National Geographic Traveller (UK)
ULTIMATE SCANDINAVIAN EXPERIENCES
The northerly isle of Senja offers a distillation of Norway’s charms: cinematic coastal islets, ancient Viking history, challenging hikes, and passionate local adventurers and artists. It’s less well known to travellers than the Lofoten Islands but equall
THE PULL OF THE WILD IS NEVER STRONGER THAN IN DENMARK, NORWAY AND SWEDEN. ON THE PERIPHERY OF EUROPE, SCANDINAVIA IS WHERE NATURE THROWS OUT THE RULEBOOK. SHAPED BY THE ELEMENTS AND RULED BY THE SEASONS, THIS IS A REGION NOT ONLY BOUND BY CULTURAL TIES, BUT BY A LOVE FOR EPIC OUTDOOR ADVENTURES
1 LIVING ON THE EDGE
Clouds wobble and mountain peaks quiver as I glide silently along the fjord, my paddle slicing through their reflections with butter-soft ease. With every stroke I slip further into a sleepy rhythm, conscious I’m the only moving part in a scene that’s remarkably still.
Daily paddles are a form of meditation for kayak instructor Hege Dekkerhus, who escaped to the island of Senja several years ago, leaving a stressful life in the city behind. In an environment dominated by steep mountains and deep fjords, navigating the overpowering topography leaves no option but to slow down.
Weaving through islets strewn with polished boulders and strands of glossy seaweed, we explore the cinematic landscape once occupied by Viking communities. On the small, satellite isle of Tranoya, evidence of an ancient boathouse can be found beneath grassy mounds, along with bones, silver buttons and arrowheads frequently dug up by sheep — the only permanent residents who remain.
Despite being Norway’s second largest island, a threehour drive and ferry ride from the northern city of Tromsø, Senja barely registers on most traveller’s radars. Too often it’s overlooked and overshadowed by the neighbouring Lofoten Islands, although its peaks soar just as high.
“I fell in love with this place when I came here,” says Hege, who operates kayak trips through her company Norwegian Wild, alongside managing Camp Tranøybotn, a converted 1970s caravan park. Set on the edge of Anderdalen National Park in the south of the island, the site has been gently transformed with clapperboard cabins, igloo domes and a lighthouse with 360-degree views. At dusk, sandpipers pick along the shoreline and seals duck and dive in the watery shadows.
It’s my base to explore Norway in miniature: Senja is a place where cliffs hug the coastline and colourful fishing villages tuck into the clefts of valleys, condensing some of the Scandinavian country’s greatest physical and cultural attributes into 612 square miles of space.
I start with a 56-mile stretch between Gryllefjord and Botnhamn; listed as one of Norway’s 18 designated scenic driving routes, it offers some of the island’s best views.
Tunnels bore into dark and seemingly impenetrable mountains, cutting through rocks jutting out to sea. At times, narrow stretches are pinched between plunging cliffs and roaring waves, showering me in a mist of ocean spray.
At Tungeneset, a wooden walkway leads to the water and a viewing platform, a popular spot for photographing geological wonder, the Devil’s Teeth. Ahead of me, a ridge of sawtooth rocks bites into the horizon, gobbling up the midnight sun only to spit it out again as I drive on.
During the midsummer months, there are never any real hours of darkness, giving days an irresistible elasticity and allowing activities to stretch until dawn.
One of the most popular hikes is Segla mountain. From the village of Fjordgard, I begin a four-hour trek to Senja’s equivalent of Pulpit Rock (an iconic precipice in Norway’s southwest), following a steep trail to a peak 2,096ft above the fjords, where I sit like a queen on a granite throne.
Senja’s landscape lends itself to legends and folklore, even entering the Guinness Book of World Records for creating the world’s largest troll. Weaned on fishermen’s tales told by candlelight, local man Leif Rubach was inspired to build Senjatrollet in Finnsaeter, where he’d dress up and take visitors on a tour of his sculptures and tableaus inspired by local folklore. A devastating fire in 2019 forced him to hang up his hairy-toed slippers for good, however, and now only his memories and stories remain.
“Trolls are everywhere,” he insists. “You’ll find them in mountains, forest and sea.” Anywhere else, the claims would be ridiculous. But in magical Senja, even the most outlandish fantasies seem to make sense.
How to do it: Where The Wild Is offers the four-night Life With A Local: Senja tour from £1,885 per person, including hiking, kayaking and road outings but excluding flights. wherethewildis.co.uk norwegianwild.no visitnorway.com
2 GO FORAGING FOR OYSTERS IN THE WADDEN SEA
Locals call Jesper Voss the ‘oyster king’ of Denmark’s Wadden Sea. When the tide is low, from October to April, Jesper leads foraging trips to gather oysters in the shallow waters off Fanø, where windswept dunes of yellow sand ease into the brittle-blue North Sea.
Armed with a bucket, you’ll head into the mudflats to look for Pacific oysters, which are invasive, so harvesting them means you’re doing your bit for conservation. Back on the beach, Jesper gets shucking, serving them raw, marinated and grilled over an open fire. Slurp away. Every oyster is a little burst of sweet, creamy goodness. You can eat them in restaurants, but they taste infinitely better here among the brine and the breeze. Waders are included but bring your own wellies. visitfanoe.dk facebook.com/jesper.d.voss
3 RIDE A RIGID INFLATABLE ACROSS SALTSTRAUMEN
Clinging on for dear life to a RIB as you bounce across Saltstrumen’s vortices, with icy seawater lashing your face, you might feel as though you’re about to be sucked down a giant plughole. Just south of the city of Bodø in northern Norway, the world’s strongest tidal current rips through a 1.8-mile-long, 490ft-wide strait every six hours. Its scale and force are staggering, as are the views of the surrounding cliffs and mountains.
When the engine is switched off, keep an eye out for sea eagles, puffins, eider ducks and whale porpoises. Still keen for more adventure? Certified dry-suit divers can take on its steep walls and currents. But even with no experience, you can still snorkel among frilly anemones and prehistoriclooking wolfish in the calmer waters away from the whirlpools. nordogne.no stella-polaris.no
4 GO PADDLE CAMPING ON SWEDEN’S WEST COAST
Eight thousand granite and gneiss islands, islets and skerries punctuate Sweden’s West Coast. Clasped between sea and sky, this is a place of ravishing natural beauty, best explored with a paddle in hand. The Bohuslän region is a kayaking dream, with its delicate fretwork of rocky inlets, bays and fishing villages lined with red-painted wooden cabins — each more idyllic than the next.
These are islands where you’re alone with your tent, the seabirds and the stars. Dawn breaking in a pool of fire across quicksilver waters. Swimming in secluded coves. The sound of a seal as it emerges from the water. These are the moments you’ll remember. From May to September, Nature Travels can set you off on the right course with a selfguided kayaking and wild camping trip, starting in the sheltered fjords of Uddevalla and ending in Orust or Tjörn. naturetravels.co.uk KW
5 BETWEEN THE ICE AND SKY Swedish Lapland is typically visited by travellers in the inky depths of midwinter, but a later season known locally as ‘spring-winter’ provides a glittering backdrop against which to engage with the lives and traditions of Europe’s last indigenous people, the Sámi. Words: Ellen Himelfarb
The most effective cure I’ve yet to experience for the late-winter blues is the Arctic’s spectacular, pervasive whiteness. In Swedish Lapland, with the landscape still trapped beneath a blanket of snow, it’s all you can see. By day, snowflakes glitter from the sun’s doting attention
— a serious serotonin boost.
Tonight, I’m chasing that high on the frozen Råne River, where a ‘floating sauna’ cabin is gripped by metre-thick ice. It’s an outpost of Aurora Safari Camp, an off-grid cluster of glass-topped, conical cabins and heated yurts (the latter known as ‘lavvu’ by the region’s Indigenous Sámi people) which sleep just 10 guests. With its paired-back luxuries and abhorrence of artificial light, the camp is designed to thrust travellers into the elements. Which is how I find myself climbing out of my winter layers in frigid temperatures and groping my way into the sauna’s candlelit interior.
I fill a bucket with water from the wood-burning stove, splash it over the hot rocks, and feel the vapour fill my lungs and expand my pores. Reclining on the cedarwood bench, I wonder what toxins could possibly still need clearing out of my system, given my newfound, wholesome diet of clean air, sunshine and grilled reindeer. If I were a Swede, it would be a rite of passage to next plunge into the pool axed out of the ice just outside. Padding out onto the deck, I dip a toe into the freezing water and decide I’m not quite hardy enough — yet. Instead, I scoop up some ice water with the bucket and pour it over my head. In the absence of any actual electricity, I feel positively charged.
In the distance, a wash of light has settled on the horizon, as if from a nearby megacity. Yet here in Lapland’s
Råne River Valley, Stockholm is some 600 miles away to the south. As the white glow brightens and flickers, I realise the Northern Lights have come to dance behind a sprinkling of stars, tinting yellow then lava-lamp green as they swirl over the shadowy treetops. Spellbound, I sink into a snow-covered bench and watch the show, all of a sudden barely feeling the cold.
The bracing Arctic air is addictive, drawing me into the subzero outdoors. In the morning Aurora’s co-founder Jonas Gejke arrives on snowmobile and asks if I want to drive. I nearly crush him in my excitment to climb aboard. Together, we cross the frozen Råne, following a trail marked by hand-painted signs. We snake through birch forest, then gently climb to the summit of Snipen
Hill for a panorama of spruce greens and icy blues that’s barely distinguishable from the sky. Pushing 40mph on the descent, the path opens up and we glide onto a solid, springwater lake.
The Swedish have a saying, Jonas tells me. When it’s really freezing, we “stand in the middle of our clothes”. Today, though, is something else entirely. The sun is high, fierce and unfiltered in late February — a distinct part of late winter known locally as ‘spring-winter’. Jonas kills the engine and stretches back on the snowmobile with his boots resting on the handlebars. “People don’t know what they’re missing when they come at Christmastime,” Jonas says, “with four-hour days, at 20 below.”
A similar joy at the season is shared by the fishermen we meet who’ve just caught three Arctic char through holes in the ice, and by the Sámi family picnicking upon bearskins at a bend in the river. Glee even seems to be radiating from a reindeer calf we spot grazing in a sun-dappled glade. It’s the perfect spring-winter tableau, Jonas agrees.
Reindeer are all around — every time you venture out it’s almost impossible to avoid spotting a few of the estimated 260,000 that roam Swedish Lapland. But driving north from the camp, sightings become even more commonplace. An hour away, having crossed into the Arctic Circle,
Jonas stops by the home of Lars Eriksson, a Sámi elder.
The Northern Lights dance behind the stars, tinting yellow then lava-lamp green as they swirl over the treetops
Lars is dressed the part in traditional turned-up moccasins, sealskin jodhpurs and a red-striped tunic, and when he yodels toward the forest, his reindeer come running, cowbells clanging.
Like most Sámi, Lars — one of the few remaining speakers of the native Sámi language — once herded thousands but downsized to a scant 450 a decade ago when they began suffering the effects of excessive logging. Reforestation has restored much of the lost habitat, but the aqua-blue lichen reindeer rely on prefers the moisture of old-growth woods. Lars bobs his head to mime the difficulty his livestock face trying to feed through ice cover, when the snow melts mid-season then refreezes. This unhappy consequence of climate change is, he says, another problem he’s watched snowball.
On thin ice
The Sámi have had to get creative to survive. Another herder, Tine Eriksson, collects armfuls of hay each day, piles it onto a sled pulled behind an ancient snowmobile and distributes it to her herd personally. The following morning, Jonas and I track her down to a field by an abandoned logger’s hut. Her husband has had to abandon his chores to rescue a reindeer from a hungry lynx (a “cat problem”, as she calls it), so their daughter, Elle, a forestry student at the local university, has come to help. “She’s learning to infiltrate the industry,” says Jonas winking. Tine laughs, then invites me to hop on the snowmobile behind her.
Twenty-first-century reindeer are born into a cursed territory, she says as we putter into the woods. “Salted motorways lure the animals into the open. And if lynx don’t get them, cars will,” she says. Tine explains her “village” — by which she means a swathe of Sámi territory, around 100 miles wide — loses 100 a year to traffic. And while the young, snow-capped forest replanted by logging companies is certainly beautiful — tall, dignified, orderly — she says a “new plantation is not really forest, it’s like growing palm trees here; so foreign”.
Lately, local Sámi have bonded with outback guides like Jonas over the common goal of conserving Lapland’s snow-melt rivers and ancient forests. Together, they make a formidable faction against Big Forestry and the steelmakers that install windmills that impede the reindeer as they head along age-old migratory routes.
“Our northern industries are some of the world’s greenest,” Jonas says. “But they come here thinking it’s a land of nothing, when for us it’s the land of everything.”
Jonas doesn’t have to sell me on what there is to enjoy in this supposed emptiness. Arriving in the village of Mårdudden, where he’s converted the general store into a homely inn called The Outpost, we wave at a neighbour on a kick sledge pulled by his husky. Noting my interest, Jonas offers to squeeze a “husky run” into my itinerary, alongside the hot air ballooning I’ve already signed up for. All these activities offered by The Outpost take advantage of the frozen lake and snow-laden woods behind the inn. All conclude with Swedish tea: waffles splashed with cream and cloudberry jam, taken in an armchair by the fire.
When it’s finally comes time to leave, Jonas drives me south to Luleå. Exiting the charming main street,
Jonas takes an unexpected turn down a peninsula on the Bothnian Bay. At the frozen ferry dock, he… keeps driving, out onto the frozen water. It all feels rather Thelma & Louise. This is the route the reindeer take in winter, from the inland Sámi villages toward richer food sources, Jonas explains, although the herds find the passage increasingly perilous as the earth warms. For us, today, the transition from tarmac to ice is seamless.
Luleå’s ice road leads to a pine-thick archipelago that you’d need a boat to reach in summer. The crossing is blissfully luminous and — after the sun makes its vermilion descent — as dark as the hinterland. Gliding in this strange stratosphere, I keep an eye on the horizon. The Northern Lights are bound to flick on soon. I can already feel the charge.
How to do it: Original Travel has two nights at Aurora Safari Camp and one at Treehotel as part of its Arctic Adrenaline in Swedish Lapland itinerary, from £3,590 per person. Includes flights, transfers and some excursions. originaltravel.co.uk aurorasafaricamp.com visitsweden.com
6 RACE THE NIGHT THAT NEVER COMES WHILE RUNNING THE TROMSØ MIDNIGHT SUN MARATHON
After a tough Arctic winter, Norwegians pounce on summer with a biological urgency. Many celebrate the midnight sun with parties, bonfires and flower garlands, but Tromsø goes one step further with its nighttime marathon. Held on the third weekend in June, when the sun never dips below the horizon, this race — at 69 degrees north of the Earth’s equatorial plane — is a thing of beauty, heading around the island and wowing with views of shining fjords and eternally snow-capped mountains. If you’re not quite ready to run, take the cable-car up to 1,381ft Mount Storsteinen instead to see the midnight sun burn above the silhouetted peaks of Ringvassøya island. msm.no
7 GO ON A FOSSIL HUNT AT MØNS KLINT
Ragged chalk cliffs sheer down to vast scoops of beach and the startlingly turquoise Baltic Sea at Møns Klint. Located on the east of the island of Møn, this coast is truly ancient, and you can feel it, whether cycling through the gnarled beech forest of Klinteskoven or sifting for fossils, including squid-like belemnites and echinoids (sea urchins).
For greater insight, sign up for one of GeoCenter Møns Klint’s guided tours. At night, meanwhile, the heavens shine above Scandinavia’s first Dark Sky Park. Using binoculars, you can pick out constellations and planets, although the glittering sweep of the Milky Way and shooting stars are visible to the naked eye. To stargaze in style, book Fyrhytten, a cliff-edge cabin next to a lighthouse, where you can peer up to distant galaxies from the outdoor hot tub. moensklint.dk
8 TAKE AN ICY DIP AT THE ARCTIC BATH
Frozen in winter or afloat in summer, the Arctic Bath on the Lule River, in Harads leaves you speechless. Perhaps because you’ve dared to plunge into the numbingly cold water, as any hardy Swede would. Or perhaps because you’re stunned by the hotel’s architecture — designed to resemble a beaver’s dam in a nod to the river’s timber-transporting past. Whether you’re sampling imaginative riffs on local game, fish, herbs and berries in the restaurant, getting a pine-oil rubdown in the spa or embracing the dopamine-boosting benefits of cold-water swimming, there’s always plenty to do. Of all the seasons, winter has the magic edge; stay in a floating cabin with a private deck as the Northern Lights swoop across the night. arcticbath.se KW
Norway’s western Fjordlands have a new travel hotspot: the Sunnmøre Alps. Two decades after the closure of a local textile factory, tourism is now the community’s lifeblood. Today, there are new places to bed down and ways to explore, from cycling tours to dining safaris. Words: Sarah Marshall
Pursing his lips, Helge Kvam Karbø prepares to play a spindly birchwood horn. Deep and low, his first few notes reverberate through Fjordland valleys; a forlorn, wistful lament.
In the past, remote communities would use these melancholic melodies to communicate with each another, sending warnings about the temperamental weather or simply as a reassurance no shepherd would ever be alone.
Today, few people possess the skills needed to play these historic instruments, but Helge, the CEO of adventure company Fjord Nature, is part of younger generation determined to keep the tradition alive.
Stowing the antique horn behind a row of turf-roofed farm cottages clinging to cliffs gleaming with emerald blades of spring grass, Helge finishes his mini concert, and we continue our electric bike ride through the Sunnmøre Alps.
Dramatic even by Norwegian standards, it’s an area where fjords plummet to deep-sea depths and mountains rise so high they threaten to block out the sun. Close by, thousands of tourists board cruises ships to tour UNESCOprotected Geirangerfjord, but here there’s no one.
Our 12-mile ride takes us past a drowned village littered with the bones of petrified trees, and the Norangsdalen valley, Norway’s narrowest, where the walls pinch so tight I can almost stretch out my arms to touch both sides.
Hailed for its excellent hiking routes and kayak-friendly waterways, Sunnmøre has experienced a revival in recent years. Helge’s business is one of many benefitting from tourism generated by the philanthropic Flakk family, who own three hotels and a cabin in this region, along with a fleet of helicopters, boats and cars — all falling under the umbrella of adventure company 62° Nord.
The story of a community tightly knitted together threads back to one of Norway’s most historic textile companies, Devold, whose jumpers were worn by, among others, the polar explorers Fridtjof Nansen and Roald Amundsen.
In 2001, several years after Knut Flakk bought the company, economics forced him to outsource production to Lithuania. Concerned by the gaping hole left in the local community, he turned to tourism to plug the gap.
“A great place to visit must also be a great place to live,” says Ann Kristin Ytrevik, 62° Nord’s marketing manager, explaining the company’s philosophy of community conservation. “Tourism should have a positive impact.”
In Øye, the start of our bike tour, where the Flakks’ Hotel Union Øye sits below towering Slogen mountain, a dying town has been resurrected by tourism. Built in 1891 and recently renovated, the picket-fenced, alpine property is a favourite with Queen Sonja of Norway, who loves hiking. A room in her honour features a button by the bath to call for Champagne.
And in Hellesylt, Helge’s hometown, where our bike ride ends, Knut plans to open a hydropower plant to service cruises ships — an eco measure required by the Norwegian government to cut emissions by 2026. The huge outlay will never be recouped in Knut’s lifetime. Not that it matters. Leaving a legacy, he insists, is enough of a reward.
Giving a future to people is important but one of the best ways to do that is by preserving the past. Embodying that message are Inge and Bjorn Tolaas, who’ve formed a partnership with Storfjord Hotel, another property in the Flakk portfolio, a two-hour boat ride north from Oye, in Glomset. Guests staying at the luxurious fjord-side hotel can join a traditional dining safari at the couple’s farmhouse, also in Glomset, which once supplied wool to Devold.
When I arrive, trays of golden chanterelles are drying in the garden. Dressed in an embroidered bunad tunic,
Inge serves me plates of walnut bread with wild garlic, lamb sausage laced with lingonberry, and juniper-infused salmon from her husband’s smokehouse.
Parading a curious collection of headwear — including a crown of antlers and razor clam headdress — Inge’s hospitality verges on performance art. She’s excited to have an audience, but, more than anything, she’s happy to be living and working in her family home.
“Every day we get to enjoy this view,” she says, opening her arms to the mountains, sea and sky. “That’s something very special.”
How to do it: Scott Dunn offers a six-night Norway itinerary from £7,200 based on two people travelling on a half-board basis. It includes stays at Hotel Union Øye and Storfjord Hotel, return flights and private transfers. scottdunn.com visitnorway.com