The wooden floor of the Nes Gard boathouse shakes as dozens of fists pound on tables in harmony. Mist clouds the bar windows as puffs of steam escape from the sauna outside, spilling out over the dark waters of Lusterfjord.
Mark Morris, guitar in hand, long blond hair dripping from his fjord plunge moments earlier, belts out a throaty viking chant while Anders Månum, the gregarious owner of the historic farm and guesthouse, serves up heavy pours of his “after-ski” special—lingonberry-studded gin and tonics.
“Long gone are the days,
When the vikings made way,
On ships through fjords long ago…
The frozen wet land,
There now stands just a man,
In Valhalla and Nes Gard below,
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh!”
Even the Norwegians are singing. Or better: the Norwegians are singing the loudest. Anders is beaming, tapping his feet wildly.
It is our second night in the mountains of western Norway, but thanks to the openhearted Norwegian hospitality, it feels like we’ve been here for weeks.
After a sauna and fjord plunge, Mark Morris regales the whole Nes Gard basement bar with a viking ballad. Photo: Anders Vestergaard
Nes Gard, a family-run farm and guesthouse, has been in operation since 1850. Photo: Max Ritter
Hansi Bjarkøy snaps a photo along the skintrack in Romsdalen. Photo: Anders Vestergaard
Norway’s extensive coastal ferry network is the best way to see the country’s vast fjordscapes. Lily Ritter refuels with a cup of coffee and a waffle on the journey between Nes Gard and Åndalsnes. Photo: Max Ritter
The one upside to a prolonged dry spell
is visibility. Peaks spill out for almost
360 degrees around us.
Lisen Strøm drops into a silky smooth pitch of powder in Isfjorden, Norway, just before the sun sets. Photo: Anders Vestergaard
Nes Gard
Nes Gard, which translates literally to “point farm,” has been a family-run farm since 1850. It’s located about 40 minutes from the 4,000-person town of Sogndal, in southwestern Norway. Bright red outbuildings look over the nose-like peninsula that juts out into the 127-mile-long Sognefjord, Norway’s longest and deepest fjord. Anders moved from Oslo to Nes Gard in 2021 to take over for his parents who were considering selling the property. His goal was to maintain the farm’s heritage, while turning it into a hub for skiers in the winter—30 minutes in any direction offers a variety of backcountry skiing, including tall alpine peaks, wide glacial valleys, and playful gladed terrain. Instead of staying in a bustling town with hotels and restaurants, much of the best skiing in this part of Norway is far from any amenities. “If people want to come and ski, they are also going to want to stay and eat,” Anders told us. “So, it’s important you have it all in one place. You can come here and ski and eat, all in our home.”
Neither my husband Max nor I had visited Norway before this trip. Most of the knowledge we had about skiing in Norway regarded its far north, above the Arctic Circle up in the Lofoten Islands or Svalbard. Sail to ski trips, mostly in late April, dominated my perception of the ski culture here.
When we got the opportunity to join some of the Rab crew—American friends like Mark Morris and Anna Demonte, along with Norwegians Lisen Strøm, Krister Kopala, Thea Røhme and Hansi Bjarkoy—in western Norway in February, we jumped at the chance.
On our first morning, Anders takes us up a winding road along Sognefjord, 40 minutes toward the Hurrungane mountains—home to some of the highest peaks in the area, 7,000 feet above the ocean below. It was an exceptionally dry February so far, something that we’d hear folks lamenting for the duration of our 2-week trip. Hansi Bjarkoy, who lives across the fjord from Nes Gard, works as an apple farmer in the summer and skis all winter. He tells us that this region of Norway is known for consistent snowfall midwinter thanks to its proximity to Jostedalen National Park, home to continental Europe’s largest glacier which is almost 40 miles long. Storms flow from the west over the glacier, dropping cold, dry snow on the mountains that rise from the fjord. Since moving to Sogn five years ago, Bjarkoy hasn’t left the country once to ski. “Typically, it’s a really reliable place for good skiing all winter,” he explains as we walk together up a rolling ridgeline. “And there’s just so much terrain around every corner.”
Hansi points out some of the lines around us—steep couloirs that split rocky faces in two and hanging snowfields above the glacier below, connected by rolling valleys. The one upside to a prolonged dry spell is visibility. Peaks spill out for almost 360 degrees around us.
The snowpack may be lacking in depth, but the shadowy February light and below-freezing temps keep the surface conditions soft. We leapfrog down from the 6,000-foot peak upon silky, windpacked snow.
Mark Morris, who had been charging down the hill just in front of us, pulls his goggles up as we’re skating back to the car. “What’s next?” he asks, a knowing grin on his face. Anders’ lights up. “Now we swim in the fjord and sit in the sauna,” he says. “What else?”
More at home in the air than on the ground, Mark Morris boosts off a cornice in Isfjorden. Photo: Anders Vestergaard
Hotel Aak’s guestbook from 1881, when William Slingsby was staying at the hotel to make the first ascent of Store Vengetind, the highest summit in the area at 6,076 feet. Photo: Hotel Aak Archives
Snow piled high outside the historic Hotel Aak, one of Norway’s first tourist hotels, in operation since 1856. Photo: Hotel Aak Archives
In a country like Norway, where mountains sprout like wildfire straight up from the sea, it makes sense that we have yet to meet someone who doesn’t ski.
Hotel Aak
Two days later, we depart early from Nes Gard to head north for the town of Åndalsnes. The journey is only a little over 200 miles, but it’s a 7-hour drive. The narrow Norwegian roads twist and turn along the banks of the fjords, speed limits firmly below 80 kilometers per hour the whole way.
We hug the shoreline through coastal mountains until we reach the 2,500-person port town. Åndalsnes is known as Norway’s mountaineering capital, home to the 3,600-foot Trollveggen (Troll Wall), the tallest vertical rock face in Europe. Spanish ski mountaineer Kilian Jornet lives just 20 minutes down the road, which makes plenty of sense glancing at the layered alpine ridgelines all around us.
Hotel Aak, a bright white farmhouse, is one of the country’s oldest hotels, perched along the shore of the Rauma River. The original building, constructed in the 1850s, was used as an agricultural school and base for salmon fishing trips. Over the next 150 years it became a hub for climbers in the summer and winter, with additions over time to the main house. Kristine and Odd Erik Rønning took over as caretakers of the hotel in 2013, moving their three kids from Oslo into the mountains—just like Anders back in Nes Gard.
In a country like Norway, where mountains sprout like wildfire straight up from the sea, it makes sense that we have yet to meet someone who doesn’t ski. Our server tells us she came straight to her shift from the trailhead, and Øyvind Sæbjørnsen, Hotel Aak’s chef, moved here to BASE jump off the steep rock walls that surround the tiny port town. “I picked those berries at the top of a jump,” he says with a wink, passing around a fruity, effervescent cocktail. “So I guess you could say I am a professional BASE jumper.”
Lisen Strøm, Jonas Østrem, Mark Morris and Krister Kopala plan out tomorrow’s tour in the cozy living room at Hotel Aak. Photo: Anders Vestergaard
Nes Kyrkje stands guard over the shores of the Sognefjord. First built as a stave church in the early 1300s, the current structure dates to 1836, providing a place of worship and solace for locals and passing ski tourists. Photo: Max Ritter
The vastness of the skiable terrain in Norway has a lot to do with one simple, yet impactful law: allemannsretten, which translates to “everyman’s right,” refers to a law in the 1957 Outdoor Recreation Act.
Snortungen
Before we left for Norway, several people told us we had to talk to Asbjørn Eggebø Næss if we were headed to ski in Romsdalen. The 45-year-old skier has had a long career as a professional telemark athlete and ski guide, with a warm smile that fills the room. He’d just returned from a January trip to Hakuba, Japan, a few weeks before we arrived.
We start our day with Asbjørn at a leisurely 10 a.m., winding through patchy snow between widely-spaced birch trees. One of the best parts of skiing in Norway in February is that there’s no need to get up early. A casual 8:30 a.m. sunrise means plenty of time to lather brown, caramelized cheese and homemade berry jam onto warm, seedy bread. And drink an extra cup (or two) of coffee. No one drinks coffee like the Norwegians.
Asbjørn points out the areas that he’s been glading. “Usually, when it snows a lot, the tree skiing in here is really good,” he says. Today, we’re hopping between trickling streams and scrawny patches of snow clinging to moss, but it’s easy to imagine blasting through here on a deep day. “You’re allowed to do that?” we ask, surprised. Not only is thinning these trees allowed, he tells us, but he received a stipend from the local government to make the area passable for skiers.
“You have to remember, at the beginning in Norway, skiing wasn’t for recreation,” he says. “We used it as transportation.” A mountainous country with harsh weather, Norwegians have been using skis to get around for thousands of years. The transition from utility to recreation has obviously evolved the sport, but history is ingrained deeply in everyday life. “Pretty much everyone in Norway learns to ski,” Listen Strøm had told me the evening before with a shrug. “That’s just what you do.”
It’s easy to describe skiing as “endless” in many regions. But in Norway that rings truer than most places. You really can ski just about anywhere. The vastness of the skiable terrain in Norway has a lot to do with one simple, yet impactful law: Allemannsretten, which translates to “everyman’s right,” refers to a law in the 1957 Outdoor Recreation Act. It grants all individuals the right to pass through uncultivated land (even private property) on foot, skis, bike or horse. Cultivated land can be crossed only when covered in snow—ideal for skiers. It codified a mindset that the country had been following in principle for ages, preserving those rights for future generations. “It means that you can go where you want, but it’s also a duty to care for the environment around you, too,” adds Asbjørn.
A few hours later, we bask in the sparkly afternoon sun atop the 3,930-foot Snortungen. The low light illuminates the west-facing bowl below us, a snowy dish levitating above the fjord. We milk soft, silky turns above the water, savoring the perpetual February golden hour.
The short and chilly February days in western Norway keep conditions soft, even without any new snow in the forecast. Hansi Bjarkøy finds a well-preserved pitch and opens it up in Isfjorden. Photo: Anders Vestergaard
Mark Morris’ Nes Gard lyrics, which would soon become an anthem for the whole trip. Photo: Mark Morris
“It makes me so happy that you are enjoying it here so much,” Asbjørn says, a trace of surprise in his tone. It’s funny how many of the locals we’ve met harbor a hint of surprise, almost amusement, at how impressed we are with this region. People keep apologizing to us about how little snow there is this year. Most ask us if we’ve ever visited Lofoten, Lyngen or Svalbard, or plan to. No one seems aware that the mountains surrounding each tiny fjord-side town we’ve visited so far would be a world-class destination anywhere else if they stood on their own.
Down here, 1,000 miles south of Lyngen, we’re in ski touring heaven. Steep, rocky faces, long, narrow couloirs and sweeping alpine bowls pepper the sky in all directions. Ridgelines link together a lifetime of terrain, with massive descents ending near fjord’s edge. We spend the rest of the week standing on sunny summits, chasing soft turns in the shadows.
Kirketaket
One of the descents we’d been eyeing, even before we visited, was a 4,000-foot south face you can see from almost the entire Romsdalen valley. Kirketaket (which translates to “Church’s Roof”) is a local classic. It’s a pretty ambitious version of a “town hill,” but it certainly feels like one given the hundreds of tracks that have almost formed moguls on the face. Still, it’s a spectacular place to be on skis. Enjoying a few slices of Øyvind’s seedy bread with cheese and jam on the rocky summit, we meet an alpinist who scaled the steep, rocky ridge to the east, and a spandex-clad skimo racer out for a morning jaunt on his 65mm-wide skis. Both give us a nod and a smile before bombing down the 4,000-foot face in less than a minute.
We surf recycled powder down to the valley floor, dropping onto a steep Nordic track to coast the last two miles back to the car. Immediately, we get passed on the outtrack by a seven-foot-tall Norwegian man carving GS turns on his skate skis. He nods politely as he rockets by us.
All week, our crew of 12 has split into small groups to ski, reconvening each night around the long wooden table in the dimly lit dining room at Aak. One evening, Krister Kopala is humming Mark’s Norwegian ballad as we tuck into a hearty dinner of reindeer fillet and spruce tree meringue prepared by an enthusiastic Øyvind. “Can you play the song again?” he asks Mark, pumping his fist as he chants, “The Sea! The Sea! The Sea!”
Norway is my way,
Norway is your way,
The land where the mountains,
Rise up from the sea,
The Sea! The Sea! The Sea!
The chorus, simple yet powerful, captures the essence of the country so well. The Norwegians we’ve met all harbor a quiet pride in the places they share with us. There’s no boasting, simply delight in seeing outsiders taking an interest in these less-visited corners of the country.
Phillipshaugen
Our final stop in western Norway is two hours from Åndalsnes, but only about 40 miles as the crow flies. We bid goodbye to the rest of the crew, and begin another slow drive, hugging the dark waters of Langfjorden until we reach the remote Phillipshaugen Lodge. Built as a salmon fishing lodge in 1899, Phillipshaugen is the kind of wooden building where the echo of footsteps trickles through the house with each step. It’s warm and inviting, flanked on all sides by the 5,000-foot peaks in the Øksendal valley.
Eva Gikling, a freelance reporter for the local newspaper, calls to see if we are available for an interview a few hours after we arrive. “We haven’t had many American skiers come visit this area of Norway,” she tells me.
After spending our last day wandering around the quiet Øksendal valley, we sit with Gikling around a crackling fire while we wait for the wood-fired sauna to heat up. Dark clouds spill into the valley, a fitting end to our week-long streak of brilliant blue skies. Over a cup of tea, Gikling tells us about the history of the lodge—how salmon fishing brought the first tourists to the region—and its recent push to bring more outdoor recreation tourism to the area. Like many Norwegian coastal towns, the nearby village of Sunndalsøra is primarily industrial, with a hydro plant that employs most of the residents.
“I think Norway has been slow to understand their own potential as a destination,” Gikling says. “The value in all of these experiences is easy to undercommunicate. Almost like we all take these mountains for granted because, well, it’s just a way of life here.”
Lisen Strøm scores a soft pocket of snow in Isfjorden after a rare February dry spell. Photo: Anders Vestergaard