Riiser-Larsen Ice Shelf, Antarctica, 9 December 2026

Tryggve, Andreas and Håkan have been at the German station Neumayer III for a week when Thomas and I arrive. We have been travelling for several days, first to Cape Town and from there to Wolf’s Fang (Ulvetanna) in Antarctica. Wolf’s Fang is like a fairy-tale landscape, where improbably sharp mountain peaks rise more than 1,500 metres straight out of the equally mighty ice sheet.

Those of us continuing on to the Riiser-Larsen Ice Shelf – Thomas and I – and our colleagues Margareta, Henrik, Raymond, Mats, Ulrika and Peter, who are heading to the Swedish station Wasa, are stuck for a couple of days due to logistics. It’s strange how quickly one can become restless, despite first-class hospitality and absolutely world-class views. But we want to move on. We want to start working.

Finally, a Twin Otter arrives and takes us to Neumayer. There, the Wasa group, along with Håkan, continue, while Thomas and I stay behind. There are a few quick, good-luck hugs before the plane takes off again.

Andreas and Tryggve meet us with warmth and calm. They have already arranged many practicalities for the expedition. We stay for a few days to pack and test everything in our “arks” – small living modules that we will live in and tow behind the snowmobiles—and to load the sledges with fuel and equipment.

The reception at Neumayer is absolutely incredible. The atmosphere is both professional and relaxed, and there is genuine curiosity about our work. We get tips on everything from field logistics to the best way to fix the map software.

On the last evening, we take part in a solemn ceremony in which the station is formally handed over from the outgoing wintering group to the incoming one. There are toasts, signatures, emotional speeches, and reflections on the past year. Afterwards, the celebration continues in the festively decorated mechanical workshop a few floors down, where music and food fill the room. The Swedish gang goes to bed early, however. Departure awaits.

Snowmobile travel in flat light – and a beginner’s struggle

On the day of departure, we make the final preparations, take a proper shower, and help finish the leftovers from yesterday’s party at brunch. When we load the equipment, half the station comes out to look at our gear. Two snowmobiles tow the arks; two tow heavily loaded sledges. We receive well-wishes and some final good advice before it’s time to get on the snowmobiles.

Around midday, we set course for a German fuel depot about 100 kilometres to the south. The journey takes the rest of the day. The surface is hard and uneven, and we drive carefully to avoid damaging the arks. Once there, we set up camp, melt snow, cook, and try to create some order in our small living modules. Thomas and I are beginners, and two people over 190 centimetres tall in an ark is… cramped. With veterans Andreas and Tryggve, on the other hand, everything is in order – almost military precision. But we all fall asleep soundly.

Up towards Søråsen – and into a white world

The next day, we leave the safe, well-trodden German route. Now we will follow a completely new route that we have laid out ourselves using satellite images. It leads up over Søråsen, a broad ice ridge where we don’t think many people have travelled before. According to our analyses, the terrain is crevasse-free, but the weather is more difficult: flat light, cloud cover. The contrasts disappear, and the sastrugi become challenging to read.

Andreas drives first with a heavy sledge and intense focus on the GPS. Thomas and I follow with the arks and sledges, and Tryggve brings up the rear. Higher up, the snow becomes looser. Those towing the arks really have to struggle to maintain enough speed to climb.

As we reach higher altitudes, it gets colder, and visibility comes and goes. The snow is fine, almost even, but the horizon sometimes dissolves. I notice my body starting to protest. Driving a snowmobile for hours is surprisingly strenuous – it jumps, jolts and jerks in every direction, like riding a very stubborn horse.

The illusions

When fatigue sets in, the strange things begin.

The mind loses its anchorage. Everything is white, and I imagine we are driving in circles even though the GPS track is straight. Sometimes it feels as if we are moving over an enormous white ball – a convex world with no beginning or end. The horizon merges with the snow. It becomes difficult to tell what is sloping, what is flat, and what is real.

During breaks, we talk about this. Andreas and Tryggve are experienced, and have logged countless hours in poor visibility in the mountains, Antarctica and Svalbard. They recognise the phenomenon. When contrasts are lacking, illusions and stray impressions are easily created. It is as if the brain is desperately filling the void with its own images.

My glasses keep fogging up. The wind is nonexistent, but the world is unexpectedly loud with engines, crunching snow, and the rhythmic thud as the snowmobile hits hard sections. The kilometres pass slowly. I have time to think a lot, yet still experience a kind of fog in my mind. It is both monotonous and hypnotic.

Finally – arriving at Riiser-Larsen

After 130 kilometres, I am pretty exhausted, both physically and mentally. It feels perfect when we finally slow down and start to make camp.

We have reached the Riiser-Larsen Ice Shelf. Here, in the coming days, we will install a weather station and conduct radar measurements over snow and ice. I’ll tell you more about why we are doing this in the next post.