The archipelago of Lofoten, Norway is about as far north as you can get in Europe. Boasting dramatic scenery, the midnight sun & the northern lights, it was the perfect place for Ryan Salm and his friends to plan the SUP adventure of a lifetime...

Anecdotes from Lofoten

They don’t boast of calm seas and beautiful weather in Lofoten. Framed pieces of artwork displayed on the walls of hotels, restaurants and public buildings of the small hamlets dotting the landscape depict this place as all gales, lone ships on high, cold seas, giant breakers on beaches, and snow-capped peaks. The stories in these works tell tales of difficult winters and the tough lives of fishermen lost at sea.

Our goal was to zigzag through the archipelago. We aimed to roll with the tides, use the barrier stone islands as protection and hopefully find safe passage. My team was a collection of friends from my home in Lake Tahoe; Jason Layh, Dan Shannon, and Jenna Minnes. After taking a ferry from the mainland pitched camp for the night. The following morning we inflated our Naish boards in the cool arctic air and worked on balancing our heavy loads. Large rolling waves and splash-back from the rocky coastline made this a priority. Just before bed while taking in one of the most extended sunsets I have ever seen, a small sound in the water made me quickly turn my head. No more than 15 feet away the large white patch of an orca breached the surface. Besides being blown away I was also instantly aware of how real the journey on the water could be.

The Journal 

The Beginning of Our Journey

The sun continued to revisit my thoughts as it often does in the Arctic during late April. It must have set at least four times from behind peaks in the last three hours. Alpenglow clung to the tips of massive granite domes making it hard to tell if true night would ever arrive or if dusk will simply hang out until morning. It was day one of the paddle journey and we awoke to calm seas and visions of grandeur. A hint of uneasiness descended upon the group as paddling through Arctic open ocean can have that effect. Our day’s journey lead us from our camp in southwest Moskenes toward the final town on the island chain–after which we backtracked past towering coastal mountains and fjords to the main attraction of Reine. It was there we poached a mustard yellow fisherman’s cabin, known as a rorbu, to escape the cold.

Timeless Sund

Sund was a fantastic surprise, a fishing village lost in time. Some newer buildings were standing, but the chronicles of the past were what caught my eye—boats and fishing cabins so old they defied logic. An intense feeling of desolation swept over me as I watched a lone fisherman walk down the street in the distance, past the decrepit remnants of a vessel.

Norwegian Country

Our goal for the day was to paddle, portage, and hitch, ending up in Nusfjord. There we would catch a short ferry ride across the strait, which is known for wreaking havoc on fishing vessels. Little did we know the tide was nowhere near where it needed to be for us to exit at the end of the fjord. Upon breaking into groups of two we set on foot in hopes of finding a different mode of transport. Jay and Jenna returned 30 minutes later inside a diesel Euro Van driven by a giant 18-year-old Norwegian boy. He said if we paid for petrol, he would take us wherever we wanted to go. As the pedal hit the metal, he cranked up the stereo, which blasted a Swedish version of the Hank Williams classic, “Jambalaya.” From deep in the driver’s throat came a deep bass voice somewhere between Johnny Cash and Luciano Pavarotti.

Speeding through the rugged coastal landscape he told us there was, in fact, no ferry in Nusfjord. After a few back and forth about just paddling the strait, his father called and advised him not to let us paddle across. It was way too dangerous.

He dropped us in Ure after numerous stops and we commenced the most perfect paddle of the trip. We dug our paddles through quiet seas, past salmon farms and beautiful rock island outcrops.

An Uneasy Feeling

We are constantly reminded of the dangers that exist in all straits of the Archipelago. People seem to fear for our well-being, especially as the tides change, when the water from the Norwegian Sea flushes through the narrow passageways and off the weak hulls of our inflatable vessels. Stories of maelstroms flow off the tongues of everyone we come in contact with. 

Arctic Decisions

When we woke it was gloomy, a low ceiling of clouds hung thick and ominous. And while the sea was more or less calm, we could feel that she was hiding something.

It began simply. The winds began to build from the southwest when we set out on a diagonal path across the bay. Small manageable rollers bobbed us up and down as we took shelter behind various island outcroppings.

Dane and I pushed onward but in the process, lost touch with Jenna and Jay. As we passed one island, a fjord lingered to the west and the winds increased considerably from that direction. To our east lay a couple of staggering rock islands and beyond that, the sea extended into an abyss toward mainland Norway.

I paddled onward while attempting to hold my balance and gear weight in place. A large roller swept over my side, caused my load to wobble, and knocked me off my feet. At that same moment, a large gust of wind from the west blasted through, grabbing my attention in an instant. Only then did I realize that what we were doing out here was completely real. We were amateurs in this Arctic world.

After a brief pause, I got my shit in order, got back to my feet, and found an eddy. At that point, I turned to notice Jay waving in the distance. The same wind had spun Jenna and she was losing her grip. For an instant, it appeared that she was being pulled back toward open seas. Jay paddled to her assistance, while we set up, with Dane paddling toward shore while I paddled between Dane and Jay to set up a communication line in case they decided to head to the last outcropping before the open seas. . The wind had full control of her board. But eventually, she pushed through.

The day progressed with moments of calm glass, multiple rain showers, bouts of freezing feet, shivering, and awe for the sheer magnitude of this true adventure.

The sky teased blue skies and tried to bait us into crossing the channel. We discussed the crossing while shivering and all agreed that although it appeared calm, a gale hung in the distance. Moments later, the wind began to rip and the sea began to flutter as a north wind raged through the channel. We found an old beat-up pier and fisherman shack with an unlocked door, set up our tents out front, and borrowed a shelter to hunker down with some hot food.

Who knows what our fate might have been had we attempted the crossing.

Downwind to Henningsvaer

We sat on the corner of the dirt road trying to hitchhike down the empty E10 highway. 500 pounds of gear and four people throwing rocks into puddles and waiting. We were a full shit show of tourism and dysfunction. The day before’s crossing had us questioning ourselves.

Four hours later, Jay and Jenna had committed to walking to a nearby hamlet to ask random people for a ride. Meanwhile, a passing car stopped at our intersection. Based on our available space and gear equation, Dane and I jump at the opportunity.

A few miles down the road we reached the northern edge of the fjord we were debating to originally cross from the west. It was immediately apparent that we were perfectly situated at the top of a 20 or so kilometer downwinder to Henningsvaer. We quickly asked for the driver to pull over and began to inflate. Moments later Jay and Jenna stopped ini a second vehicle but had decided to catch a ride straight to town. In an attempt to lighten our load, we gave them our extra paddle bag, which unfortunately contained Dane’s fin.

After about 10 minutes of regret, half-blame, and making fun of one another, Dane decided to do the downwinder anyway. We loaded up, caught current & breeze, and hightailed to Henningsvaer. What began as a junk show turned into a true day of travel; one of hardship, questions, hitchhiking, and bliss. For the first time in a few days, we had a warm bed and a day off. 

Hollywood Extras

A dusting of fresh snow created a renewed sense of magic that followed us through our next few days. The snow made it feel like the Arctic of my imagination. Low clouds hung in the slices between the rocks. Flakes fell effortlessly like feathers into the sea as we paddled to Kalle with no roads or civilization in sight.

We stopped at the Lofoten Ski Lodge and their crew took us in like family as we exchanged stories all night. The evening took an unexpected turn when another guest introduced himself as part of a film crew and asked, “Would you guys be interested in drinking free beers for a few hours?”

We happily obliged and proceeded to fill in as extras during a bar scene for a low-budget Hollywood flick starring actor Jamie McShane.

Struggle for Control

Back on the water and back to reality. My feet felt like chunks of ice as I remind myself not to stray from concentration. Generally speaking one foot, the one in the sun was always OK while the shaded one felt moments from frostbite. Just below my inflated board lay a black abyss with an occasional reflection from the grey sky above. The cry of a seagull brought me back to the moment.

Lost in my thoughts, I worked to keep myself afloat amid the pounding currents, winds, and waves coming from all directions.

I guess that’s what the fisherman mean when they speak of the maelstrom that occurs in all the large channels.

Crossroads

A classic northwest wind blew as we set our course across yet another daunting strait. Catching the wind, we sailed past fish farms, islands, and snow-laden summits. Before we knew it, we’d traveled over ten miles.

That strong northwesterly blew us all the way down to a small group of rocky islands, a virtual crossroads in life, and this adventure. Part of the group had decided to stop in a tiny gap between two rock outcroppings when a giant ferry came full bore into the harbor. I quickly hollered, turned, and burned just as the enormous wake hit my board, slammed the rocks, and rebounded, causing me to hold on for dear life and surf it out.

Jenna was not so fortunate and found herself in a dangerous position. The ferry’s large wake plowed right through the narrow hallway where she had stopped. Moments later the wave took her out and submerged her in the Arctic waters.

Jay and Jenna came on this trip looking for the adventure of a lifetime and in that regard, they were not disappointed. But after yet another frightening incident, both decided to count their blessings and call it quits a couple of days early. No matter how beautiful, they were no longer interested in tempting the Norwegian Sea’s fury.

Riding Into the Sunset

Dane and I grabbed what we needed and headed back to sea to reconnect with that perfect northwesterly. With the breeze at our backs, we pushed onward for eight more miles. Across the horizon, the endless fjords of Norway’s east coast were alight in a pink glow. The sunset continued to resurface through gaps in the mountains, blasting alpenglow on scattered islands and lighthouses.

We paddled through two small channels around a large rock island and onto a hidden beach, our campsite for the night. Once set up, around 11 p.m., we climbed a mossy knoll as the full moon rose over the Arctic. 

Rolling Solo

While the rest of the crew soon had to catch a flight back home, I had plans to stay an extra week. I loaded up my board, said my goodbyes to the crew, and began a solo journey to nowhere specific.

After paddling across the bay, taking a quick bus ride, and hitchhiking in an ‘80s VW, I found myself on a gravel pullout with over 100 pounds of gear, a paddle bag, and a board.

30 minutes later I was picked up by a man named Gustav. After hearing my accent, he immediately changed the classical music on the radio to country. It’s clear to me now that Norwegians love country music and why shouldn’t they? If Lofoten isn’t pure country, I don’t know what is.

We cruised the backroads until he dropped me off at a secret trail. A short hike later, I found myself sitting atop a spectacular bluff, staring out at the breathtaking scene: a rugged moonscape of emerald bays, dry and snow-covered peaks, an entanglement of pure beauty.

A Final Dance

At yet another crossroads, arrows, and signs pointed to Svolvaer, Fredvang, Ramberg, and beyond.

Kvalvika was desolate at 5 a.m. I stood on an empty mountainous maritime roadway with no cars in sight. Despite an aching left knee and my best efforts to talk myself out of it, I knew damn well that I was going paddling again. Otherwise, I would be sitting in that spot for hours or if not days.

The view out toward Ramberg was ominous but the winds appeared to be blowing in the right direction. I inflated, packed up my gear, and set out solo across the bay, sticking as close to shore as possible.

Reaching the first bridge, the current and maelstrom begin to show their dark side as rollers moved in from all sides. On multiple occasions, I almost bailed, often docking and scoping the scene ahead. Every time I pulled over, I knew that deep down it was just nerves and I really had no choice but to paddle across.

The first crossing went fine. On the second, the tide began to shift. Winds moved in from the south and the current began to swirl. Confused and alone I almost bailed and walked a nearby bridge. When it finally settled down I realised, “I have no interest in walking.” Pushing off, I turn to face the fury of the Norwegian Sea, one last time.

By Ryan Salm

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