Officially part of Norway, Jan Mayen lies 600 km northeast of Iceland, 500 km east of central Greenland, and more than 900 km northwest of the Norwegian mainland. There is no permanent population and the only inhabitants are seasonal workers, manning an important weather station on the west coast of the island.

The only reliable way for civilians to reach this volcanic strip of land is via boat, which requires a journey of almost five days across frigid and featureless waters.

It is a very strange feeling being in the middle of the open sea, with no land in sight for days. We worked on the boat in shifts, which messed with our perception of time. The days melted together, becoming one big blur. At least we had the chance to form fast friendships, thanks to spending all that time together on a small boat...

Almost immediately we ran into a storm — seven-meter-high waves and heavy winds. Things were flying around inside the boat and people were falling over. Our sail even ripped in two. We managed to take it down and stow it safely, but were forced to limp the rest of the way to Jan Mayen on the motor alone.

Jan Mayen is not just hard to get to; it’s hard to land at also! You are only allowed to drop anchor at two places, both quite far away from Beerenberg itself.

To make matters worse, getting to the black shore of Jan Mayen itself is not a given, as making a safe transition from the boat to the land is heavily dependent on weather conditions. Once ashore, we had to get to the foot of Beerenberg, and then climb the 2,277 meters of rock and glacier to reach the crater rim. The hike itself is easily 20–24 hours with no chance to rest on the frigid slopes of the world’s northernmost stratovolcano. The weather forecast predicted -14 degrees celsius and 20m/2 wind on the peak. We did not have time to wait for better weather conditions, we just had to push for it the second we landed at the beach.

We landed at Kvalrossbukta, an old whaling beach. Its forboding black volcanic sand was decorated by scores of sun-bleached skeletons, which set the tone for our stay on the island. This was harsh and unforgiving place. Preparation and focus were key to survival. As such, we spent the next hour setting up our temporary camp and checking the equipment we would need for the climb.

The first part of the hike was dominated by a combination of long black beaches and sharp black and green rock formations. To our eyes, it seemed an alien landscape, and the experience was akin to being on a different planet.

Most of Beerenberg is covered by glaciers. We had to walk in tightly roped teams. Traversing crevasses up to what we approximated to be 30 meters deep. As we ascended, the gradient became ever-steeper until we were forced to rely on our hand axes and crampons to keep ourselves attached to the mountain.

Our glacier guide Lars Petter Jonassen has a serious talk to the team about playing with margins. If we chose to continue, we would no longer be on the safe side, if we wanted to turn around, we should have done so then.

As a team, we decide to play the margins a bit more, and continue climbing towards the crater rim.

We made it as far as the mountain would allow, and that we would come to realize, was far enough.

We named that place Straum Summit, at 2,089 meters above sea level.

As soon as we resolved to leave the peak in peace, Beerenberg showed us a kinder face. When we began our journey we did so as a group of willing strangers united by our goal alone. Now at the end of it all, we are united by a shared experience that will bind us forever, and perhaps become the first chapter of a lifelong adventure like no other.

Crew

Rob Nudds

Aksel Jermstad

Johannes L. Dyhre

Chrisander Bergan

Lars Petter Jonassen

John Macken

Carl Emil Gottschalk Lie

Morten Sangvik

Sponsors

Rammelaus

Brynje of Norway

Amundsen Sports

Sail Norway

Varri

Ortovox

Puffinbags