The Fjords are not so Cold

Friday was officially the second day of summer, which meant it was 42 degrees F in Trondheim, with periods of heavy rain and high winds. I spent the day hiking with some friends, protected from the elements by several layers of wool and a full Gore-Tex outer layer. I was completely comfortable in these conditions, and really enjoying it.

Avid readers know that it hasn’t always been that way. Last summer I wrote a blog post entitled The Fjords are Cold, where I described my long history of failing to stay warm in cold weather and confessed that I was already cold in Norway. This didn’t bode well since it was July. The extreme weather has been the single biggest challenge for me this year, but in the last 12 months, I have come not only to tolerate it, but to enjoy it.[1] I am pretty proud of this transformation, so I want to tell you how it happened.

Allison, not dressed for the weather, Hardangerfjord, 2017.

People in Trondheim say that if there is ever a really nice day, you better make the most of it, because it might be the last of the season. We had about 10 days like that in August — with sunny skies and temperatures around 70 — and that was the end of mild weather until we hit a warm streak in mid-May. In these intervening months, my approach to clothing was one of trial and error: I would try out a new combination of layers at a given temperature, and hope I would get it right. It was mostly error.

Well, mostly error for the first several months. Throughout the summer and fall, I would often leave the house knowing that we’d be outside for several hours, and then realize after 20 minutes that I was underdressed. Then I would suffer for a while until I was chilled to the bone, or otherwise felt panicky about the temperature. At this point I would announce suddenly that I had to have more clothes and take off at a run toward our house.

What made it worse was that I seemed to be the only person struggling. Gavin, who has an inhuman metabolism, was always fine, and never wore anything other than a waterproof jacket over a sweater. And the Norwegians, of course, were fine. I am competitive enough to be mad that I was losing at something, and insecure enough to feel like feeling cold must be a sign of great weakness, or maybe a moral failing.

Our first real test of winter came during a weekend trip to Lillehammer in early December. Gavin and I joked that we would grade ourselves on winter preparedness. This would be the first exam, but we’d have other opportunities to improve. Our “Norway midterm” would come later in the month, when we visited the Icehotel in northern Sweden with my family, and our “Norway final exam” would come in Svalbard in February.

I packed my entire winter wardrobe for the weekend in Lillehammer. I did great on days 1 and 2, which involved a run on the Olympic bobsled course and our first full day of cross-country skiing. But I really struggled on the third day, when we cheered on the US Cross-Country Ski Team at a world cup event. It was probably because I chose to wear jeans and a really cute pair of knee-high boots, but the cold seeped in through these uninsulated layers, which meant we had to leave immediately, and that there was some crying.

“I’m getting an F in Norway!” I told Gavin through my tears when we got back to our hotel. “I don’t think you’re failing; I think you get a C,” Gavin told me, his eyes wide and pleading. “Some of my really good students at Navy get C’s,” he said. But we both knew this was a pity grade.

The trip to the Icehotel went much better. I was armed with a bunch more layers that my parents had brought me, and was generally able to self-manage. There was one time when I had to abruptly go inside, but I did it without crying. And it was pretty cold, as in -15 degrees F cold. I had never experienced temperatures like that before. So, I thought my I had faired well enough. I was awarded a B.

Before my parents returned home, Mom left me with her snow pants. It turns out this is what I had been needing and was a total game changer. I wore those pants every day for the next three months. When paired with a warm coat, the snow pants were a kind of battle armor that allowed me to stay outside indefinitely in any conditions without reaching my tipping point.

In addition to the snow pants, I adopted a strategy of carrying a backpack with me everywhere I went.[2] For more casual outings, the backpack would be full of additional layers that I might want if conditions changed. For skiing or other high-intensity activities, the backpack would be empty, to be filled with layers I would take off as my body temperature rose. With these strategies, I could start to enjoy the cold weather.

I opted not to wear the snow pants on this day, but they are in the backpack.

And I really enjoyed it! There is something about the Norwegian winter that is almost magical. The short days provide the most beautiful low light, with extended sunrises and sunsets.

But recent successes aside, Svalbard in February would be pretty extreme. We were doing a two-day dogsledding trip and camping in the snow, at the world’s northern-most settlement. I was apprehensive as we were standing around in the dog yard, waiting to depart while the sleds were packed, and I was a little chilly. This could be a long couple of days.

To my surprise, I embraced the cold. Our guide’s lecture on hypothermia and frostbite (“we are going to freeze”) provided enough of a perspective shift that I realized feeling chilled was not actually dangerous, just uncomfortable. And I could counteract that by doing some physical work, like wrangling dogs or setting up camp. The trip was a huge success!

So despite inauspicious beginnings, I ultimately got an A in Norway. That doesn’t mean I haven’t gotten cold again – I have. But I have been much better able to rationalize what is happening and adjust as needed. Nothing else has been as extreme as snow camping in Svalbard in the dead of winter, so the rest of the year has been much more manageable in comparison. Plus, winter is awesome!

Our dogsledding guide explained Norwegians don’t judge the success for an excursion by how much you are able to endure – a mindset I associate with American bravado – but by how comfortable you’re able to make yourself along the way. So, I have continued to carry my backpack of layers around religiously.

I’m really proud of myself for persevering through several months of challenging climate to find a solution that works for me. By learning to cope, I opened up parts of my life that I never knew I could enjoy this much.

Norway: Thanks for teaching me this important life skill!

Notes

[1] Gavin suggested I title this post “My Husband was Right.” Here is a reminder of his perspective.

[2] I have taken the “backpack of layers” approach to a bit of an extreme. On a trip to Canary Islands — where temperatures would be in the high 60s — I was ready to prepare myself for any conditions. “I have a sweatshirt and a coat,” I said to Gavin, “do you think I need this sweater too?” He did not think I needed three thick garments that could be layered over each other for a weekend at a beach resort. “You’ve become afraid of the world,” he said.

If you want to build your own backpack of layers, here’s what I recommend:

• Long Underwear. A good layer of long underwear is critical. For everyday use I have Carhartt Force and Devold of Norway Wool Mesh. For really extreme weather I have a set of Under Armour Cold Gear 4.0. I can wear the latter for mid-winter running in Annapolis. Here I wore it for six months.
• Wool. The Norwegian version of a hoodie is a thick wool half-zip turtleneck sweater. Everyone has them. It is now my favorite garment.
• Down. A down coat and snow pants is what made the winter possible. There are lots of options out there, but I find that anything insulated worked well for me.
• Gore-Tex. Gavin and I each have a Gore-Tex lined jacket, which fits nicely over our other layers. I highly recommend Lundhags waterproof hiking pants — they are expensive, but very comfortable and they don’t make the swishing noise of other rain pants.