Striking Gold in Greenland

A tiny fire burns in the snow. A collection of everything we could find – little bits of cardboard, some garbage, the cover of a book and an un-used roll of toilet paper. A bottle of whiskey and stories were being passed around our circle of eight people on our last night at camp. At 11 pm, after a week of living on the glacier, and another epic day of skiing, the little fire was strangely satisfying. Our miniature beacon celebrated life on the edge of Greenland's ice cap, where the struggle to exist had become just as obvious as the amazing ski opportunity. With 2,166,086 square kilometers Greenland is the largest island in the world, and with only 57,000 people it is also the least densely populated country.

The Greenland ice sheet covers 81% of the island, flowing over and through massive mountain ranges. It is so large and heavy that it actually depressed parts of the landmass to 300 meters below sea level. When I was invited on a trip to Southeast Greenland with the Rocky Mountain Sherpa's in May of 2011 all I knew of Greenland was that it had brightly painted houses and big mountains with snow. Mountains without any people are my best incentive to travel, so the above statistics made me salivate. Eric Crosland and Dave Mossop invented the trip to film for their feature movie "All I can". Athletes Ingrid Backstrom, Dana Flahr, Johnny Collinson and Callum Pettit were along to make magic in front of the camera.

Geoff Osler was the guide and I was along to take photos. Photos of the terrain reminded me of Alaska with a healthy mix of Chamonix plus more ice than I could ever imagine, unlimited first descents, polar bears and a few clusters of Inuit people. When I arrived, it became clear why so few skiers venture to this icy paradise. There are no discount flights, the overweight baggage fee was more than my first and second cars and the stories of weather also suggested to be worrisome. At least I would get some great shots of the brightly colored houses. Eric and Dave had researched Greenland enough to know that Kulusuk, a five times ten kilometers island in southeastern Greenland is amidst great ski terrain.

Flying into Kulusuk, pack ice seems to stretch into forever. Pyramid shaped mountains jut out of the subtle borders between ocean, ice and land. Couloirs and faces start to show themselves close to the town. A brown dirt landing strip appears between white, windswept mountains. The only reason that it's possible to fly into Kulusuk is because during World War II the USA started a chain of military bases called the "Dew Line", to warn of enemy attacks. Kulusuk was geographically perfect. Otherwise there wouldn't be an airport for a village of 278 natives. Outside the small airport, our soon-to-be friend, "G", greets us with a big smile and a team of wild looking dogs.

With almost no English he straps our monster pile of gear onto a hand built sled and zips off over the frozen ocean towards the town three kilometers away. A few hours later all the people and gear are heaped in front of a 28 square meters bright blue house, the launching pad for our adventure. Immediately we are greeted by the local kids who want to see and touch everything, to play with our gear, our skis, our cameras and us. As the sun starts to set around 11 pm we cover the floor with sleeping bags and sleep for twelve hours. We wake up to a beautiful sunny morning. We're here, but we don't exactly know where we are going. Forecasting the weather in Greenland, on an island surrounded and covered by ice, is tough.

We went in May hoping to find a good mix of sun and snow without crazy cold temperatures. The locals told of springs where the sun never came out, of so much snow that the little town just shuts down and of the "Peterlick"-wind. Every spring as the temperatures warm, the cold air on the Ice Cap blows down to the ocean for up to four days, with consistent speeds over 160 kilometers per hour and temperatures 45 degrees celsius below zero. Harrowing tales of people stuck on the Ice Cap during the Peterlick put fear into all of us. Luckily we flew in with sunny skies, warm temps and a nice little breeze. With more sun in the forecast we simply had to dive deeper in search of perfect mountains. We repacked most of the gear and returned to the airport.

The same "Dew Line" that brought the airport also brought Arvid who oversaw the airport for 30 years, then married a local woman and retired in Kulusuk. This sole full time non-native resident was also the island's only taxi driver. He became indispensable, loaning us a bag full of flares (the only legal protection from polar bears) and ferrying our gear to the airport in an ancient Land Rover. The amazing terrain around Kulusuk was on our list to ski, but we knew that something bigger and better awaited. It seemed the only reasonable way to access the terrain deep in the mountains was by helicopter, a fact that became clear as we flew over more ice, ocean and crazy mountains.

Dave and Eric got into the helicopter first and quickly found a perfect cirque to set up base camp. At 6 pm before the first bag was un-packed everybody started putting on skins and taking out tripods. It was nearing day's end but the sun was out and powder was sparkling all around us. With our first lines "in the bag" we quickly made camp as cold temperatures wrapped around us. The next seven days were a blur of putting skins on and off, climbing around ridges, making turns and documenting our Greenland fantasies come true. The sun shone all but two mornings. Everybody had their fill of lines – north facing aspects with cold condensed powder and southern aspects that turned into perfect corn.

We also explored the terrain behind our immediate ridges, following the sun around to longer couloirs and ski tours. There was barely time to make water, cook and sleep. As the days raced by we realized that if a storm came in, our food would only last a few days. The local stories came back to us and we knew it was time to leave our fantasy bubble. Back in Kulusuk our little blue home happily took us back in. We settled into some local ski touring, sight seeing and sunset watching as the weather turned. Quickly we understood what "normal" weather is. Our supply of beer, chips, magazines and books dwindled as the rain poured outside the little blue house, and bad weather cancelled our return flights. When our weather window finally came we all left with a love for Greenland's mountains and people.