Standing heelside 3,000 feet above a remote fjord on Iceland’s north coast, it suddenly hit me that our trip to Arctic Heli Skiing had taken us far beyond the normal snowboarder’s migration from May snow. At 66 degrees north we were one long flight from Timberline Lodge or Washington Pass, and this adventure had already delivered an experience more memorable than any spring tip in the volcanic arc of the Cascades back home.
Iceland is not a destination on most people’s spring-skiing radar, but with 3,000-foot lines that drop directly to the sea and 20 hours of daylight this location just below the Arctic Circle promised more adventure than could be found on the North American glacial strips and retreating snowfields that see steady shred traffic this time of year.
The only problem was the Eyjafjallajokull volcano that happened to erupt at the same time as our trip, shutting down European airspace and stranding travelers around the globe. Fortunately for us, our arrival was timed perfectly. We slid into the Reykjavik-Kefkavik Airport between closures and then traveled six hours north to the Troll Peninsula and the sleepy port town of Dalvik, home to the only heli-ski operation in Iceland: Arctic Heli.
Two days later we got our clearance to fly. We lifted off from the N1 gas station in the neighboring fishing village of Olafsfjarbar as a local crowd that had gathered to see the helicopter waved us farewell. Under a circling sun we rode softening, uncooked corn snow above vast fjords, walking out from our last line through sheep pastures and past wooden racks of drying fish.
On our second clear day, diverted international jetliners refueling at the loval airport caused a backlog, so we didn’t lift off until late afternoon. Our flight was directed to a massive, roadless zone named the Hidden Land for its abandoned farmsteads and lore of hardship, where we lapped steep faces at full speed to the sea. The sun stays out until 10 p.m. this far north, so we did too, flying back at sunset to feast on a traditional Icelandic dinner of lamb stew and fresh bread at the farmhouse.
As the clouds stacked in, we tried to adapt to the situation like true Icelanders. We visited gurgling mud pots, soaked in natural hot pools and toured a local Kaldi microbrewery-where we learned incidentally that the country only legalized beer in 1991. Back in the capital, the volcano finally grounded us as well. The delay allowed us a night to experience Reykjavik’s world-famous, late-night pub-crawl, however, so all was not lost. We were off island one day later.
We are still reeling from spectacular landscapes of a Nordic nation that awed at every glance, and the untapped terrain waiting to be explored, and are already plotting our return. If you have a similar craving for first descents and cultural immersion-or for traditional Icelandic foods like salted cod, cured horsemeat and grilled whale steak-the worldclass corn season at Arctic Heli runs each year from late March until late June.
