The weight slashing continues with a replacement for my PD400, a shiny, stretchy Mountain Equipment Xero 150. No hood, no collar, no pocket for my earplugs and emergency stash of peanut M&Ms. It's only got half a zip too but at almost half the weight and bulk it should be more than enough during the summer and maybe beyond if I wear a hooded synthetic insulation filled jacket.
Just waiting for a break in the weather to give it some test zzzzzzzzzzz's.
This was the longest solo backpacking trip I have done. A lot of thought went into what to take and what to leave behind. The constant packing and repacking, in conjunction with viewing on-line weather forecasts had me trying to shed grams right up to the taxi arriving to pick me up and take me to the bus station. Previously thought must-have's were jettisoned into a small pile on the floor.
The weather had a lot to do with gear selection. The forecast was for mostly blazing hot sunshine with the possibility of some cloud and rain towards the end of the trip. With the Hardanger being a mountain plateau and mostly all above 1000m I knew that the weather could change at any time and snow was always a possibility!
The biggest gamble - I bought a GoLite Pinnacle specifically for this trip and future multi-day treks as I knew all my gear wasn't going to fit in my current biggest backpack, the OMM Villain. It was the four days of food that I had to carry that would have proved too much for the Villain so after doing some homework and reading glowing reviews from trusted sources I plumbed for the Pinnacle. At 905g it's incredibly light for it's 72 litres claimed total volume. I was a little dubious about taking an untested pack out for four days but after some tinkering with the straps over the course of the first day it proved to be very comfortable. Yes, I know it isn't as cool looking as some other technical packs, no, it's not as structured or has a ventilated back like others and it won't carry 20+kg for days on end. But, if you carry lightweight gear and want your backpack to simply carry the load and be invisibly comfortable then the Pinnacle is supreme. So much so I'm tempted with it's little brother, the Jam2, as a replacement for my beloved Villain. Blasphemy?
Clothes I wore - I run hot when I'm hiking or running so cool, quick drying clothes were a must have. I wore a TNF Vitesse Fuse long sleeve top during the day which was perfect. The long sleeves were useful not only on the cooler, windier high country but also as protection from the incessant sunshine. It was nicely ventilated in the extreme heat and dried in a flash when drenched with sweat or river water. The Nike Tempo running shorts have compression shorts built in and were amazingly comfortable. The also managed to just about dry out completely after their evening 'washing'. The Inov8 Debris Gaiters are amazing. Ultralight and perfect at they're job which was keeping stones and other small detritus out of my low cut shoes.
The big zeroes of the trip were my previously sublime Inov8 310s. The super comfortable, ultralight, grippy shoe have been my favourites for hiking in this year but whilst sat in camp on the last evening I noticed they had split across the sole of the right shoe. The split seems to have occurred along one of the lugs and I wonder if this a warranty issue. Countless others use these shoes for incredible thru-hikes so I'm loathed to give up on them yet.
Clothes I carried - Obviously my rain gear was not needed but I was happy to carry the Atomic DT and Reed pants as insurance, they weigh so little. The Reed's especially acted as evening camp wear while my shorts dried and they also proved midgie proof which was a relief! My insulation piece was my Montane Flux and as expected it proved to be WAY too much for the conditions. So much so that it never got worn. It was over half a kilo of deadweight and is being replaced by a piece weighing half as much. I should have taken my Generator vest which still wouldn't have got worn but would have been a lot less to carry!
Sleeping - I carried two new mats. The first was an ultralight (178g) 8mm closed-cell cut-down foamie I bought in a local shop that I primarily carried to act as a virtual frame for my lightweight pack and secondly as protection for the short Neoair. I'm not convinced it was needed to protect the Neoair but the Neoair isn't enough to act as a virtual frame for the Pinnacle. On the other hand the Neoair was a lightweight (260g) hero, proving to be amazingly comfortable (when half inflated) and waffer light. Hmmmm.
The big zero in the sleeping department was the Alpkit Pipedream 400 sleeping bag. It's actually a brilliant bag but it was quite simply too much for this trip. Maybe I'm the zero?! At 750g it's no porker but the fact that I've happily used it in December in Norway means it was always going to be too much. I never zipped it up and it was still too hot wearing nothing but a layer of merino. A proper summer bag/quilt is being sought, something sub 500g should do the trick.
Shelter - The Laser Comp is proving to be a gem to use. So easy to put up, big enough for one person and all their gear and of course pretty darn light at 1140g. I've replaced the ridiculous 2g ti pegs it's supplied with 4 bad-ass Clamcleat Y pegs and a set of Vargo ti 'proper' pegs to ensure it stays attached to the ground. I've also 'hot-rodded' the Laser Comp with a few genius modifications with the pole cover tensioner and door-keeper mod proving instantly practical. To vent the tent I simply used a couple of tiny 'biners to clip the lower end pegging point to the higher guyline. I only suffered from any noticeable condensation on the third morning.
It would have been perfectly practicable to take a tarp-type shelter and bivy in these conditions and is something I'll look into again. You'd save half a kilo and the protection offered would have been more than adequate with a good weather forecast.
Kitchen - I grabbed the usual Optimus Crux when I should have really gone with the Super Cat. The Crux is a fine flame thrower but I could have saved a lot of weight by going with meths. I normally use Primus canister feet to stabilise the Crux but for some reason they didn't fit the 200 MSR gas cart that I bought for the trip so they sat about doing nothing. Oh, and a long handled spoon is a hero when eating commercial freeze dried meals, no more 'Sauce Knuckle'. The slightly squared off spoon shape is also perfect for scraping the Real Turmat bags clean of every calorie. Is the spork dead? It's taking a well earned sabbatical from my backpack at least.
Miscellaneous - One of the biggest heros of the trip was the tube of Hydropel I carted around with me. This wonder salve keeps feet lubed and happy. I never once got a blister or hot spot and someone over this side of the pond really needs to import this stuff. Quite simply for me an absolute necessity for any long distance backpacking trip. The numerous stream/river crossings and unlined trail runners drenched my feet but the Hydropel never allowed the pruning, skin softening and blistering often experienced when wearing this sort of footwear. I'll repack it into a smaller container for future trips.
The trekking poles I took were my winter/skiing Black Diamond Expedition behemoths (with the straps and baskets removed) and proved absolutely essential across the snowfields and rivers. I'll be investing in a lighter '3 season pair' for sure. They make moving over rough ground so much easier, especially with a larger backpack. It took me a while to get used to them again, I don't generally use sticks for hiking but once I stopped 'thinking' about them they became part of my stride.
My weekend first-aid/repair/survival kit has gone on a serious diet since I got back. So much superfluous stuff in there. It is still a work in progress. Knowledge and skill weigh a lot less and a bit of homework and planning means you don't always have to carry a multitool, a Maglite, candles, saw, kitchen sink... For the emotionally robust I reckon it could be reduced to 6' of duct tape, a razor blade and some ibuprofen...
So what did I learn? I can go lighter, a kilo at least and still be perfectly comfortable even if the conditions had been less perfect than I experienced. With a good weather forecast and some options at your disposal it is perfectly feasible to carry a really light backpack and spend more of the day appreciating your surroundings and indeed seeing more surroundings as the lighter pack allows for higher mileage/longer days. There is no argument. Lighter is better.*
(* with caveats...)
Stavali (1024m) to Kinsarvik (10m) - 17km
Be careful what you wish for they say. My sentiments before bed last night had possibly come back to haunt me as despite the sunshine that filtered into my tent when I first stirred there was cloud bubbling up down the valley. I could actually see it moving so I had a quick breakfast and packed up my tent ensuring my waterproofs were near the top of my rucksack. I had to retrace my steps a bit to get to the footbridge over the river and by now the cloud was almost upon me, creeping ominously like John Carpenter's The Fog.
I had several smaller streams to negotiate at the base of the Tverrelvi waterfall and then I started to head down towards the Stavali hut. There was no sign of life when I got there, I didn't know if I was too early or too late to see anyone. I was in the cloud now and relieved. It was cool and damp and made for comfortable walking. Just past the hut there lies a wood burner heated hot tub that anyone staying at the hut can use for the princely sum of £10 per person. After a long days hiking that might not seem so steep.
As I rounded the base of Randinuten the path gradually climbed the green valley, crossing several more streams. The threat of The Fog never materialised as strong rays of sunshine burnt it away. I stopped at the head of the valley and took a break, looking back at the open country I was leaving behind. The rest of my journey would be steeply downhill, physically at least.
I crossed the narrow gully and river at Viersdalen and proceeded to walk towards a wall of mist and cloud. The path dropped steeply here, the start of the granite descent that takes you into Hausdalen, home of the mighty Kinso river. The wall of water vapour was not silent and smothering like fog but swirling and hiding a thunderous beast. As my feet hit the front of my shoes on the murderous descent a white shape emerged from the mist, then another, angled to the first but unmistakable as a giant tiered waterfall, Søtefossen, the first (or last, depending which way you walk the trail) of the four big Kinso waterfalls. It's an impressive sight. I left the DNT path and made my own way across to the river to stand below the behemoth, basking in it's spray and noise.
I explored this end of the valley, well off the path, and discovered a world of granite cut with raging rivers, streams and ice cool pools. There was nobody about. Sunday afternoon, 5km from the tourist town of Kinsarvik and no one was here. I found a scary looking but actually solidly built bridge across the narrowest but heart thumpingly fast part of the river. The slot in the rock accelerated the water like a jet engine with the noise to match. The hand rails were thin wire and access to the actual bridge were steep, water slicked ramps of granite. I took minutes thinking about it and in seconds I was over it. The views on the other side were stunning and I sat and ate my lunch, waterfalls and rapids showing me the way to the fjord and my terminus.
After lunch I walked back to the DNT trail but not before peering over the edge of Nykkjesøyfossen. The trail headed back into the tinder dry and claustrophobic forest. The path was still ridiculously steep with roots and pine needles lubricating the granite slabs. Suddenly I was transported into a rainforest as a wall of spray found it's way through the vegetation. A clearing in the trees revealed the top half of Nyastølsfossen. The noise was deafening and the water seemed to slow down as it fell to river far below. Further down the trail another opening revealed the full scale of this wonder.
Then suddenly it was all over. The smaller Tveitafossen was all but hidden by a hydroelectric power station and then the trail stopped. A gravel road, car park and notice board marked the end of the journey proper. As I trudged off down the dusty soft track I knew I had one more night out here before I caught a ferry and train back to the city in the morning. I checked the map and found a bridge 500m down the track that lead across the river and into a forest. I would find a spot there, next to this amazing river. My heart dropped into my boots when I discovered the bridge gated and locked on both sides. My only option now was to walk past the heliport and down the road to Kinsarvik to one of the holiday campsites. It wasn't that bad an option, the parks had fjord side views but more importantly showers and ice creams! And I needed both. A lot.
After about a kilometre on the tarmac the good folks of Kinsarvik had the good idea to create a 'turveg' or hiking road that separates from the tarmac and follows the curves of the Kinso through the woods as it made it's way to it's meeting with the fjord. At the end of the trail it was a short walk to the camping site and I pitched my little Laser Comp, dwarfed by neighbouring motor-homes and 8-berth holiday tents you can stand up in. Looks were glanced my way as families wondered who this strange sun-cream and dust caked individual was with the impossibly small tent. A trip to the near-by Esso garage was rewarded with a haul of fresh cherries, a big bag of cheesy crisps and a Lion Bar ice-cream to celebrate the end of an amazing four days in what is for me one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. I'd chased waterfalls for four days and now it was time to leave them, timelessly tumbling with gravity, and head back to the city.
Thoughts from the trip and a run down of kit heroes and zeroes will follow as I slowly digest the memories.
I'll leave you with my favourite photo from my trip. The cloud on the last morning creeping up the valley just as I'm about to cross the stream below Tverrelvi falls.
(More photos here)
Torehytten (1340m) to Stavali (1024m) via high point of trip (1430m) - 21 km
The day started as they all have on this trip. I wake up, smile, snooze for a bit then have to get up because the sun is making the tent unbearably hot. Unbelievably the lake outside is completely frozen over yet it was too warm to sleep with my sleeping bag zipped up. The clothes I'd washed last night were all but dry and nicely cool as I packed up and left Torehytten via the westward path that climbs steeply away from the lake. Looking over my shoulder frequently Hårteigen started to slip out of sight as I made my way over the highest part of the trip, a lunar landscape where little grew and the path crossed many snow filled gullies. Sometimes the snowfield is level but sometimes the snow dips towards the gully base and water can be heard trying to escape with gravity driving the getaway car. Tense moments these, the bottom of the gully is poked with my hiking poles to ensure I don't end up falling through into the water.
Before long I reach the other side of the high plateau and the new day is greeted with a new landscape, one of many lakes and grassy valley. For the next two hours I traverse Valeggi's flank, high above the lakes of Kinsevatnet and Veivatnet. There are so many gorgeous panoramas that I have to concentrate and remember to watch my footing. I'm acutely aware that the sun is beating down on me today and I'm feeling lightly toasted from yesterdays absent mindedness with the sunscreen. I twist my cap to the side to protect my burning left temple and hope no one mistakes it for the new hiking fashion style. Then I laugh and realise I've not seen more than half a dozen people since I left the road back at Fossli.
The trail turns north and starts to descend towards Holmavatnet where I decide to stop for an early lunch. the problem is I can't decide where to sit. There are so many spots with amazing views. In the end hunger decides it should be in this one spot but not before I disturb a White Throated Dipper as it bounces along it's beat down a sheltered side-stream. After lunch and a quick application of some more Hydropel it's back on the path that is slowly losing altitude until it levels out in a rather flat area. The lack of gravity means all the nearby water decides to loiter on the path and it's a half hour slog through a very long thin puddle.
Thankfully it doesn't last too long and a short climb up to the trail junction at Hanastein allows my feet to dry out. Turning west the trail hugs along the shores of more idyllic lakes and I pass a German couple who are changing out of huge leather hiking boots and into Crocs to cross a stream while I quickly splash by in my trainers. Words are exchanged between the couple but my German is even rustier than my Norwegian so I'll pretend they said 'Wow! Look how much quicker and more appropriate those lightweight shoes are at hiking in these mountains! We should get rid of our monstrous, blister-inducing, slow-drying behemoths and get some'. Probably not...
The trail closes in down a narrow rocky gully, turns a sharp right and then pops you out in another valley where you appear behind some hyttes at Helnaberg and are greeted with views across to the cliffs of Nasanuten. By now my neck, shoulders and backs of my legs were sore from too much sun and too little SPF30. The path offered brief respite from the glare of the sun with a steep crossing of Rekadalen before traversing Helnaberg itself (1465m) along a very precarious path that cut north and finally east over a snowy col. The descent that followed was almost entirely on a snowfield that gradulayy got steeper and steeper. Slip here and there was nothing stopping you from sliding all the way into Lonavatnet lake, 150m below.
Along the shores of Lonavatnet there were lots of weird rock slabs, almost like giant brown slates, shimmering just under the surface of the water. Heading back northwest Lonavatnet released it's waters down a series of waterfalls and rapids running the entire length of the wide open valley of Stavalielvi with the Stavali tourist hytte down the right hand flank. I found a good pitch just at the top of the valley below Tverrelvi falls and after pitching my tent I spent a good few hours lying in it's shade and made Nuun Puppies (like a Slush Puppy made with snow and icy water). The longest day of the trip (in distance) had been tough simply due to the unrelenting sunshine. My engine felt good but my paintwork was starting to fade.
I chatted with another backpacker, a German girl, who set up her tent nearby. I'd lost track of time and realised that it was the weekend, hence the reason why I'd seen a dozen people in the last hour. Most were headed to the Stavali hut, to sleep in dormitory bunk beds. It didn't appeal to me and I made dinner and sat on a rock by myself looking down the valley at the light show. The sun disappeared around the mountains painting the rock pinky brown and the sky red. I noticed just a few tendrils of cloud in the corner of the sky. Obviously I didn't want the weather to turn completely shite but just a little less sunshine would be welcomed tomorrow. Miserable bastard!
(more photos here)
Hedlo (945m) to Torehytten (1340m) - 12 km
Tale of the tape - the shortest distance today but most of the climbing so a good breakfast was in order. The summer berry breakfast from Real Turmat is so good I could eat it every day washed down with some coffee and a Snickers to kick start the ol' fuel tank. I also had piss like Iron Bru when I woke up so the getting some fluids in was order of the morning. Luckily within five minutes of getting started I found a perfect snow fed stream cascading down the hillside. As I rounded the next bend in the path a stumbled upon an adult Ptarmigan and two chicks, one chick froze still like she was told while the other panicked and flew off, no doubt it would be hearing about that later. I was within 3 metres but still the birds sat like statues, hoping I wouldn't notice them. Unfortunately they were sat in the middle of the path and their mottled brown camouflage wasn't working on the ash grey path. I tried to shoo them along gently and when I did all hell broke loose. The other adult and half a dozen other chicks jumped up out of the surrounding undergrowth like a feathered landmine. There was squawking and flapping and much pretending that wings were broken. I almost felt embarrassed for the scene I had created.
Minutes later I was face to face with more Norwegian wildlife when some brightly coloured birds were behaving very strangely, agitated at something on the path ahead. Then a rascal of a stoat came bounding down the path towards me, oblivious as he taunted the small birds above. Then he saw me and his little face went 'Oooh SHIT!!'. He froze still for a moment. Like gun-slingers in the wild west we stared each other down, slowly I tried to ease my camera from it's holster on my shoulder strap. The stoat took his chance and bolted.
The rest of the morning was spent slowly following the river bed as it meandered through the valley. Periodically the path went up over rocky outcrops and down over tarmac smooth granite slabs. I passed through centuries old summer farms, still not yet occupied for their short season. All the time Hårteigen remained in the distance, never seeming any nearer.
Eventually I reached the tourist hytte at Hadlaskard. It too is based at a crossroads in the trails that cover the Hardanger only this time the crossroads was on the other side of a really wide stretch of the river. Thankfully this bridge looked fairly recently refurbished although the wooden pallets seemed a bit flimsy in the middle. I took big strides, making sure there was wire work under each footfall between me and the thundering, foaming water below. The climb up Kyrkjesteinsbekken was pretty gradual. The path crossed several streams and I took a half hour break there for lunch. The sun was beating down at that time but I forgot to reapply the sunscreen, a mistake that would haunt me later. At Viersdalen there is another crossing of trails one of which goes directly to Hårteigen. I had read up on climbing the granite beast, it's not too technical and protected with wires and ropes at the exposed parts but I thought better of it, I really shouldn't do it alone, and left it for another day.
My reward for choosing the righteous path was the biggest river crossings yet, two of them the Sandhaugo and the Olbogo, less than five minutes apart and both very cold and deep. I unbuckled my waist belt and gingerly waded across, thigh deep, a little concerned to find the deepest water just under the far bank of the Sandhaugo. The tracks here had seen more traffic around here, human and Reindeer by the looks of the footprints that peppered the muddy track as it crossed Grondalen, a wide green valley that was mostly flat and featureless. At one point a toad decided to leap out of the undergrowth and landed on my foot. I didn't know who was more surprised. I leapt about involuntarily but thankfully neither of us was hurt in our brief attempt at being dance partners. Across the valley a hill appeared to be steaming but it wasn't until I was inline with the gorge that I heard the thunder of a waterfall. The Sandhaugo river had split the hill in two and filled the void with noise and spray. The path turned towards it and as I got closer I could make out the river, trying it's best to melt it's winter coat of snow and leaving a very precarious looking snow bridge. I was glad the path didn't go over that.
The path kicked up hard again, gaining elevation and surprising me at every turn with gorges, steep snowfields pocked with sun cups and huge lakes including the tragically named Lake 1268. It is a travesty that such a pretty aquamarine lake , with it's swirling coloured sediments has such an unimaginative moniker. Gradually, after a quick directionally challenged detour across one too many snowfields I crested the high point of the dayd, finally in the shadow of Hårteigen and looked down on the ice strangled lake and Torehytten (1340m), the tourist hyttes that sit on the edge of this stunning bowl of snow and rock. I managed to find six feet of flat grass and threw up the Laser Comp.
I spent the next few hours taking dozens of photographs, washed my sweat drenched clothes and ate a fine dinner of Wolffish Casserole. There were less bugs here but they were still here, hardy little specks of biology that braved the permanent cold and snow on the off chance of a sweaty backpacker or climber would be staying in that spot. The sun couldn't make up it's mind. It wasn't going to set, it was quite sure of that but it didn't know wether to shine into the frozen hollow or hide behind the cirque of rocks. In the end it did both. Sometime later I curled up in my sleeping bag and was serenaded to sleep by a nearby waterfall.
(more photos here)
Fossli Hotel (670m) to Hedlo hytte (945m) via Fljotdalsfjellet (1200m) - 19 km
This trip is Route 1: Hardanger West in Connie Roos' book 'Walking in Norway'.Even getting up 05.30 didn't get me to the bus stop in time so a taxi dropped me at the long distance coach stand at Bergen bus station for my trip to bisect the north west corner of the Hardangervidda National Park. Vidda in Norwegian is a mountain plateau and the Hardanger variety is the largest such plateau in Europe at roughly 6,500 km2. It contains one of Norway's biggest glaciers and has an alpine climate thanks to it's average elevation of 1100m. After 3 buses (including several near misses with other vehicles on the Road of Death) and a short ferry ride I was dropped at the side of the road, nobody else in sight and left to get on with it. Even starting at 15.00 I wasn't going to run out of daylight. There is an endless supply of that at this time of year.
The first part of the walk I'd done with family and friends a short while ago which was lucky as the first 6 km weren't on the map I had. The weather was boiling. 28C. Lovely on a beach, painful when your under a rucksack and climbing a mountain. Needless to say I took a few breathers and looked back across the valley to the Hardangerjøkulen glacier (1863m). After traversing Hallingehaugane the trail descended gracefully, sweeping this way and that down and across the hillside to a group of hyttes and the first river crossing of the day.
Now, when I was in the Bergen Turlag office/shop during the week a very helpful girl found me the right map (how having the first 6km of trail missing makes it the right map is another question) and pointed to various spots where I'd need to cross rivers that were un-fordable this early in the season. "Don't worry, we have reports this week that all the summer river crossings are operational". Operational in Norway means a few pallets tied with blue nylon rope to a couple of pieces of road sign post. To be fair, it wasn't that bad.
Time to put some hard graft in. The climb goes straight up over the shoulder of Fljotdalsfjellet (1301m) was out of the breeze and directly under the sun. The peak of my cap did a great job of hiding the truth about the distance to the top. It's easy to find excuses to stop. Taking photos. Filling my water bottle. Sometime later I made it over the top and swore out loud as I got my first glimpse of Hårteigen, a large granite prominence, sometimes referred to as The Top Hat that is visible from much of the Hardanger. I planned to be in it's shadow tomorrow night and it seemed an awfully long way away.
Down the other side and into the next valley I picked my way down the trail through fields of boulders towards the river bed. Below me a helicopter was delivering a load of supplies to the Hedlo tourist hyyte just out of sight on the banks of the river. The higher elevations across from me were peppered with snow fields.
I got to the hytte as the helicopter returned with staff members who would man the hut at this early stage of the season. I walked past a couple of groups of hikers who like me preferred a night under canvas, or whatever ripstop wonder fabric passes for canvas these days. The river is playful here, at once slow and mirror finished then boiling and washing machine chaos as it passes through the changes in geology. Around a big bend I found a flat, grassy spot near a glassy stretch and quickly set up the Laser Comp before being attacked by squadrons of midgies. I wasn't quite quick enough with the long troos or DEET and got nailed pretty good as I faffed around. It was 22.00 before I was all done and I sat around taking photies of the alpine glow and watched trout in the river not doing a good enough job of demolishing the insect population. I even gathered enough firewood to build a fire but as there is no darkness here at this time of the year there didn't seem much point so just before midnight I turned in and slept long.
(more photos here)
