For the longest time he was a local hero, the lone wolf of snowboarding, discovering runs at the backside of the two-lift resort. I was already sold on the regular program he offers there, but for this trip Mathias had other ideas. He wants me to join him on a search for new terrain and new lines, in a mountain range where he hopes no one has ventured before.

Arrival in Apatity

The people who jump off the train in Apatity are all carrying skis or snowboards.

“See what I mean? This place is becoming too busy,” Mathias mutters. “Let’s go and find new terrain.”

Being familiar with both the big European resorts and some ‘secret spots’ in Europe, I have to disagree with him. Even in the “too popular” resort of Kirovsk, we will only meet a handful of freeriders.

This cold industrial town in the Murmansk Oblast will act as our base camp, from where we will travel even further into the unexplored wilderness of the surrounding lakes and mountains. Kirovsk was built to mine the natural resources of the area; it is now one of the world’s largest producers of high-grade phosphate ore, and Russia’s only producer of nepheline concentrate. In summer, the town is a very popular starting point for fishing tours on the lakes. In winter, there is the ski resort and some huge ice sculptures built to attract tourists – almost exclusively Russian.

For most European winter holidaymakers this place would probably seem too inhospitable. Snow starts falling in October, temperatures drop to minus 30, and daylight lasts for only a couple of hours. It is mid-March now, and the streets are covered in metres of freshies. You can only identify parked cars by the shapes beneath the snow.

Steep & Terrifying

Our host, a local former skiing instructor who’s spent a big part of his life in this cabin, assures us no one has ever tried to ski these mountains before. Nevertheless, I can sense Mathias is worried about it as we leave for our first foray into this part of the Khibiny mountain range.

“If we arrive and I spot even one single line, we return back to Kirovsk,” he says, deadly serious.

Being towed by snowmobile through a snow-covered forest is a great workout for your biceps, and once we get out of the woods we discover the untouched terrain Mathias was anticipating. The mountains are flat on top and their gentle slopes make them easily accessible from the backside using the sleds. The front face, on the other hand, is a different matter. The runs we are aiming for are terrifyingly steep and full of gullies, rocks and cliffs.

“If you don’t like steep, you’ve come to the wrong place,” laughs Mathias, before he disappears over a precipice.

If you don’t like cold, you’ve also come to the wrong place. The wind blows mercilessly, and even at this rather low altitude, it is freezing cold. But if this Arctic climate is hostile, the sunset is magnificent.

The laps are short, but each time we get to the bottom there’s a snowmobile waiting. Since these machines are so fast you get to do as many runs as your legs can handle. You can take your time too, without worrying about others dropping into your line – the only person we see is a Sami herdsman on a skidoo chasing his reindeer.

Our days are filled with riding these perfect, fresh powder runs, against a backdrop of the most splendid panoramas I’ve ever seen. Nights are filled with celebratory saunas, beer and vodka.

Bad Weather Days

The weather is not always on our side. One day we awake to find that it is snowing. Under normal circumstances this would mean twice the fun. But out here on the edge of civilisation, where even small mistakes might cause big problems, it leads to nail-biting frustration. 

“In this part of the Arctic Circle, the Russians don’t only build nuclear power plants, they also test nuclear bombs”

Knitting socks from reindeer fur is not really what I came here for, and there is only so much beer and vodka you can drink before that too becomes boring. We go racing and wake boarding behind the snowmobiles on the frozen lake, but after a couple of hours even that gets old.

We convince our drivers to go to one of the nuclear plants mining uranium in the area.

After sliding behind the sled for nearly an hour, they suddenly hit the brakes. They’ve decided the risk of radiation is too high and there will be soldiers guarding the area. In this part of the Arctic Circle, the Russians don’t only build nuclear power plants, they also test nuclear bombs. Since we neither want to end up in a Russian jail nor start glowing in the dark, there is no alternative but to turn back.

Tree runs, kicker builds and night sessions provide a less dodgy alternative to riding proper lines. Unfortunately, the Khibiny mountains stay hidden under a thick layer of clouds and fog, and we return to our base in Kirovsk, hoping the weather will change.

For one hour we get something of a clear window. From the middle of the mountain, we see a tangle of plants, pipes, mines and railways before the clouds close in again. We play around in a derelict building, but the storm forces us back towards shelter.

When a blizzard hits the Kola Peninsula, it seems as if the wind and snow blow from everywhere. It’s not clear what direction the weather is moving, or even what you’re walking on. Driving is especially problematic. When we get back to Kirovsk, we learn that the road to Murmansk – where we have a plane waiting to get us back home – is closed. We barely make it in time.

Despite being unlucky with the weather, our Russian Arctic Circle adventure has turned out to be one of the most memorable snow-sliding experiences ever.

Two weeks later, my Facebook messenger pings. A picture from Mathias. He’s just spent two days on a train and discovered another Arctic spot – this time in the wilderness of the Ural mountains. It’s even more remote than the area around Kirovsk.

Mathias couldn’t sound more happy. As far as he’s concerned, fewer people is always better. Nevertheless, he’s willing to extend an invitation to our group. And I for one know where I will be heading next winter.