Every year, as spring melts the last snow from the Alps, Dougal Tavener heads north, far beyond the familiar peaks of Europe, to Svalbard. For him, late April and May have become a ritual: a migration to one of the most remote and awe-inspiring corners of the planet. Read on to follow his journey to the high Arctic, where polar bears roam, and the ski lines end in the sea.
Svalbard is unlike anywhere else on Earth. A high-Arctic archipelago sitting halfway between mainland Norway and the North Pole, a place where polar night lingers for months, glaciers spill into the sea, and human presence feels fleeting compared to the scale of ice and stone. Longyearbyen, the northernmost town in the world, is the gateway to this wilderness, while further north lies Ny-Ålesund, today a scientific research base, once the staging point for legendary polar expeditions, and the most northerly permanent settlement on Earth.
For me, the journey is as much about the sea as the mountains. Most of Svalbard is only reachable by boat, so we sail through icy fjords, weaving between islands, and landing wherever the weather and sea ice allow. Each day offers a new adventure: freeriding on untouched glaciers, climbing to summits that rise straight from the Arctic Ocean, then carving down lines that finish at the water’s edge. It’s skiing at its most elemental summit-to-sea descents, like the legendary Koolwaas ridges, where every turn carries you from towering peaks to ice-choked shoreline.
Wildlife is everywhere - and always humbling. Polar bears roam these coasts, reminders that here, we are guests and maybe even a potential dinner! Walrus haul themselves out along the shoreline, huddled together, basking in the Arctic cold. Arctic foxes dart across the snow, Svalbard reindeer graze on sparse tundra, and if we’re lucky, the ocean reveals beluga pods or even the spiralled tusks of narwhals. It is an ecosystem that feels both fragile and timeless.
Life on board follows a rhythm of contrasts. After long days on the mountains, we return to the boat, strip off our gear, and sink into the warmth of the sauna and hot tub on deck. With a beer or gin and tonic, we soak in the adrenaline of the day’s descents, the glow of the midnight sun washing over the peaks. Then comes the plunge, leaping into the Arctic Ocean, the shock of freezing water jolting every nerve awake, leaving the surface of your skin burning with cold. Laughter and shouts echo across the fjord before we scramble back on deck, ready for a hearty dinner, a warm drink, and the simple pleasure of getting cozy on board as the boat rocks gently at anchor and icebergs drift by.
Skiing here comes with its own intensity. This is not just ski touring, it is free-riding on the edge of the world. Because of polar bear encounters, we carry rifles as a precaution and a stark reminder that this is still the wildest of wildernesses. Yet there’s something extraordinary about charging down 1,000-metre descents to the Arctic Ocean, knowing few, if any, have skied the same line before.
Svalbard is not just a destination, it is a frontier. Each return feels like stepping to the edge of the world, into a landscape that remains untamed, vast, and breathtaking. It reminds me why I take on these adventures: to be humbled, to be awed, and to feel, however briefly, part of something far bigger than myself.
