruitless, we ripped skins and skied down. This was slightly disappointing, since I was excited to come back to a place of such significance to see and potentially ski it again. This was where Julia & Dave got engaged, where I shotgunned my first beer by the beach via ice ax at the behest of my sisters, and it was where I watched them ski a big big line for the first time. That day years ago certainly provided ample inspiration. Back at the house, we enjoyed a nice nacho lunch. The prospect of relaxing at the cabin all afternoon did not appeal to me, so I thought up a new afternoon line and the weather was finally clearing.
Unsurprisingly, Val eagerly consented to this proposal so we jetted off to try skiing the tooth couloir. Arriving at the base at 3:15 didn’t give us much daylight (sun sets around 6, but because the angle is so low, light remains long after it dips below the horizon. On a side note, every day of our trip, we gained 10 minutes of daylight, or two hours in total for the whole trip, crazy.
Pressed, we skinned up the 2,000 foot approach lightning quick. Val and I moved together very well; efficient, smooth, in sync, not having to worry too much about each other allowed us to focus on the terrain, immerse ourselves in the epic environment. The Urdtinden Massif is one of the most impressive I have ever seen. 1,000 foot spires, kilometers-long jagged ridges, many 2,000+ ft couloirs, and stunning views to the south of the tallest mountains in Lyngen.
At the base of the Tooth Couloir, we thought we saw a boot pack: good news. Instead it was a huge roller ball path, a major red flag enough to dissuade us from venturing up into that abyss. So we continued to follow the up track, a perfect switchback steep skinner, up up up, four thousand feet to its summit. Though the area was popular for ski touring, our late departure left the entire basin to ourselves; the quiet solitude punctuated by the rhythm of our clinking steps, the mountains saturated in deep evening light, made for a powerful experience. The higher we got, the more we could see, a sense of accomplishment and belonging in an otherwise foreign and extreme place. There was little to say.
There is something about sharing that feeling; an unparalleled binding force for a relationship. We turned the corner around the rocks atop our Col, to reveal 1,500 feet of 40 degree, deep turns in this beautiful apron-like slope feature. That was a completely unexpected joy; neither of us thought these would be the best turns of our lives. Face shots and tumbles, floating and flying down that slope, an orange ragged backdrop.
The lesson that day was two fold; patience entreated us to an unforgettable evening after the morning outing came up short. More importantly though, we opted for the less extreme route. Instead of boot packing a steep dangerous couloir, we followed the common route, substituting stress and risk for smooth travels where our minds could focus on the peace, beauty, and grandeur of our setting. Sometimes the highest payoffs come from less extreme lines, risk taking is not perfectly correlated with pinnacle experiences.
Day 10, Urdtinden
We skied directly east from Maria’s Cabin up Urdtinden, which began at a cute farm by the sea, ascended up some perfectly spaced glades (Japow reminiscent) and then hugged a 30 degree ridge line with stunning views of the peninsula’s huge interior northern mountains for most of the way up. The ridge was wind blown, rocky in many places and it was difficult to discern where the ridge stopped and cornice started - we kept our distance. The weather was overcast and dynamic, it was hard to tell whether conditions were improving or deteriorating, an important consideration on an exposed ridge with a lot of iffy skiing below us; that was a major source of stress.
We decided to turn around at a nice col 400 feet below the summit, and right as we pulled off skins, clouds descended, perfect timing. The ski down was lovely, way deeper and more consistent snow than we imagined. Since we got such an early start, this allowed us to turn around from Maria’s house and trek two hours across the fjord to our east to visit Ally’s parents at the fancy Lyngen Lodge. Wildly, they happened to schedule their adult getaway trip during the same week and similar zone; amazing timing and coincidence, hah.
It was nice to see some people outside our group bubble. Ally’s parents were doing Lyngen slightly differently: swanky hut, top chef, luxurious apres ski charcuterie, hot tub, guides, boat, saunas, full library, everything you could possibly dream up. We were struck by how guests returning to the lodge could immediately stop thinking about the mountains, skiing, risk, and just relax; there was no debrief, safety talk, checking the avalanche forecast, decision making analysis or discussion, no need to find a route for the next day, decide what will be safe and also satisfy everyone’s expectations.
Sure these things take effort and some stress, but such rituals are also rewarding: they give a more intimate understanding of the area and conditions, making your own decisions is always better than letting someone else as long as you can help it (Maria reinforced this conviction later when we saw her).
With a guide, ignorance and blind trust can give a false sense of security. We even asked the Lodge’s guides a bit about conditions on the southern half of the Lyngen Peninsula where we planned to try to ski Nallagainsi a few days later. Even though Nallangaisi is a famous Lyngen mountain, widely regarded as the most aesthetic, and was only 10 miles away, these guides who had been tromping around here for 15 years had no idea what we were talking about. That day we got a taste of a different approach to the mountains, suffice to say we strongly preferred our own.
Day 11, Store Jaegervasstinden
The polarizing emotions of a ski trip are real, the during and post ski high is massive, the next morning low is intense. You know how much work it is going to take to get you back up high physically and metaphorically. It's a big push getting back in that state, making good choices, strenuous, etc.. The general cadence of this trip was big day, small day in alteration. But after going some time without getting the big lines you want, more deprived of the sought after highs, you become more and more eager. More inclined to make bad choices.
I carried too much emotion for different reasons into today. This gave me a negative lens in which I saw group decision making. It made me less supportive, mean even sometimes, which made everyone feel yucky, it was a bummer energy. I have two desires in the mountains: traveling into a beautiful place with people you love and moving in flowingly, efficiently, smoothly, intelligently, quickly, together. It’s frustrating when you have not skied something “big” in a while (two days), have the opportunity and the only thing holding you back is others. Upon reflection, I am keenly aware this is a dangerous mindset. This conclusion illuminated the polarizing nature of backcountry skiing, at best, it creates the most powerful connections & friendships, at worst, it brings out our selfish single minded desires.
Anyway, there’s this huge trade off we all have to decide upon in skiing, as with many other things. An individual's choice to make the passion more serious, focused, dedicated, intense, and accomplish “bigger and greater” things or instead, to make the passion more leisurely, loose, relaxed, and reap the benefits of safer, more congenial experience that strains less on stresses and friendships. All of us prefer some balance of these extremes in our mountain passions, the mismatch of which inevitably causes conflict. I felt that acutely on this trip; discord among close friends who have previously done everything together, expect and want to do this together, but are not on the same page about. In the end that conflict is ok. There is so much more to friendship and life than mountains and skiing, it's only that in Norway on a ski trip, I easily forget the bigger picture.
The final pitches were an epic boot pack, conveniently paved by three snowboarders who were a bit ahead of us; a godsend in the super deep snow. An hour later, Val and I stood 350 feet from the top of the tallest peak in Northern Lyngen with views of the entire Lyngen high peaks area. It was quiet, no wind, snow, or cloud in the sky. Magical. Such a large space, expansive almost overwhelmingly, but also so comfortable and familiar…weird.
It is amazing researching a route like this, looking way up at it on the approach and thinking to yourself, “wow that's too extreme, I don’t think I am up for that” and then proving yourself that you can climb to the top. I had never ascended a peak quite like that before. That emotional high was almost unparalleled by anything I’ve known. That feeling seeped into every part of my body. When I was sitting up there, it was impossible to think about anything else. I was so focused, immersed in my surroundings. That bliss, profound connection to the mountain, to myself, and to Val made all the social and mental struggle from earlier in the day feel worth it. Enigmatically, these ordeals almost made the accomplishment more satisfying.
Something I have always kind of known, but have not until now been able to put succinctly: emotions about people before skiing are good, after skiing they are good, but during skiing they are not so good. People who regularly make me more emotionally volatile are not ideal backcountry ski buddies. I have some speed demons in me.
I realized today that when I ski with a select few, I am rarely, barely emotional. We are usually in synch, speaking the same mountain language. My decision making is not compromised, I am salient, rational, focused on my surroundings, clear minded. It sucks to not be able to flow in the mountains with all the people you love. But accepting this truth is better than forcing bad dynamics resulting in sour, sometimes dangerous backcountry circumstances.
Day 12, Maritindan West Gully
The backpack ritual became a religious and exciting part of every night. It was a way to ruminate in anticipation for the next day’s goal. It is a time to be thorough, detailed, and self sufficient. Everyone has their own tastes and preferences (I bring chocolate, val brings more, I carry an ice ax outside the pack, Jared inside his). The ritual culminated our nightly planning frenzy, its familiarity made retrieving and packing equipment a smooth and efficient process.
Originally Val and I aspired to ski Nallangaisi’s west face that day (inspired by Nikolai Schirmer), but our big push the day prior left us less eager to huff it again. This was reinforced by the unnerving Avalanche forecast which called for a deep reactive storm slab on all aspects. And with Ally and Dahlia having been deprived of the chance to ski a Norwegian Couloir yet on the trip, we figured we better make that a priority for our last day.
Near Tromso, we found a perfect 3,000 foot 30º average couloir heading up a south facing peak right off the highway route from Maria’s cabin. We skinned up almost halfway, which made for some technical kick turns (good practice) and ample incentive to avoid falls! That was nice though because at that point both Val and I were tired of fiddling about with crampons.
Though the forecast called for chilly temperatures, strong sun perpendicular to our ascent route made for melty snow, which on steep slopes caused a crescendo of rollerballs, accelerating over an hour from a trickle to a cascade. Some roller balls are normal, acceptable, to be expected. Many rollerballs hint at a threat of overhead cornice and snowfall turning into a fatal loose wet avalanche. In our windy chute, we were unable to see fully above us. Though we only had a third the way to go, and summit fever boiled hot, we prudently transitioned in a quasi sheltered spot and relished a few last turns of Lyngen’s best on Maritindan West Gully.
