The Great White North
With yet more winter storms on their way, Ian thought he had seen enough snow for one trip but we decided to take him to Sofia's family's place up North so he could get a taste of the countryside. Sofia's family lives outside the city of Östersund, about a 6 hour train ride north from Stockholm. It is not quite in the Arctic Circle but it looks and feels like it. Last year was one of the warmest winters on record with very little snow, but it was still cold enough for the lakes to freeze over and provide a different kind of winter playground than what most are used to. Long distance ice skating—upwards of 100km—was possible due to the lack of snow on top of the ice. (Snow actually insulates the ice from the outside temperatures preventing it from growing to a safe thickness). This year was a little bit different. Winter storms slammed the region, and pretty much everywhere else in Europe, leaving Jämtland province buried under 1 - 2 meters of snow. Driveways felt like tunnels and some cars vanished under snowbanks.
The weather was exquisitely severe. Sofia recalls that she's never felt so much cozy Christmas spirit in March. She didn't even know it was possible to feel like that in the spring. And she was right. The landscape felt as if it was longing for a fairytale December replete with tinsel. I was expecting it to be pretty but I did not expect the awe I felt at the landscape, light and hushed tones of footsteps through powder.
We declared Jämtland the official recipient of the Winter Wonderland designation on this trip. The grey, daft landscape from our past trip here in October was transformed; we drooled over the flawlessness of each pillowed snowbank. As we drove to Sofia’s family farm in the red Volvo station wagon from the train station, all three of us—red noses pressed to the fogged windows— excitedly pointed out dollops of snow on trees, houses, and stumps with such passion it became a pastime. Sofia’s house in Haxäng welcomed us in a grand manner, the snow surrounding its pale exterior like a thick down comforter.
Ian was only staying here for two full days, so we wasted no time in covering as much ground as possible. Our first day there, we drove an hour and a half northwest to Åre, Sweden’s premier ski destination. A nasty storm greeted our arrival, and Ian conceded that he would prefer to spend the afternoon filming and shooting while we braved Åre’s icy slopes. Sofia and I spent a good 45 minutes of our ski time wrestling her ski boots and gloves on (thumbs still out of commission), all the while freezing our asses off as the wind roared off the slope and through the exposed parking lot. When we finally stumbled into our ski bindings, we only had three hours left to ski. We lasted two and a half.
After fikaing (and warming our cold hearts) at Åre Bageri, we left in better spirits and drove southwest to Sofia’s family’s ski cabin in Edsåsdalen. Our mission was to shovel out a path to the door from the road, turn on the heat in the cabin, and then leave without being swallowed by the notorious ditch that has captured many red Volvo’s over the years. We accomplished all three, and Ian only pushed me into the 2 meter deep snow twice during our speed-shovel session so he could “get the shot.” Sofia and I would return here in a few days, after bidding Ian farewell.
On our second day in Jämtland, we showed Ian the city of Östersund, a twenty-minute drive from Haxäng, and aptly named “Vinterstaden”—“the winter city.” The three of us climbed Arctura—the watertower/restaurant that boasts panoramic views of the city—and admired the snowy landscape once more from above. You can walk along the curvature of the tower’s restaurant without leaving the views at each window. Then, Sofia’s stomach growled in protest yet again and we retreated down to the earth to eat lunch at Vezzo which purportedly has Sweden’s best pizza. In our humble opinion it does. As dusk started to catch up to us we drove Ian two and a half hours southeast to his train in Sundsvall and bid him farewell.
Sofia and I returned to her mountain cabin the next day, hoping for cozier weather and lots of skiing as her race was imminent. I spent the first hour in Edsåsdalen working up quite a sweat, slinging the push shovel around the driveway to make a passable walkway. The ceaseless weather had filled it in since we were here last. Meanwhile, Sofia was inside, trying but failing to wrestle a fire into existence because the chimney was so backed up with snow and ice. Smoke billowed out of the stove, crowding the cabin. Eventually we cut our losses, agreed that we would rely on the slow burn electric heaters and down jackets for sustenance, and escaped into the woods to go for a short ski. That evening ski turned out to be one our favorite ones ever. Winter wonderland Jämtland definitely was.
Because our first ski was so beautiful we decided to spend our final day in Jämtland, on a longer tour from Edsåsdalen. After a hearty breakfast buffet at Köja—Edsåsdalen's quaint ski lodge—we headed out for an all-day, 20+-kilometer ski adventure along a trail that would carry us out of the trees to skim the treeless fjäll of the valley opposite of us. We brought chocolate wafers, Ballerina cookies, and ham sandwiches as provisions. What we didn't envision, apart from getting little lost and taking the long route (ahem, 4 more kilometers) across the valley, was that we would have white-out weather conditions on a trail known for its sweeping views. There were moose warning signs at every third red-x trail marker. I was anxiously anticipating a moose to come barreling out of the whiteness and trample me, but miraculously I'm still here.
Sofia spotted a little hut on top of the ridge at one point, where we retreated to eat our lunch. The hut turned out to be swarming with toddlers and their parents. We immediately envied their smörgåsbord-style pack lunches, complete with steaming hot chocolate, boiled eggs, and various kinds of cookies, while also applauding the parents' determination to drag their kids in sleds through the blizzard all the way out here. I couldn't help but also appreciate the constant preparedness of Swedes—no matter the adventure, they nail the provisions needed to make it as hyggeligt as possible.
Sofia skiing without poles and me skiing without skill meant that the tour took us a little longer than we planned. Edsåsdalen reacted to our hasty departure with a vengeance. The ditch devoured the red Volvo as we backed out of the driveway, thereby securing the curse once and for all. Even when we escaped much later, we promised that we would return. Soon.
vi ses,
-ari