Words and Photos Ros Woodham
Before leaving the UK for Nordkapp, the most northerly point of mainland Europe, I wondered why I was about to undertake an expedition to an Arctic land of such notorious beauty during the darkest and harshest months of the year. However, I was soon to discover that the extreme challenges presented by the Arctic winter could offer unrivalled rewards. Our quest, which we dubbed ‘The Northern Lights Chase’, didn’t dare to guarantee a sighting of the aurora borealis – the northern lights – a phenomenon that requires conditions to be just right, but we knew we would be disappointed to return home without even a glimpse.
There are many ways to see the northern lights; a quick internet search will return countless results detailing where and when to go, as well as offering tips to increase your chances of a sighting. My opportunity came, however, in the form of an ambitious overland adventure.
Our planned expedition routed us along the famous E6, Norway’s Arctic Highway, following a fractured coastline that benefits from the relative warmth of the North Atlantic Drift. We were to follow the road to within 19.5˚ of the North Pole where we would turn off the E6 and continue to Nordkapp – 71˚N – the northernmost tip of mainland Europe. From North Norway, the return leg would then route through Swedish and Finnish Lapland to complete the countries of Arctic Europe.
In four highly modified Land Rover Defenders, our team of eight adventure-hungry overlanders set out to explore a land of fjords and frozen lakes through Scandinavia’s barren and beautiful tundra. We were to cover 8,000 km, over 3,000 of which would be entirely on ice and snow, carrying sufficient specialised equipment to allow us to survive without ties to civilisation for several days at a time and to camp in extreme conditions, reaching temperatures as low as -42˚C.
We departed the UK via the Chunnel heading east through mainland Europe and entering Sweden via the impressive Øresund Bridge, a combined rail and road crossing comprising an 8 km bridge and 4 km tunnel that spans the Øresund (‘The Sound’) between Copenhagen, Denmark and Malmö, Sweden. From Malmö the E6 traces the Swedish coast, bypassing Gothenburg, towards Oslo.
Our first camp near Lillehammer – home of the 1994 Winter Olympics – was on the banks of lake Mjøsa with temperatures at a relatively comfortable -8˚C. Half an hour of character-building snow-shovelling cleared an area large enough to pitch the tents. Our tent tipis are a Norwegian design based on the traditional Lavvu used by the indigenous Saami people of Northern Scandinavia. With a log-burning stove in the centre, kicking out therms like they were going out of fashion, it’s not unusual to have to strip down to your base layer. However, once the fire dies down, it’s wise to remember that the warmest place overnight is inside the on-board fridge; this is where your toothpaste should be kept.
A deviation from the E6 followed a mountain pass south of Trondheim where a sculpture replicating the northern lights signals that you are officially entering North Norway and the road surfaces transition from bitumen to ice.
The polar leg of the Arctic Highway hugs Norway’s intricate coastline, beginning in Mo i Rana and culminating at Kirkenes on the Russian border. Construction of this road began in the 1940s when existing community roads that served isolated settlements were joined together. During World War II, under German occupation, significant improvements were made to the E6 at the price of slave labour, giving the road its nickname Blodvei – Blood Road. In the last sixty years, bridging and tunnelling have connected the sections where ferries once linked the road; now only one ferry remains.
The freezing waters of lake Store Svenningvatnet were the perfect backdrop for lunch before continuing to Mo i Rana – the geographical centre of Norway – within 80 km of the polar circle.
We left the urban scene behind us, entering the municipality of Saltdal and the Saltfjellet-Svartisen National Park. With the days shortening significantly, the sun was low in a cloudless sky, casting a crystal-blue hue over the snowy landscape. To the east, the mountain range forms a plateau with gentle slopes and long valleys that radiate from the steeper alpine mountains to the west. The desolate tundra wasteland rolls gently like the waves of a frozen ocean, dotted with the silhouettes of dozens of reindeer. It is so cold here that the hairs inside your nostrils freeze with each breath.
Although the tourist centre is closed during winter, you can walk to the nearby Arctic Circle monument if you’re game. Even on a clear day, like ours, the trek – or shuffle – across the frozen plain is a challenge. The key is to stay dry, removing layers as your body warms up in order to prevent excessive sweating, which can cause you to become chilled as you cool down.
Situated on an island, Tromsø is regarded as the capital of the North and is well worth a visit. We wild camped just outside the city on an outcrop of land with superb views of the city across the fjord. After a dinner of fresh salmon steaks marinated in a fine single malt and cooked on the stove, we laid out our now tried and tested sleep set-up inside the tipi. On top of a reindeer skin, the down-filled Tundra sleeping bags, rated for use down to -40˚C, provided more than adequate comfort for the Norwegian coastal conditions.
But just as we were getting ready to settle in for the night, the aurora borealis exploded into an immense green genie, enveloping the entire night sky and prompting a photographic frenzy. I began to experience a bizarre sensation of perspective; I felt dwarfed and strangely insignificant as I watched the scintillating light display a hundred kilometres above our heads.
The aurora borealis is the result of the interaction of electrical particles from solar wind with the earth’s magnetic field. Charged particles become trapped in a spiral orbit around the North Pole, releasing energy as light. It is most often seen as a striking green colour, as it was in our display, but it can occasionally show off other colours, from reds to blues and purples.
The spectacle continued for around half an hour, its unpredictable electric dance projecting green rays and curling spirals across the sky. Above our heads, the rippling curtain of light swept down the valley and eventually receded to an eerie glow above the city. My fingers now useless from the cold, I put away the camera and retired to my sleeping bag for a most satisfying night’s sleep.
The following day, still on a high from the previous night’s spectacle, we took a leisurely breakfast in a cosy Tromsø café before rejoining the E6 via two ferries that connect the islands. It was a wonderful chance to enjoy a different perspective of the landscape from the fjords. As we disembarked the first ferry, we set off on a hair-raising 25-kilometre dash to catch the second. The locals are obligated to drive on winter or studded tyres but it’s not a legal requirement for visitors. Our Defender was shod on softer compound tyres that proved to be a useful compromise on the ice-covered bitumen. However, they still restricted us to speeds deemed laughable by locals who flew past us in hatchbacks and family saloons.
The E6 climbs steeply away from the coast at Rafsbotn, entering a wild and desolate plain. The Arctic temperature plummeted to -24˚C, and the expedition acquired a greater sense of remoteness the further north we travelled. We finally cut ties with the Arctic Highway and continued north on the E69, a narrow ribbon of ice road that traces the fragmented and starkly beautiful coastline of Porsangerfjord. The formidable black waters contrasted starkly with the expanse of silky snow in the dwindling light of early afternoon.
We approached the North Cape Tunnel leading to the island of Magerøya, just 50 km from our objective. Massive hydraulic steel doors at the entrance to the tunnel prevent snow drifts from forming inside. They opened slowly with the burgeoning suspense of a Bond movie and we burst through pockets of fog inside the eight-kilometre tunnel that drops to 212 metres below sea level.
By three o’clock – in complete darkness – we reached Honningsvåg, the northernmost city in mainland Europe. We set up camp in a blizzard with fading hopes of another northern lights display. However, later in the evening, as I emerged from my tipi to collect supplies from the Land Rover, a break in the clouds disclosed a tantalising colour show behind. Within half an hour, the skies had all but cleared and we were treated to yet another dazzling display of electric green choreography.
All that remained to crown this already successful mission was for us to reach Nordkapp, 71˚N. In the morning we congregated at Skarsvåg, the world’s most northerly fishing village and home to around sixty inhabitants. The small fleet of trawlers mainly fishes for cod in local waters but there was no activity in the frigid harbour that day. We awaited the scheduled snowplough that led us the final 13 km through incredible expanses of snowy wilderness to the headland.
It was such a privilege to be at the Cape. With numbing fingertips and frozen faces, we shared a sense of achievement in complete solitude from the rest of the world. I gazed across the dark indigo water, sensing the curve of the earth across the horizon and knowing that all that lay in front of me were ice caps, a frozen ocean and the North Pole which, from where we were, was much closer than my home in Devon, UK.
The intense days of driving long hours on ice and snow, through blizzards and largely in darkness, were a realistic measure of what it takes to reach such an incredible place. With our objective now reached, we were still only halfway through our Arctic expedition, but there was a definite and distinct change in our mindset as we left Nordkapp and headed south for home. The sun managed to skim the horizon as we left and I realised I had photographed sunrise and sunset within the space of just two hours.
Back in Honningsvåg, locals told us communications in the town were down and bad weather was forecast for the next few days; we were advised to leave Magerøya immediately, before the tunnels closed, which would leave us snow-bound on the island. In a mounting blizzard and with visibility down to a metre or so, our convoy crept agonisingly slowly through the white-out. Despite our best efforts to keep in constant radio contact it was difficult to keep a safe distance between the trucks. After several near misses and one brief departure from the road, we reached the final snow barrier, relieved to be out of the worst of the weather and off the island.
That night, in Karasjok, the thermometer read -32˚C. The air was so cold and dry that the dusty snow squeaked under pressure. Oil leaks on two of the Defenders revealed frozen breather pipes creating excessive pressure build-up. This was most concerning as we were about to cross the bitter and barren landscape of Finnish Lapland – not an ideal place to be stranded!
The air, at -42˚C, pinched our bare faces and squeezed our lungs as we made regular stops to boil water to keep the engine vents from re-freezing. An early evening auroral display spurred us on to Kiruna, and we were only too delighted to tuck into sumptuous reindeer steaks and extortionately expensive beer on our arrival.
Kiruna was a decidedly more touristic spot than any of the others we’d visited so far and we revelled in two nights’ hotel accommodation, overly appreciating the luxuries of central heating and a ready-made bed. There are plenty of winter activities on offer here, from snowmobiling and dog sledding in the surrounding frozen lakes and mountains to enjoying a pleasant shopping experience around the town itself. It’s well worth taking a tour into the famous magnetite mines, so lucrative that they have begun moving the city in order to excavate the ore beneath it.
Kiruna is also famous for the Ice Hotel whose rooms, which remain at a constant -4˚C, are open for public viewing during the day. Each year for the last three decades, massive ice blocks have been excavated from the pristine waters of the Torne River to build the hotel, each time with a unique design. You’ll be amazed by the intricately sculpted ice rooms and warmed by a vodka hot chocolate in the ice bar. There’s even an ice chapel which can be booked for weddings!
The remainder of our trip was a long, four-day slog down the Swedish High Coast, with highlights such as Kyrkstad, or ‘Church City’, in Lövånger, one of the numerous communities built in the eighteenth century to allow those who travelled long distances to go to church. The following day, our final Scandinavian stop was at Gränsfors Bruk, the traditional axe forge, before an extremely long drive back to the UK, a journey that allowed plenty of time for reflection.
Despite my initial scepticism, the long driving days and extreme challenges revealed more beauty, colour and surprise than I ever imagined possible. A quest to witness the northern lights not only delivered the incredible spectacle it promised, but with it, a sprinkling of wonder that I had not expected.
I would absolutely do this again.
- ‘Seeing the northern lights: An Arctic expedition’ is published in Anthology Volume 18. Read more features from this volume or buy it now.
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