Snowmobiling in the Svalbard Wilderness

Lynx ambassadors Sami Hyypiä, Oskar Andersson, and Mariell Kvickström kicked things off in March, flying out of Oslo and touching down in Longyearbyen – one of the northernmost inhabited settlements on the planet. Waiting for them were Lynx ambassador and their local guide Florian Ledoux and his friend Matheo Ganadu, both photographers and cinematographers who live on Svalbard year-round, immersed in the wilderness they document.

The next morning, the crew met at Florian’s house for breakfast and a safety briefing before pointing the Lynx snowmobiles toward the wilderness. Florian and Matheo had sketched out a rough plan – but on Svalbard, nature calls the shots. Brutal wind, deep cold, or zero visibility can blow up any itinerary in minutes.

"Out there, you're up against whatever nature throws at you," Sami says. "Obstacles and challenges that just appear out of nowhere."

Florian Ledoux at work: capturing the breathtaking landscapes of Svalbard, with his fully equipped Lynx Commander Limited helping him reach the remote wilderness.

Day one: straight for the ice caves on the glacier. The route cut through mountain passes, climbing high enough to open up views across the open sea and the glacier's blue-edged face.

At the caves, Florian and Matheo had found something new — a chamber carved out by summer meltwater, reshaping the ice into fresh tunnels and rooms. The crew pushed in to explore. One chamber, by Sami's estimate, dropped 15 to 20 metres deep.

"It was something else. Sharp ice formations hanging off the ceiling — you couldn't help thinking what would happen if one of those broke loose and came down on you. But due to the winter conditions, these places are more stable and open their door. "

The first day stacked up serious kilometres, but racking up distance was never the point. The sled was the tool — the means to reach places that would otherwise stay out of reach.

"The riding wasn't the main event. We were there for the scenery. For those views that just don't quit."

Sami Hyypiä and Oskar Andersson marvel at the natural ice sculptures inside an ice cave.

It had been a lean snow year on Svalbard. Strong winds had hammered the snow into a dense, unforgiving crust and stripped rocks bare in places — then piled soft drifts into huge banks elsewhere. The terrain kept shifting. You had to stay switched on.

That hard, uneven surface kept speeds in check and rattled the sleds constantly.

"The sled was bucking and shaking the whole time. Fifty kilometres an hour felt like plenty — but when I heard that a polar bear can run at sixty, I figured we might need to push harder," Sami says.

For most of the trip, the sky stayed overcast. But the weather otherwise held. The cold stayed manageable and the wind never hit its worst.

"Florian reminded us that close to minus forty, combined with serious wind, you're in a situation where you don't want to be standing still," Sami recalls.

Mariell Kvickström and Sami Hyypiä making their way through Svalbard’s wild winter landscapes by snowmobile – often the only practical way to get around in winter.

One of the longest legs of the trip pushed out to the mining settlement of Barentsburg. With stops factored in, it ate up the whole day.

For Sami, the place felt like stepping back into the 1950s. Around 300 people live here, still working a coal mine that never stopped running. Soviet-era history is everywhere you look. At the centre of the village: a statue of Lenin.

The crew spent the night in Barentsburg's hotel, then made the return to Longyearbyen the following day on a different route.

On Svalbard, the weather is always in charge – plans can change in an instant.

No bears appeared – though eyes swept the landscape constantly. On Svalbard, a polar bear can materialise from any direction, at any moment.

On the final day, riding back to Longyearbyen from Barentsburg, the snow told the story for them. Massive polar bear tracks. And right alongside them, smaller impressions – a mother, almost certainly, moving with her cub.

"Florian and Matheo figured the tracks were maybe a day old. Heart rate went up immediately."

Seeing a polar bear would have been a dream come true for Sami – as long as the encounter happened from a safe distance.

The crew carried safety equipment and satellite phones – no mobile signal out here – and every stop was planned with clear escape routes in case a bear showed up fast.

Other wildlife showed up in force. The crew watched seals at the water's edge, up to a dozen at a time. Walrus spotted further out on the ice. Wild reindeer moving through the landscape. And near Barentsburg, Mariell got her wish – a sighting of an Arctic fox.

Walruses resting on an ice floe in the Arctic waters of Svalbard.

Beyond Svalbard's settlements, there are no roads. In winter, a snowmobile isn't a luxury – it's a lifeline. The sled parks were packed with machines from every decade, and the only way between settlements is on snow.

By March, Longyearbyen is already flooded with light. A handful of snowmobile safaris and skiers were out, but nothing close to crowded.

Longyearbyen is a small base camp sitting in the middle of a vast world that feels empty but is far from it. Ride out on a sled and within minutes, it's just mountains, glaciers, snowfields – and the sea ice surrounding it all.
The landscape is what stayed with Sami.

"Sea ice stretching around a glacier, with open water in the distance and a monstrous cliff face rising up behind it. That image isn't going anywhere."

Out here, you can’t help but feel small.