16.1.16

Ski magic

As a kid growing up in Vermont, I heard of the magic that was xc skiing in Norway. In later years, I wondered about this place where it was so normal to use ski poles with your rollerblades or rollerskis that it wouldn't be the fodder for drive-by screams that I was cheating (thanks, Martha's Vineyard). Then came the first time I was stuck in Oslo during a work trip from Iceland and I saw someone dressed to ski walking to the tram on a Saturday morning. A city that had ski trails within reach of public transportation seemed impossible to someone used to New England where there was a ski culture but it wasn't something that absolutely everyone does.

I did manage to go skiing once in Norway after that one glimpse thanks to a pharmacist who took pity on me. Stuck in Norway for yet another weekend while waiting for a Monday meeting, she lent me everything I needed and I took the train to Lillehammer where I had a marvelous day. And yet still, I thought of course skiing in Lillehammer is great, because it's what the region is known for.

Then, last month my in-laws-to-be gave me a pair of my own skis for Christmas, and a week ago it began to snow. It snowed half of Saturday and all day Sunday so on Monday after work I hopped on the subway out to Sognsvann, following the others carrying skis. When I arrived, I followed the stream of other ski-bearing people to the trail head where I nervously waxed up for the first time in years. A beautifully groomed, lighted trail curved off into the darkness around the lake, so I followed the pinpricks of light between the snow-laden pines.

It's hard to get lost on a lighted trail in a forest, so I kept going until, 11 kilometers later, I emerged at Frognerseter with the glow of Oslo spread below me. From there it was a short climb to another subway station that whisked me back home to warmth and dinner.

Still not quite believing what I'd just experienced, I decided to try again this morning. By the time I arrived on the trail at Sognsvann, the sun was fully up and the sky just starting to brighten to a crisp wintry blue. There had been fresh snowfall last night so the pines were even heavier, and every bare twig was outlined in powder that gently wafted off as the sun warmed the branches.

I took a new route even farther out into the forest, a gently rolling track that wound through pines, past small frozen lakes, past a farm and along a rushing river. The forest was full of others- children barely able to walk being pulled along by parents with lead ropes, 85 year old women with vintage skis, lots of rambunctious dogs in bootees snuffling the passersby. After having skied in places where it was mostly ski team and a few enthusiasts on the trails, it's fantastic to see how all-inclusive and accessible the sport is here.

And what better way to enjoy a perfectly crisp winters day than to be skiing through landscape such as this? The trail I took eventually arrived at a skistua, where skis lined the sun drenched wall outside, and where the scent of fresh waffles drifted out the door. I paused briefly for some hot tea from my thermos before continuing on. The trail I chose started a downward descent after a brief panorama of the Oslo skyline and surrounding pine forests, and I eventually found myself back where I'd started at Sognsvann.

20 minutes later, I was home again, with a slightly frozen face but still marvelling that such incredible skiing is such a short ride away from the biggest city here, costs nothing, and is illuminated every night week until around 11pm. It's turned dark winters from something to tolerate to something to embrace and celebrate. I can't wait to do it again.