Tromsø - Like Scotland on Spinach ! Alan McHardy May 2011 Think of Norway and most people will think of fjords, fish, long skinny skis with no edges, wooly clothes, aloof and occasionally rude middle aged greying males, and of course the stupidly expensive beer. After more than 5 ½ years living in Norway, I’d have to agree wholeheartedly with them. But I’d also have to add a few others. For instance; quite possibly the most consistently high standard of skiing ability to be found anywhere, bar none; a stupendously beautiful landscape that leaves you gasping for breath upon every twist of the exceptionally twisty roads; but most importantly a really great scene of super friendly, fit, and chilled snowthusiasts. Some other things I wouldd associate with Norway are tunnels, ferries, humungous drives, hot dogs (they love ‘em), and deep, deep, powder snow. Norway, ladies & gentlemen, has no lack of snow. April 29, 2011 - I travelled back to Norway for the first time since I moved home to Scotland six months earlier. Destination: Tromsø, at almost 70° N, 250km inside the Arctic circle. After one of the snowiest winters in recent years, this was perfect spring skiing time of year, with cover virtually to sea level on most aspects. The landscape around Tromsø differs significantly from Southern Norway; in the south the deep valleys and fjords are like gashes hewn out of the vast unbroken expanse of the Hardangervidda; which at generally > 1000m is the largest upland plateau area of Europe covering 6500 km2 according to Google, but in reality effectively much larger running up the entire west side of Southern Norway from Stavanger area in the South, connecting with some mountainous ranges running towards Trondheim latitudes in Mid Norway, it often forms a geographically insurmountable barrier in the deep winter months. In effect West/South Norway is often plateau with some vast but poorly connected holes cut into it. Although staggeringly impressive and beautiful, this landscape results in long tunnels, numerous ferry crossings, ridiculous drive times and high risk of falling victim to the severe punishments inflicted for relatively minor speeding infringements. Furthermore, once up on the ‘Vidda, there aren’t actually that many mountains to climb! There are marvelous exceptions to this of course; Jotunheimen, Romsdal, Sunnmøre to name a few, but that story is for another day, because today, its’ to the far North we go! This was my 3rd trip to Northern Norway. Here the mountains form discrete peaks and craggy ridgelines, rising to above 1000m from sea level but often set back slightly compared to the unridable chasm walls of the south. Intricate bluegreen fjords weave their way around a complex coastline where islands and mainland are indistinguishable. But deep wide valleys forever connect and safely transport the journeying rider to their destination, with no worries of snow chains, closed roads, or horrendous all-night detours. Basically, think Scotland, but with half a can of spinach thrown in. Oh, and one other crucial, fluffy, difference.

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A typical North Norway scene The trip was precipitated from a plan set up by some friends from La Grave, Haute-Alpes, France1 for some post lift-closure spring touring turns and good times with some friends (also ex-la Grave seasonaires) that now live in Tromsø. I arrived 4 days early (due to dastardly work considerations) but thanked our future King William for my free travel day and hence +1 day snow time. Upon arrival I hooked up with ex La Grave seasonaires Stig Pettersen (NOR) & Ina Annerås (SWE) and was immediately put to work cleaning the ski-boat that Stig works on. Unfortunately, its costs a bomb to hire out and so, we weren’t taking it out (fitted out with Sauna, hot tub and Turkish Hammam), it gets used for plush ski trips to forgotten fjords, and judging by the mess we cleaned up, the odd bebauched party, check it out at www.vulkana.no. I now learnt that Stig and Ina had for my 1st day entered us all in a local fun off-piste downhill comp. So by 9a.m the next morning we were skinning up the 991m Skittentind (pronounced “shit-en-tind”, and translating to “shitty mountain”) on the island of Kvaløya, 20mins drive west from Tromsø. The comp was to be a mass start, top to bottom, any-way-you-want, affair. A forgiving 2hr skin saw us to the summit with only 1 or 2 kick turns required, the top pitch being 30-35degrees constant gradient for 400 or so vertical meters, slightly steeper at the summit. As the clouds moved in and then out a feeling of incredulity arose within me, familiar 1

where I spent a full season in 2009. Like Scotland on Spinach... by Alan McHardy

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from my previous trips to North Norway. It reminds me of the feeling I get on the beach when I try to imagine how many grains of sand are flowing through my fingers, or are on this beach, in the world. The incredulousness realization of the sheer epic-ness of this place. In a 360 deg view from my viewpoint, within 1 or 2km, I could pick enough lines to keep any skier happy for days, if not weeks. Stretching off into the horizon to the East & South were 100’s of km more of that. No skier could hope to begin to ski out this land in a single lifetime. After an hour of hapless waiting, we got the word that it was good visability a few hundred m’s below us and the girls set off. Ina is super strong with 6 (or so) Alpine seasons behind her and had eased herself up the hill on a Rossi BSquad/tour wrecker combo. A couple of GS turns later she had disappeared into the mist and it was the boys turn. The Stig, was sporting some crotch enhancing girls lycra tights and flowery shirt, modeled with a Sweet trouper helmet and some Fred Syversen pro model “Ragnarok” White Dots under Dukes (see inset). My tactics were clear – don’t get in the way of The Stig. So I started right next to him but waited about ¼ second, figuring I could tuck in behind him. When I looked up after ½ second, it was just in time to see him making figure 11’s into the mist 100m below me. That was the last I saw of him, the rumour was later that he had broken 100km/hr on the top stretch. I set my Coomback/Dynnafits off at a pace neither of us were entirely comfortable with but was nevertheless left trailing well behind most of the hardcore Scandi field. Underfoot was about 10cm of fresh-ish windblown, but badly chopped up, as we dropped out of the cloud transforming quickly to heavy spring, crud, and then slush in the bushes at the bottom. After narrowly avoiding a calamitous stack I got both feet back on the ground and arms lower than head height, in time to rollover the last summit with burning thighs. I hit the tree line 30 metres above and left of my target and managed one last glory hunting straight-line through some bushes to overtake. My placing was about 10th out of 15 in 5mins 03 seconds, which I was pretty satisfied with for a 1st days work. The Stig was 1st in 3m 9secs. Just to be sure you got that I,ll say it again, that’s getting on for 1000 vertical meters off-piste in variable snow, in little over 3 minutes. Later on he said, “yeah, I didn’t really turn that much, only when required”. Ina managed to come 2nd in ca. 4mins, even though she crashed twice.

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Stig at the start line Then followed a few days of solo touring as the rest had to work. It was relatively easy to pick safe but aesthetic mountains from the map (www.kart.no) or by eye just driving around in my wreck (www.rent-a-wreck.no). I did 3 summits around 1000m in 2 days, always taking a safe 20deg shoulder line up/down (Ok one day I dropped into a corrie headwall with 40deg short section, but the snow was hardpack, if not quite Scottish bulletproof).

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Thereafter things got spicy again, in fact, I found a mountain so damn good I did it 2 days running. Storsteinnestind (big stone nose mountain), was a steep, baking hot hike up from the sea to a 600m false summit, 100m descent, then a somewhat exposed but easy bootpack / ridge traverse in soft snow, followed by 500m more skinning. There followed a 1000m north facing descent to the fjord. The snow started off with 400m of 10cm deep creamy soft wind buff, giving way to fast grippy hardpack and eventually bulletproof (1st day) and super slush (2nd day). The top was glory skiing with short 40deg pitch then constant 30ish the whole way down, beginning with a panoramic view out and across the fjord, with its huge craggy island guarding its mouth, and off into the far North Atlantic ocean with the early evening sun still high in northwestern sky. A huge bowl fed down into a broad couloir abutted by 600m high cliffs. You couldn’t have smashed the grin of our cheesy faces. This was the stuff dreams are made of…., oops concentrate.. hop over the gap caused by the refrozen beginnings of full pack-depth slide (the snow pack is here sitting on huge granite slabs and lower down seems prone to some full depth nonsense – so go carefully), and take a hard right as soon as the cliffs abate. A hard traverse at about 150 before sea level saves most of the long walk back along the rocky beach of the fjord. Watch out for huge quantities of snow hanging over your head, and eventually give up the tree dodging, gully bashing and heather hopping and drop down to the beach for a glorious cigarette / cup of tea and 15minute rock hop back to the car. 6 hours total.

Setting off down from Storsteinnestinden

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Further down Storsteinestinden

Rock hopping along the fjord

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Looking back The days were so long that they didn’t actually ever end. This helped significantly since we had >11 people spread over 3 houses but only 2 cars, and a chief organizer who likes to be spontaneous. And so one sunny lunchtime we set off from Tromsø, on the 1-1/2hr journey to the fabled Lyngsalpene. But we forgot to account for Norwegian work regulations and when we got to the small ferry crossing to the peninsula, found that it was lunchtime. For 2 hours we gaped across the fjord at the 1600-1800m pinnacles of white and wondered if we were in Alaska or Patagonia, The Lyngen Alps truly are world class. We watched the tide come in across the sandy bay, larked about on the now floating icebergs, and began to get agitated as the clock ticked into the mid afternoon.

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The team waits anxiously for lunchtime to be over Once across we headed north from Svensby, and the rumour came through from the other car that our organiser had procured the use of 3 snowmobiles (technically illegal so please ..shhh!). “Who can drive a snowmobile” came the question!? Not so snow starved, but fellow haggis muncher Grigor Browning, saved the day via his experience during time living in Canada. We ferried ourselves up a long bushy valley at breakneck speed that topped onto a glacial col above a secret bowl at about 700m a.s.l., The bowl encircled by steep chutes and faces below a summit at 1000m. Playtime!

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Claim! That ride Since The Stig was still ferrying passengers up the hill I knew my time was now. I spotted my line and saw I had to get there before himself and Grigor, for they surely will have that one also. But alas, in my haste I made a painfully poor route choice, which resulted in boot packing up steep knee-deep snow on slippy rock. After an hour of full combat I reached a summit and followed what from below had looked like a 10 minute ridge dash along to my line. I realised my calamitous error. It was long, intricate, corniced on 1 side, steep on the other, deep, and soft. The corniced shady side sat above a steep multi hundred-meter slide down hardpack, the sunny side seemed more appealing. I picked my way along, staying as far over to the less precipitous but sun sodden right hand side as I dared, with occasional rock climbing where the ridge became very narrow. All the while my friends could see me where they sat 400m below, which gave some sort of comfort factor after all. By the time I was halfway along the ridge, my water long gone and real fatigue setting in after 6 continuous days straight from my coffee and cake strewn computer desk in Aberdeen, I spied 2 bodies restlessly prevaricating on the summit a half mile away. It could only be Stig and Grigor and I realised they had taken the other route, which had proven a vastly better choice than mine. I banged my poles above my head and hollered for them to go for it. No further invitation was required and they soon tore shreds out of the two juicy chutes lines I had been targeting, what now seemed like a distant time ago. By the time I got there I was caput. Totally broken, and getting clumsy with it too. Two hours in the ring with Lyngsalpene in a searing polar sunshine had finished off fatty oil boy. I rested, ate, and got set for my descent, still intent on getting in a nice line. Two gingerly executed turns over the convex entry that I knew went but by now I was too chicken, and drop off the spine into the next chute, turn, whack, rock, ski-not-on-foot. Probably due to the fact my skis were embarrassingly perpendicular to the fall line, I managed to stay Like Scotland on Spinach... by Alan McHardy

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on my feet and not tomahawk down the 40 degree slope. Five minutes later I had my ski but discovered it was missing the dynafiddle lock out piece from the toe, but at least I had gained a good coreshot (on my only 4 week ski-old K2’s) to prove the existence of the rock – all was not lost. So I gingerly skied down and meekly crept back into basecamp while everyone waved The Stig back off for his next performance.

Back along my nemesis ridge He stood for 5 or 10 minutes weighing up his entry tactics for the selected chute, before the Flying Norwegian let rip. You certainly couldn’t have described it has dropping in that’s for sure. From our viewpoint I’d guess it was 30m vertical and 20 horizontal, over rocks onto 45 degree slope between cliff bands and skied off to the bottom 2 Stig-turns later. A round of applause from the watching crowd and off we went, a somewhat more relaxed but awe inspiring glide down to the road in the eyes of a still not setting but getting lower sun, with the golden yellow fjord capped by two tone peaks, grading into metallic blue at the edges of our field of vision. I was so knackered that Grigor took pity on me and did the driving home – a 90km/hr race for the last ferry at 9.30pm. Luckily we had stocked up on beer that morning and so the drive home on semi-permafrost subsided roads, wedged in the back of the seemingly suspensionless Honda Civic rent-a-wreck was the best after ski since, well, the day before. There followed a necessary rest day and a rainy day of indecision that ended up producing some bonus unexpected powder turns –on May 7th!

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Tusen takk til alle Norske ..... and La Grave friends that made it happen – you know who you are. Northern Norway – I’ll be back (fitter, better and with stiffer skis).

© McHardski 2011

The flying Norwegian Stig, just left of centre-middle

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Guillaume enjoys a well-earned smoke

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