Riksgränsen was my first time skiing…anywhere. Ever. The very fact it’s located north of the arctic circle and I was skiing under the midnight sun made it hardcore, but until I looked back on it I had no idea how hardcore the whole experience actually was over the course of those three days I spent last May, at the very end of the 2024 ski season.
Map of Riksgränsen ski area.
Of course I was started out on the gentlest slopes that were available, which in Riksgränsen’s case is right at the summit, where the highest lift station is located. Even at the end of May the snow was deep enough, but the weather was mild (I barely even needed a coat…), and the texture was icy. At the very top of the slope, which is marked as #3 on the map (Gränsleden 1), the snow was groomed and the slope very gentle and wide, making ideal terrain and conditions for beginners even in late May.
Then over the course of my first two days my instructors and I worked on skiing all the way down Gränsleden 1 to the lift station about midway down the mountain. The poor guys had to brace me as I slid down on the steeper sections, but I got better and better, to the point that by my second day I could comfortably ski on the gentlest sections on the top and not-so-comfortably ski on even the steepest sections. I fell down several times each time on a certain steep section of the piste, but I made it! The lower narrower section with some sharper turns was downright fun, even on my own on the second and third days.
Interestingly, this slope is intermediate level, marked red on the map, which apparently is considered fine for even first-time beginners to take on (especially with an instructor in tow) in Scandinavia, but is not something that would be contemplated in typical American ski schools. Worse still, Scandinavian standards for difficulty levels are different from American: black slopes are of course the highest difficulty, but a slope has to be pretty challenging to rate even an intermediate (red) classification; blue slopes in Scandinavia are an undifferentiated beginner level corresponding to either green or blue level slopes in the United States. From what I’ve read American ski instruction doesn’t even let total beginners take on blue slopes, let alone actively encourage them to take them on their own.
It’s not like I was thrown to the wolves; rather, it seems that Scandinavian-style ski instruction emphasizes knowing how to control your speed and do turns before you even really do much of anything, and then you’re expected to ski more or less independently. Even on my first day instructors emphasized that I should try to ski independently as much as possible if I felt at all up to it; something I wasn’t ready to take on without an instructor present on my first day…or even my second day. Though that had more to do with feeling like I’d had my fill of (what to me was) challenging skiing that day than discomfort with the very idea (certainly I could have skied a little bit down the gentlest sections on my own even after my first day).
But on my third day? It was the last day of the season and I felt more comfortable applying the physical strength necessary to ski…and somehow I felt up to proving to myself that I could do it. So I took off down the other slope we worked on during our first two days: the blue (i.e. easy-level) slope marked #5: BH-löpan, starting from the summit lift station.
My original intention was to follow BH-löpan just down to the midway lift station I was familiar with and call it a day…but somehow I ended up taking a wrong turn, apparently right down piste #6 (Mössan) instead of left down #5 (BH-löpan). Oops!
I thought the terrain didn’t look familiar, but I didn’t realize where I was until a long stretch of slightly steep slope had me at the convergence of pistes (#6 Mössan, #7 Bläbärsbacken, and #8 Lingonstigen): I looked out toward a landscape that was definitely unfamiliar, although fairly breathtaking. Fortunately the junction was marked with signage, telling me that if I skied to the right I’d end up at a different area altogether from the main lodge (there’s also a lift station out that way, but at the time it was closed up for the summer already, so no help there).
The terrain before me looked a bit steep and the snowpack appeared thinner, with more mud and rock, skiable sections of snow becoming patchier, along with several warning signs (that were all in Swedish…). So I stopped for a while to contemplate my next move (and enjoy the view…including a steady trickle of skiers going off-piste). Looking up toward the mountain’s summit, the idea of hiking all the way back up there with skis in tow held limited appeal, yet the terrain and conditions further down didn’t look like the best. The decisive factor, after I saw one other skier head down there and take it at high speed, was “why not?”.
Turns out the piste wasn’t as tough as it looked; it was more or less smooth skiing, albeit slow (remember: I’m a beginner!), except for the sections lower down where the snow had melted off and exposed large sections of rock, mud, and streaming meltwater. I just walked on my skis over those sections, oh so slowly…but even at the very bottom there were still sections of packed snow that were a delight to ski on.
The entire piste, #15 Apelsinklyftan, in addition to the sections higher up, was a blue slope, which in Scandinavia is beginner level, but it was well above what United States would classify as green-level difficulty!
In addition, Riksgränsen might not be the tallest mountain, but at 1200 feet from top to bottom it’s still apparently considered formidable vertical for a total beginner on their third day ever to undertake in a single go, especially in conditions that involved rock and mud toward the bottom. At the time it just felt thrilling and it made me feel accomplished, but I didn’t think it a remarkable feat.
Why would I? I had little basis for comparison: my instructors emphasized doing as much as I could independently (albeit I’m pretty sure they envisioned me going midway down the mountain rather than a full descent!), and everyone else I saw was much more comfortable skiing than I was…including a lot of children (hehehe). Riksgränsen attracts predominately seasoned skiers, and has a reputation as a serious mountain: it’s the northernmost resort in the world (as well as the only one located north of the arctic circle), but on the resort spectrum it’s somewhat bare-bones; in addition, the location is considered remote. By car and by train starting from Stockholm it took me multiple days to get there.
Interestingly, despite its formidable reputation, it has plenty of terrain that’s beginner-friendly; indeed, most of the pistes at the resort aren’t even that difficult. Seasoned skiers prize it not only for its unique arctic location under the white nights and midnight sun, but also for off-piste skiing. Quite a few of these characters even use Riksgränsen as a base to access skiing on nearby mountains outside the resort boundaries with no marked trails, that are higher up and more remote, certain aspects enjoying a much longer period of deep snowpack, and thus ski season, than any piste on Riksgränsen mountain itself, extending deep into June.
Apparently wandering outside resort boundaries altogether is normal and expected for advanced skiers not only in Scandinavia but in Europe in general, whereas in the United States this tends to be much more policed (so much for “the land of the free”…). Ski patrol too tends to be more pervasive and similar to cops in the United States, as opposed to in Europe where they’re there for rescue and scoping out dangers to mark for skiers, and generally don’t bother you. Though from what I’ve read the police-statism and nanny-statism is much less pronounced in the western United States, where the experience is comparable to Europe, though still without freedoms and expectations as high as what you’ll see in Scandinavia or the Alps.
Ski instruction too tends to be more structured in the United States, with more handholding, courtesy of a more cautious step-by-step mentality. Without even knowing any of this, it seems I chose a place for my first time that works much better with my usual learning style than a resort in my home country probably would have been.
It honestly surprises me to learn, however, that what I experienced was really hardcore for a total beginner doing their first time on skis.
Map of Riksgränsen ski area, with the pistes I traversed in May 2024 marked with black arrows.
The upshot, however, is that if I wanted to ski again, but in the United States, then what Americans classify as blue slopes (lower-intermediate) would be no problem for me; indeed, they would likely strike the right balance between challenge and fun. Even after just three days total skiing experience, there’s no reason for me to stick to green slopes. The full mountain descent I did, in the conditions I did it in, might even rate as toward the upper range of US blue (i.e. intermediate) runs.
Gränsleden 1, which Scandinavians consider a red (intermediate) slope, would certainly rate as the upper range of a US blue run; in certain conditions it might even tip a bit into the easiest rung of black slopes. I don’t believe the conditions I were in were rough enough to rise that far, but it was awfully steep for a beginner…so much so that on day three I avoided it for the first time I was completely on my own, in favor of the blue run all the way down the mountain. After that day-three experience I might feel up to taking something like that on, but I suspect that my best next step would be to simply gain more experience: gain further comfort linking the turns together, and greater comfort progressing at faster speeds, rather than finding the steepest slope I can possibly mince down.
After all, skiing is all about fun, right? I knew at Riksgränsen that in order to do anything I had to challenge myself, in as much as I’d literally never skied before, but now that I know how to ski? I can devote my entire second time to having fun with it, rather than it being all challenge all the time (as it was on my first two days at Riksgränsen; only on my third day did I truly have fun with it).
The Romance of the Slopes
Also fun for me, as someone who enjoys feeling like they’re beautiful and have a high social status, is how elite and glamorous skiing and winter sports in general are…even though they’re not all that expensive or difficult to get into. I suspect I’d really like sailing and yachting, but god, I looked up how you would get started with that, and the costs to just get started learning it scare me (and I’m someone who gets my groceries from Erewhon, so it’s not like I scare easily).
I know for a fact that I like horseback riding, but equestrianism like elites practice would leave me bored: sports where you compete in a few specific standardized places for a brief time just don’t appeal to me (for similar reasons the competitive ballroom dance circuit is never something that captivated me). Yes, I suppose you could do a photoshoot of a week-long riding trip on the Lost Coast or some such, which I’m sure would be awesome, but integrating glamour, polish, and making new friends into a pursuit like that is much more difficult than with skiing or snowboarding, where it’s almost baked into the premise. Horsemanship is more affordable and easier to get into than you probably think, but it still doesn’t compare favorably with winter sports.
Meanwhile, no other sport (unless you count dance as a sport, which I for one wouldn’t) really appeals to me; I either find the people who participate in them to be staid and stodgy, or I just can’t get into the idea of participating. The latter have a suspiciously strong correlation with how associated they are with the middle and lower class of society. I’ve noticed that all the activities that I have even a remote interest in are basically the most elite hobbies you could possibly do. Basketball? Soccer? Martial arts, even? Ew. Wine-tasting? Horseback riding? Yachting? Skiing? Snowboarding? Sign me up! Hehehehe.
Not that I wouldn’t love to sail a yacht or ride a horse, but I’ve noticed that while I get along well enough with them (in contrast to country-club golf types, who I can’t relate to at all), they’re not really my people. By comparison, I’ve found a much higher degree of compatibility with skiers and snowboarders, in my limited experience so far. Indeed, both of my favorite women I’ve ever met just happened to be into winter sports: my best friend did skiing, and my favorite escort does both skiing and snowboarding (with the latter being her favorite).
From what I’ve seen it seems like skiing and snowboarding are less of an old-money hobby and more of a elite celebrity hobby…which is a good sign, since I have all the same personal problems, challenges, and mentalities as a Hollywood elite, despite never having been either famous or rich (or even residing anywhere near Hollywood until very recently).
Interestingly, my looksmaxed self is much more overtly celebrity-like in appearance (polished, plastic, and perfect; with deeply tanned skin, long platinum blonde hair, and a trim toned body), and I find I both turn a lot more heads and get a much more favorable reaction out of the people I’m interested in connecting with, so I suspect I’m on the right track. Heck, I should say I know I’m on the right track: despite being allegedly so much more competitive than elsewhere, I’ve been told more times I should model in three months of Los Angeles living than I was in three decades living deep in “real America”.
Picture-Perfect Skier: a more financially accessible Image than you’d think?
So if I want to have fun, meet new people, and be glamorous enough for a photoshoot, skiing and snowboarding are the perfect sports for me. What’s even better is it’s not too expensive for me to level up in it. The United States has infamously expensive daily lift tickets, but if I wanted to go to Mammoth Mountain for three days of skiing, I could drive there in a day, get decent accommodation for perhaps $200 a night, rent all the necessary clothes and equipment for perhaps $100 a day, and get lift tickets for perhaps $150 a day. All-in cost? Around $1500. Which for a whole week’s worth of vacation isn’t bad at all.
It gets even better: the $150 a day figure comes courtesy of the three-day lift pass, which at Mammoth runs you about $450 total. Lift tickets for just one day approach $200, so you get a discount per day the more you buy. Famously, this culminates in season passes, the most expensive tier of which costs $1449 (Mammoth is part of Ikon, which is a mega-pass that allows access to dozens of destinations; Vail Resorts’ Epic pass is the other big one in the US).
$1449 is considerably more than I’d be paying in lift tickets for my three-day excursion that I’m envisioning right now, but if you ski more often it becomes worth the investment quickly. If you only ski for a week out of the year it starts to look tempting, once you factor in discounts on lodging, gear, et cetera that you get from it, and if you ski for 15 days or longer then not only a season pass but also buying your own gear starts to yield net savings. If you ski for 60 days a year then an Ikon pass at $1449 per season comes out to a daily cost of $24: downright cheap. Of course 60 days’ worth of lodging isn’t cheap, but the actual skiing part is amortized out very effectively if you do it often, for an all-in annual cost of perhaps only a few thousand dollars a year, affordable even for a middle-income person. Hence why people who love skiing and happen to live within an easy drive of a ski resort (i.e. they don’t need lodging) partake in the sport even if they don’t have much money.
Conclusion
There’s a combination of elite image and financial accessibility to skiing and snowboarding that really makes it tempting for me to delve into it, and since I live in a place now that has world-class skiing destinations nearby, I love traveling to Europe, I have a dream of booking my favorite escort for a snowboarding trip together, and after looksmaxing want to focus on becoming more elite, I think it’s a temptation I might just succumb to. See you on the slopes… ⛷️
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