• TRAINING •

The Finse/Hardangervidda region of Norway is a fantastic training ground for Arctic expeditions and a real hub of adventurers on or preparing for expeditions. After a short flight from London to Oslo, and three trains breaking down over a 9-hour train journey, I started my expedition by training with Ousland Explorer's expert arctic guide Ine-Lill. With her real-world arctic experience and insight, I gained invaluable knowledge and wisdom from her on all aspects of expedition life. We also covered safe glacier travel and crevasse self-rescue skills in-depth, developing techniques so that if I did unfortunately fall into what can be monstrous, miles-deep, cracked ice ravines, I would have a decent chance of escaping and surviving.

You can see our tiny simulated crevasse in the pictures, plus the complex amount of life-saving equipment needed in such situations.

The bottom line, though? Avoid crevasses like the plague. Falling into one is incredibly dangerous and potentially fatal - especially on solo expeditions. For obvious reasons, I have no desire to ever ski through a crevasse field again, but they can't always be avoided or predicted. Especially in our rapidly changing global climate.

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Over two days, I learnt more about Ine-Lill's adventures in Antarctica and elsewhere and how she is an epic explorer. Listening to her describe her groundbreaking 2007 expedition to the South Pole while eating our rehydrated meals under clear starry skies was particularly epic.

We compared ideas, equipment and techniques for living and travelling solo on the ice and had a laugh comparing our ultimate junk foods when on expedition. It made us pretty hungry.

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• SOLO •

After two days on my own, Finse was showing its true colours, trying to blow me off any given mountain or ice cap it could. Day and night.

The weather and terrain can change rapidly and drastically around Finse and Hardangervidda, which explains why all the polar greats have trained here before any major arctic expedition. If you include the Hardeangervidda plateau, it's the perfect playground to hone all your skills and expose your weaknesses. Looking back, I think the video where you can’t really hear anything I’m saying sums up the weather and specifically the wind in that place!
One evening, I experienced a storm so violent and unexpected that nothing in Greenland or Svalbard even comes close. For me, that’s saying something.

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• EVAC •

On day 5 of my expedition, I skied to the beginning of the Hardangervidda plateau, and based on locals' advice, camped just below the Finse ice cap for the evening and morning ahead. The views were epic and the weather calm, fresh and cold. It was predicted to be fairly windy that night but I was camped into the wind and had a massive rock face as a natural wind block.

Time to eat and relax.

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Around 10pm, as I was attempting to sleep, the wind direction completely shifted, hitting gale force strength and relentlessly pummelling the side of my tent and lifting me and it. I knew this was bad news.

In complete darkness perched on the side of a mountain, I desperately tried to further secure my tent against the storm but with wind and hail battering down and only 1 metre of visibility with my head torch, I was fighting a losing battle and quickly becoming very wet, cold and in serious danger of losing my tent and my equipment. The turning point came after a few minutes of this chaos as my tent violently shuddered up into the air as one of its main lines tore off, flying into the darkness and sending my sled (pulk) flying down the mountain with all my food, fuel and equipment in it. I jumped for my pulk, grabbing it in time but saw my skis and other equipment stashed in the tent starting to take off in other directions as my tent lifted wildly without my bodyweight holding it down.

I couldn’t hold onto everything at once and visibility was still essentially zero. My tent wasn’t going to last much longer in this wild, wild storm and if I lost my head torch, sat phone and skis, I was in a truly life-threatening situation.

While holding it down against the power of the storm, I took essential items from my tent and quickly hauled it to the ground, burying it along with all my other equipment under as much snow as I could get hold of. I partially buried my spare ski in the ground and also left a GPS marker so I could attempt to find everything once the storm passed.

As I witnessed my kettle rocket off down the side of the inky black mountain I knew this storm wasn’t going anywhere and if anything, was gaining momentum so I put my skis on, wrapped up as quickly and as best I could and while my head torch was still working, started to carefully ski down the side of mountain towards an emergency shelter I knew was half a mile due west of my position.

 

I knew that if I didn’t navigate precisely and missed the shelter by only a few metres, I would ski right past it, off the side of the mountain and become utterly lost in this violent storm and the all-encompassing darkness. I tried not to think about this and after skiing for what seemed an age, I noticed an unnatural-looking shadow flashing ahead of my headtorch beam.

It was the shelter!

I’ve never been so relieved to see a building in my life, shouting and screaming for a while as I climbed into the relative safety of the ancient wooden hut. Once inside, in total darkness and listening to the storm batter the shelter relentlessly, I realised how much my adrenaline was pumping. I was trembling, and it wasn't just from being cold and wet.
The pictures you see are from my 14 hours inside the shelter while I dried off by the fire, tried to sleep, updated the emergency services and watched as the storm constantly ravaged the mountain and my tiny shelter. It was pretty impressive to witness.

The following afternoon, the storm calmed enough so three Red Cross volunteers, a German Shepherd and I could fly back up the mountain on snowmobiles to locate and dig out what was left of my tent and equipment. Thankfully, only my kettle, shovel and a few small tent items were lost to the storm and once back down the mountain and in Finse, I was treated to a delicious warm sandwich. I hadn’t eaten or really slept in over 20 hours so that sarnie that you see in the photo tasted very good.
After inhaling said sandwich and letting people back home know I was back safe in Finse, I was asked to give a talk on my experience to the massed Norwegian emergency services personnel who happened to be taking part in 10 days of training at Finse.
I was more than happy to do this because without their help and expertise in those harsh environments, I wouldn’t have been able to bring my equipment back down easily or safely, and for that, I am incredibly grateful. Everyone in Finse was amazing and helped so much. Thank you.

I then stowed my gear and passed out for a few hours while it dried off.
The next day, after checking, replacing and repairing my equipment, I skied out again to continue my solo trip. It was another windy night that night. I didn’t sleep much.

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• WORKERS CABIN •

10 days in, on my own and deep into the Norwegian mountains, I met a fantastic Norwegian family who’d renovated a 150-year-old railway workers' cabin deep in the Finse wilderness. It's hard to describe what it felt like to stumble across this place after 10 days of living alone in a tent and almost being blown off a mountain... The photos and videos describe it much better than I can.
It was, and still is, one of the most unique and impressive buildings I’ve ever seen.

The family was incredibly warm and generous, welcoming me with authentic Norwegian stew, a roaring fire, family stories and strong drinks. Polar bear skins, emergency guests breaking windows, and an incredible polar library were just some of the treasures in that cabin. I got to know the family and enjoyed the traditional, vinegar-seasoned Norwegian stew with them one night while we waited to hear from the Red Cross about whether we needed to evacuate them back to Finse.

 

In the end, we could either leave the cabin the next morning or stay on, getting snowed in and stuck at the cabin for potentially 2 weeks. With a very heavy, 3-day storm heading our way, we ate our stew, looked through some vintage polar exploration books, and drank and chatted by the log fire in preparation for waking up early to ski the 20 kilometres back to Finse while the older family members travelled back on snowmobile. 

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I hauled all my food and equipment, plus all the family's essentials and powered back to Finse, arriving as the storm started to hit. The storm was intense, constantly shaking my hotel room walls and forcing all expeditions to return, with one team dealing with a genuine arctic ordeal. Due to the ongoing storm and my looming return flight to the UK, my expedition essentially ended there. It all blew my mind a little bit, I imagine it would blow anyone’s mind to be honest. It was such a fantastically unique expedition for me and one I will always remember.

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• RETROSPECT •

I was very grateful to have Ine-Lills experience and wisdom on tap, and like every guide I’ve ever worked or spoken with, I learnt so much and so much you would never learn alone. My head was crammed with wild stories, vital experiences, and new information and skills by the end of my time in Finse. It truly is a hub of arctic explorers, and thanks to all who shared their insights with me during my two weeks of ups and downs in the Norwegian winter wilderness. ​

I'll be back!

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