Joda Dolmans completes wild Tindenåla Winter Solo

For me, climbing solo represents immense freedom. It’s a different kind of beauty from climbing with a partner, one that demands a complete connection between mind and body. The high focus and sharpened senses create a very grounding and rich experience, one that’s hard to put in words. It’s simply a feeling of absolute freedom and total self-sufficiency in the mountains. Taking on bigger projects like this by myself has always been about finding the right perspective and reaching a point where vision aligns with motivation, experience and knowledge. When I first started this journey, I had no idea if I would manage to complete all the climbs in one winter, or if my mental game and my solo climbing skillset would suffice. But as always, you have to start somewhere and just get out and try.

The Tindenåla award was established in 1998 by the Bodø climbing club, to inspire people to climb mountains in Nordland. To qualify for the award, you have to climb six classic peaks in the area, including: Stetind, Husbyviktind, Preikstoltind, Sjunkhatten, Strandåtind and Store Åselitind. Two of these ascents have to be winter ascents.

I first read about Tindenåla shortly after moving to Bodø, and while the award itself was never my primary motivation, the mountains and their history really inspired me. Quite early on I envisioned soloing all of them all in winter - it just seemed like the ultimate challenge and the perfect way to explore and experience these beautiful peaks. Technically, they’re all well within my comfort zone for solo climbing. However, finding the right conditions and doing all the hard work myself would provide a real challenge. It would mark a significant step forward in my solo climbing.

The plan was to try and climb all six peaks in the heart of winter, between December 1st and February 28th. Before this project, I had only been on two out of six peaks, Stetind and Strandåtind. For the other four, I had very little prior knowledge, meaning I’ be climbing them on-sight. It took a while before I felt ready to commit. Then, in the autumn of 2024, I started playing with the idea again, researching the history and character of these mountains. I shared my plan with only a few friends and my girlfriend. This time, I had a good feeling and felt stoked to give it a proper try.

I started off climbing Store Åselitind on December 7th. As expected, it was by far the easiest of the six and, climbing it from the north via a series of gullies and ice steps, it served as a good warmup. A month later, in early January, I set off to attempt Strandåtinden in a tiny weather window between polar storms. Waiting for it to clear up, I sat huddled between two large boulders, wrapped in an aluminum blanket for nearly 2 hours. When the weather finally improved, I started climbing very stiffly, shivering from the cold, but soon found my rhythm. I vividly remember spending over an hour trying to make an anchor before the final crux, where everything was coated in a thin layer of verglas. On reaching the summit, my weather window had come to an end. Hanging from my ropes a few 100 meters further down in a storm, swinging back and forth in the hope of finding the bolted rappels, was undoubtedly one of the lonelier moments of this project.

Next up was Preikstoltind. Early in the morning on the 22nd of January I skinned my way across the flat landscape towards Nordskaret. I felt committed having skipped school, plus I had to be back before 4pm to start work. Arriving at the base of the east ridge, I felt a little intimidated, but as always I took it step by step. It definitely was not as bad as it looked, though some unexpected factors, like breaking my ice axe midway through the first pitch, made it a little more interesting. Fortunately, with some daisy-aiding-trickery, I managed to climb just fine with the one axe I had left. Once safely down again, I made it back in time for work, smiling quietly through the whole shift.

Two days after Preikstoltind, another perfect window appeared, and I drove north to Stetind. After a short night in the parking lot and a few hours of approach, it felt good to reach the false summit just before sunrise. Following the easiest route to the top, I scrambled along the SE ridge, again feeling a little intimidated, but incredibly fortunate to get a chance to climb the mountain on my own on such a perfect day. I self-belayed on the crux, although finding good pro was challenging due to the large amount of rime everywhere. Ironically, this made the actual climbing surprisingly easy. Once I reached the summit, the wind died down completely, and I stood alone in absolute silence. That moment on top of Stetind felt surreal - it is one of the most special moments I’ve ever experienced in the mountains.

After Stetind, school and exams kind of took over for a few days, but then another window appeared. On January 29th, I took an early ferry to Kjerringøy, where I was met by a local fisherman who gave me a final short lift with his boat across the fjord. After about 2,5 hours of hiking, I reached the base of the west ridge. The wind picked up and I climbed the first steep section in constant spindrift. Luckily, higher up the climb was more sheltered. With a mix of free and rope soloing tricks, I eventually reached easier ground and hiked to the summit. Despite the full sunshine I topped out to raging winds, but with beautiful views over the whole National Park.

The final piece of the puzzle was Husbyviktind. In many ways, it was the biggest unknown due to the lack of information and its remote location. Husbyviktind is easily reached by boat, however getting a ride in winter can be a challenge. After countless calls and messages, I gave up and decided to try to approach it on foot from the east. With a heavy pack I hiked in for roughly 15km, crossing semi-frozen lakes and swamps, before finally collapsing in my tent. The next day, I made the final push to the base of the mountain and, after assessing the conditions, started up the west ridge. Once again I was met with fierce winds, which almost threw me off balance 80 meters up the intro slabs. I tried waiting it out, but ultimately decided to bail.

A week later, after a spell of warm temperatures, I figured the mountain might be in good condition and made a second attempt. This time I didn’t carry any camping gear, planning to complete the climb in one long day. When I reached my previous highpoint, conditions were a lot different, almost summer-like, and I made quick progress climbing mostly in rock shoes. For the steeper upper sections I switched back and forth between crampons and rock shoes until reaching easier ground, which led me swiftly to the summit. I topped out on February 8th, a little speechless, closing the final chapter of this journey.

As far as I know, many of these mountains have never been climbed solo in winter before. Reading about the early pioneers who first climbed these peaks in the early 1900s, really inspired me. Back then, some of these mountains were considered impossible to climb. I imagine this only made climbers even more interested in these peaks, since it was all about the spirit of adventure. Following in their footsteps felt like stepping into their vision of exploring the unknown. Being able to contribute to that history in my own way certainly feels very special. I am also deeply grateful for the profound experiences these mountains have given me. It will take a while to let it all sink in.

Joda Dolmans, March 2025