Heliskiing the Arctic

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Originally uploaded by hvs.

We look down the steep gully. A rock ridge curves down its right hand flank. Krister, our guide, points up and over to the left. It's been snowing heavily the last few days.

- That slab will go if you sneeze. Do not veer out left, no matter how tempting it seems. It's just too perfect. Follow the ridge closely.

He pauses.

- Stay on your skis.

We're heli-skiing way above the arctic circle in the north of Sweden. Riksgransen is a skier's ski resort. There's nothing here, really. A small hotel, a ski shop, half a dozen lifts. Oh, and vast amounts of mountains in every directions. The off-piste opportunities here are unsurpassed, and being where it is, it's a bit of a secret. Compared to your average ski resort, this place is different. The skill level on display is by far the highest I've ever come across. Most people wear avalanche trancievers, shovels and probes, and that's just at the bar. This is a place where people come to ski, not to pose or to party.

We've travelled here firstly by flying into Stockholm, and then spending 18 hours on the overnight train, covering pretty much two thirds of the length of Sweden. You can actually fly from Stockholm to Kiruna, which would dramatically cut down the travel time, but it proved impossible to get a flight that would connect in a sensible way with our return flight to London. The train jpurney proved a bit of a drag, and for next time, if we can't fly, it's worth the extra spend to get a slightly less shared cabin. Ours was designed for six, but due to some loop hole, apparently you can cram however many children you want under the age of sixteen. Sleeping on a moving train is hard enough as it is.

Still. We arrived safely at Riksgransen, tired, but with high expectations. Although I'm from Sweden and have skied all my life, I've actually not been here before. They have two metres of snow here, and the season is really only a month old. Yet, it rains. It rains above the arctic circle, at Easter. Our hearts sink as we lug our skis and bags into the reception. The resort is shut due to high winds. It's lunch time, and we can't check in until 3pm. We're informed that normally we wold have been able to go skiing, but alas..

We spot a guy that sports the coveted UIAGM badge - a qualified mountain guide. As qualifications go, that's as qualified as it gets, regardless of field. We chat to him about the options for the following day, and he suggests half a day of off pisting from the lifts, such that we can get a handle on the resort, the snow conditions, but also so that he can gauge our abilities for any further fun and games. There are some awesome off-piste runs you can either get to from the lift system or by short walks or slightly longer skinned ascents.

We meet up the next morning at 9am. It's been snowing all night. Winds are still high, and the resort's shut. Krister appears and suggest that we drive a bit and go for a short tour - skinning up a hillside for a few hours and then ski down. We load our skis into his van, and are greeted by his dog, Vanja. We drive for about 40 minutes towards Abisko, and park up next to the road. Both Sarah and I have alpine touring bindings on our skis, meaning that we can release the heel. By attaching 'skins', that is sticky-backed strips of fabric, underneath the skis, you can 'ski' uphill. You can slide the ski forward, but not backwards. It's sweaty work, but not outrageously demanding - more hill walking than running. It's still pretty windy, and our ascent is punctuated by icy streaks that are hard to negotiate on skins. Vanja, the dog, is loving it. The aim is to reach the summit ridge, traverse out left to reach a colouir that should provide for some good sport on the way down. About two thrids of the way up it becomes clear that the weather is taking a turn for the worse. The wind is picking up, and the visibility that was already ropey is not becoming any better. We lock our boots into skiing position, and our bindings into downhill mode and set off. Two hours uphill effort is dispatched in 15 minutes on the way down. Even if conditions are not ideal, you get carried away by the remoteness, the feeling of solitude on the mountain.

The heli-skiing operation here holds near mythical status amongst Scandinavian skiers. There are literally hundreds of skiable peaks that can be accessed by helicopter. I've held the ambition to heli ski here for as long as I can remember, ever since a relative told me how he spent three winters here, heli skiing his savings and degree away. Unfortunately, the weather is still stormy, with horizontal snow, and flying's out. To add insult to injury, the lift system's shut as we amble into the lobby at 9.
Ski patrol is busy blasting, trying to make the piste safe, and an hour later the lifts open. We ski with Krister who's plan it is to show us some of the accessible off-piste. However, the weather is shite, and our moods sink. Then, at coffee, a gap opens in the sky, and Krister suggests an 'amble' up Nordalsfjall, the huge mountain next door. It's too steep for skinning, and at some additional 500 meters of vertical, a significant climb in ski boots and skis on the back. We ski on the flat to the base of the mountain. The weather is actually looking up, comparatively speaking, but we're the only ones here. We dismount and strap our skis to our packs, and switch our boots to walking mode. We set off up a steep, icy streak of hard snow studded with rocks. Krister is breaking ground, and we cover some impressive scrambling ground, occasionally diverting around cornices. We reach the summit plateau sweaty, but awarded with some impressive views of the Swedish and Norwegian alpine range for the first time. We lock our boots and set our bindings in downhill mode. The descent is pure off-piste ecstasy. Half a foot of fresh powder on top of whatever fell yesterday and the day before. There are many possible ways down from here, ranging from the insanely steep to the more pedestrian. We choose the classic route 'The Saddle' which follows the shoulder of the mountain down to the col and then follow it down to the north. It's perfect in every way. Perfect snow conditions and visibility. The whole mountain to ourselves. Skiing does not get much better than this.

The next morning the weather looks so-so, but Krister looks hopeful that flying may happen. There's a bunch of Brits here with SnoWorks who have been sold three days of heli skiing in Lapland, 15 lifts guaranteed. So far they've had nil, and they're getting itchy feet. Sarah and I decide to explore the resort, but by the time we've got our skis out of the locker we run into Krister who's had to cancel the flying as the weather's rapidly taken a turn for the worse. Sarah and I ski for about half the day, but it's no fun in a gale with zero visibility. At 1pm we start to head back and by the time we reach the hotel the resort closes.

Thursday, and I wander to the lobby just before 9. Weather's looking, well - I can see the peaks around, which apparently is the litmus test. The board says that the lifts are due to open at 10, once blasting work after the night's heavy snow fall is complete. Krister is not there. I go back to the room, and gear up. Sarah goes to the lobby, and I go to the ski locker to pick up our skis. As I come back up, I meet Sarah in the corridor, heading the other way, informing me that we're on.

Jan, the German heli pilot is already busy getting the machine ready. There are two groups of us, the SnoWorks crew and us. We, as in me and Sarah, won't fill the helicopter, so the remainder of the places have been taken by staff from the nearby ski lodge, Meterorologen, including Patrik, the sommelier. Sarah's never been in a helicopter before, and doesn't like flying on the best of days. We load up, and take off. Sarah's in the front between the pilot and Krister, and Krister's dog Vanja at her feet. She's looking worried. Krister points up to the left at our first objective; a huge rocky crest of a mountain that doesn't look skiable. After a short flight we're deposited at the top of the mountain, and huddle kneeling as the helicopter takes off to pick up the other group. As we put our skis on, Krister turns around and says, jokingly, as he faces the impressive vista in front of us.

- What do you think poor people do today?

We all giggle nervously, considering the hefty chunk this game has taken out of our wallets.

What follows is impossible to do justice like this. Acres of untouched, perfect powder, shared between six people and a dog. This takes skiing to a different level, and there is no going back. Krister and Vanja sets off, and we all pick our own patch and follow him down the mountain. Questions like 'is it worth the cost' are meaningless at this moment in time. Five drops blend into a seamless whole of powder, and we return to base for a beer.

Come Friday, and the weather's crapped out again. After yesterday's high, it's an instant come-down seeing, well - nothing, really - out the window in the morning. We spend the morning honing our avalanche transceiver skills. We manage most mock burials within the set 15 mins, but with one 22-min blot on the protocol. In the afternoon we meet up with Will and James, two Brits here for a heli-weekend, minus the heli it would seem. In the blizzard, we skin up a green run on the piste, and amble down. Yet, as Sarah and I have settled down with a few drinks and some Bittorrent-TV, the skies clear, and two groups manage five lifts in the dying light.

Saturday, and the weather's marginally better. Heli seems out, so we decide to head to the Norwegian side for a touring ascent of a suitable peak. We take off with Krister and a friend of his, Anna. As we park up the car, the skies are blue, and an incredible display of fiords and peaks is on show. We don skins and wander up the 800 metres of vertical up Rombakk Stotte, to be rewarded by possibly the best off piste run of the whole week back down to the mini bus. We head back, and go for a beer in the Meteorologen lodge. Jan's just come back from taking the helicopter for its monthly service, and suddenly it's on again. One space left.. after some haggling, I graciously volunteer.

Skiing will not be the same again. Nor will the bank balance.