Breheimen / Jotunheimen on skis

When

Apr 2-10, 9 days of skiing.

Where

From Grotli to Övre Årdal in central Norway, across two national parks: Breiheimen and Jotunheimen. The trip included several summits, passes over 2000 m, and glaciers, so this was essentially a combination of nordic and alpine touring (using a nordic skiing setup).

I had explored the area pretty well on two previous summer trips through Breheimen and Jotunheimen, and now the idea was to ski it. Knowing that any travel plans are highly contingent on the weather, I didn't even attempt to plan any specific route, but simply came with an open mind and about 10 days’ worth of food, hoping for a day or maybe two of sun. And then, unbelievably, I got 8 - eight - unbroken days of sunshine in a row, with nearly perfect visibility and great snow conditions. Absolutely, totally mind-blowing. Awesome.

I guess you are bound to get lucky eventually if you doggedly ski the foggy Scandinavia year after year. This was my sixth skiing expedition, and by far the greatest overall experience due to the superb weather. I had had my share of blizzards, fogs, and whiteouts on the first five trips, but this trip paid the balance in full. This is what I always imagined skiing should be like: clear days, frosty nights, snow-capped peaks all around, sparkling powder, boundless vistas, limitless possibilities. Everybody I met on the way had a huge smile on their faces - everybody was enjoying themselves this Easter in Norway.

My one regret is that my phone - and the spare battery - froze solid within an hour of my getting off the bus in Grotli at -20°C. I never managed to turn it on after that, despite sticking it in the warmest places I could think of, so I only managed a couple of snapshots on the entire trip, not to mention that I had to rely entirely on the paper maps and had no GPS tracker until the very end. It actually worked OK without a GPS given the good visibility, except for the final day, when I descended into the wrong town in the only whiteout of the trip. The lack of pictures is sad in a way, but I really believe that this beauty must be experienced first-hand. So grab your skis and go!

Weather

Mostly sunny and clear, with only a few short snowfalls. This late in the season, temperatures rose at least to 0°C in the middle of day, and with the sun shining and little wind it felt incredibly warm. I spent a lot of time skiing in just baselayers, with no hat or gloves, and on one occasion it was even possible to take a nap in the sun without a sleeping bag. At the same time, much of the time it was actually well below zero, so the snow seldom got sticky or slushy, and at night it was consistently below -10°C, sometimes down to about -20°C. I found some small unfrozen streams, but these were few and far between and often hard to reach, so I melted most of my water, as usual.

Trail & snow: Breheimen is far less frequented than Jotunheimen, but both have some trails that are maintained and marked in winter. I had to break trail only about half the time, and the skis seldom sunk deeper than ~10 cm, so my progress was much faster (~25 km/day) than, say, in Sarek last year – even in spite of the great daily altitude changes. It hadn't snowed much the weeks before my arrival, but it had also been cold and not too windy, so the snow was mostly good for skiing: a bit of crust here, a bit of shallow powder there, little ice, not many exposed bare patches. This was an unusually cold spring in Scandinavia, but in general it seems like early April is still “winter” up in the mountains here. The days are comfortably long, and sunny hours bring a hint of the coming summer, but this is definitely still legit skiing season.

Equipment

8 kg base weight + 8 kg of food and fuel, backpack only (no pulka). Skis: Fischer S-bound 112 mm with Easy Skins for climbing. Unfortunately, I lost one of the climbing skins on day 4 - it slipped off because the fixation point had been damaged on the bus I took back from Sarek last year. This proved a huge blow as I spent much of the last few days summitting, but I also realized that the short skins are not enough for Jotunheimen-type terrain. While Norwegian randonnee skiers happily marched past me on their way up to another peak, I had to zigzag endlessly, do acrobatics like the herringbone or side steps, or even just climb the steep sections on foot (post-holing through deep snow, obviously). Of course, I never expected to do so much climbing - it was only possible because of the crazy weather - but it still brought the point home: full-length skins are a must in a place like Jotunheimen.

On the bright side, I had my best downhill skiing ever, ever, ever on this trip. The S-bounds worked very well on descents, especially with cables (I used the telemark binding Voile Cable Traverse). Descending from Glittertinden (2400 to 1300 m) was simply mind-blowing, and that was just one joy ride. I climbed above 2000 m three days in a row, and each time there was a slope to descend afterwards, not to mention numerous deep valleys on the way.

My boots (Fischer BCX6 3 pin 75 mm) broke towards the end: the soles started to delaminate, and there were multiple deep cracks in the sides. So: two trips, 20 days of skiing, and the boots are caput. I think that says it all about the quality - avoid.

Shelter: a floorlees silnylon pyramid tarp. I didn't bother with snow caves on this trip as there was seldom much wind. In such calm conditions this simple shelter was perfectly adequate, and in fact I was never more comfortable in winter camps.

Miscellaneous: I tested two new pieces of winter gear on this hike. The first was a warmer sleeping bag, namely Sivera Inoch -18. At 1800 g, it was 150 g heavier than the Hyperlamina Torch I used before, but it felt about ten degrees warmer (comfort at least -10°C wheen sleeping in just baselayers), so I was fully satisfied. The second, highly experimental trick was to wear a one-piece baselayer, the Ninja suit from Airblaster. I was very apprehensive about this one because of the questionable fit and material, and in fact I didn't dare to test it last year in Sarek, but it worked just great, especially as the only layer on warm days. I had it on day and night, continuously, for nine days, and felt very comfortable (and yes, going to the bathroom is a breeze – as usual, a rather refreshing breeze at -20°C). The only mistake was not to bring an additional thin insulating layer: the parka was too warm to wear on the move, but without it the skin felt chilled below -10°C because the wind reached through the shell and the base layer. So having just three layers (base – shell – thick insulation) is adequate, but one more would be good for comfort.

For more details on the equipment and food used on this trip, see spreadsheet.html.

Logistics

There: a bus from Oslo to Grotli. Back: a bus from Övre Årdal to Oslo. Pretty smooth, but of course ridiculously expensive (hey, it's Norway), and without a functioning phone it was a struggle to figure out the schedules and find bus stops.

Maps

Paper maps: Breheimen Topo 3000 and Calazo Jotunheimen, both 2 cm = 1 km (only the Calazo showed winter trails). Offline maps on the phone via Oruxmaps. Online topographic maps on norgeskart.no.

Days 1-4: across Breheimen (Grotli to Smörstabbstindan)

Imagine getting off a night bus at 5 am, just before dawn, onto a snowy road in the middle of nowhere. Twenty degrees Celsius below zero, a bright moon shining, just a hint of red in the west, snow and mountains all around. That was how this hike began. I quickly dressed, prepared the skis as best I could on that dark road, and set off without waiting for daylight to keep warm. It was tricky, but not impossible to find the way in the twilight of predawn, and in an hour or so the light became strong enough to see the landscape clearly.

A minor road, and then a decent snowmobile trail, led all the way from Grotli up the valley of Mårådalen and over a low pass into the valley beyond. It was about 20 km and 500 m up in elevation from Grotli, so the climb was a bit laborious after a sleepless night and with a full backpack. The temperature rose dramatically after sunrise. Once over the pass, I did the unthinkable: inflated my sleeping pad, draped my parka over myself like a blanket, and just dozed off in the sunshine for an hour or so. So refreshing!

From here the summer trail leads between the glaciers south to the mountain lodge in Slaeom, but the visibility was so perfect that I simply ascended the glacier, aiming for the lakes of Kupvatnet and Austdalsvatnet on the eastern fringe of the enormous glacier of Jostadalsbreen. My power nap kept me going until the top of the glacier, but then I felt like it was time to call it a day after 12 hours on the trail. Camping right on top of a glacier at 1500 m is pretty risky business because the visibility might drop overnight, but the views were terrific, and my luck held: I woke up in the morning to another day of blue skies and sunshine.

Considering the good conditions, I didn't immediately descend to Kupvatnet, but continued south over the glacier and only skied down to Austdalsvatnet - a large "lake" that probably loses its ice cover for a few weeks every other year or so. A word of warning: the glacier above Austdalsvatnet has a lot of deep cracks and ends in a icefall, but I had no trouble skiing around these obstacles and descended easily at the very northern tip of Austdalsvatnet. Once there, I had to break trail through deep, stubborn powder all along the lake, to the dam at its south end.

It’s just a few kilometers from Austdalsvatnet to the lodge at Sprongdalshytta, and there were even some old tracks here and there, but this stretch proved extremely challenging because of the icy crust on steep slopes. Despite still having both climbing skins at that point, I really struggled on the slippery crust and wasted a lot of energy. No-one had followed the summer route from Sprongdalshytta south to Arentzbu recently, so I had to break trail again. The snow was not as deep, though, and the scenery simply fantastic, so it was a pleasant stretch. I also saw lots of animal tracks, including a whole family of wolverines.

The country was less wild from Arentzbu onwards, and I followed some kind of trail most of the way east to Nördstedalseter, and then across the lake of Storevatnet (following a marked winter trail) and on to Krossbu at the foot of the peaks and glaciers of Smörstabbstindan. This entire area is extremely diverse and never flat: you are always either climbing a steep slope or speeding downhill. Despite this and the variable snow conditions, I felt like it was easier to ski through Breheimen than to go through it on foot, as I did back in 2017, and I enjoyed this leg of the journey a lot. The taluses and moraines become smooth snow fields in winter, you can ski right across lakes instead of scrambling laboriously around them, etc. But, but, but: all this works so well only in good visibility or when there is a clear trail to follow.

Days 5-8: across Jotunheimen (Smörstabbstindan to Tyin)

The moment I emerged out of Breheimen and reached the road near Sognefjellshytta, the isolation and quiet gave way to crowds of people doing alpine touring. It really seems like the whole of Norway goes to Jotunheimen to do that, and no wonder: there is a road leading to every valley and a lodge or two under each glacier or major peak. Despite the regrettable crowds, I must admit Jotunheimen is spectacular in terms of the mountains it offers, and in fact it's easier to traverse than Breheimen: there are broad, relatively flat valleys between mountain chains, rather like in Sarek. So, while in Breheimen a hiker is forced to go up and down constantly, here it's more of a free choice. Considering the continuing good weather and diminishing backpack weight, I freely chose to climb a lot :))

The first day began with a snowfall. I woke up prepared to climb Smörstabbstindan, only to find that it was snowing and blowing. Typical, thought I: I camp under a peak in perfect weather, and in the morning a snowstorm comes and spoils my plans. But no: by the time I was done with breakfast and had melted an extra liter of water for the day (which actually took up to an hour per day - the gas didn't burn very well), the clouds had partly lifted, and I dared to start the ascent. What followed was an interminable session of zigzagging, herringboning, sliding back on my one remaining climbing skin, and feeling mortified at the ease with which a string of AT-equipped Norwegians marched past me on the way to the pass. Ah well, I got there in the end (the pass between Sokse and Björnskardet, 2000 m), then skied down the other side - rather cautiously because of the icy conditions near the top. And then, very suddenly, I ran completely out of steam and had to just plop down on my backside and rest in a ferociously windy valley near Leirvassbu. It's interesting how sometimes the body carries on hour after hour, and then the blood sugar just plummets and everything comes to a grinding halt.

A bit of rest and emergency food did wonders: I gradually revived enough to ski for a few more hours, first slowly and then at a pretty brisk pace as there was a good trail leading steadily downhill. In fact, it took me less than 2 hours to ski about 15 km to the foot of mount Galdhöpiggen, where I camped within easy reach of the lodge from which everyone climbs the highest twin peaks in Scandinavia: Galdhöpiggen and Glittertinden. Galdhöpiggen was a bit too steep for my liking, and I initially intended to give Glittertinden a wide birth as well, but the next day dawned bright and still, and I just couldn't resist. Everything that I struggled with the day before was repeated on an even grander scale: herringboning and post-holing on foot where all "normal" climbers marched right up on their full-length skins, but raw perseverance prevailed. After six hours of very intense climbing I stood at the top of Glittertinden, having gained about 1300 m of altitude and spent I don't know how many thousand calories in the process. The descent was the best downhill skiing I'd ever done, so no regrets.

You would think it might have been a good idea to take it easy after two very intense days of alpine touring without climbing skins, right? Well, another day of climbing followed, another perfect day of sunshine and frost, perfect visibility and powdery slopes. I took a winter trail to the pass of Veotinden, then veered off to a quick dash to the top (2250 m). Another speedy descent took me to the valley of Surtning - an old acquiantance from last summer's hike. And then why not finish the day by climbing the glacier of Vestre Memurubrean? I walked into the sunset over the glacier, through untouched powder, then raced the setting sun down the valley on the other side and camped near the lake of Langvatnet, feeling that I had already done everything I could ever have hoped for on this hike - in fact, way more than I ever imagined. These were some of the most rewarding moments of my entire hiking career.

The next day (day 8) was sunny again, so I had no trouble first following a winter trail, and then doing a little cross-country south to Fondsbu, and from there along a winter road to the enormous lake of Tyin. Once there, I felt like I had essentially completed the hike, having just 20 km or so left to the bus stop in Tyinkrysset. But the last day, very unexpectedly, turned out to be a big surprise.

Day 9: a botched finishing march

I pitched my tarp just off the skiing trail on lake Tyin at a beautiful sunset after another sunny day. However, in the morning the wind was blowing, the snow was falling thick, and there was no visibility at all. I followed the marked trail as best I could, applying glide wax liberally to prevent icing, and by 11 am or so it seemed like I had reached the end of the lake. Instead of continuing south to Tyinkrysset, however, I must have curved around the lake. The trail became a road at some point, but with no visibility and no GPS (and being off my paper map by then) I had to way of knowing which road was which. The compass warned me that I was veering off to the North-West, but it had malfunctioned before (magnetic anomalies?), and by the time I realized something really fishy was going on, it seemed a bit too late to turn back. Long story short: eventually the clouds lifted to reveal an unfrozen fjord ahead and far below. Oops... Instead of 5 km from Tyin to Tyinkrysset, I had done 20 km and descended all the way to sea level at Övre Årdal!

At first I could ski on the road, then a snow plow passed back and forth, leaving only the shoulder of the road covered with snow, then further down the snow turned into slush, and then finally I gave up on skiing altogether and simply walked on bare asphalt, down the endless serpentine road with Övre Årdal far below. I was incredibly lucky to arrive, rather foot-sore and tired, just half an hour before the departure of the daily bus to Oslo, so this major navigational gaffe didn't delay me much, only made me feel very silly indeed as the bus chugged up the same road that I had walked along, back into the snowstorm at the same lake Tyin where I had been that morning. Ah well - I’ve always said that getting to and from the trail head is by far the toughest part of every hike. And with that, mischief managed.