Expand Your XC-Ski Experience: Greenland’s Arctic Circle Race
by Jan Jan Guenther, Founder, Gear West
I fully believe that contrast forms the composition of our lives. We thrive on the good stuff, we coast on the easy stuff, yet the difficult passages are what make us grow.
Looking for a bit more excitement than skiing circles on machine-made snow? There is adventure to have on your skis of any style; classic, skate, back country or more. Explore all you can do with winter and skiing. One of those places is Greenland!
Participating in the Arctic Circle Race in Sisimiut, Greenland reminds me of why I love winter and skiing. Pushing my boundaries in sport, physically and emotionally, builds my character, heightens my awareness of life outside of work and adds a fun experience to my ever-shortening life.
If you love to travel and prioritize cross-country skiing, consider experiencing the chilly paradise of Greenland and the Arctic Circle Race.
Sisimiut is located on the west coast of Greenland roughly 50 miles north of the artic circle. The race which starts and finishes in Sisimiut, and boldly claims 29 years of producing the “World’s Toughest XC Race” — and trust me, it’s a title it fully earns.
The 160km three-day event unfolds as a 52km ski from town to a Base Camp on Day One. Day Two is a 57.9km undulating loop starting and finishing at Base Camp, and finally a 50.8 km return journey back to Sisimiut on Day Three. The racecourse is an embodiment of Greenland’s rugged wilderness, intense weather, and the enduring strength and culture of its Indigenous people.
The Race Camp, where we spent two bone-chilling nights in tents, is encircled by the white-capped, jagged peaks that jut dramatically from Greenland’s vast and open landscape. This temporary village becomes a tight-knit community — an oasis where racers and volunteers warm up, eat, rest, and take care of those who need extra help on each race day. Each year, more than 190 participants from 20+ countries converge in Sisimiut, from Olympic champions to local Greenlandic citizens. It is a remarkable mix of outdoor lovers united by snow, cold, and shared determination.
I confess: this was my second time at the ARC. The first was 13 years ago and I wanted to share this amazing experience with more of my skiing friends. A few memories from my first trip included: befriending a wonderful group of American doctors from Dartmouth, one of whom was a neurosurgeon in Chicago whose talents included removing a tumor from an ape in the Lincoln Park Zoo and who sing an operetta during the closing ceremonies of the race; the boisterous Russians who snored loudly in the nearby tent, explained how Moscow was home to several broken down Piston Bully snow grooming machines because of missing parts and my amazement of how they laughed and drank their way through the race; the shimmer of the northern lights on clear cold nights; the surprisingly warm weather which made the entire race 50% easier; the smell of warm whale blubber squares (a taste tribute to the history of Greenlandic pilgrimages); and crossing the finish line daily with enough energy to linger in the winter sun, wax my skis and feel competitive for the next day’s ski.
My 2026 version of the race was different — experienced from the perspective of perhaps the oldest participant at age 66.9 — is best described as SLOW and COLD, utterly captivating by beauty and exhausted after each day’s finish. The wild and rugged expanse of snow, ice, and open space grips something deep within my soul. I found myself appreciating the jagged landscape and the heritage of the Greenlandic people even more deeply than before. Yet after each day’s finish I dragged myself to the warming tent, plopped legs stretched flat on the plywood floor underneath the canvas cover, after locating my bundle of clothing among 198 other piles of gear. It seems that being -older- required me to take a moment to rest my aching tendons, stretch my stiff joints and recover for the evening organization ahead.
Our ACR adventure really began after a prop plane ferried us and our ski gear from the tiny military outpost of Kangerlussua to Sisimuit. The moment our group of seven Americans landed at Sisimiut’s tiny airport a 30-mph blast of wind under angry grey skies nearly knocked us off our feet as we collected our luggage outside the terminal. I lugged my heavy ski bag carrying two pair of skis (my waxable classic and my skins) plus two pair of boots (classic and skiathlon), two pair of classic poles, back up wax, and a lot of warm clothing. My friends stared at me with careful neutral expressions — no one wanted to be the first to admit concern — until one leaned in and whispered, “Are we actually going to ski in this?”
Ah, the contrast. The following morning delivered brilliant blue skies, crackling cold subzero temps, and much-improved attitudes.
The ARC has evolved into one of Greenland’s most significant annual events and highlights the remarkable dedication of hundreds of volunteers from communities across the country. In many ways, the race is as much about those who make it possible as it is about those who ski. Safety and course presentations from men and women students from nearby (tinier) towns illuminated the local excitement of hosting outside visitors.
The logistics are staggering. Beyond managing constantly shifting snowfall and temperatures, volunteers build the entire tent city from scratch: setting up 75 North Face tents (three racers per tent), shoveling out fresh snow from tent entrances, Piston Bully and sledges hauls of participants’ luggage including extra skis, food, clothing, sleeping bags, and reindeer skins. They also transport and service an enclosed box of portable toilets for 400 racers and volunteers, set up the timing system, start and finish lines, and build both the food and the drying tents which double as sleeping quarters for volunteers. Police, firefighters, course marshals, and a small army of other organizers round out a volunteer-to-racer ratio of nearly 1:1. The scale of effort needed required to support us racers was humbling.
We settled into the comfortable Sisimiut hotel, explored the town, arranged ski waxing because we chose not to bring an iron and racers could now purchase ski service from ‘Lars’, a Star Wax sponsored seasoned Greenlandic skier who appeared confident with his waxing abilities. We tested the trails, resisted the irresistible urge to pet wandering sled dog puppies, and dove into dinners featuring reindeer, musk ox, and whale — or, for the less adventurous among us, salad, and fish roe.
The Race. Day One delivered an immediate reality check. Pictures were taken, spectators from Sisimiut’s old folks’ home were waving little flags of various nations. All participants were required to wear a backpack, stuffed with a puffy jacket, an extra pair of mittens or socks, snacks to supplement the aid station offerings of bread squares, chocolate, and energy bars, emergency kit and a cup clipped to the outside for grabbing warm energy drinks along the course.
The ski was longer, colder, and far more draining than I remember from my previous experience. As the day went along, I had to consciously pull myself out of a mental survival loop – (frustration over my lack of available speed and downhill technique) -and redirect my focus to the breathtaking beauty surrounding me. The majestic expanse of untouched wilderness always feeds my soul, and the exact location and difficulties were my reasons for being here. I felt genuine gratitude: for the ability to travel to Greenland again, for the hard-won knowledge of how to dress for cold, and for the reminder that the discomforts of home look entirely different when you are standing in the middle of the Arctic. Helpful thoughts for my non-conforming psyche.
Still, Day One took me 5 hours and 15 minutes to complete 52km. That time to complete basically an American Birkebeiner race length might give you an idea of how challenging this course truly is. I skied alongside my American acquaintance Tom French, whose experience of summiting Mt. Everest had given him an unrelenting ability to simply keep moving forward, one step at a time. I was happy for company — but humbled I could no longer keep pace with younger skiers. My energy was spent after crossing the finish line. And yet there was no reprieve for we still had to locate our sleeping bags in a pile of snow, arrange them within a cold tent, change out of wet layers, and heat up food over a camp stove.
Sleeping attire for a night at -19°F included a caribou skin to insulate my base pad, two sleeping bags layered together, long underwear, mid layers, a Gore-Tex shell jacket, gloves, and a hat. Luxury, Arctic-style.
Day Two meant 7.5 hours of cold classic skiing for 58km. Yikes! Cold squeaky slow snow and very hilly terrain. Volunteers in orange snowmobile suits dotted the landscape at crucial junctions, always smiling and ready with a hug when needed. The views were otherworldly and the snowmobile support was extraordinary — together they made the experience feel almost transcendent despite the physical demands. Uphill climbs requiring herringbone technique, descents steep enough to demand ski removal, and long, grinding stretches of double-poling filled a full morning and afternoon of forward motion. Pulling into camp that evening brought a wave of pure accomplishment mixed with utter exhaustion. The evening routine consumed the rest of the day’s energy: changing layers, boiling water for dinner, locating my chocolate stash for dessert, teeth brushing, face washing, and the nightly puzzle of untangling one sleeping bag crammed inside another. Remarkably, I slept soundly.
Day Three brought the final 50k ski — and a storm. The start was earlier to move everyone ahead of the deteriorating weather. Whiteouts rolled in and out without warning. Many of us cycled through the same futile eye glass ritual: swapping to yellow lenses, then clear, then giving the goggles a good wipe, certain that better visibility was just one adjustment away. It wasn’t. More than a few of us nearly skied off the edge of the Piston Bully tracks into the whiteness. At times I simply trudged or snowplowed from one red-tipped stake to the next, hoping the following marker would materialize before I lost the trail entirely.
The storm made plain just how serious Greenlandic weather can be — and we were quietly relieved when the clouds lifted on the descent toward Sisimiut and the finish line finally came into view. By that point I was managing a boot blister on one toe and a persistent stabbing pain between my shoulder blades, the latter probably from poor technique on the uphills. It was a strange, specific kind of satisfaction: feeling strong enough to finish 160 km of racing, while also feeling every one of my years.
The finish unfolded slowly and beautifully all afternoon. Skiers trickled in one by one, chips were collected by volunteers who were quick with a warm drink and Inuit words of congratulations. A posse of snowmobiles swept in behind the last finishers as the light faded, closing the course for another year. Gear was hauled back to the hotel, boots finally removed. And then — the shower. Hot water, steam, silence. Simply wonderful. I relish such hard-earned feelings of contentment.
That evening, our small group gathered for dinner. We did not have a lot of words. Each of us held personal and shared stories of perseverance, gratitude, wonder for the Greenlandic outdoors and thankfulness for having participated (and finished). We were a bit battered, deeply satisfied, and chuckling over the hardest parts. The real reward of an event like the ARC is not the well-earned finisher’s medal, it is the shared love of the great outdoors, a genuine adventure, and the quiet knowledge that you worked your body hard to finish a genuinely difficult goal — on purpose, with happiness and satisfaction.
I returned home reminded of why contrast matters. At every age I have embraced a life which asks much of me. I must continue to strive for adventure and challenge in sport even if the pace lessens and the activity is redesigned. I need to keep embracing the mental endeavors that push the boundary of predictability, hard things, cold things, and uncomfortable things. Doing so will keep me sparkling with life. (And, I own a lot of gear I must keep using!)
If you’re a skier who desires more than skiing groomed trails and familiar loops, the Arctic Circle Race is your answer. Start planning now.
Posted May 12, 2026 at 9:33 am
