According to wikipedia, a Smörgåsbord is "a type of Scandinavian meal served buffet style with multiple dishes of various foods, which originated in Sweden". According to me, a Smörgåsbord is a shred trip served buffet style which takes on the widest range of obstacles possible with a sprinkling of random Scandinavian activities.

Every once in a while life gifts you with a gold-plated opportunity that is just too good to turn down. That was the scheme when, sitting at my computer in early May, thinking the season was all but done, I picked up an email from Method HQ. It asked whether I would cover a trip to Scandinavia for them with the Nike Snowboarding team.

The riders were to be Nicolas Müller, Gigi Rüf and Justin Bennee, along with brand manager/shred legend Bobby Meeks, renowned photographer Andy Wright and the one and only Joe Carlino from Videograss to film. Oh, and me... No pressure then. After half a second of worry that Method thought I was actually a journalist, the diary was cleared and having checked with the lass that missing her birthday wouldn't render me single, it was on.

Less than two weeks later I was on a flight with Jamie Nicholls from London to Ålesund, Norway. We only stayed long enough for me and Nike team manager Jon Weaver to convince junior into jumping into the sea and the rest of the group to arrive.

The next day everyone traveled to Stranda for the annual 6.0 shoot. In keeping with the Smörgåsbord vibe, we swapped the one-hour drive for a six-hour boat journey. Unlike the 6.0 team's fancy sailing boat, ours was a giant tin can captained by the love child of Captain Jack Sparrow and Ted Bundy (minus the eye makeup).

Setting off down the fjord, our Norwegian pirate mate pointed us in the direction of beers, red wine and a coffee pot, which had already been over the stove long enough that the thick black liquid could have fueled a rocket. Better than a posh old school boat any day!

I've never been anywhere with such a clean sea that is so full of fish as Norway, but having arrived at what he obviously considered to be "The Spot" our Captain told us to drop the lines overboard. Thinking his sonar might have brought us to some place that made sea fishing more like shooting them in a barrel, we got involved.

Within minutes Bennee made the first catch. Having (maybe) missed the large holding tank onboard, he unhooked the fish and unceremoniously staved its head in on the deck. I say maybe because perhaps he saw the tank but that's just how people roll in Salt Lake City. Within the hour most of us had hooked some mystery type of silver fish, but Nicolas won the MVP award by simultaneously catching two on the same line. It was the first day I had ever caught a fish. Normally preferring to sit on the bank drinking beers without any fish-related disturbances, I'd never bothered with a hook on the line before.

Bobby decided more beers were needed so he got the boat to pull over at what looked like a derelict pier, where the captain assured him that there was a bottle shop nearby. By the time Bobby returned and the BBQ was stoked for fish and reindeer sausages I decided our captain must be more Sparrow than Bundy!

Sitting in an almost exactly east-west valley, the resort at Stranda had snow all the way to base on one side of the valley and none for miles on the other. The lifts were already closed to the public but Nike had taken the whole place over for a week. That evening we all went up to inspect the set up. The jumps were on the sunny side of the valley and positioned to catch the best of the light, as well as one epic backdrop.

Towards the top of the chairlift the main kicker came into view. My house plus front and back garden would have easily fit on the table. It was fucking massive! Behind the knuckle, a couple of kilometers away, was the town of Stranda itself and behind that, a huge fjord edged by snow-capped peaks shrank into the distance.

Immediately up the hill from what can only be described as "The Career Ender" there was also a smaller jump. It was still bloody large, but compared to its bigger, harder brother, the thing was positively inviting. The light was shitty, so Jon made the call that the 6.0 team would head back up the hill at 3:30 am to shoot a sunrise session.

Fortunately our group was not there for the mandatory booter work and with an average age over decade older than the 6.0 kids, a 2:30 am call time seemed unlikely. In fact, we got up at 8:00 after a good night's sleep, just in time to see the 6.0 crew heading down after the end of their session. With bad weather forecast for much of the week and twenty hours between sunrise and sunset, everyone headed back out twelve hours later for the sunset session. It was going off on the top kicker with some sick stuff from the 6.0 guys. The SB crew on the other hand were all about throwing down on a mini-shred hip to sign jib that looked really fun.

The next day was another blinder weather-wise, so making a serious effort we were at the jumps by the late morning. A session was starting and the pilot and cameraman were trying to get airborne. There is something surreal about watching two grown men strapped together trying to run down a steep slope covered in deep slush. Especially when one is carrying a big camera and the other has a parachute and giant fan attached to his back.

It was easier said than done and on the second try they fell. Somehow Greg Martin's (the main man behind Friday Productions) hand went into the fan. Ouch! It got pretty mashed up and he had to be heli-lifted to hospital. Brutal.

Having already spent an hour or more watching Gigi hitting a mini-shred spot on the side of the run in whilst keeping an eye on the main session, I was psyching myself up to have a go. I thought I was in the clear. I mean, no airborne cameraman, no session. Right? I've seen the 6.0 promo films.

It turned out however that there was one of those crazy six-rotor radio controlled helicopters with a camera underneath as a backup, so the session continued. As the sun started to dip behind the mountains on the far side of the fjord, the 6.0 session came to an end and Gigi, Nicolas and I joined Halldor, Ethan and Jamie to try out the top (smaller) jump. I went last, but still shit myself on the first drop in. Turns out it wasn't necessary to shit myself because the wedge was perfectly shaped and the landing was sweet.

After the first lap I realized that sled tows from the resort's local version of Ken Block were way sketchier than the jump itself. We all ended up having a good shred until the light went. Nicolas was showing the kids what's what with super stylish back one methods and Gigi was just styling everything. Halldor was doing backside threes and fives off his heels, which on a jump that size is certifiable lunacy, but so sick! After the session Jamie, Nicolas and I went for the old "death before download" and decided to ride back down. Hopping between increasingly widely spaced patches of snow we ended up hiking through the woods for the last couple of miles. Great day. Couple of beers to celebrate!

Day three dawned overcast. The kicker session got canceled so the shape crew set about building a kicker to pole jam over a channel gap with hipped landings on both sides. Gigi and I went over to help, but ended up stealing the "Big Boss" (a quad bike with caterpillar tracks instead of wheels) and going for a joyride.
In our defense, the resort guys left the keys in the ignition and where I come from that's as good as an invitation. What it lacked in speed it made up for in power. I reckon it could get over just about anything: snow, dirt, mountains, kids... Anything! Having ridden about on the Big Boss for a bit, when we took it back all the guy said was "please don't steal it again". Any normal week during the winter and they would have called the cops for sure. It took until late afternoon to finish building the spot, but being our last day in Stranda it was now or never so me and Bobby had a bash.

With sea fishing/piracy, park kickers and mini shredding ticked off the Smörgåsbord checklist, Riksgransen beckoned with a 4:00 am wake up call. Flying the long way round via Oslo and Stockholm before heading north took all day, but the drive could have taken a lifetime. We arrived in Riksgransen pretty late in the day. Not like you would notice though! Being well inside the Arctic Circle, by mid-May, the sun still sets behind the mountains but it doesn't get fully dark.

The lake next to the resort was still frozen over enough to ride a sled over and there were no leaves on the trees. It was like February in the Alps. Riksgransen has the feel of a frontier town. One hotel, a few apartments, a trailer park, a sled rental place and some lifts. There were even lemmings, which to be honest I thought only existed in video games!
Despite its size, the area has a well-deserved reputation. Ingemar's legendary backside air from 1996 always springs to mind but there are many, many more. On the first full day, the rest of the crew went out on sleds to find some spots and I went for a solo shred inbounds. Not sure what it is about the combination of terrain, wind and snow in Riks, but I've never been to a resort this small with so much fun stuff to ride.

Along a piste section no longer than 500 meters, there were a bunch of hits, a natural halfpipe, a rock ride and a mini-hip. A couple of runs turned into three hours. I was sharing a room with Gigi and he got back around 8:00 pm. He was very stoked on the session and regaled me with tales of inverts off a step up and backside airs out of a quarter.

A plan was hatched to go back to the same area the next day because there was much more to be done. It was a bonus that the light was best between 11:00 and midnight since that meant we didn't need to rush out in the morning. Which was good because even the Euros were feeling a bit jet lagged with time differences of only a couple of hours. It's proper hard to sleep in daylight. 

We picked up the sleds at around 11:00 and set out over the lake into the backcountry. The terrain was just like the resort but on a bigger scale. Features. EVERYWHERE. Justin Hare and Gigi renamed the place Hipsgransen and with good reason. From the place we pulled over to scope for a spot Gigi and Nicolas could see potential kickers, drops, step-ups, hips and quarter pipes. A bit spoiled for choice really.

Bennee shaped up a flat rock takeoff, landing a fat nollie off it, followed by team captain Bobby with some slick frontside threes. It rapidly turned into a marathon session. By the time everyone was done, night time street missions should have been the only option left, but in Riksgransen it still looked like early afternoon. We set out to find another spot, cruising over hills and frozen lakes. Rather worryingly, there were large puddles on the frozen lakes. They could have been puddles on top of the ice or holes right down to the lake bottoms. I never found out which. Some things are better not to know.

Besides, Joe gave it some gas over them and we didn't die. A promising-looking outcrop was spotted and shaping commenced some time around 8:00 pm. The melt hollow along the edge of the rock made a pretty good run in, the point where it took a sharp uphill turn became a steep takeoff and bank behind served as the landing. As I remember it was after 10:00 pm by the time it was ready, but Bobby had entertained us in the meantime by jumping a rental sled over a spine.

Nicolas warmed up with some backside airs. In the photos I took his body position is on lock. Style in every shot, but he just keeps getting higher in each successive frame. His last hit of the session before moving on to some serious McTwists was a SOTW a few weeks ago. Higher than the moon at midnight!

Gigi stepped up with (amongst other things) the finest switch tweaked frontside airs that I have ever seen. Bennee's highlight was a sick backside japan to fakie. The session continued until the sun finally dipped at some ungodly hour. Proper late anyway. Setting out for home I got a ride with Joe. He said he could take a slight detour and drop me off to get some turns. The sun was still up where we were dropped, bathing the slope in a deep orange light. The ride was a lot of fun considering it was the middle of the night and Gigi even gapped one of the suspicious puddles.

Despite being absolutely beat, it was still tough to get over the "jet lag" and getting to sleep proved harder than it should have done. Thankfully the sleeping itself was somewhat easier and the next day involved a late start with an afternoon resort shred followed by phase one of the Gigi Rüf master plan. Having checked a spot earlier in the day, a few us met at the top of the last lift and rode out of the resort. We arrived at a valley of some kind that was to be shaped into a big quarterpipe with a steep flat bank landing. With a crew of grafters, progress was fast and we were done in a couple of hours. Nicolas shaped the lip and it was a pleasure to watch him work. The man is a certified transition surgeon. 

After a short test-out session and some photos it was back down the hill so Gigi could put phase two into action. He wanted to get all the crews in Riks together for a sunset session and BBQ the next day. With a fairly quick lap of the hotel, his inimitable sales patter had roped in the Pirate and Grenade crews plus a couple of local guys. Flo and Justin from the Pirates even agreed to pick up supplies in Narvik the next morning.

After a comparatively relaxing day, our crew cut it almost too fine for the last lift but we all made it and arrived to an impressive group at the top station. Danny Kass, Eero Niemela, Eddie Wall, Dustin Craven, Arthur Longo, Danny Larsen plus local hero Bjorn Lindgren, as well as a selection of filmers and photographers. Gigi sure sorted the crew. After a preliminary re-shape on the tranny, the BBQs were lit, beers were cracked, and we settled down with suspicious hot dogs to enjoy an almighty session.

As the sun did its best impression of setting, the few clouds in the sky meant that the light got pretty epic. Dustin, Arthur, Gigi and Nicolas all slayed it and the quarter got shut down with alley oops, McTwists, front and back threes and fives as well as a peppering of sub-orbital backside airs. After everyone had taken their fill of shred and hot dogs the session shifted to handplants on the quarter and pole jams over a rock off an antique ski that Danny Larsen found next to a reindeer skull. Awesome.

With backcountry shred ticked off, there was only boozing and partying left on our Smörgåsbord checklist and it was unanimously agreed that beers were in order. We headed straight to the hotel bar, only to be told (to our horror) that the barman was closing up. I mean, for fuck's sake, it was only 1:00 am; not even late! The three beers we each ordered at last call barely touched the sides.

We tried to persuade the barman to stay open but he was having none of it. In a last ditch attempt to convince him, we pleaded that there was nowhere else to drink in town. "There is another place," he said. A couple of calls later and we were hiking up the side of a piste. By now it was as dark as it got but still light enough for me to see that nowhere ahead looked even vaguely pub-like. We finally realized that our destination was a door into what looked like a cave. My initial thought was "if I go in there no one will hear from me ever again", quickly followed by "fuck it, they have booze!" The place turned out to be a WWII bunker with the decor of a fortuneteller's tent and a few skulls about the place.

There was no electricity, so no fridges, lights or bar taps. Instead we ended up sipping Jack Daniels neat and smoking cigarettes by candlelight whilst listening to Eddie Wall belt out a few acoustic freestyle blues numbers on his guitar.

The barman was a real character; a burly Swedish metal head who told us he was Riks born and bred and that the dark winters were worth it for the party on the first day of light each spring! He also served the drinks with a machete between his teeth. 

Having drunk the JD that Gigi had negotiated for us, we ended up leaving at about 4:00 am. By that time the sun had re-emerged from behind the mountains so we had a walk of shame home in broad daylight.

After a pretty jaded trip to the airport followed by two flights, the Grenade crew and ourselves arrived back in Oslo. Every Norwegian I have ever met has bigged up National Day (Norway's Independence Day), especially the night before, so much that I was really looking forward to it. Danny Larsen had come back on the same flights and offered to be our guide the next day. We reached the (shit hot) hotel in the early evening. After Riksgransen it felt even more five star than it actually was.

Not wanting to fuck with tradition, everyone went out on the piss and joyfully watched it get dark. Alcohol is an expensive habit in Scandinavia so all were relieved when the (now) legendary Nike credit card came out. 

We ended up in an actual backstreet with a big marquee roof that was meant to be a club. The music was shit, the beers were costly, but the girls were beautiful. I have a hazy recollection of the usual late-night antics: kebab, then cab, then a cup of tea with Gigi back at the hotel. Getting up the next morning I fulfilled a promise to every Norwegian by cracking a beer immediately. The weather was really warm and sunny so after interviews and a few more beers we set off. There were people everywhere, a lot of drinking and some seriously amazing national costumes.

Just walking down one street we saw a brass band, went past old school open top buses full of students listening to dubstep  and came across a stage rocking a hard techno remix of "Shot Through the Heart" by Bon Jovi, I kid you not. We met Danny Larsen and Gro, his good lady wife, then hooked up with the Grenade crew at a bar by the sea and were then taken to a park where we sat on the grass and smashed our way through a bottle of JD. Next we walked through the art district. You could tell it was the art district by the squats and naked statues in trees. 

All the time the drinking continued, with everyone becoming suitably inebriated for the night to end with a semi-remembered stint in a bluegrass bar. Rad times indeed. Bidding farewell to Danny and Gro, we returned to the hotel. Smörgåsbord, done! We rode park kickers, mini shred and backcountry, went sea fishing, sledding, hiking, digging, partying, drinking and much else besides.

Arriving home, it felt like I had been away for way more than ten days but perhaps that had something to do with the fact that there had been more like twenty days worth of daylight! The Arctic Circle had been well and truly penetrated and I would do it all again in a second. Thanks Nike!

Wordsmithing: Ian Thrashmore
Photography: Andy Wright & Ian Thrashmore