Norwegian Travel

For our time in Arctic Norway, I’d looked at outfitters and excursions that arrange inclusive experiences to maximize travel time and location and while doing so, I stumbled upon Norwegian Travel. They set it up for us to be able to visit their mountain camp, where one could book in advance to join in dog sledding, reindeer feeding, snowmobiling, northern lights safari, and visit the famous Ice Hotel. This was a great way to spend an easy day (or immersive two days) in nature, experiencing some highlights of Arctic adventure.

Nordic vistas punctuated the stunning drive into the mountains to camp Tamok.

We were staying 200 miles above the Arctic Circle in Tromsø (see our article with more about Tromsø and the surrounding area HERE).

It was a very early morning start and I violently bit the ice, not once but twice on route to join up with the transport. A balmy few days above freezing had been met with a plunge in temperatures the night before and thick crystalline ice lay waiting like an invisible enemy under every other step. Here, locals know how to walk on ice. Longer-time visitors have boots with spikes. It’s the tourists like myself who are sporting bruises and providing deadly entertainment just trying to get on the bus.

Having come quite early to meet with the tour we were disappointed to discover the few streets almost deserted and all the coffee shops in the small arctic beacon of civilization that is Tromsø, closed. We wondered if something had happened before realizing it was Sunday and apparently on Sunday in Tromsø, everything is closed, or at least opens late in the afternoon. A bit dazed and throbbing from the impact of my falls, coffee-locating instincts took over and I found myself in the breakfast cafe at Scandic Ishavshotel to get out of the frigid morning and nurse a cappuccino while waiting for the excursion group to gather across the street at the appointed time.

Too many layers kept me from discovering if the pain in my leg, which felt a bit sticky was actually bleeding. I decided not to make myself a drama queen and I put it from my mind. Soon enough we were boarding the transport to Camp Tamok and the breathtaking Norwegian scenery usurped all attention. Classic little red, yellow, and blue Norwegian homes created pops of colors against the dramatic gleaming white peaks and icy fjords that framed them. Horses thick in their winter coats, here and there the traditional lavvo and even reindeer, and each vista seemingly more impressive than the next, our winding drive to the camp seemed shorter than ninety minutes.

Cozy wood cabins, little arctic domes for overnighters, and the traditional tepee-style lodge of the Sami people indigenous to the region are the only structures at Camp Tamok, the lack of modern architecture of plastic making this feel like a place outside of time, natural in its pristine cloud-like setting in the white expanse between peaks.

Dog sledding is a common pastime and long-held tradition in the region and here at Camp Tamok, tourists can meet the dogs, pet puppies, and even take a jab at mushing themselves. The dogs are the choir of the camp, occasionally one starts a song and the rest join in and their energy is palpable.

Snowmobiling: After a quick demonstration, we join a small group to take snowmobiles up into the marshmallow mountains, where the terrain is comprised of a thousand different shades of white, in every texture. Here the snow is puffy and dimpled in the palest of soft blues. Here it glimmers and sparkles, weightless as it whisps by on an unfelt wind, making the air itself glitter. In the deep shadow of a peak or glinting off the gleaming summit of a ridge, the snow’s colors become a fantastical contrast, playing with the sunlight and gently blending itself into the occasional cloud that takes a seat for a moment between slopping snow-swept summits.

The air is deliciously crisp, and it’s a strange light sort of high up here, where your spirit seems to be bigger then its shell, expanding into this strange uninhabitable world where white meets sky. Eventually, we make our way down, and soon we are winding tracks through little trees, snowmobiles following the leader like a little pack of wolves through the wilderness.

It’s perfect timing when we park our rides, my stomach is starting to growl. We make our way to the Lavvo where coffee and a local hot berry cider drink are steaming over the fireplace in the center. We shed our layers as we start to thaw and enjoy a traditional Sami reindeer stew with a Swedish flatbread that we toast directly on top of the potbelly-like stove. As it always is, food never tastes better than when you’ve been outside all day and your lunges are wide awake from cold fresh air.

The Ice Hotel: We spend the afternoon at the camp, walking over the slope through a sparse wood to view reindeer and explore the ice domes, a hotel newly constructed from snow and ice every year. Each room is meticulously carved into a unique, larger-than-life work of art and the “great hall” features an ice table and ice chairs. These like the rest of the ice in the impressive structure, (ice forms doors and numerous sculptures and windows), is cut by hand from freshwater lakes in Finland (commence opening scene from Disney’s frozen) where it is glasslike and clear.

Reindeer furs make the seats and beds surprisingly warm and comfortable. We meander in that classic to our time, push and pull between enjoying the experience and wanting a photo around every corner. Finally we enjoy juice in frozen shot glasses at the frozen bar, raising a Viking toast in honor of this year’s ice dome theme; Vikings.

The recreational tours to Camp Tamok come in the morning and evening, so to spend the day at camp you enjoy a quiet time, the dogs are sleepy in the afternoon, the light changes constantly as the sun begins to sink below the mountains casting golden glowing rays across the white and forming blue shadows that become deeper and deeper. The wood of the cabins almost glows with warmth and the pines and scraggly trees become silhouettes, the frigid creek below the camp is a black cut into deep pillowy snow. Various camp fires start to glow brighter against the brilliant evening and finally despite the beauty the cold forces us in to warm up.

The coziness of the lavvo frames the setting sun outside in a small window, and we roast sausages and marshmallows over the fire stove in the middle. Steaming coffee and berry cider warm us up from the inside and somehow we relax into conversation with the four other visitors who stayed the day, recounting various travels and the impression of the Arctic from our own perspectives and fresh experiences respectively from England, South Africa, and America. A warm stupor eventually transforms again into anticipation as we recover some energy for the evening.

Our final goal of the evening is to see the northern lights, any iffy chance that can be predicted only to the point of a fifty percent chance, and always prey to the whims of the clouds and constantly changing weather. I had low hopes in the morning because there was a snowstorm predicted but as we left Tromsø the mountains were surprisingly clear and had a weather of their own. One moment the skies opened up, a few minutes later a light snow was falling, and shortly after a full moon drenched the alpine scene in moonlight, greeted by a full and lengthy choir of howls, taken up by each of the several camps of sled dogs in turn and maintained with vigor before falling away to sudden silence, a silence loud now in absence of the dog’s song.

We were now a little group of four, bracing against the cold around a fire we had made into our place of waiting. The fire crackled as we sat around it, each gazing at the sky as the clouds played with the moon and snowy summits to create a haunting and magical ever-changing moonscape. Every opening in the clouds clear enough to see stars brought my hopes up higher, and the sky generously cleared, as if knowing our eyes were begging the clouds to break up. But as the minutes ticked by we saw no trace of the lights and the bus back to Tromsø would be here in ten minutes. Now five minutes.

As I reached to get my bag and get up to head over to that side of camp, we all saw it, a sharp unfurling of light where a moment ago there was nothing, waxing bright, light bleeding upward like an inverse waterfall, green hues and pink falling up in traces, flowing formlessly in a way I can’t say is “like” anything I’ve else I’ve ever seen. another tendril appeared and joined the first and the sky danced for a moment before it was gone and it was as if it had never been.

Another glimmer, created a path through the sky curling at odds with the clouds that framed it and a shout went up from the camp. The twenty or so persons who’d stayed into the evening came out of their cozy hideaways and all eyes traced the sky as another few tendrils built and ebbed away like a whisper of a song you can’t even tell if you heard or your mind made up, your eyes almost don’t believe it as soon as it’s gone.

At that moment the bus arrived and we had to leave, I fought with the frustration of boarding the bus just as the skies were becoming active and the show we had traveled so far to catch a glimpse of was about to commence. I know many people journey to the north to see this natural spectacle and many are disappointed so I consoled myself that I had seen the lights twice even if they were not quite the full dramatic display you hope to be lucky enough to catch. But it was hard to stomach that we were leaving just as the lights had moved above us and were becoming impressive.

We descended into a snowstorm, I made an internal note that it was a huge relief not to be driving in this weather. We nodded off a bit, from the exhaustion of a full day and hours outside and before we knew it we were back. The glowing lights of Tromsø on freshly fallen powder were a stunning midnight backdrop, with the sharp lines of the arctic cathedral breaking the sky as we disembarked on the Tromsdalen (spell) side of the fjord.

As I de-layer I’m reminded of the morning which now feels like days ago, when I see that my leg had indeed sustained a gash and was a bit swollen from falling on the ice before setting out. Funny that I injure myself before an adventure rather than during, I can’t help but laugh at it. No real harm was done though and we are fast into pajamas and climbing into bed, satisfyingly exhausted. As my head finally met the pillows, shapes, and shadows of fantastical snowscapes played behind my eyelids for mere seconds before deep oblivion.

On the plane the next morning, as the stunning Nordic geography grew small in the window, I was already planning my return. Norwegian Travel was fantastic helping us to make the most of our time and arranging for seamless transport. You can check them out HERE to book your own customized Arctic adventures.

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