A Month in the Far North by Van

All winter long we had been wondering where to spend a month away. We wanted somewhere that felt far, unfamiliar, and ideally without getting on a plane. The idea was to do something a little outside our routine. Lydia had already spent a few weeks on the Lyngen Peninsula and was eager to return. This time she had a new plan: she wanted to bring gear to cross the fjords so that we could reach faces that would normally take plenty of time walking. It meant cutting across the water and diving into adventure, without getting wet, what the Germans call “Abenteuer”.

Spending a month in Norway, especially this far north, can get expensive. To stay mobile and keep costs down, the van quickly became the obvious choice. Of course you need to be ready to knit, swap stories, or listen to audiobooks for more than three thousand kilometers. But it is worth it. We did not have much heating, in fact hardly any at all. Sometimes we really missed it. In Lyngen, April never became very cold that year, but it was still fresh. Inside the van the temperature was usually between zero and five degrees, and sometimes less. It was not easy to warm up after a full day of ski touring.

Planning food was another puzzle. Shops are scarce, and prices quickly changed your habits. Logistics for ski gear are just as important, especially drying boots and clothes. When it comes to safety, avalanche gear is non-negotiable. A beacon, shovel, and probe are mandatory, and an airbag backpack is also an essential safety device we wouldn’t go without. Also an ice axe, crampons, ski crampons and always one extra warm layer are highly recommended. The weather turns fast in Lyngen and it can go from fine to freezing in no time.

Geography and Meteorology

Norway is a mountainous country stretching from 59° to 71°N. It is characterized by long winters, steep fjords ending in the Atlantic, and a complex weather and snow regime. Alpine terrain and cold, multi-layered weather patterns foster a significant and complex avalanche situation (Engeset 2013; Jensen 2018). Snow cover lasts from three to eight months depending on latitude and elevation (Larsen et al. 2020). The winter season extends roughly from late December to late May (Jensen 2018). Northern Norway is on average about ten times warmer in winter than other locations at the same latitude. This is mainly due to the Atlantic, which transports warm water currents from the southwest and low-pressure systems with warm air into the region (Hanssen-Bauer 2015).

North Atlantic cyclones follow so-called “tracks”:

• Northwestern tracks pass over the Norwegian Sea, bringing precipitation to northwestern Europe and mild weather to surrounding regions.

• More southerly tracks bring precipitation to southern Europe and cold periods to northern Europe (Van Loon & Rogers 1978).

Average monthly temperatures in Tromsø are 1.2 °C, with a monthly averaged minima around -7 °C and maxima around 9 °C. Further inland for example around Bardufoss, maritime influence decreases. Mean temperatures there are slightly colder at about -3 °C, with minima around -16 °C and maxima around 10 °C (Jensen 2018).

The snowpack in Troms can be characterized by:

• the formation of rain-induced ice layers during warmer years,

• depth hoar formation during colder years,

• and increasing occurrence of constructive metamorphism of snow crystals further inland.

Thus, the snowpack can be described as an arctic-transitional snow climate (Velsand 2017; Jensen 2018). About 70% of Norway’s ski freeride terrain lies above the treeline (Larsen et al. 2020). Despite regular and detailed avalanche bulletins, it must be noted that these rely primarily on data from measurement stations. In 2013, however, no stations were located above 800 m a.s.l., the average potential avalanche trigger elevation in Norway. In the Lyngen Alps, peaks frequently exceed 800 m a.s.l., reaching up to 1,700–1,800 m a.s.l. Most stations are located below the treeline, which in northern Norway can be near sea level. This results in an underrepresentation of meteorological variables such as precipitation, air temperature, wind, and snow depth in alpine areas, the very terrain frequented by skiers (Engeset 2013).

Skiing Where the Mountains Plunge Into the Sea

Lyngen is not a huge peninsula, but there is plenty to do. In a month we felt like we had barely scratched the surface. People often speak of North Lyngen and South Lyngen. You can reach the peninsula by road from the south or by ferries from the east and west. On this island you can ski more or less every day and for every taste. One day, in heavy snow and fog, we crossed a magnificent birch forest. We found gentle slopes under thirty degrees for the days when avalanche risk was to high, and steeper couloirs for when fitness and conditions aligned. There are even slopes that seem accessible only by leaving the day before and bivouacking overnight. What impresses most, beyond the postcard Norwegian scenery with fjords, snow, red and white houses and drying fish, is how alpine these mountains look despite being only up to eighteen hundred meters high. Cornices, rime, vertical snow covered faces, everything feels as if you were three thousand meters higher than reality.

Packraft and Skiing, a Surprising Match

In our planning Lydia always had in mind to bring packrafts. I thought it was a strange idea. To go so far north, beyond the Arctic Circle, and bring inflatable boats? But it was non-negotiable and part of the famous Abenteuer. We got in touch with Treckpack on the recommendation of friends. Just a few days later the packrafts arrived, complete with all the gear and clear instructions. The team at Treckpack could not have been more helpful: relaxed, quick to respond, and perfectly tuned in to what we needed. Before we knew it, the boats were in our hands. A packraft is an ultralight boat that folds down to fit in a backpack.

Depending on the model, it weighs only a few kilos. You can carry it effortlessly, even across a mountain, or drag it over snow like a sled loaded with gear. On the water it is remarkably stable, and the side tubes can haul an impressive amount of equipment, everything you need to bivouac and ski for several days! After a phone call with Christian & Carsten to present our plan, they knew exactly what we needed and advised us to take the following boats:

Denis and Lea: Alligator 2s pro

Lydia: Rebel 2k

After a successful test run at home on a lake, we were convinced it was a good idea. Of course, in Norway in winter, it is best not to fall in the water. We had set ourselves strict rules to only cross fjords with calm weather and calm seas.

Three kilometers of paddling to start was enough, and we reached the other shore excited, with gear and food for four days. The first night was cold, but not surprising. The next day we enjoyed a beautiful ski tour with a stunning view of the fjord. In the afternoon Lydia, tireless as always, went skiing again, while Lea and I went to observe a glacier from the water in our packrafts. One of the best decisions was renting a small solar panel from Treckpack. In the cold, batteries quickly lost power. Being able to recharge phones in the sun was invaluable. On the third day, Norwegian weather reminded us who is in charge. We woke up in the clouds, with wind, and a much less reassuring forecast than the day before. We decided to pack up.

Avalanches, Accidents and Avalanche Warning Service

The strong growth of ski tourism and freeriding in Norway has led to a measurable increase in exposure time in avalanche terrain. Accident statistics reflect this trend. Between 2010 and 2018, nine of twenty one avalanche fatalities involved foreign nationals (Jensen 2018). Norway’s national avalanche warning service (Varsom) was formally established in 2013, primarily in response to a cluster of severe accidents (Engeset 2013). From a European perspective, this was comparatively late. Switzerland founded its service as early as 1945 in the wake of wartime disasters, followed by Italy in 1957, Austria in 1960, Germany in 1967, and France in 1970. In every case, the catalyst was one or more catastrophic avalanche events.

An analysis of accident causes in norway shows that seventy eight percent of incidents involved a persistent weak layer problem. Apart from the remaining accidents caused by cornice failures, all recorded slab avalanches were linked to old snow problems (Jensen 2018). The regional distribution is also striking: around sixty percent of all avalanche accidents in Norway occurred in the north, twenty-one in Troms, eight in Nordland, four in Finnmark, and four on Svalbard (Nordahl et al. 2016). Temporal clustering is similarly notable: fifty four percent of all avalanche cycle days occurred in April and May. This is likely related to the increasing complexity of the snowpack over the course of the winter.

The Godmother, a Couloir Apart

A few days later, after warming up in the sauna in Alta, we looked for a new idea. In this completely snowcovered landscape, a Norwegian asked us, “You came all this way to ski, in the summer?” We smiled. Up there, when temperatures rise, they rise fast. A warm weather period was forecast, with ten degrees above zero. Winter was ending. We had a few days left to try a couloir we had spotted a week earlier from the road. A straight, elegant line above a fjord had made us stop immediately to take out binoculars, maps and cameras. Recent tracks showed it might be possible.

The conditions seemed alright. No wind was expected, the snow was stable, it was a north face with a slope of around forty-five degrees over one thousand meters, with a few steeper sections. Thanks to the packrafts we could avoid eight kilometers of walking along the fjord shore, paddling just one kilometer instead. We crossed the fjord early in the morning. On the other side we found hard, icy snow at the bottom. Without ski crampons, which you should never forget, we had to climb almost the whole way with skis on our backs.

The setting was breathtaking. Below us was the blue water of the fjord. In front of us was a steep slope that looked like a diving board between two ice walls. The ascent seemed endless. Even Lydia, who rarely stops, took a break. We tested the snow regularly, staying alert for falling rocks. My friend Antoine, after seeing the photos, joked, “In this kind of couloir, the real danger in an avalanche is drowning.” As always he exaggerates, but here in this vertical well the joke had a particular resonance. The summit was stunning. Two eagles circled upward in the warm air currents above the ridge. The view opened onto the sea and the mountains. After over six hours of climbing, the moment had a special flavor. The descent was serious right from the first meters, which were the steepest. There was no flat section, no room for error. Thighs burning, concentration at its peak, and the joy of skiing in a truly unique setting.

The next day we learned that this couloir had a name: The Godmother of all couloirs. The local guide we spoke to knew only two ways to access it, either rent a boat or walk along the fjord. He laughed heartily when we told him about our packrafts. Lydia had been right, once you put skis and paddles together, the playground suddenly gets bigger.