Have you ever had the feeling to be in the right place at the right time? It was not the first time I found myself in the departure hall of Oslo airport. Yet, that day, in the midst of the ceaseless flow of travellers, an odd complicity seemed to be prevailing between the passengers about to take off for the Northern part of Norway. More than ever, I had a good feeling about the rest of the adventure.
The origin of this trip dates back to a few years ago when I made a deal with a mountain guide named Lionel. It was an obvious exchange of know-how: ‘You take me skiing and I shoot some photos for you.’ I had dedicated the last fifteen years of my life to climbing. First as a climber, then as a professional photographer. An exclusive and consuming passion, which ruled most of my life choices, the way I was shooting images and shaped my approach of the mountains… And this to an extreme extent… Ski touring sounded like the perfect escape to avoid explosion.
After a few sessions in the Pyrénées, it quickly became an obsession. The feeling of the blank canvas, a new excuse to go in the mountains and above all, a whole new world to discover. A world focused on aesthetics and the search for the perfect line… A dream for any photographer.
This is how I found myself on this flight between Harstad and Narvik, a small airport located 400 kilometers above the Arctic Circle and the gateway to the Lofoten islands. As we were beginning our descent, I could see the fruits of our longing through the window of the plane: a multitude of pristine islands bathed in some unreal light. The airport itself perfectly sums up the atmosphere of the place: a deeply contrasted mix of bearded Vikings and freeriders wearing fluorescent jackets. In the middle of that crowd, I meet Lionel, a subtle crossbreed of those two types now familiar with the area.
We drive past Svolvaer, the local freeride capital, and reach Henningsvaer, a small village built around a cod-fishing harbour. A timeless place at the back of beyond, surrounded by big mountains plunging into the ocean. This is where Lionel and Kari have set up their basecamp, in a colored fisherman’s house. They spend there several months of the year, guiding groups of skiers staying in their lodge. A cup of coffee in my hand, riveted to the window, I can sense the magnitude of the landscape. But no time for daydreaming, I have to meet the rest of the group for the briefing.
The Lofoten are composed of a myriad of islands connected to each other by an intricate network of roads and bridges. Rising above the sea up to an altitude of 1000 meters, a multitude of steep mountains and potentially rideable faces. An ideal spot where you won’t suffer from the negative effects of the altitude. But there are other factors you will have to bear in mind: the ocean is never far away and some mountain ranges are only accessible by boat. A constraint which explains why so many beautiful lines still have to be opened.
After a first day spent skiing nearby the lodge, a weather window seem to be looming the following day. The first goal of our expedition is the main summit of the Lofoten, the Geitgallien culminating at 1 085 meters. A paltry altitude in comparison with the Alps, but the difference is that we start here from sea level. It is a popular route and we are not the only ones: the race for the first track started at dawn. It does not matter, the environment is stunning and the effort pleasant. We quickly reach the fore top just below the main summit. This is where most skiers stop and start riding down the South couloir. Its entrance gets pretty crowded in just a few minutes. We decide to put on our crampons to hike up to the summit, from which we can contemplate one of the most magnificent panoramas over the Lofoten islands.
It is now time to break free from the topo. Instead of riding with the crowds in the South couloir, we decide to switch to the North face. Lionel goes first, and we quickly meet him. A large combe stands just in front of his skis. An untouched patch of snow, just enough to go insane… Lionel tells me to go first: a photographer’s privilege. This is the moment every skier is dreaming about in the mountains: to ride the first track on a face. Like the first brushstroke on a blank canvas. This is undoubtedly what surprised me the most in the beginning and what viscerally attracts me when I freeride: the search for aesthetics. Here, performance is often put aside, while it is the main criterion in many sports.
Writer: Raphaël Fourau
Magazine: Les Others
