Jernej Kruder travelled to Greenland in search of something different: less focus on pushing his physical limits and more on exploration, adventure, and climbing in one of the most remote landscapes on Earth. What followed was a true Greenland climbing expedition—a journey by small boat through Arctic fjords, unpredictable weather, long approaches with heavy packs, wet and intimidating walls, and only a narrow weather window in which to climb.

Below, Jernej tells the story of Greenland 2026 in his own words—from the uncertain journey into the Arctic wilderness to the final push to the summit of Sila. Enjoy reading!

Greenland 2026

Summer was knocking on the door, and my shoulders were not ready for hard climbing in the Alps. I took some days off to take advantage of the good weather, but I mostly wondered what would be a reasonable compromise for a summer trip. A few friends from Slovenia asked me to join their expedition to Kyrgyzstan, while another group of Swiss friends invited me to Greenland. I wanted something less demanding climbing-wise, but more adventurous. I checked the flights to Greenland, found a good connection, and did not hesitate to book it immediately.

The idea that Silvan, the expedition leader, had in mind was to use a small Zodiac boat (20 HP) that he had sent with cargo to Greenland. We were to travel 230 km from the airport village (Qaqortoq) to our final destination. Since there were five of us, the small Zodiac did not seem capable of carrying everyone, so I booked a ferry to Aappilattoq and back.

Things changed when we arrived in Qaqortoq. The flight was delayed, Benji—a member of our group—got very sick, and the weather turned pretty bad. We had to stay in a hostel for a few nights. After Benji had to turn back home, a spot opened up for me on the dinghy. We nervously waited for good weather so we could finally leave town. On the only decent day, Silvan and I did some bouldering near our hostel. After four days in Qaqortoq, we finally caught a calm sea to start traveling toward our first stop. The 180 km journey to the village of Nanortalik took us a full day. The eight hours on the dinghy were interrupted by a pleasant three-hour stop at the hot springs halfway there. We were all cold and tired, so we ate a burger there and spent the night in tents.

The next morning, the sea was rough, so we had to spend another night in Nanortalik. We booked a small room for two (even though there were four of us) and met new American friends who were sailing the same way the following day. We kindly asked if they would mind taking two of us onboard to lighten the load on our dinghy. They warmly accepted our offer, and early the next morning, we were on our way to Aappilattoq. Filippo and I took the sailboat, which was slower but much more comfortable than the small dinghy. After reaching the town, we said goodbye to the Americans and immediately continued the remaining 20 km to our final destination. We reached it after two hours, set up base camp, and fell asleep in no time.

The weather was not on our side. We spent another day at base camp, fishing and preparing for the approach to the distant wall we wanted to conquer. Arctic char with rice gave us enough energy for the next day’s six-hour walk through wet grass, bushes, swamps, and slick rocks. Our 25 kg backpacks sent us to bed early on the portaledges we set up at the edge of the glacier.

The wall we wanted to climb looked magnificent, but also intimidatingly wet. We continued our way up the glacier. After three hours tied to a rope with heavy loads, we reached a perfect bivy spot for the night. Unfortunately, continuous bad weather forced us back down to base camp. Since I only had four days left, we had to find a quick alternative to our project. Luckily, we spotted a good wall in the last fjord we had come through. The way down was probably the most exhausting walk of my life. Continuous rain, low temperatures, a lack of trails, and heavy loads squeezed the very last atom of energy out of my body. Soaked to the skin, we found shelter in our sleeping bags and fell asleep immediately.

The night was interrupted by a nearby rockfall. When we woke up, we had to start packing quickly to catch the high tide. Sun and a bit of wind helped us dry off, and the sunshine restored our spirits. The boat ride was calm, and we pulled our dinghy onto a magical beach beneath a huge, steep wall. We set up a new camp and enjoyed a nice dinner with a great view.

July 26th was finally the day to start climbing. An easy 45-minute approach brought us under the wall, where I immediately began leading the first pitch. I pushed through some slabs and dihedrals to reach a ledge, where things finally became more serious. Our progress was interrupted by an existing belay in the lower section, so we spotted a new line on the main wall. I continued upward. A pitch with difficulties no greater than 6c gave me a case of “disco knees” due to the poor rock quality. While Filippo leveled the ground on the ledge for our tents, Silvan and I pushed our line higher. When Silvan took the lead, he decided to leave the second half of the pitch to me, knowing I had the nerve to do it without placing a bolt. He was not wrong. I summoned all my physical and mental strength to pull off a long runout on a crumbly slab, likely graded between 7b and 7c. I set an anchor for the static line, and we all headed back down to base camp.

Daylight lasts late into the night, so we didn’t rush too much in the morning. Day two on the wall was assigned to Filippo and me. We jummared up to the previous day’s high point, and Filippo started a new pitch, which proved just as scary as the one from the day before. Because his last protection points were unreliable, he decided to place a bolt before committing to the rightward traverse across the slab. I managed to free-climb it while following and continued up a logical crack. I set up an almost-hanging belay, where I spent the next four hours belaying Filippo on a hollow pitch that I was unable to free-climb afterward. Here, we finally reached an obvious crack that appeared to lead all the way to the summit. I opened two more pitches, and we finished our day before even reaching halfway up the main wall.

On the final day, we had to move fast. After a good sleep on the ledge, we jummared up the fixed lines early in the morning. Silvan pushed upward through logical, beautiful cracks. We freed all the pitches, and I had the honor of leading one of these amazing sections. The day slipped by, and we drew closer to the summit. The second-to-last pitch turned into a nightmare for Silvan. He spent a long time finding gear placements and cleaning out the cracks, considering the pitch extremely difficult, which did not boost my confidence to free it. However, he cheered me on, and I managed to find a unique solution for every crux. We reached the summit at 19:30. We grabbed a quick snack and began our descent, rappelling down the route and stopping a few times to take photos and videos. Without headlamps, we navigated back to base camp and crawled into our tents at 01:00.

Although we were thrilled with our achievement, we could not rest for long. We had to catch the high tide again at 7:00 AM to make my ferry back to civilization. I bade farewell to my Swiss friends, who were staying for a few more days. Everything else went according to plan, and I reached Qaqortoq by late afternoon, checking into the same hostel once again.

Just as I was getting excited to go home the next day, I received bad news from my airline: my flight was delayed, forcing me to stay in Qaqortoq for another two nights. An even bigger surprise was the heatwave awaiting me back home.

Looking back at all our bad luck, I am happy we took advantage of that short weather window to establish a route we named “Sila.” Sila comes from the Greenlandic language and expresses the idea that humans, nature, and the universe are inseparable; weather is not just a physical phenomenon, but a reflection of the living world that people belong to. It also means “force” in Slovenian. I am proud of my team, who acted reliably and rationally throughout the trip. They also gave me the chance to lead most of the pitches and realize where my skills and strength truly shine.