Before the Trip
I’m Johan. I live in Verbier, Switzerland, where I work as a ski instructor in the winter. In the summer, I ride bikes, run, and occasionally do journalism work. I’ve always loved life in the mountains, and three years ago my girlfriend, Sissel, and I made the move to make the mountains a central part of our lives. Even though I live in Verbier, I still feel the urge to plan, explore, and see places that seem more out of this world than in.
I’d had the idea of a ski-and-sail trip in Lyngen in my head for a long time. Being able to tour from the sea to a couloir and ski straight down to the fjords is something every ski enthusiast should experience. But it’s not that easy—when I looked into it, the first thing that scared me away was the price. Booking something like this is extremely expensive through official websites, and for me, that would never be an option. Instead, I talked to my friend Nino, who lives in Verbier. He had a boat in Tromsø and used to bring friends up there. He suggested I text Greg and Fanny, who live on a boat called Le Voyage de Malika. Luckilly they were more than happy to host four Verbier-based skiers on their boat for a week in May to sail and ski in the spring conditions of the Lyngen Alps.
With Flemming Nebeling, Victor Skieller, and Jamie Heywood, we made a plan of where we wanted to go and what we wanted to ski. Our main objective was going to be the Godmother Couloir in the southern part of Lyngen, about ten hours of sailing from Tromsø. It’s said to be the original couloir—whether or not that’s true, I’m not sure, but we liked the idea of skiing the “godmother” of all couloirs.
May 8
We arrived in Tromsø a day before boarding the boat to explore the city. It wasn’t the most charming place, clearly affected by the influx of tourists coming to see the northern lights in winter. With lots of gift shops in town, some of the alpinism vibe I expected wasn’t there. Still, we were excited and ready to go.
May 9
We met Greg and Fanny at Tromsø Harbour with all our gear. Malika is a 12-meter-long yellow sailboat with a great cockpit, three cabins, and a cozy kitchen-living area. Along with Greg and Fanny, there were also Yuma and Fly—their two dogs who’ve been on the journey for a long time. We loaded our skis and gear onto the boat and set off toward the Godmother Couloir, with some scenic stops on the way.
For our first day, we wanted to ski something approachable yet scenic, so we chose Ulstinden (1,078 m), planning a drop-off on the east side and pickup on the west. We filled the dinghy with boots and skis, sailed to shore, and started touring straight from the beach while Greg walked Yuma and Fly. Being spring, the snow was heavy and wet as we climbed from sea level.
After three hours, we reached the top of Ulstinden. The view was spectacular—a 360-degree panorama of the sea dotted with white mountain tops. We watched Malika sailing from our drop-off point into a small bay with a sandy beach. The descent was mellow, allowing us to shred together and enjoy the sights. The beach looked as if it belonged in French Polynesia: white sand and crystal-clear water. Greg and Fanny met us in the dinghy with cold beers, and we soaked in the experience.
We then started an eight-hour sail toward our goal: the Godmother. As if the fjords weren’t enough, two whales greeted us after three hours, followed by a pod of Arctic dolphins. For an animal lover like me, it was pure happiness—and sharing it with friends made it even better. And that was only day one.
May 10 – The Godmother of All Couloirs
With a good weather window, we decided to tackle the couloir on day two. It had been consistently cold without much wind or snow, which meant stable conditions with low avalanche risk—though no powder for face shots. The climb was 1,200 vertical meters, with a steepest angle of around 55 to 60 degrees.
We sailed to shore and began bootpacking through the forest up to the couloir entrance. After skinning the first 200 vertical meters, we faced an 800-meter bootpack to the top. The ascent took about five hours, with snow improving as we gained elevation. Being first meant breaking trail, but that only added to the adventure. Without a boat, the Godmother is hard to access, as no roads lead there—a big reason we’d chosen it as our main objective.
From the top, the view was incredible: the scenery behind the mountain we’d just climbed, and below us, the line we were about to ski. We descended one by one, regrouping at safe spots we picked coming up. The snow was firm but good for the first 400 meters, then turned sticky and chopped-up—more work than pleasure. Still, skiing such an iconic couloir was worth the effort. We returned through the forest to the boat, where we slept while gazing at the couloir under the midnight sun.
A couloir next to the Godmother, accessible by touring around the back without bootpacking. It was a great line leading straight to the sea, but snow conditions resembled the lower section of the Godmother. Still, a shorter outing meant more time enjoying life.
That evening, we left our anchorage for a small harbour at the foot of another peak we wanted to ski. Thanks to the midnight sun, time didn’t matter much; we skied, ate, or slept whenever we felt like it.
May 11
After the big day, we aimed for something easier. We spotted a couloir next to the Godmother, accessible by touring around the back without bootpacking. It was a great line leading straight to the sea, but snow conditions resembled the lower section of the Godmother. Still, a shorter outing meant more time enjoying life aboard—sailing, cooking, and playing games at a relaxed pace.
That evening, we left our anchorage for a small harbour at the foot of another peak we wanted to ski. Thanks to the midnight sun, time didn’t matter much; we skied, ate, or slept whenever we felt like it.
May 12
Blue skies and midnight sun gave way to grey clouds and wind. We still set out to ski Storgalten (1,219 m), known as an easy tour with an amazing summit view. The climb was straightforward, and from the top, we had a 360-degree view of the Lyngen Alps. Coming from the Godmother’s sunshine to this moody landscape was striking. I remember thinking how quickly you get used to beauty. The skiing wasn’t spectacular, but as the saying goes: “A bad day skiing is better than a good day at work.”
The Norwegian Sea teems with life, and we didn’t have to wait long after casting our fishing rods—five minutes in, we caught our first trout. Half an hour later, we had six fish, and an hour after that, dinner. None of us had fished before; Lyngen spoiled us for everywhere else.
With bad weather forecast, the evening passed with rum, wine, beer, and card games in the cabin—that’s all I remember.
May 13
We woke up a little groggy as Greg started the engine. I’d slept in the cabin to escape Jamie’s snoring—two grown men sharing a small bed makes snoring hard to tolerate. A storm was coming, so we left Lyngen and headed back toward Tromsø to avoid bad weather. As we sailed out of the bay, dolphins hunted for fish nearby, and later a small whale followed us into open sea—probably a finback. After ten hours of sailing, we reached a sheltered anchorage to wait out the storm.
May 14
The trip came to an end as we sailed back to Tromsø Harbour. We ordered pizzas and said goodbye to Yuma, Fly, Greg, and Fanny before heading to the airport. On the flight home, we talked about the endless possibilities in this area—so many big lines and places to explore. This wasn’t the end, just a “to be continued.”
LOOW gear was essential: perfect as first and second layers. On sunny days, being able to tour in just a T-shirt or long sleeve without worrying about sweat was amazing. Even if it got wet, it dried quickly on deck. Comfortable and versatile, it meant I didn’t have to keep layering up or down.
Two essentials for me were my ZN-240 Zip Neck and T-OSS 135 O-neck. I wore both at the start of every day, and the next morning, putting them on felt like slipping into fresh clothes.
