Backdoor Skiing

Sometimes I like to take a little ski tour early in the morning. Order of operations: wake up, put clothes on, step out door, step into skis, go down, catch breath, and go up.

Ski tour with Anna

The family went on another ski tour this past week. This time, we had Anna with us.

The whole family out on the Fjället.

Anna, showing off her talent.

The typical Reward.

Anna showing the family that the best way to get a workout from skiing is to butt plant into the snow and struggle to get up, by the using the post-hole technique.

Anna, demonstrating success.

Dad and Anna waiting for the mothers.

Coming down the hill.

Anna is here!

Dad, myself, and countless others who kept their mouths shut surprised my mother with a birthday present celebrating her 50^th winter. The present that she received was a surprise visit from my sister Anna, who is currently holding two jobs and going to school at the University of Colorado, Boulder.

It was a complicated endeavor considering a large number of variables. First off, I am incapable of keeping a secret. I would find myself holding my tongue all of the time to avoid giving any hints of Anna’s visit. Not only that, but I had to tell everyone we know in Sweden. Family and friends were mostly under the impression that Anna was not coming, and if they did not know, my big mouth made sure they found out. The way I looked at it, I was not breaking the secret or ruining the surprise, because I also told each person that it was a secret. Makes sense right?

Anna on the other hand may be praised with an amazing performance. She was the lead role and had to constantly put on the image that she missed us and was upset that we were here without her. Not only did she perform well, but she also had to tolerate missed planes, and thirty hours of travel to get here. On top of all of this, she is a full time student with jobs and a social life!

My father was the mastermind behind the whole operation. He was planning months in advance to try and get plane tickets for Anna. When Anna was clearly going to miss her connecting flight to Stockholm, he had to play it cool and look for ways to solve the problem without my mother even knowing.

My unsuspecting mother was actually surprised when she saw Anna standing in the door. She was completely dumbfounded. Upon seeing her, she stumbled backwards, just to make sure that her half century old eyes were actually seeing her daughter.

Everyone played their part and for the most part did not mess up, including myself despite my best efforts to be casual about the matter and my natural tendency to mess anything up that can be messed up. Dad receives the Tony for his production talent and his remarkable singing abilities and Anna receives the award of best lead actress. Mom however, was clearly the best in show.

Evidence

Downhill skiing in Sweden

If there is any sport that is the image of Sweden or any northern country, it is skiing. Whether it be cross country or downhill, skiing is the lifeblood of the people during the cold and dark months of the winter. When the snow begins to fall, and sun begins to rest earlier, there is one thing people can look forward to: skiing.

The skiing season does not truly begin until February when the nations’ States and Communes begin to take their winter break called Sport Lov (Sport Vacation). The vacations really apply more to the school children than the childless citizen. What is funny about Sport Lov, is that every different State or region within the country takes a different week off: maybe so that the ski areas do not get overloaded with people. For example, the southern most part of the country gets to take off during the seventh week of the year, the next northern region gets week eight, and Stockholm gets week nine. As a result of this system, the entire country functions on measuring vacations on which weeks they begin and take place.

On one of these Sport Lovs, you may decide to take your family skiing, which my family has always done. The downhill skiing however is sub par, but his is the place I learned how to ski. My perception is definitely biased, but you would be wrong to judge the place by the lack of vertical gain and loss. The snow here is probably closer to the snow of the West coast, but it comes down cold and it stays cold. There is rarely any ice, because it tends to snow just enough each night to build up enough of a new layer to ski on. The slopes are not very steep, and if they are, they do not remain steep for long. There are few chairlifts, and they are gaining popularity. Nonetheless, charging down a run here with perfectly groomed trails and varied steepness makes for an exciting downhill experience.

I went skiing with aunt Katarina and her family a couple of days ago. I had not seen my cousins’ ski in five years, and the last time I saw them ski, they were in harnesses getting held back by their mother. During our day at the ski slope, they were strong and confident skiers. My aunt comes from a long line of majestic skiers and watching her ski is exciting. Her feet remain completely solid and do not stray while her torso tilts from side to side. She makes any slope angle seem easy. Katarina and Janne’s children will easily become excellent skiers if they watch the form of their parents.

Above and below: Jenny and Anton with the Janne riding the lift.

I ski with my buddies up here often, but that usually results in a different experience. It is not as fun as skiing with the whole family mostly due to the amount of hurt I have after a couple of more challenging runs charged with testosterone. I usually miss my family whenever I ski with my friends, because skiing has always seemed like a family sport to me.

Week nine is by far the busiest week of the year in the ski regions of Sweden. On this week all of Stockholm’s schools get to take vacation. It results in traffic jams in the small rural grocery stores, lines at the ski slope, and generally more people find themselves in every nook and cranny the mountains have to offer. On week nine we had our friends Björn, Inger, and their son Isidor with us in the cabin.

Top left to bottom right: Isidor, mom, Inger, Björn, myself, and dad.

We went skiing with Björn and Isidor, and I taught Isidor how to snowboard. After seeing the learning experience again, I realized that I have completely forgotten how challenging it is to begin going down snow. After a number of face plants and falls on his ass powerful enough make him an inch shorter, Isi almost had it.

Björn, Isidor, and myself after our first day of skiing in Funäsdalen.

On this particular day, we went to a new ski slope that has been further developed since I have been gone. When I left five years ago, the ski slope was a small ski slope that functioned mostly as the schools ski slope for gym class, free periods, and playing hooky. It has now become a world-class ski resort with long steep slopes, which is uncharacteristic for Swedish ski slopes.

The custumary yardsale when learning to ride the lift.

On our second day skiing with Björn and Isidor, we went to our local ski slope. Isi got the chance to learn on the same ski slope I learned how to ski on. On this occasion we had a better learning environment, and by end of the day after countless face plants and painful whiplash, Isi finally got it. I do not think I have ever persevered and actually taught someone how to snowboard before, and the experience was uplifting. Isi’s last run of the day was flawless. I had a lot of fun being the teacher, but I felt guilty when Isi was the one who had to do all the work.


Isi on his second to last run. He almost had it until the face plant took him out!

Familj på Fjäll

``And finally Winter, with its bitin', whinin' wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.`` - Roy Bean

I could guess that the family was not headed to the ski slope because one of the children was pouting over the cross-country option. Taking the family out into the mountains, also known as the fjäll, is usually a much easier undertaking than the ski slope. It is fun for the entire family to enjoy. Everyone from age seventy-eight to seven can participate and still enjoy the day. The trick is that the parents have to sell the idea to the kids. This usually involves two things: taking the snowmobile for some portion of the journey, or promising waffles at the alpine waffle house, an hours tour above the cabin. On this particular day, the kids were promised both: snowmobile ride with dad, and waffles from Mormor.

Moving in the fjäll is easy when the weather is nice, but getting out the door is usually the hardest part of the day. With eight family members all working to get out of the door in the same small space in the mudroom, you can imagine the clutter.

“Where are my gloves, have you seen my hat, my shoes don’t fit, don’t forget to lock the door, is this your jacket or mine?”

Eventually everyone gets out of the door, and all we have to do is begin the short climb behind the house to access the fjäll above. In the posse we had the family Gustavsson, consisting of my aunt and uncle with their two children Anton and Jenny, my seventy-eight year old grandmother, my newly turned fifty-year-old mother, my father, and myself.

It can be incredibly blank high on the fjäll. You could try your hardest to put some depth into a photograph, but all you would get is a white landscape. Also, I just learned that white balance makes photos green: in the future you will get to see washed out white photos instead of washed out green ones. Janne with said background.

Dad and I took a different track up with Mormor who can tell a story at every rest. Her stories are much appreciated, because I can see that she lived within the story: that she was once part of the past. She speaks calmly and slowly in English or in Swedish, makes eye contact with her audience, moves her arms and points her poles slowly to show the landscape. Sometimes she closes her eyes and points her head toward the sun, angling her head upwards as she speaks of the past.

Traveling behind her, I could see how her body was conditioned to the movements of skis. She reacted with haste to every inconsistency in the track or misplaced push with her pole. I could not help but take photographs and video of her just to have proof that we were all there. Everything was completely new again, and that I had to capture each moment in order to guarantee that the moment existed.

Dad and Mormor breaking trail.

Dad and Mormor posing beneath Hamra Fjället.

The entire family met at the waffle house, which is nestled in a grove of birches that are slightly shielded from the arctic. It is a small cabin with a low ceiling and an aroma of Swedish waffles. There are taxidermy fjäll creatures on the walls, and tables with long wooden benches for sitting and traditional table clothes made with old cloth scraps.

Andersborg Våffel Stuga: The savior for many cranky ski days.

The family in front of the snowed-in Waffle House.

The family ordered a round of waffles, served in the traditional style with whipped cream and cloudberry preserve. The family laughed and giggled at the children who were overjoyed with the treat, although my excitement could hardly be contained as well.

This is what you get: a traditional crispy Swedish waffle with preserves and whipped cream.

The meal finished with the customary wipe down of the lunch table with the palm of mom's hand and everyone was outside again. After the skis go on, everyone returns to the cabin. The day was simple and the weather was good. Three generations of Larssons found themselves in the same mountains that they have been traveling in for fifty years. Through the lens of my new excitement over blogging, I saw everything as new and temporary. In reality, it was a tour we have frequented. It was the trip that we show to everyone who comes and visits us, a tour that has become ours.

The way home can take us through the trees sometimes. Our water comes from an aquifer that is connected to the drainage on the left.

It is however okay to have the forest all to yourself sometimes.

Janne below Hamra Fjället which is just above our house. This particular spot is the Faböval, which is an old Viking homestead.

The three mothers: Mom, Mormor, and Katarina, going down on their long skis.

Tänndalen

Pardon the long wait for new posts, but I have been rather busy since I have arrived in Tänndalen.

Our journey north took an entire day, and when we arrived my mother was already here. There are a lot of tasks that have to be completed when arriving to the cabin. Most of the tasks involve some method of cleaning the cabin. If you needed to know anything about my family, you would need to know that they clean voraciously. Everything seems dirty. The mothers of the house spent two whole days cleaning, organizing, re-cleaning, and re-organizing, in order to mark our arrival.

The clean and organized behaviors demonstrated by my family have unfortunately not been passed down to me. My level of attention to details is far lower than that of my family. I do however have to be thankful for their diligence. The structure of our cabin is over one hundred years old, the floor was a floor for horses in a barn seventy years ago, and the furniture collection and decorations consists of traditional Swedish antiques (or just family heirlooms): this place would not be in the amazing condition it is in now if it were not for the attention to detail that my family posses.

Overall, returning to the cabin where I have spent much my childhood has been incredible. I have learned that the lens through which I have experienced Swedish culture and has been through this cabin. It has a distinct smell that I have learned not to forget. It seems to sit on a pedestal that faces south into the sun, and is surrounded by a guesthouse and a woodshed. My grandfather built all of the structures. The cabin is an old horse barn from the 1700's that my grandfather took apart and put back together again one hundred miles away from its original home. It was a massive undertaking considering that he had to build and repair the road before he could even begin dragging the wood up to his land. After he dragged every timber up on a tractor, he had to put the whole thing back together again. Everything he did seemed to be hard, compared to the effort we have to put forth to get anything accomplished in modern times.

Our Stuga from the front.

The guest house (Hebbre). It is impossible to have a bad nights sleep in this little house. It is now my father's temporary office.

The first couple of days here were marked by some of the coldest weather we have ever had up here during February. The average for our first five days was –13C. With just a little bit of wind, that temperature is excruciating. Most of our time was spent relaxing inside and taking the occasional journey into the frigid cold to have some fun. The cousins were absolutely stir crazy to get outside, and once they finally got outside they were so excited that they could hardly feel when when their cheeks froze.

Among the activities in the cold included the construction of a luge in the backyard, digging the snowmobile out and getting it stuck again, and shoveling paths to get into the house. Shoveling the snow up here is challenging considering the immense amount of sugar snow in the snowpack. The snowpack is easily half to three quarters sugar snow (or a well-developed layer of basal facets), and every step into it sends you up to your hips. On the other hand, struggling with the luge was a little bit more fun.

On one of the days in the cold I came home to see that the cousins had built a wide ski slope/luge. It was large enough to warrant cutting down a couple of trees along the sides. This luge was a serious ordeal. Getting onto the sled and going down this thing was downright dangerous. The first turn of this sucker is a right leaning turn at the bottom of a small bump. The turn was made more challenging with the close proximity of a couple of trees that were bone breakers. The bottom of the run had the option of a jump that behaved like a wall, or a gentle slope into three feet of powder.

Jenny and I going down the Luge.

The last couple days in the cabin have delayed my blogging because I was struck with a serious stomach illness, but after one role of toilet paper, two pairs of underwear, and two showers later, I seem to be doing all right. I woke up last night with fever hallucinations and I convinced myself that I could not ask for help because I was sure that I was crazy enough to be sent to the hospital. After twenty minutes of desperately convincing myself that I was not paralyzed and that my brain was not turning into a black hole, I finally fell asleep.

The next couple of days will see the departure of my family, including Mormor, aunt Katarina, Janne, Jenny, and Anton. I hate seeing the family leave the cabin, but everyone has to go back to work. Next week is week nine, which is Stockholm’s week off. Our friends Bjorn, Inger, and their son Isidor will come up and stay with us. Our friends Bosse and Birgitta will be up here with their two kids as well staying at their cabin down the road. Next week will involve much of the same: fika with friends and family, special dinners every night, and day tours into the nearby mountains.