Skiing in Norway: Finding Freedom on the Mountain
Demanding
Each year I travel up to Beitostølen in Norway for an annual skiing event that brings together around 500 visually impaired and mobility-impaired skiers. It’s a gathering I look forward to all year — a week carved out of ordinary life, where challenge and joy sit side by side, and where the mountains feel wide enough to hold all of us.
What I love most is that, although this trip is rooted in the Norwegian snow, the lessons stay with me long after I’ve flown home. Skiing has become one of the few places where I feel genuinely free — where the limits I imagine for myself soften a little and something more hopeful takes shape.
And, of course, one of the loveliest things about snow is that when you do take a tumble, you’re not landing on concrete. A soft cushion of powder may not take away all risk — especially at speed — but it certainly makes the whole experience feel gentler and more inviting.
Snowshoeing
Snowshoeing has become a quiet favourite of mine. If you can walk, you can snowshoe — it’s essentially hiking across a wide, open landscape. There’s very little to crash into, and if you do misstep, you simply sink into the snow with a soft thud.
Cross-Country Skiing
The first — and most accessible for many visually impaired skiers — uses tracks cut into the snow that help guide your skis. I ski with a guide ahead of me calling back instructions. At first it was frustrating, but once the rhythm landed, it became joyful.
The second type has no tracks. You ski freely across snow using long, thin skis. I’ll be honest: I’m terrible at it, but some people adore the challenge.
Downhill Skiing
Downhill is where I feel most alive. I wear a bright yellow bib marked “Blind Skier,” and my guide skis in front wearing darker clothing for contrast. They call back instructions. Some skiers use poles to connect to their guide; others use microphones and speakers.
The lifts were more intimidating than skiing itself, but once you’ve used them a few times, even they become second nature.
Snowboarding
I tried it — it wasn’t for me — but the guiding principles are similar to downhill, and many visually impaired snowboarders navigate the slopes brilliantly.
Dog Sledding
Dog sledding brings sheer joy. Active sledding uses two dogs pulling you at surprising speed, while passive sledding uses a large team and a musher guiding from behind. Both are magical in their own way.
Sit Skiing
Sit skis opened my eyes to the skill of mobility-impaired skiers. Some steer independently using short poles; others work with a guide behind them. I once tried the guided version with a member of the Norwegian military — unforgettable.
The Skier Who Redefined My Sense of Possible
Each year I ski alongside someone with no usable vision at all. Their guide skis ahead with a microphone and speaker, narrating every twist of the mountain. And yet — they ski faster and better than I do. When I hesitate or feel fear creeping in, all I need to do is look towards them and ask myself, “What’s holding you back?”
The Wheelchair User Who Leaves Me Standing Still
There is a wheelchair user who joins the cross-country tracks each year. They rely solely on their arms, while I use both arms and legs — and yet they glide past me effortlessly every single time. Their presence is a humbling reminder that technique matters as much as strength, and that there is always more to learn.
How I Prepared — Practical Tips
- The mountain is warmer than you expect — layers are essential.
- Hydration matters more than you’d think.
- Your muscles will ache, especially early on.
- Make yourself visible — my high-contrast bib is invaluable.
- Build speed slowly. My falls always happen when I get overconfident.
- Most importantly: find the part of skiing that brings you joy.
Accessibility Checklist
Final Reflections
Skiing has become a yearly refuge — a chance to step into the wilderness and rediscover a sense of freedom that is difficult to find elsewhere. I may never ski without a guide, but that dependence has become part of the beauty of the experience.
If you ever have the opportunity to try skiing, don’t overthink it. Go anyway. I’d love to hear your own stories — the moments that made you feel alive, challenged, or free. I may not see you on the slopes, but in spirit, I’ll be right there with you.
Score the experience, not just the access.
Transport, parking, signage, crowds, orientation.
Queues, ticket checks, security, first noise and lighting.
Lighting, sound, predictability, space to take a break.
Pathways, surfaces, ramps, signage, resting areas.
Sightlines, distance from action, atmosphere, audio clarity.
Clarity, respect, knowledge of access needs, consistency.
Pride, learning, joy inside difficulty. Would you go again?
Small wins, kindnesses, overall meaningfulness.
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