Hiking at Brosmetinden, Norway

October 2023

The glacial wind stung my throat as I panted up the steep trail. Four layers of REI’s best thermal products made my chest swim with sweat. I unzipped the top inch of my down jacket to let the Norwegian breeze cool my neck, even as my nose ached in the cold. Pausing to rest, I turned to observe the path behind me.

The trail of packed snow I had followed from the small parking lot blended into the powdery field at the base of Brosmetinden. The surrounding mountain range gathered close, eclipsing most of the murky sky. I felt the towering peaks peering down at me with haughty faces that glowed purple under their icy crowns. Over the western ridge, a shimmer of water hinted at the hike’s summit view. That gleam of Norwegian Sea kept me trudging towards the promised prize. I hate walking uphill, but I love hiking.

I stopped to take photos whenever I felt a fresh sense of awe – which was often. I thought the Arctic chill had seeped through my thick wool gloves, but when I snapped photos with my naked hands, completely exposed to Norway’s autumn frigidity, I appreciated just how hard those gloves worked. Later, trekking back to my car during a spectacular sunset, I would learn just how much I tolerate freezing fingers to capture a stunning moment. For now, I periodically stuffed my hands down my pants, borrowing heat from my legs before photographing new scenes of the everchanging vista.

Just below the final ascent to Brosmetinden’s summit, an island came into view. A perfect oval, the mountain rose from the Norwegian Sea like a prima donna, topped with a snowcap so uniform and smooth, it looked painted on. Water glittered to the horizon beyond, and I realized I was seeing the Arctic Ocean for the first time in my life. Until this trip to Norway, the Arctic had seemed magical and beyond my reach, a concept more than a place. Now, I stood before an ocean that was worlds away from the places I called home, watching the familiar sparkle of reflected sunlight.

At this elevation, the wind carried its sharpest bite yet. I sheltered behind a large boulder, still breathing heavily from the climb. I needed a break. I rummaged through my backpack, hunching uselessly against the cold. Steam fluttered across my vision as I sipped from my hot water bottle. I stripped off the gloves again, just long enough to peel the banana I had packed. I took a bite, then looked curiously at the fruit. The flavor felt odd after hours of tasting only frosty air. The yellow peel popped cheerfully against the purple mountains and gray clouds. My nose, my cheeks, even my eyes felt raw from a wind only the North Pole could whip up. But my tongue tasted a rich sweetness grown in the humid warmth of equatorial sunshine. I held up my half-eaten snack, considering it alongside the snowcapped rock that posed elegantly in the sea. This little fruit had traveled from tropical jungles to nourish me on a frozen mountain draped in snow, while I watched the sun set over the frigid waters of the Arctic Ocean. What a wonderful journey.