The White Abyss of Finse
It was my first time, taking a night train from Trondheim to Oslo, and it did not go as planned. We were traveling to a tiny village called Finse. Not only is it famous for its cross country skiing and hiking trails, but this is where the scenes for the fictitious planet of Hoth from Star Wars: The Empire Strike's Back were filmed. That was admittedly one of the main reasons I wanted to come.
We arrived at the train station and quickly found our overnight cabin. It was tiny, but cozy enough to sleep in for eight hours overnight. We finished settling into our cabin and curled up for the evening. It was difficult to fall asleep as the cabin kept shifting back-and-forth, and I could often hear people walking in the corridor outside our door. Just as I was slipping away into slumber, we were woken up by a loud announcement. The train conductor told us that we had to stop the train due to a landslide on the tracks, and the train could not continue to Oslo. Instead, we all had to get off and buses had been scheduled to take us the rest of the way to Oslo Station. This was unfortunate since the whole reason we decided to take a train instead of flying was that we had hoped we could sleep the whole night and wake up in Oslo. All things considered, I was impressed with how well coordinated the public transportation was, and we made it to Oslo at the expected time.
Our travels weren’t over yet, though. We still needed to take another 4-hour train ride from Oslo to Finse. The ride was comfortable, albeit long, and by the time we entered into Vestland, my excitement began to grow. The skies had changed dramatically, and I could see large swaths of open snowy hillsides. The clouds were moody, with only a few spotlights of sun illuminating the mountain tops. The wind looked strong, pushing up gusts of snow from the large open plains into the air like someone sweeping dust from the ground with a broom. The area felt just as desolate as I imagined it would be, and I couldn't wait to explore it.
The very small village of Finse housed only a few buildings, mainly the train station itself and a few large hotel cabins. The cabin we were staying at was about a 10-minute walk across the snowy plains. We grabbed our backpacks and skis and ventured out into the frigid, windy weather. In the valley below to my right, I could see small groups of people sail skiing as the strong winds blew open their colorful sails and pushed them across the plains.
After a hearty dinner and a fairly good night's sleep, we began our morning looking out at a heavy wall of fog surrounding the cabin. I wasn’t sure if this was dangerous to ski in, but my more experienced companions didn’t seem troubled. After a hot cup of coffee and packing our lunches for the day, we ventured out into the frosty haze.
The journey started out uneventful and peaceful. Once we decided on a trail and got out of sight of the cabin, the only thing we could see in any direction was white, pure white. The fog was indescribably thick, enclosing us from all sides, including above. We could only see a few meters in front of us at any given time. Skiers that would pass by would quickly be enveloped in the white veil within minutes and soon be out of sight. It was a surreal feeling, like ghosts passing in the night, making you wonder if they had even existed at all. The eerie, diffused light of the sun further enhanced the otherworldly aura. Thankfully, the hiking association marked all the skiing trails with tall twigs poking out of the snow, so it was safe and easy for us to follow the trail without worrying about getting lost.
The sense of solitude and isolation was overwhelming in the best possible way. The absence of humans, wildlife, and even terrain was disorienting, humbling, and calming all at once. It was an exciting treat to come across a cluster of rocks large enough to poke through the deep snow. This was a very different feeling than when I go hiking, when there is always some kind of life, color, or texture around me whether it be birds, insects, vegetation, rocks, or the sky. There is always something to look at or feel around you. Being here felt like traveling into a blank void, an empty canvas unpainted by the gods, open to possibility, yet containing nothing.
About one hour into our trip, we stopped for a few minutes to get some water. It was around this time that the skies began to shift, and we could see the first pale hints of blue peeking through the frosty white sky. Not long after we continued uphill, we found the exit from the valley of fog. The sky opened up dramatically into a vast span of rich blue and sunshine. Having not seen color in a while, the vibrant sky was stunning. The sun shone clear and warm onto our faces, quickly heating up our bodies and hearts. We continued skiing for another hour until we found a flat cluster of rocks to sit down upon and enjoy our lunch.
Looking back along the trail towards our cabin, we could see the dense fog still sitting at the base of the mountains. I was a bit disappointed to have left that mystical realm, but the view from above was just as rewarding. After basking in the sunshine for a while, we eventually made our way back home. The fog has fully dissipated in the valley by that time, and I could finally see all the mountains around the area. I definitely imagine myself coming back here to explore the area further.
We spent the remainder of the day lounging around the large cabin. It could hold over 150 people and was fully staffed with a kitchen crew and hospitality workers. We sat around and read books, played games, enjoyed coffee and snacks, as well as enjoyed the beautiful views from the large windows. Since this was Easter weekend, one of the most popular Norwegian holidays next to Christmas, the cabin was packed with happy, energetic families. It was lively and wonderful to see so many people out enjoying themselves in the snow or curled up on couches and in general being with their loved ones. After a nice long rest, and a gentle pastel sunset with dinner, we went to bed.
The following day's trip sent us to a small cabin called Kelmsbuhytta. It lay on top of one of the mountain sides adjacent to the valley where we were staying. It’s a good thing I had no idea just how difficult it would be because I probably wouldn’t have agreed to go. This was my first time doing back country skiing, and I severely underestimated how difficult it would feel to hike in skis.
The journey started out with us traipsing through a small enclave of cabins on the other side of the train tracks. It then transitioned into a series of seemingly never ending inclines. I had to stop often to regulate my breathing, heart rate, and body temperature, but this gave me an opportunity to take lovely photos of the many untouched white hillsides.
Similar to the day before, we found ourselves secluded from other people and lost in an endless sea of white snowy hills devoid of life or noise. I imagine this is the kind of mental headspace many of us seek to achieve through meditation. It was shocking when we came across a very small bird called a Goldcrest (Regulus regulus), who flew down right next to us and bounced around in the snow excitedly. It even climbed on one of my companion's boots while we stood there looking at it. I think it probably wanted food, but we didn’t take out our sandwiches fast enough before it flitted off into the white expanse.
It was a long, grueling journey. Even with the skins under our skis for grip, it was taxing when your foot would slip unexpectedly on the inclines. There were many times when I wanted to give up, turn around, and go back to relax at the cabin. But my friends and I kept each other motivated and in good spirits. On the final stretch, when I was becoming fully resolved to turn back for fear of hurting myself, we rounded one more corner and saw the small, sharp point of a cabin roof in the distance. I was suddenly imbued with a surge of energy and excitement as we rushed towards the little sanctuary.
We arrived at the tiny cabin to see a large snow bank piled all the way up to the windows. We would learn a few minutes later, after talking to the cabin owners, that this cabin frequently gets completely covered in snow. They have two entrances one is a normal door, which thankfully we could use toady, and the second was actually located on the roof for when the snow submerges the cabin, and they must enter from the top downward. We stuck our skis and poles into the snow and ordered some waffles and hot tea while relaxing in the warm, wooden cabin for a while.
The long incline to get to the cabin was worth all the suffering in exchange for the enjoyment we got flying down the hills on our way back to town. We were surrounded by white, rolling hills as far as the eye could see, with uniquely shaped snowbanks and alcoves throughout the terrain. We were able to enjoy the scenery a bit more since we could sit back and relax, while our skis gracefully carried us downward.
Even after all the pain and exhaustion, I was reluctant to see the rooftops of the small village once again. You could once again feel the energy of people moving about, while my heart still longed to linger in the deafening silence of the snowy abyss. I was satisfied with the skiing trips we went on though, and the rest of the day was once again spent comfortably lounging in the cabin with snacks, conversation, and good books.
