When the world finally opened up after the COVID lockdowns, some people went to Bali. I decided to ski across Greenland.

Yep. Greenland. 600 kilometres. 26 days. Temperatures hovering around -25°C. How hard could it be?

Greenland: Not Just Trump's Fantasy Island

Before we get into the frostbite and flying pulkas, let’s clear up a few things about Greenland. It’s not just a big white blob on the map or an impulsive purchase idea floated by a U.S. president. Greenland is the world’s largest island, home to 56,000 people (mostly Inuit), most of whom live on the coast because the centre is buried under a 1,500m-thick icecap. It’s beautiful, vast, and incredibly humbling.

Also, it’s not green.

Meet the Team

This expedition wasn’t a solo misery mission. Our group was a joyful mix of nationalities and resumes that made me question my life choices.

• Susan - my tent mate and partner in crime for the first 10 days. Calm, positive, and somehow still laughing even when unwell.
• Hege Victoria - if you haven’t heard of her, you will. She’s now the fastest Norwegian woman to ski to the South Pole. Also a sniper. Also better than you at everything. But also humble. So it's fine.
• Sheriff & James - both have casually climbed Everest, as one does. This is amongst many many sickengly brilliant achievements! 
• Bard - our guide, who exuded unshakeable calm and cracked jokes at the perfect moment.
• Mardi - assistant guide, can MacGyver anything, sings word for word Flight of the Conchords, and once projectile vomited without missing a ski stride. True story.

Into the White

We started at Kangerlussuaq, on Greenland’s west coast. After a mandatory tasting of the local schnapps (expedition protocol), we were dropped at the edge of the icecap. From there: onward! Except first we had to climb. No skiing. Just hauling 80kg pulkas up icy inclines while wearing crampons. It was essentially a cold CrossFit class with less shouting and more crying. My pulka (whose name is redacted due to emotional trauma) and I had a rocky start. But by the end, we were mates. I carried 30 days of food, two pairs of underwear, and dreams. One of those things ran out early.

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Routine: Misery, Monotony, Magic

The rhythm was brutal in its simplicity:

• Wake up
• Met ice for an hour
• Break camp
• Ski for 8 hours (with hourly snack stops that felt like Christmas)
• Set up camp
• Dig a toilet (a personal favourite – anytime you need some digging, give me a call!)
• Melt more ice
• Sleep
• Repeat

It sounds dull. And it kind of was. But in the most beautiful way. Until day 8, when Susan, our cheerful legend, had to be evacuated by helicopter. Watching her fly away made one thing clear: we were properly, unequivocally alone.

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Ghosts of the Cold War

On day 12, something appeared on the horizon. Slowly, the strange shape revealed itself: Dye 2, an abandoned Cold War radar station with a giant white dome straight out of a sci-fi film. Inside, it looked like everyone had left in a rush; half-open food cartons, random eggs, creepy Cold War vibes. It was a haunting reminder of Greenland’s place in global history. But due to its location, there were no polar bears lurking, which for me, was a plus.

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The Solitude Hits (and Hits Back)

After Dye 2, it was back to the routine. One other team passed us with dog sleds (cue envy), but otherwise we were alone. Then my headphones died. No music. No podcasts. Just me and my thoughts. And let me tell you, by the end of this trip, I had thought all the thoughts. I accidentally invented mindfulness.

The last two days were a race to the finish. We roped up for a massive crevasse field and fell like dominoes, many times over! The Norwegians within the team were kind but also deeply unimpressed! The rest of us were in hysterics.

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The End? Not Quite.

After 26 days, a strange little hexagonal hut came into view. We didn’t stay there, but it marked the end of the icecap. West to East: complete.

Well... almost.

We still had to descend a steep slope to the sea ice. It was slippery, chaotic, and mildly terrifying. But our guides handled it like pros while I tried not to fall over or be eaten. Finally, we jumped on a small boat to Isortoq - our final stop. Sunburned, grinning, and very ready for a beer.

TL; DR

• 600km skied
• 26 days
• 6 humans
• 1 pulka, whom I eventually forgave
• Infinite snow
• And memories that still make me laugh (and shiver)

Greenland, you icy beast. I’d do it all again. But maybe with more underwear.

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