I needed to have a big day of skiing to make progress before the storm hit. I was tempted by another offer of bed, shower and sauna, but I had no time to lose, and just wanted to push on the finish. I figured at most a week left, if no disasters hit.
At this point I just had to dig deep mentally to keep going. Legs were feeling very heavy: other than one day in Kautokeino, I’d been skiing every day for close to a month, and it would continue that way until the end. So the brain had to pick up the slack. I have a few little mental tricks to help deal with this sort of thing, but it generally just boils down to gritting your teeth and getting on with it. Just keep moving.
With my brain in gear, I was ready for the final push: 150km seemed almost casual after already having 500km in the bank. So I cable tied my disintegrating boots back together, the frozen leather eventually having disintegrated around the toe box. I clipped my skis on again and got ready to deal with the weather warnings.
In the end, the storm was more mellow than I’d expected, no worse than anything I’d already seen. Skiing was slower, visibility was poor, but I could keep moving, and by tightening up the navigation I found my way through. A few more snow-walls to keep the tent in one piece and I made it through to the other side.
Another few days of solitude: the reindeer and grouse were the only other living things around, but like Wilson, they didn’t offer much conversation. Seeing dozens and dozens of herds of deer, they eventually seemed more like sheep than anything else.
With the trip slowly drawing into its final phase, I started to have very mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was looking forward to finishing, to complete what I’d set out to do, to get back to a more normal lifestyle.
But on the other, I didn’t want it to end. Maybe I’d become so used to the routine I couldn’t picture “normal” life again. But a big part of me felt fresh enough, and the desire, to keep going: to just keep skiing. The thought of returning to living in a house, to cities and shops and streets, just didn’t appeal any more. So a mixed bag, as I counted down the final days.
A couple of days before hitting Kirkenes I got my first glimpse of Russia. Two peaks in the distance, nothing spectacular. But to me it was a moment of realisation: what I had done, what I had achieved. I had skied over 600km, alone, through the Arctic. A month of constantly moving, and now I had all but reached Russia. I burst out laughing, it seemed surreal. Who decides to ski, to Russia?!
I had more moments like this in the final few days. I started to pass villages, roads. I was creeping back into civilisation. I was now on the final stretch to Kirkenes, some cross country trails the last skiing I’d do.
And a sign popped up: Kirkenes, 5.5km. Disbelief. 5 kilometres seemed so miniscule, a footnote, after having done over 650km. It made me realise the enormity of what I’d done. Emotions were building: pride in what I’d achieved, excitement to finish and rest, but also a desire to keep going.
And as the rain started again, I plodded up the very last climb. I met another skier taking his dog out for a run, and we talked for a while. I explained what I had just done, the response sounded familiar: “Oh shit”. It seemed a fitting way to end, as the trip had begun: in the rain, and with a dumbstruck Norwegian.
I descended to the road in Kirkenes where I’d found an apartment for a few days. I took off my skis for the last time, strapped them onto the pulk, and hauled it up the driveway.
That was it. Job done. 650km, going from West to East in Arctic Norway. Russia just a stone’s throw away.
The landlady couldn’t believe it: she’d expected a car. Not a bedraggled Scotsman towing a pulk, bearded and grimy after 32 days of skiing, boots peeled open and cable tied back together.
I set my things up to dry, marvelled at the endless supply of running water (no more snow-melting!), got myself a pizza and a beer, then passed out for a long, long sleep. Too tired to even shower: after a month, waiting one extra night to clean the grime off wasn’t a problem. It all felt a bit overwhelming.
Adventure Hangover
The day after finishing, the entire month of exertion hit me hard. I had thought I could have kept going, but it seemed the exhaustion had been building in the background. It took a good few days lazing around Kirkenes to start to feel human again. Catching up on sleep, letting the blisters and sores heal, muscles weary.
Also trying to mentally process all that had happened. It had seemed a lot of repetition, but as I reflected on all the little moments, all the thoughts, all the interactions with people, all the changing scenery, the wildlife, the weather patterns, I realised this wasn’t true. A lot had happened, maybe not always the most exciting or exhilarating of events, but as I’d slowly skied across the country, things had changed.
I had also changed, but that would take longer to process and decode. One big thing was realising the value in friendships and family: not something to ever be taken for granted.
But equally, being around people felt a little strange at first. It took a few days with some good friends in Tromsø, before things started to feel more normal again.
And the first thing I did when I got to Tromsø?
More skiing, of course!
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