Well maybe not forever but as we head into the half-term break at the end of my first two weeks working as a teaching assistant at an international school I'm glad to be having a week off. Fingers crossed we may go away for a few days and climb some mountains. Fingers crossed my care package of goodies from Blighty may show up. Fingers crossed the weather forecast will be wrong again.
Well that was a lot of bleating about nothing. Today's expected rainfall didn't materialize and I got out for four hours in 'the backyard'. I didn't hang about and despite being kitted out for a slow day meandering around the mountain I couldn't pace myself and ended up charging about the place, getting very wet feet, getting covered in mud and generally gooning about like I was in some kind of mountain marathon. I forgot to check the Cybershot's battery level, which I discovered was empty when I took it out of the chest pouch for the first and last time so the photo today was taken on the 3.2 megapixel camera/phone. This image is of the sluice gate to the top reservoir in a line of four that supply Bergen. As you can see its almost empty. This is, theoretically, the end of the dry season.
Summer is over in Bergen. Today was the third day of rain in a row. The record is 80-something consecutive days. Even Noah only had 40!
This weekend I was the token male on a girl's-day-out on a mountain just a 15 minute drive from our new apartment overlooking the city. We pulled into the car park at around half past ten with the clouds bubbling up and Autumn air palpable as we stepped out of the car. I questioned my decision to bravely continue with my Patagonia shorts. I 'run warm', I'll be fine. The first 45 minutes we fought our way through the crowds (only in Norway is hiking up the foothills of a mountain with brooding weather considered a 'Sunday afternoon stroll' for the whole family) going at a fair old clip as only these regular Norwegian hikers can.
Once we reached and passed the throngs at the Redningshytta (hot chocolate, snacks, lavs and benches for the family outing) the light got dimmer, the clouds lower and the other walkers fewer and fewer. Gullfjellet has two summits, the more popular Gullfjelltoppen (987m) to the north and the Sore Gullfjelltoppen (962m) to the south. As we approached a steep and twisty piece of the trail known as The Corkscrew (where our friend had fallen and broken her ankle late in the season last year, descending at speed) we decided to head towards the Sore Fjelltoppen where we wouldn't see another soul until we returned to The Corkscrew.
This route was not marked on the 1:25,000 map or even described in any detail in the guide book, it was just an old sheep track, not travelled much but was of enough importance for someone to leave a breadcrumb trail of small cairns, often just out of sight of each other and requiring us to stand back or split up every now and then and peer up the rocky hillside looking for a rocky coloured pile of rocks! We scrambled and picked our way over outcrops and followed small stream beds that in spring, full of snow melt, would be raging torrents. As we crested the last ridge our forward motion became a game of giant stepping stones as the summit plateau flattened out. The summit cairn had a Norwegian flag on top and just as we reached it someone turned on the lights. All morning we had been under a duvet of cold greyness and scudding cloud, suddenly we were bathed in golden sunshine as the clouds parted. Perfect timing. We sat down in the shelter of some of the giant stepping stones and recharged with sandwiches,coffee and solar radiation.
We donned hats and gloves as we stuck our head over the parapet of our lunch shelter, watched the clouds roll in again and headed down. It was easier to see the faint path from above and somehow we managed to find easier routes through some of the rocky bits. Walking down one ledge of granite my eye was caught my a flash of colour and movement. Proudly defiant as it was buffeted by the breeze was a lone blue flower, face up towards the sun. Another lesson learned today was that, given their head, Norwegians will pick up more and more speed the further down the mountain they go. By the time we passed Redningshytta again we were practically jogging down the path back to car. I actually broke into a sweat as I tried to keep up, thanking the shit-to-a-blanket traction offered by my Inov8s. At the car I was buzzing by the pace we had kept up for the six hours we had been out (apart from the summit lunch stop), I felt I could have gone on some more but M had school work to do so I guess that meant I was on dinner duty. Ahh, a house-husbands work is never done!
First light. Too inquisitive to roll over in my down bag and get some more sleep I tiptoed, head to foot in merino, across the wooden floor, peaked out of the gingham curtains and then had to lean down to pick my jaw off the floor. We were in the Sunnmore Alps. Our guide Rolf was also up and in broken English asked me if I'd seen Slogen yet, probably the most famous peak in this area and a definite summit for baggers. We stepped outside into the crisp morning air and walked past the row of hyttes and caravans. Then he stopped and pointed out across to the horizon and there was Slogen's angry, shark fin silhouette, purple in the morning light. "Slogen" he cooed which sounded like "Shloogen". Back in the hytte everyone was getting up and while Rolf laid a table of bacon, eggs, tea, coffee, bread, meat and cheese everyone else packed and re-packed rucksacks and umm'd and ahh'd about which socks to wear. Our party of derring doers was split into two groups. The more experienced climbers were off early to catch a ferry to the base of Slogen while some of us had to be content with a tamer but no less high peak called Skarasalen which afforded better views without having to pay an exposure premium. We had decided beforehand that Slogen probably wasn't the best mountain for my M to start on in the Sunnmore Alps. Slogen has some serious 'airy' bits and some technical scrambling towards the narrow summit. Not wanting to leave M on her own I'd agreed to go with her today and we'd build up to Slogen next season together. Rolf was going to be our guide up Skarasalen and he knew enough English and an immense amount about the local mountains to keep us safe and entertained.
The Slogen party departed first and we wished them luck and agreed to keep in contact and try and text when we both summited which should be around lunchtime. M layered up open sandwiches of ham and cheese and we took some Blueberry Bixits and a few Nuun tablets to keep us going. Rolf drove us to the trail head up one of the surrounding valleys and 15 minutes later we were off, stripping layers almost as soon as we started as the day warmed up. Within half an hour we were above the tree line and we took a few breathers as M was still in the final throes of a cold and didn't seem to be able to get going properly.
The dirt tracks through the heather gave way to massive fields of scree lining both sides of a narrow valley. You could hear the snow melt water gushing downhill below the rocks and pretty soon we were refilling our bottles with ice cold pure water from just below the first snow field. It was obvious that Rolf was having to 'go slow' today in order for us not to leave M behind. What made it worse for M is that Rolf is 70 years old next year and only 7 months post-op after having his meniscus removed from his right knee (we compared scars!) Bless her, M was trying but she just couldn't find 2nd gear, it was like the clutch was in. In her defence Rolf is the fittest, strongest 69 year old I have ever met. The guy has a six-pack for christ sakes! We made it to the col for elevenses and as we walked over the ridge we both apologised to Rolf as we uncontrollably swore at the stunning view of the Hjorundfjorden and surrounding mountains. The colour of the fjord was deep aquamarine and across the way we could see Slogen and wondered how our friends were doing on the impossibly steep looking sides.
After a quick break we headed east towards the summit, tiny steps in the steep, loose scree following a zigzag hint of a path. It was like a moonscape, nothing green grows here, just rocks with a slight 5 o'clock shadow of lichen. Soon we hit the main snow field and could see the summit cairns which pulled at us like tractor beams. The final approach to the summit was were we encountered the biggest rocks and some minor scrambling was required to crest the final ridge and then we were there.
We staggered about a bit at first. The full 360 degree vista was truly awesome. Rolf said it was probably the clearest day of the season and started to point out the surrounding mountains giving us details about past exploits, heights and meanings behind their names. We donned more layers in the chilly breeze and set about writing our names in the summit logbook and scouring the summit of Slogen across the fjord with a pair of tiny binoculars to try and catch a glimpse of the other group. We sent them a text to say we had reached our 1542m summit and got down to photographing ourselves in goofy summit poses and the view. Rolf even clambered up one of the eight foot high cairns that perch precariously on the edge of the small summit ledge. We nestled into the circular stone shelter and scoffed our lunch, washing it down with coffee and Nuun. It was time to head home so we strapped up the boots and picked our way carefully back down the rocky approach. Then we got a text from the other group, they had summited safely but where heading down straight away in order to catch a ferry back across the fjord.
On the way down we took a slight detour and following Rolf we walked across a narrow ridge to a solid rock buttress with 800m high overhanging rock faces. It gave spectacular views back up the mountain to the summit and the sheer rock fortress that made up the northeren face. M decided she wanted to have a peek over the edge so Rolf held onto her and they peered over the edge together. I could see M's hands clenched tight into little fists as she fought her default reaction to come away from the chasm. When she turned round you could see the buzz of adrenaline in her eyes. We made it back down safely after learning how to 'ski' down the patches of snow on the soles of our boots. We vowed to get a Snow Claw because all we wanted to do was glissade our way down the gully although the braking mechanism here would have been a large boulder to the face. After 7 tiring hours we were back at the car. We thanked Rolf for the amazing day and headed back to the hytte for fresh mountain trout fried in butter and a mountain of potatoes followed by chocolate pudding and vanilla sauce. Well, you've got to replace the calories!
Like something out of Tron we zipped through countless tunnels and some of the most unbelievable roads I have ever driven. Smooth, curvy, quiet and endless. We pinned apex after apex, rising and falling over mountain passes on our way out of Bergen, north, towards the Norwegian Alps. At times it felt so unreal that I thought we were watching someone with a misspent youth play Gran Tourismo on one of the endurance races. We stopped only for a couple of ferries across two dark fjords as night crept over the land from the east. Coffee and excitement fuelled our adventure tonight. We arrived too early for the last ferry we needed so wired on caffeine we took the narrow, pitch black road around the fjord. With full beams blazing we startled a hjort which was loitering on the road before it scattered up a steep rock face. We were told that we were driving into some of the most beautiful mountains in Norway but we would have to wait to see them, try and get some sleep and then tomorrow we would awake at the foot of some spectacular nature. After seven hours we pulled quietly into the dark campsite, tyres popping on the gravel, pulled up outside a small hytte and were ushered inside by our guide Rolf who had prepared some seriously hearty soup. Lumps of meat and potatoes that would worry a dreadnought. It's called stew where I come from.
We slid into fitful sleep.
Another weekend, another trip to the mountains, I could get used to this! I suppose we'd better get as much of this in as we can before the notorious west coast wet'n'windy weather remembers where it left it's house keys and returns to it's usual domicile. We were priveliged to have been offered the use of our host's Golf for the weekend so on Sunday we whizzed off to Voss once again to have a quick gad about in the nearby hills. On our way down the E16 we watched tendrils of mist receding down the fingers of the fjords as the sun climbed the sky. We'd picked an 'out & back' route for today as M was feeling a cold coming on and wasn't her usual dependable Eveready hill bunny. We stashed the car in a farm yard at the trailhead and immediately hit a forty five degree footpath leading up the side of a narrow gorge. We could hear water crashing vertically downwards at a fair old rate and sure enough 5 minutes later we saw the first of several different sized waterfalls that we would see that day. The steep path just kept on racking up the degrees of inclination and pretty soon we were reduced to scrambling up small rock faces poking up through a carpet of blueberry bushes. Footpaths in Norway! It was hot day and with M's slight fever it was hard going. We followed the DNT path alongside the crystal clear mountain stream, jumping bogs and steadily heading upwards passing several cows with their alpine cow bells slung around their necks. We cut away from the stream and up onto the forested slopes of the mountain, relishing in the odd blast of cool air that came down through the trees and cut through the thick hot atmosphere. Before long we were thankfully out above the tree line and onto the breezier open hillside. We kept on hiking upwards until we decided to halt proceedings for a lunchtime break. We hadn't seen a decent source of water for a wile so I left M to recover and start the open sandwiches while I grabbed the water bottles and headed up the trail looking for a running stream. Within 20 paces and just out of view of our initial lunch spot I found a perfect sheltered spot with a cool, clear bubbling stream and a fine view of the Western Mountains so I called M over and we took a well earned one hour lunch break. While M snoozed on the warm soft mossy rocks I took off for a wee exploratory run. I spent most of the time leaping from rock to rock following the course of the stream upwards until I came to a small tarn just below a rock escarpment and a snow field. I stood on top on a big rock and gazed at the amazing view and tried to capture the feeling on the Cybershot but to no avail. I'm still keeping my eye out for my first Golden Eagle sighting and scoured the sky but no luck there either. Too quickly it was time to descend and despite the steep tricky trail we made good time. M was fired up after her rest, lunch and an ibuprofen and we had enough time to stop and fill the sandwich bags with blueberrys picked from the rocky banks of another waterfall. They would go nicely on tomorrow's breakfast! The local farmer, who was the only person we saw since leaving the main road seven hours earlier, gave us a friendly wave as we drove slowly through his farm yard and weaved our way down the hairpin gravel road towards the E16 and home.
