The pleasure is intense until the last turn. From the foot of the couloir, we can see across the valley the line we will have to reach the following day. It will allow us to meet the slopes of our start and thus to complete the circle. But before that, we have to skin up to a new pass in order to get to a couloir leading us to Trollfjord. This is where Eivind waits for us with his boat. We put on our skins again and start hiking up. One step at a time. Conditions are ideal but the more we make our progression, the more our room for maneuver shrinks: the only way out now is from the summit.
As our ski days unfold, I get more and more used to the logic of our routes and I learn to accept it. This time, a short ten-meter rappel allows us to avoid an enormous threatening cornice.We find our way down, experiencing another magic moment. The couloir is in perfect condition, the last danger of the day is behind us… We ride down the face and get all we can from it. One last effort to cross a large frozen lake, until the fjord is in sight.
A few meters away from the shore, an old wooden boat rocks. On board, a shaggy-haired captain with a beer in hand waves at us in a friendly way. We had a long day. Freezing, tired and not really knowing where we set foot, we embark on his boat. Eivind hands us beers and points at a smoking cooking-pot. We are three hours late. He had plenty of time to prepare us a fishing soup, which happens to be by far the best I have experienced in my whole life.
Wearing a sweater with oversized stitches, Eivind is a worthy descendant of the Vikings. This bearded giant is simply crazy about skiing. He fell in love with the Lofoten islands about fifteen years ago, and is one of the first freeriders who explored this archipelago. Hailing from Stavanger on the mainland, he chose to settle in the area together with his wife and their little daughter Nuur. In the winter season, he criss-crosses the fjords with his old scow searching for perfect lines. Then, when spring returns, he goes back to Stavanger to work in his chocolate factory where he sells high-end sweets.
The immersion is complete. We spend the night at his place, rocked by the crackling of the wood stove. The following morning, after some moments of laughter shared with little Nuur, it is time to hop on the boat and continue our trip. Lionel and Miguel scope the surrounding mountains with their binoculars to determine the route and a landing stage. We launch the tender boat and leave Eivind behind us. A big party has been organized today in the village to celebrate Nuur’s second birthday, but if we had to turn back for any reason, he has promised to fetch us…
Our legs are heavy, the start up is quite painful. This time, we just exchange a few words, each one tries to do their part. A cloudy sky replaces the nice weather of the previous day. I am the only one to be happy about it, as the light reflected in the fjord is simply unreal!
The hesitations of the morning get confirmed after a few hours of ascent. A last turn makes us realize that what we hoped would be a couloir allowing us to access the coveted face turns out to be a wide closed cirque surrounded by steep cliffs. Lionel barely speaks, he makes headway and utters directives bit by bit. By acting so, he probably avoids useless conversations regarding the outcome of our adventure, which seems pretty uncertain that very moment.
Being able to give up is part of ski mountaineering. Doubt surfaces in our minds but up until now, risk is under control and retreating remains possible… So we decide to keep going in this cirque where the white landscape distorts distances. The steep faces around us gradually seem less and less threatening. We continue our progression. Things are going fine for the time being.
We take off our skis and put on our crampons, beginning a long, endless, exhausting ascent. We eventually reach the summit. The wind picks up, making any conversation impossible. We scramble down a few meters and find ourselves on the face which will bring us back to the shores of the fjord we left the previous day. But the wind knocks us out and reduces visibility down to nothing. Once again, Lionel sets off first and disappears a few meters below, as if swallowed by the mist. The line is here, just under our feet but it is impossible to ski it. A few minutes later, we can hear through the walkie-talkie: ‘A large slab is about to release just beneath you, put on your skis very carefully!’
Miguel breaks trail and we follow him one by one, leaving a large distance between each other. I meet the rest of the group on the flat when their eyes are suddenly caught by… Then that noise. Blass and Adrian, who were standing right beside me, have just been swept away by a snow slab. Time freezes, we try not to lose sight of them. The avalanche stops and calm returns. Blass and Adrian are punch-drunk but out of danger. We come to our senses and strive to laugh but we have to get out of here. The tables have turned this time and we have to get down as quickly as possible. The rest of the adventure is chaotic, the face has been destroyed by gusts of wind. We reach the forest safely but our legs feel like jelly. Lionel guides us with his voice, opening each section and avoiding traps.
That evening, shared beers at the lodge will have a different flavour, but the weather will be nice tomorrow. We will go back skiing.
