Words by Hunter Bryant Photos by Cole Mogan & Hunter Bryant Edited by Jack Chase & Hunter Hill
There’s a classic interview, something from the late 90’s/ early 2000’s, where Jeff Bezos is asked about his decision to leave his job and start Amazon. He begins by explaining his framework of living, in which every decision is made to “minimize regret”. I’ve always liked the idea, but Bezos, man, get your priorities straight. Try skiing. It’s better for the soul.
Still, I think there’s truth in the idea. Sometimes I find myself thinking back to the quote when feeling lost about life’s decisions. In the past several years, I’ve had the privilege to try my hand at living on both coasts– in NY & LA. While I stand by these choices, I’ve always known that life in the mountains would someday draw me back in. I’m not sure if it’s time to come home, yet, but the withdrawal symptoms of mountain abstinence have been getting stronger.
I’ve been missing time spent with friends who share some underlying understanding of how life should be lived. Through play, we remain kids. A small group of us have started to find ourselves traveling to climb and ski together once a year. A convenient byproduct of these trips is that they return us to a shared reality known to mountain people.
The following photography and accompanying text contains snippets from my account of this year’s big annual trip searching for lines in the Lyngen Alps.
Again, I’m late to the game. Three days into the trip and I finally start to journal. I thought I’d be good this time and methodologically take notes. Looking back on past trips, I realize I forget about the little moments traveling. This could be items like convenience stores snacks, interactions like the negotiations with car rental agents, or arguments over grocery strategies. It makes sense that these aren’t the memories etched into our brains’ long term storage, but these moments lay the foundation for our nostalgia. The moments in-between make up the essence of our memories. With the knowledge that this trip is the grand finale for the year (my internal record starts and stops with spring missions), I have to keep note. Getting blindly lost in the moment might lead to memories being lost forever if not for note taking. I’m looking forward to the day that I’m old and stumble across this document: Norge2023.txt.
Not too long ago, I thought I knew all the major ranges for good skiing . Growing up in a town of ski bums, I was well aware of the usual Alps, Rockies, Alaskas, and Hokkaidos. I was suffering from a severe case of Dunning-Krueger effect. The Lyngen Alps wormed their way into my head after a side comment from a friend, relaying a statement from another friend. I have a lot of respect and trust for this individual, so when they mentioned Lyngen was on their bucket list, I was intrigued. Two years later, I’m returning to Lyngen for the second time.
Lyngen is located near the Northern tip of Norway, inside of the Arctic Circle
By the time I land in Tromsø, I’ve had an Icy Hot on my back for the past 10 hours. I wish I could tell you the pain resulted from overtraining or a wild crash. No. My back gave out after a few long days working out of my knockoff fiberglass Eames chair. There is nothing more concerning than an injury days before a trip planned years in advance. Fortunately, the jet lag gods were on my side this day. I manage to step off the plane feeling good. Cole rings my line to tell me he’s waiting in the lot. I’m the last to arrive.
You fly into Tromsø from the South, avoiding the main Lyngen Peninsula. Even though you avoid the big mountains, there is a sample of the terrain on approach. Definitely opt for the window seat.
At the hotel, the group is in ski gear. Waiting for me. Without notice. I quickly transition from travel to ski mode in the hostel. For the layman this would be a time consuming task. I am no layman. I am Hunter, master of adventure packing. A few minutes later and we are whipping in the rental Skoda.
We fit 45 minutes of house music in the drive. Not my daily mix, but I can deal. I had no idea where we were going, but the others seemed to have a plan. We show up in the zone. The first parking lot: full. The second: full. We found ourselves parking a solid mile from the intended trailhead. Clearly ski mo is a Norwegian pastime. From the lot, the mountain we aimed to ski appears massive. It was big, alright, but our eyes had played tricks on us. There is a strange visual phenomena out here. It’s a type of optical illusion where the lack of foliage this far North makes everything seem bigger. There are no trees to give sense of scale. A mile ski later, our first switchbacks start.
Views from the lot. We briefly met a group from France. This zone seems to be a popular choice for it’s proximity to the city.