The romance of an overnight train journey is not lessened by a destination deep inside the Arctic Circle. Nor is it lessened by the hassle of excessive ski luggage. Nor even by the trepi-dation of spending the next three nights under canvas without heating, showers or a bed. But as romantic as this mode of travel undoubtedly is, the luxury of the Orient Express feels a world away.
I’m standing on the platform at Stockholm station surrounded by a motley crew of skiers from all over the world, and wondering what exactly I’ve signed myself up for. We’re heading to a ski camp in the wilderness around Vassijaure Lake, at the 68th parallel. It has been organised by the Swedish brand Haglofs, and alongside me are a bunch of their sponsored skiers, as well as retailers from the Netherlands, Japan, the UK and elsewhere. All of them are dressed for what looks like a serious Arctic expedition.
Still, there’s not much time to question my choices, as we board the train and cram into triple-bunk compartments smaller than the legal requirements for a one-bed prison cell. The ski bags then follow us in, making things even cosier. I’m not the most introverted person in the world, but this kind of social scenario is enough to give anyone a touch of anxiety, especially as I’ve joined this trip alone.
Thankfully, my two Dutch bunk mates are passing around a crate of beer before the train leaves the station and our cell (or the sliver of corridor outside it) quickly becomes the focal point of the party. I find I’ve achieved popularity by association, and the ice is well and truly broken.
“There’s a massive derailment of 62 carriages carrying iron ore”
Twenty-two hours and some slightly fitful sleep later, we arrive at Bjorkliden. The railway line to Vassijaure has been forced to close so, our last 30 minutes will be by replacement bus service. I thought I’d left that sort of thing behind in the UK, but at least here they have a cast-iron excuse. Quite literally. The closure is due to a massive derailment of 62 carriages carrying iron ore. I later learn that some 15km of track was put out of action for more than three months, and repairing it cost five billion kroner (£380 million).
The end of the line
The arrival at Vassijaure is surreal. There’s an imposing, four-storey train station building, with a grand looking tower and… not much else. There appear to be approximately four houses in the vicinity. It feels impossibly remote. But the enormous station, with its multiple tracks and cavernous halls, was built to serve industry, not people. For over 120 years, trains carrying iron from Swedish mines have stopped here to transfer their goods to Norwegian locomotives. They then carry it over the border to the Arctic town of Narvik, the closest seaport, at the end of a long, deep fjord. Vassijaure is the last station on Swedish territory. The end of the line.
Not wanting to head to Narvik ourselves, we have nowhere else to go other than up the mountain. So although it’s late in the day, and we’ve had a long, long journey, we fall into what will become routine: apply skins, strap on backpacks, and start sliding upwards. The sun is only just beginning to descend to the horizon. It’s early May, so it won’t go down until after 10pm. But it is already throwing that magical warm light that you only see in the far North, making the sight that greets us as we reach our camp all the more spectacular.
A tiny village of about 20 tepees has been erected in the middle of nowhere. There’s an all-encompassing view across vast swathes of northern Sweden. And it appears that we’re the only ones here. So far, so rugged. But as we unpack, I’m encouraged by the little touches of luxury that soften the daunting edges: reindeer skins on all the campbeds, a full-on chandelier inside the dining tent, and a sauna. (This is Sweden after all—did you not see their Eurovision entry this year?)
“A tiny village of about 20 tepees has been erected in the middle of nowhere”
After a surprisingly cosy night’s sleep, our first day’s skiing is laid out by our guide, Maya. The plan is to climb 700 metres to the Vassi South summit—the peak for which the area is named. The sky is blue, and the snow is solid from the freezing overnight temperatures. But the sun is taking the edge off the frigid air, and there is every hope it will soften the snow before we descend. On the final summit approach, we’re looking down into the Norwegian fjords around Narvik and beyond. The sun doesn’t seem to have had much effect on the surface temperatures, but it holds enough warmth to allow for a lazy picnic lunch with views that seem to stretch right to the North Pole.
It’s almost a cliché to say you’re privileged to be somewhere, but in this case it’s literally true. The land is owned by the local Sami people, the indigenous inhabitants of this area, who traditionally lived as semi-nomadic reindeer herders. Haglofs had been given special permission to run their camps here. “This place has something extra,” one of the local guides tells me over lunch. “You can walk for hours in any direction and not see anyone.”
Our first descent is on very even snow on a very consistent slope, and is just soft enough to be great fun. Perfectly angled terrain takes us onto a frozen lake and then another 150 metre climb out of the bowl on the other side. Unfortunately, the final descent back to camp is a rutted and frozen-solid bone-shaker—or as my Dutch friend puts it “not so much skiing as sliding to safety.” But it’s impossible to complain about the conditions when you’re greeted by cold beers, superb food and a sauna in a tepee.
Just a perfect day
Day two dawns with little expectation for the skiing ahead, but it’s another perfect weather day. Maya has decided to take a more flexible approach and see where the conditions lead us. It’s important to keep out of the slight wind that has built—gentle but brutally cold—and after yesterday’s survival skiing, everyone is keen to look out for any potentially softer snow.
The ascent is beautiful: snow-white Ptarmigans playing in the sun, wide open spaces and gentle gradients, punctuated by sharper climbs and dotted with terrain features accented by the low-angled sun. Whether it’s local knowledge or the power of the spotting scope that she’s using to check out lines, Maya comes good. Against all the odds, she’s found us a long pitch of pristine spring snow, bouncy and forgiving and long enough to make your thighs burn. It’s a perfect spring descent. We’re funneled down eventually into a natural halfpipe which narrows further into a twisty-turny gulley, just to multiply the childish sense of fun everyone’s feeling.
“We got carried away on the descent and now face a long slog back”
Having all got a little carried away with the descent, we are now faced with a long slog up over the shoulder of the mountain to make it back to camp. Alternatively, Maya says, we can follow the shallow gradient slowly down to the edge of the protected Sami lands to where there is a snowmobile track, and catch a tow back to our tepees.
Waiting in the frigid wind, and subsequently thinking my arms are going to fall off on the long tow, I’m not totally sure I’ve made the right decision. But as the snowmobile pulls into camp, and I’m once again handed a cold beer, it ceases to matter. It helps too that the musical entertainment for the evening is just kicking off. The journey to reach this remote wilderness has made the adventure seem more of a pilgrimage than a ski trip. The bonding with fellow travellers and converts has accentuated the feeling.
Tonight, I’ve played hacky sack for an hour with a Hungarian-Scot, a Japanese guy with not a word of English, and an American pro snowboarder. I’ve never played hacky sack before in my life, and didn’t expect to start in the Arctic. I haven’t showered in three days and my toilet is a hole in the ground. Under canvas, and heavily under the influence, our attentions are rapt on an incongruous guy with a guitar and a sampling machine who has the room—well, the tent—bouncing. And I realise this isn’t just a pilgrimage. It’s a festival. A remote, ski-based, and highly exclusive festival.
What a privilege.
Snow How
Our Trip
Dan Wildey travelled as a guest of Haglofs. The Haglofs Ski Camp will run next May, with exact dates still TBC. Packages include guides, accommodation and all meals. Keep an eye on their website for bookings and prices.
Getting There
Multiple airlines, including Norwegian, British Airways and SAS fly non-stop from UK destinations to Stockholm from £80 one way. From there, the overnight train to Vassijaure takes between 19 and 22 hours. Tickets start from 1,227 kroner one way (£95). Alternatively, you can fly from Stockholm to nearby(ish) Kiruna, and catch a 1hr 45 minute train from there. But the long train ride is half the fun.
