Words and Images by Brennan Lagasse
In a tight bunk, in an even tighter room, I gently sway back and forth at 78 degrees north. Somewhere high above the Arctic Circle, bobbing about in a 62-foot sailboat anchored in the Arctic Ocean, I flip, I flop, and try to be quiet for the sake of my bunkmate. I gently roll over and try to get comfortable again. Right now, sleep sounds just as good as skiing another untouched couloir to the ocean. I’ve tied a bandana, t-shirt, and even a pillowcase around my head. There’s no use in fighting it. It’s been three weeks and my internal clock still hasn’t adjusted. No matter what I do, I can’t sleep for more than a few hours at night. Maybe that’s because there is no night.
I know if I look outside, the sun—which literally never sets in late May and early June—will trick my brain into thinking I should be awake and get ready for a ski tour. It’s 4 a.m., but it looks like a sunny noon anywhere in the lower 48. The trip is pretty much done. We’re docked in Longyearben, the place where it all began, and the only thing that puts me back to sleep is trying to comprehend what just went down.
Svalbard offers some of the most dramatic ski opportunities in the world. Glacially inspired postcard moments seem to be around every corner.
Still conscious, but in a dream-like state, I see Tracey and Jenny arcing some of the best powder turns of the trip, Alex and Jon carefully picking their way through a complex, technical couloir, and Joel and Kendra with ear-to-ear grins after another “best day ever.” Our first week was the stuff ski dreams are made of.
When you travel from all corners of the globe and find yourself in Svalbard, Norway things are bound to get interesting. Alongside world-class ski guide Andrew Eisenstark, I had the honor of guiding this once in a lifetime adventure for Ice Axe Expeditions to one of the most northern swaths of land in the world. Just 600 miles south of the North Pole, Andrew and I met the true leaders of the expedition, Captain Stein Simenstad and First Mate Helga Eide. The two seasoned Arctic explorers have spent countless hours sailing, skiing and traveling around the Svalbard archipelago. From our traditionally prepared Norwegian meals to sailing the Arctica II to scoping aesthetic lines in a sea of some of the most striking ski terrain on the planet, Stein and Helga worked tirelessly to ensure our group was indeed able to experience the extraordinary.
There's a lot of gear sorting to be done before you can set sail for a ski mountaineering adventure on the Arctica II.
I’m still not asleep. I can feel warm rays of sun peeking into my bunk even though I now have the blanket pulled over my head. All I can think is that there are too many memories to focus on just one. I meditate on that first week—skinning across polar bear tracks, climbing a couloir while thousands of birds screamed in unison with each step, the walrus pup and mother floating on an iceberg, a naked dip in the Arctic, Kendra paddleboarding in a bikini, and skiing with a loaded rifle in case of a polar bear encounter. We covered a great deal of ground that first week, skiing some of the best snow of the entire trip.
Cold north winds remind you that this is the Arctic, so when the wind blows, it’s really, really cold. Furthermore, it’s not only hard for the Arctica II to stay put, it’s hard to launch and safely land the zodiac to shore. The zodiac is how we access skiing in Spitsbergen, the largest island of Svalbard adjacent to the Greenland Sea, where we spent most of our time sailing and skiing.
See anything worth skiing?
With some maneuvering on Stein’s part while manning the boat and Helga expertly running the zodiac, we finally access a point on the beach where we can all safely get ashore. Walking the beach is such a unique feeling in ski boots. It’s not often you’re doing such a thing, but here we are. It’s a couple of steps from sand to snow before the skintrack starts getting set.
We’ve skied a good amount of fun, albeit variable, snow through the trip, but this outing was a keeper. A long drawn out skin with just enough pitch to feel like you were climbing brought us to a bench, passing a large headwall with sphincter-clenching options abound. It was here that the snow got colder, softer and the path of ascent took us to the west, up a bit more, where yet another couloir was in sight. Unlike the steeper lines we had seen and skied earlier in the week, and the ones that would end up being the crowning jewels of the trip the following week, this one was fairly tame in terms of pitch. It was wider than most of our lines, but caked in Arctic powder.
After Stein and Helga parked Arctic II into the ice sheet and tied the boat off with ice screws, the rest of us were able to get ready for another day of exploring.
Andrew had been setting the skintrack, so when the couloir got steeper it was my turn to put in the booter. Gradually, we climbed and shook our heads collectively in a state of disbelief. The sun was bright, water encircled 180 degrees of our view and to the north, inlets covered in ice spoke to the dramatic, harsh, and unique landscape we were exploring. We took turns cautiously, milking our way down until the couloir opened at the apron and wider turns felt natural. Loud yelps and fist pumps filled the air—everyone was fired up and the ski back to the boat was bliss.
After the first week, we bid our guests goodbye and welcomed another group, only this time things were a bit different. The crew was solely comprised of ski guides, pro skiers, and a professional photographer. The mission was to have fun, of course, but to also seek out areas that had yet to be skied. Stein, Helga, Andrew and myself welcomed Kim Havell, Gabe Rogel, Brian Warren, Pete Gaston, Marcus Caston, Sam Smoothy, Matt Reardon, Glen Poulsen, and Todd Offenbacher to the Arctica II. You couldn’t have asked for a better group.
Jenny Corser skins up while another zodiac makes its way ashore.
Everyone brought a unique skill set to the table. And these skills had been developed by spending years exploring the mountain regions of the world. All of these skills came out in full force when we encountered exactly what we were looking for—a wall that couldn’t have been created more perfectly for the exploratory ski mountaineering mentality. We got walled in what was described as some of the most unique, twisting terrain anyone had ever skied. And everyone was smitten with each other. Kim’s vision, Gabe’s photography, Marcus’s technique, Brian’s hop-turn, Pete’s drive—if there was ever an all-star crew, this was surely it.
Matt Reardon and Todd Offenbacher climbing one of the many dream first ascent/first descent couloirs skied during the trip.
On one exploratory mission, three groups set off. I had the fortune of skiing with Sam, Matt and Todd.
“Skins on?”
We all thought about it, but why? With lines spilling right to the ocean, skins didn’t help that much. Booting, on the other hand, was just right since each line was steep and tight enough to warrant a no-skin approach, even on the aprons. Our first line was fun, obvious and disappeared into clouds near the top. You wouldn’t have thought we were breaking in a first ascent and first descent. We chatted, joked and told stories the whole way up. The next thing we knew, we were arcing turns down an ever tightening couloir, pointing right to the ocean with Arctica II in plain sight. It was surreal. It was why we traveled so far to get here. It was why many of us make the sacrifices we do to be in such a moment.
Jenny Corser enjoying some of the best powder of the trip, on one of the more fun tours of the expedition.
Later that week, skiing with Brian and Matt what Stein dubbed “The Lonely Heart” was one of the most special lines I have ever touched—a steep, dream couloir that I still can’t believe we had the fortune of climbing and skiing. But it was lap two that stood out the most on this day.
Todd wondered if the line I had picked out from the boat actually went. He was funny about it, mostly because he’s one of the funniest guys you will ever hang with. Nonetheless, he sincerely poked, “Are you sure that goes?”
Matt and Sam got slightly detoured on the boot up, looking for an “easier” way up a thin sliver of snow climber’s left of the apron. As we made progress, the walls of the couloir got tighter and tighter, but it never choked out—it just kept going.
We were all amazed at its length, complexity and aesthetics. By the time we dropped in the stoke factor was through the roof. Todd laid impeccable turns as Matt opened it up a little more. Sam—my god, that boy almost gave me a heart attack ten times over. I guess that’s why he almost won the Freeride World Tour. I have never seen anyone ski a couloir—that in spots was no wider than the length of a ski—that fast. But he did it, and he made it look good, as did Matt and Todd.
Elation. It's something I’ve come to expect from working with Ice Axe Expeditions. Leader Doug Stoup seems to have a knack for putting awesome people together in amazing places. He will lead a trip to Antarctica again this fall, and then trips to the Amazon in January, Morocco in February, Greenland in April, and back to Norway in May. Somewhere in there Doug will also be leading trips to the North Pole, something he’s done many times over.
Jon Arlien steadies the zodiac while Andrew Eisenstark clears ice away for a pickup. And yes, that is a 30-06 attached to my Black Diamond guide pack.
At first I thought just seeing the sun never set would be one of the coolest experiences of the trip. Now, back in my bunk, I just sit here and wish to sleep. How ironic.
“Brennan, would you like some breakfast?”
I pull the blanket down off my head and realize it’s approaching noon. I guess I did finally fall asleep. Breakfast sounds good. But in one of the most beautiful, far off places to leave a set of tracks, I just want to go skiing again.
Some days the sea is still as glass.
About The Author
stash member Brennan Lagasse
Brennan Lagasse is a writer, educator, photographer, athlete and ski guide living on the West Shore of Lake Tahoe, CA. He is a faculty member at Sierra Nevada College and co-guides a one of a kind helicopter assisted ski touring program in Alaska’s famed Chugach Mountains each winter. His writing and photos have appeared in academic, print and online media outlets, while as an athlete Brennan has skied across the world, from the Arctic to Antarctic, including ski descents on all seven of the world’s continents. Missions away from home are a major part of Brennan’s experience, but he’s just as content to be backcountry skiing and adventuring in his home range of the Sierra Nevada, whenever possible. You can check out some of Brennan’s work at: stateofthebackcountry.com and at facebook.com/stateofthebackcountry