The Fjord

This story may mark the beginning, at least the turning point, of my professional photography career. The year is 2010. The year after, I resign from my job, and start working full time as a professional photographer.
This journey with the scandinavian sports and outdoor brand Norrøna, helped me fully grasp my aspirations in photography. It clarified the objectives I wanted to achieve and help me set the goals for my future as a commercial photographer.

Much of this experience can be attributed to the people around me at the time. Particularly one is my good friend, who often serves as my inspiration and mentor, even though he may not view it that way. Eivind Eidslott is not only a good friend but has also been key in helping me make a living from my passion, photography. This story was featured in Norrøna Magazine. At the time, Eivind was the editor of the magazine and hired me to capture the stills for a ski and sail tour in Hjørundfjorden, Norway. It was a dream opportunity, and we experienced "once in a lifetime" snow conditions. This assignment felt as much like a trip with friends as it did work.

The following article was written by Eivind Eidslott for Norrøna magazine, printed in 2010.

HOW IT WORKS is that you jump aboard an old fishing boat several days after a big snowfall. You deposit your fat skis on deck, greet the spry captain and stand along the rail in the company of good friends, watching Jørnhorn slide past, then study them in your binoculars, searching for naturual lines that might serve as descent routes, running from summit all the way to the fjord. You go ashore someplace, anyplace, and pick yourself a mountain.

BUT WHERE IS THIS HJØRUND FJORD, you ask. Where is this place? Must you fly to New Zealand to find them? To Patagonia? Alaska? No, no, no. You neednt travel futher then Vigra Airport, a blustery airfield on Norways`s western coast, known for its meat-patty sandwiches and turbulent landings. Thats where your plane comes down, like a panicky crow, befor you proceed by road through undersea tunnels to Ålesund – a city perhaps best known for burning down in 1904 and receiving massive emergency aid from Friedrich Wilhelm Albert Victor, better known as Wilhelm II, the king of Prussia and Kaiser of German Empire.

In the years after the fire, as the city rose again, it acquired its characteristic Jugend style. If you are intressted in architecture, or art, or things in general, you`ll want to take time to wander the beautiful city streets. But if your primary interest is snow crystals – billions of snow crystals piled up under your skis – then Ålesund is just a way station. For you, only the Hjørund Fjord matters. Its the Hjørund Fjord that is the purpose and destination of your pilgrimage.

IT IS WRITTEN in black and white, at Wikipedia.com “The Hjørund Fjord is ranked by many as one of the most beautiful in the world” Who exactly this refers to is not clear, but if that question should ever arise – if someone should demand to know who it is that belives that the Hjørund Fjord is one of the worlds most beautiful fjords – then we would gladly put ourself forward as an example. After all, it was we who engaged the fishing boat MS Vikaskjær for a week back in february 2010.

FROM ELEVATION ZERO to the top of any and all surrounding moutain peaks, we saw an abundance of the sun for the first time since october. We were no longer interested in having the world at our feet, because we had something else. We had the Hjørund Fjord at our feet. And on those large, sweaty feet of ours, what did wear? High, stiff, plastic randonee boots. The first day, we made it to the top of Grønetinden, the secret bearing wall of the Hjørund Fjord region. The next day, we climbed Nordre Sætretind, the Ama Dablam of the Hjørund Fjord. Another day, we climbed Skårasalen, the Mont Blanc of the Hjørund Fjord. And thus it continued. It just went on. As if it was a dream. A naive one.

I CANT REMEMBER when it happend. If it was on the way up the mountain, if it was on the way down a moutain, or while sitting on board the boat with venison sausage in one hand and an ice ax in the other. It doesn`t really matter. But I remember the sudden feeling of being in the right place at the right time. Such a feeling is rare and may last only one second or two. It is like a breath of wind, the slightest touch, a snowflake that melts on the face of a child. And I remember it. Always. Alongside the menta image I carry of a fjord. A fjord which – after this trip – will forever be The Fjord. Definitive, singular.