Houston, we have a problem

Just a quick post, written at work on a Norwegian `learning difficulties` keyboard, so forgive any weird punctuation, to say that due to the death of our modem and subsequently our internet access at home, new posts will be in short supply for the time being. We are however using the opportunity of being free from the grasp of the `internet seatbelt` to get out everyday and enjoy the current wall to wall sunshine by running and walking our asses off in the dry, warm mountains.

Stop reading this and go out and do the same!

Summit about nothing

 

'Teacher Training Day'. I remember when we were kids, these 'extra' days of holiday were rare and not to be wasted. Ordinary half-term days were spent watching BMX Beat then riding four abreast down the road to the local BMX track but 'Teacher Training Day' required a special trip to the neighbouring town's track. If Mum couldn't take us then we'd ride in the guard/post carriage of the slam-door stopper train service, back when we used to have a working 'integrated transport strategy' but didn't know it. The seven miles distance between the two BMX tracks seemed much further in my geographically-warped childhood memory.

These days 'Teacher Training Day' means that while M has to go into work, us mere mortal assistants have an extra day off and with Bergen enjoying some spectacular warm sunny weather it was time to dust off the trail runners and swap the snow shovel for sun cream. With no snow visible from the city I decided to see how far I could get to the summit of Haugavarden on the Storfjellet plateau. It was nice to wear nothing but a base-layer, techy trackies and trainers. Plenty of people about enjoying the sunshine, shorts and sunglasses very much evident. Even the water that drained in and out my shoes wasn't cold. I did find snow, right on the top of the plateau, in the northern facing shelter of rocks and rises, but the main trails were dry and firm. At the summit (670m) I punched my Topptrim card and swapped two of my mini Mars bars for a pack of gum. I like this unwritten gift system, prevalent in hyttes and the metal summit boxes. I remember finding a miniature of Jagermeister once. There was plenty of flat, soft ground too I noticed. Plans were penciled in for another time. After a quick lunch stop of left-over pizza and chocolate cake it was back around the plateau and down the reservoir ridge, which flashed by in minutes it seemed, memories of labouring up it for over an hour in the winter playing through my head. No doubt we'll have plenty of less than perfect weather in the future but right now it seems weird that we've moved from Winter straight into Summer, without passing Go, do not collect £200.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

 

M and I took a weeks break at Easter and went to visit M's mum who had come over to Norway to stay at her 150 year old hytte a couple of hours outside of Oslo in the south east. We decided to let the train take the strain on the way over and for a little extra we booked seats in the Komfort carriage. Reclining leather seats, more leg room than you could ever want, free tea and coffee, newspapers, power sockets for laptops/Nintendos/waffle-irons and stunning scenery. The views outside our window ran from the dark, rocky peaks of the western fjords, through the high, snow and ice bound interior, back down through the rolling fields of the south and finally the junkies and graffiti of Oslo Central Train Station. A quick change of train and we were on a stopper service back out into the very Hazard County-esque countryside to Kongsvinger where we were met by M's mum and a surprise in the form of M's sister too. Cue squeals and hugs (not by me, obviously).

 

There was still quite a lot of snow around on the small hills surrounding the valley. Good job I'd brought my cross-country planks! My first job when we unlocked the hytte after it's winter-long hibernation was to get four out of the six stoves fired up. With no heating or running water there was plenty of proper Walton-type chores to be done before we even had a cuppa and the four of us scuttled about making the place habitable. It may take an hour and a half but there is something very satisfying about chopping wood and kindling, fighting to get four stoves lit simultaneously and then sitting back with a cup of tea, a warm hytte and the smell of wood smoke.

 

Thus began a very chill-axing week that comprised of a lot of sitting around, soaking up the fresh air. We did get some exercise though. On the first full day we moved three palletised containers of firewood across the yard from where they were delivered to the cow shed. Many hands (and a wheel barrow) make light work. M's mum and myself also spent a morning cutting back the young birch saplings that threatened to take over the garden behind the hytte. I also got to get out on my skis on a couple of occasions. The first time we all went up the 12km gravel 'bom' road in the brand spanking new (0.2 km on the clock) Honda Civic hire car. It was a bit hairy in places but thankfully still frozen solid as it can get a bit soft in places in wet weather. We pulled up to the cross country ski arena and I went for a quick spin while the girls had a bit of a walk on the compacted trails.

As the week wore on the snow was melting faster and faster. Squadrons of white geese flew northwards over head, sometimes settling for a while in the waterlogged fields before continuing their journey to their summer tundra homes. We visited friends in the area and ate a lot of cake too. After M's sister flew back to England on the Friday I had another chance to get out and do some skiing. This time I drove just myself up the 'bom' road and it was a completely different beast. Huge ruts in the mud, gravel verges that looked firm but sank without a trace the second you edged the car on to them, trying to drive around the mud holes. Sump-killing rocks appeared out of nowhere and I had to pass two grizzly 4x4s on the way up the single track who gave me quizzical looks as I edged past in my little Japanese urban run-around. More through luck and a heavy foot in the mud I managed to make it up to the ski arena (ONLY 4x4s parked in the car park...) and embarked on an amazing day in the snowy forests.

 

The area is a lot different to the mountains in the west. The terrain is rolling and forested for the most part, encrusted with small lakes and hyttes ranging from run down sheds to luxury lodges. The snow was slushy now and the Nordic tracks hadn't been cut for days by the looks of things so it was a lot more like back-country ski touring. Thankfully the network of trails are well signposted and after a couple of hours I made my way to a ski hyyte at the highest point that was a sight for sore eyes.

 

There, on the forested hillside was a fully kitted out ski hytte, resplendent with tables, chairs, games, food, maps, emergency equipment, firewood and the heat of a recently tended stove. There is a visitors book and photo albums so while I dried off and warmed up I sat down and read through the books before adding my own name and leaving some Kroner for the bar of chocolate I munched. Just as I was leaving I heard the what I thought was the buzz of a chainsaw in the distance but soon a skidoo came into view and I had a chat with the guy who cuts the Nordic tracks and services the ski hytte. He said this was the last weekend they would be coming out here and that the snow was now 'rotten' along a lot of the trails. He advised me to follow the freshly cut tracks back to the ski arena as some of the trails were also now dangerously thin over the lakes and water was lying on top of the ice. I made my way back and my grin as I whizzed down the roller-coater trail towards the ski arena was tinged with sadness as I thought this was probably the last day I would get to go skiing this winter. Somehow I made it back down the 'bom' road, gravity, and the 'Winter Ice Storm' tyres, definitely gave a hand to my less than stellar driving skills. Thankfully the little Civic proved to be just tough enough as I crunched and slithered back down the road ("Please let me make it, please let me make it!I promise I'll never off road in a road car gain!").

 

The week drew to a close and we reversed the hytte opening chores, sweeping out stoves, emptying water containers and packing all the food away in mouse-proof boxes. It had been a nice, relaxing, back-to-basics week away but now M, her mum and myself all had to go back to work. We drove the now very muddy, somewhat noisy and slightly wobbly Honda back to the airport and made our separate ways to Bergen and England. Our 40 minute flight back to Bergen was probably the most scenic flight I'd ever taken. We emerged through the airport into summer-like conditions, bright blue sky, hot, not warm, but hot sunshine and not a spot of snow to be seen on the mountains around Bergen. Winter was now over and barring the odd freak snow shower I think we've seen the last of the white stuff until next winter. Time to break out the shorts!

Thunder in the Easter Egg

We're away for Easter at M's mum's 150 year old hytte over on the east coast. No TV, no phone, no internet, no running water, no heating. It's a bit like staying in a sturdy tent.

The sun always shines on TV

Finally, after some false starts, too much work (for once!), man flu and a lot of time spent cocking around on my cross country skis (what are they upset about?) I finally got to take my Laser Comp out. The icing on the cake was that my free weekend came after a week of warm weather that had melted a lot of the snow. The Smarties on the icing on the cake was that Bergen was forecasted to get a weekend of very unseasonable sunny weather with daytime temperatures in the mid teens. Positively tropical.

After work on Friday I raced home and grabbed my already-packed Villain and headed straight out the door. Stomping up the hill in the late afternoon sunshine I realised that wearing Powerstretch in the mountains will soon be a distant memory, well, certainly until next winter.

I had no real plans as to where I was going to pitch my tent, just that I wanted a good view. After two hours of heading straight up I found a spot and unpacked the tent. In a matter of minutes it was up and although the pitch wasn't perfect it was already a damn sight more inviting than my usual tarp and bivvy. An evening mist boiled up from the south, spreading through the valleys like The Fog and soon the hill tops around Bergen were islands in a murky sea.

As I settled into my outdoor living room for the evening I rustled up some dinner of cheesy pasta with tuna and a can of cider that I'd pilfered from the fridge at the last minute before leaving our apartment, kept chilled, buried in a convenient patch of snow. I was going to have to go cold turkey from my daily fix of The Wire that I'd recently acquired a real taste for but thankfully I had ring side seats to an amazing re-run of 'the setting sun' which is on every night. It looks best on the biggest screen and tonight it didn't disappoint with a firery climax that left the sky blushed with magenta. In appreciation of the evenings proceedings a flying V of geese overhead honked their way northwards after their winter break.

After the light show I made myself a hot chocolate with a wee nip of bourbon and wandered around my little hill top admiring the stars that appeared one by one above my head. Down below I could just make out the city lights burning dully under their blanket of cloud. After a while, with the heat of the day rapidly being replaced with biting cold, I settled in for the night and read my book for a while. I set my alarm for 06.30 hoping to catch the morning repeat of the light show.

Too soon my alarm was buzzing away in my chest pocket and my Pat Benatar ring tone urged me to hit her with my best shot. I just hit the snooze instead. If I wasn't wide awake when I crawled out of my green nylon womb I was a second later when I emerged into a cold breeze.

The sun was coming up but it was hidden by the mountains to the east, instead it gave away it's impending arrival by painting the snowy peaks further south with pink. In 'the kitchen' I re-hydrated some Ready Brek with melted snow and strolled around my hill with a cup of coffee. The fog still hadn't budged from the valleys and I felt like the last man alive on the planet.

The sun finally broke over the mountain, past the frozen solid reservoir, and the temperature instantly went up a notch. I broke camp and stripped off some layers before taking a final look around. The day already had the feeling of another unseasonal hottie so I headed home, keen to share my experiences and the rest of the day with M. By the time I hit the ridge above Bergen the sun had chased the fog out of the city, the fog lingering over the docks in one final defiant fist shaking gesture before skulking off across the harbour.