These Swedish Lakes Turn Into a Winter Wonderland Where You Can Skate Past Castles, Cabins, and Pine Trees

The ice beneath my feet was crystal clear, a window into the depths of Lake Mälaren, about 30 miles west of Stockholm. To my untrained eye, the frozen surface looked like a thin pane of glass, on the verge of cracking under the razor-sharp blades of my ice skates. But one of my guides, Titouan Ayroulet, a lean Frenchman in a bright blue jacket, estimated it was about 2¾ inches deep — thin enough to see through, but strong enough to hold us securely. “It’s super-safe,” he had said earlier, jumping up and down to make his point.

Reassured, I put one skate in front of the other, and soon I was soaring past a 16th-century red-brick castle. The only sound I heard was the whistling of my blades as they glided across the glossy surface. 

Wild ice skating is at once thrilling and serene, and central Sweden is one of the best places in the world to do it. Hundreds of lakes are scattered across the region, and from December through March, they freeze into natural ice rinks. 

However, danger can lurk beneath the surface, as I learned at the Stockholm office of Green Trails, a conservation-minded outfitter that leads Nordic skating trips for all skill levels. On a cold February morning, I joined an athletic bunch of 13 from the Netherlands, France, the United Kingdom, Sweden, and Germany, ranging in age from their 20s to 50s. Together, we watched an orientation video: Carry ice picks. A backpack doubles as a flotation device. If you fall in, don’t panic. 

Afterward, we piled into two black vans and drove 45 minutes southwest to​ Yngern, a skinny, horseshoe-shaped lake known for its clean water and abundant wildlife. On the ride over, a second guide, Jarda Zaoral, explained why the Stockholm area is a skater’s paradise. Daytime temperatures hover around freezing, which, counterintuitively, is ideal — any accumulated snow melts and refreezes when temperatures drop at night. The region gets little snow, which leaves the ice clear and smooth. 

Under a cloudless sky, we pulled up to Hökmossbadet, a small beach in the town of Nykvarn. We walked to the end of the dock and snapped on our blades. Veteran skaters in the group gleefully took off. While I grew up skating in Vermont, I had never tried it on natural ice, so my first few steps were wobbly. Hoping speed would help, I picked up the pace and landed on my face. Luckily, thanks to my helmet and kneepads, I was unbruised. I tightened my laces and tried again. It took a few minutes, but I settled into a meditative step-glide, step-glide rhythm. For the next hour, the group cruised through a narrow channel, its snow-dusted shores lined with Scotch pines, silver birches, and the occasional wooden cabin. 

A little past noon, we found a mossy spot on a northern shore and fortified ourselves with sporkfuls of lentil-tomato soup from thermoses our guides had prepared. Turns out, the ice we had been skating on was thick, maybe six inches. “Boring,” Ayroulet joked. After a cup of tea and a fresh pair of socks, I joined the more experienced skaters for the second part of the day. We formed a single file behind Zaoral and headed toward the southern shore. The ice became thinner. My skates felt lighter and faster as we zipped across the surface. The pine trees became a blur, casting long shadows in the honey-colored winter sun. The sound changed, too. Instead of a loud scrape, the metal blades glided across the ice with an echoing ping that reminded me, oddly, of a Star Wars blaster gun. 

Over three hours, we traced the shoreline of the curved lake, then looped back, hugging the opposite shore. We returned to the beach as the sun set around 4 p.m. and drove a half-hour northwest to Mariefred, a picturesque village on Lake Mälaren. After checking in to a 17th-century lakefront inn called Gripsholms Värdshus, the group gathered around a fireplace and ate rich beef stew and Toast Skagen — shrimp salad served atop brioche. We were exhausted but exhilarated, having skated 20 miles that day.

The next morning, we set out directly from the hotel’s front door. This section of Lake Mälaren, the third-largest body of water in Sweden, had just frozen over, and the entire surface was black ice — clear of snow, smooth and fast underfoot. Ayroulet told us to follow him to avoid falling through any weak points. Over the next five hours, we skated two long loops around the inlet, stopping briefly on a little hill for a lunch of grillkorv, a Swedish pork sausage, that we cooked on sticks over a campfire.

As the sun started to dip, a squall blew in, dusting the ice with a layer of snow. Instead of a direct line, we charted a snaking path to the waterfront. I leaned forward against the hard wind, the flakes stinging my cheeks, and relished every stride.  

Two-day Nordic skating expeditions with Green Trails from $484, all-inclusive.

A version of this story first appeared in the February 2024 issue of Travel + Leisure under the headline "Ice Dreams."