Five days. Four nights. Brutal, cutting winds. Collapsed bags and chilled to the bone sleeplessness. Chewed up blistered feet. Icy crust, windblown hardpack, kilometers of sastrugi, falls and frustration. Lots of "why do I do this". On the other hand, more than a fair share of sunshine, long, oh so long, views, long, oh so long, light and landscapes that drop your jaw and take away your ability to speak. Can't wait to go back! In fact, as luck would have it, I am going back. I'm heading North on Saturday morning for a week of lift served skiing in, of all places, Gausdal (I could save myself a lot of money by moving to Norway!). "Tut, tut," I hear you say, "earn your turns". I reckon, after last week, I've got some turns in the bank. Besides, Emily's only three and it'll be a few years before she's dragging her dad off to cold camp in the backcountry. More on the Huldreheimen trip when I get back.