Shutter magic

Stunning photos of the weird, weird sport of ski jumping. It's on TV everyday over here at the moment. I don't get it, every jump looks the same yet thousands of people turn up to these events. These photos put a new twist on it.

Not-so-steep learning curve

Some Norwegian friends of ours invited us to join them for a weekend of cross country skiing and promised to show us the ropes of this, possibly the most traditionally 'Norwegian' of winter activities. Our only skiing experience up to this point was a day at an alpine resort, just before Christmas, where we spent the day, without supervision, repeatedly and painfully skiing (read: falling) down the nursery slopes.

We arrived at Utaoset, a couple of hours outside Bergen, on Friday evening, on the weekend ski rush hour train. There was a real party atmosphere through the carriages as the weekend revelers got stuck into a few cheeky drinks and looked forward to a weekend in the nature. Our hosts met us at Utaoset train station, 1000m above sea level and resplendent with ten foot high snow drifts, and took us to our hotel apartment just a short walk away. After a fantastic dinner and a box of wine we played cards until far too late in the evening/morning.

On Saturday we awoke with scudding headaches to scudding clouds, flat light and wind driven gritty snow. Hardly the best weather for learning a new winter skill but we spent so much of the first day looking no further than the front of our skinny skis that we hardly noticed. I have to say I found it pretty easy at first. The 'kick and glide' motion came fairly easily on the flat tracks around the hotel, the only squirrely bit came on a six foot deep 'ditch' that lead onto the main ski trail out of the resort. The drop-in wasn't too bad but the necessary 'herring bone' wide gait required to get up the other side was the most un-natural feeling action ever and took a bit of practice. M's learning curve was a little more severe and her first attempt at the ditch resulted in the first crash of the day. We'd made it to the end of the car park! Woohoo!

After an hour of practice under the helpful gaze of our hosts we overconfidently felt we had it pretty much nailed and told them that they could go off and leave us to practice around the fairly tame resort trails. Despite some wax issues with M's skis (I ran waxless skis, MUCH less hassle) we had two really good sessions, split by a lengthy lunch break, spending some of our time courteously waiting at the top of steeper sections for the locals to get out of the way before careering down and endangering only ourselves. Not point wiping out competent five year olds and pensioners, effortlessly skiing up and down the trails with our 'drunken spider' efforts.

Trout and salmon for dinner and another box of wine. We talked with our hosts about the possibility of going on a little excursion the following day, out of the resort and we looked at a couple of maps and found some trails that were possibly within our skill level. We hoped.

Sunday morning was BRIGHT! Damn! Even with a coloured filter film over the windows there was no mistaking sunshine blazing through the cracks in the curtains on the east facing side of the apartment and I was nearly blinded when I pulled them open. It was still pretty breezy and even more snow had fallen during the night leaving a waist high drift on the first floor balcony outside the living room window. The mountain range in the background looked pretty intimidating with it's cloak of white cloud streaming over the top, hinting at vicious winds higher up. We loaded up on a hearty breakfast, prepped skis and headed outside.

Just a few minutes from the hotel is the train track underpass which caught M out a couple of times yesterday with it's steep entry and double speed bump base followed by a short and steep exit up the the other side. Despite improved confidence and better tuned skis M managed to take a tumble and took a good dinger to the head on the underpass stone wall and managed to stab herself in the throat with the ski tip too. After composing herself for a moment she got back up from her kicking and kept on ticking. That'll be the 6 pints of hardy Norwegian Viking blood flowing through her veins. After another scary but fun downhill, where I took my first faceplant of the weekend, we were on the vast frozen lake. The ski trails, marked with plastic poles or birch branches, crisscross this perfect 'learning' area but fierce winds were blowing straight towards us and with communication all but impossible we retracted into our hoods and goggles and strode out across the nothingness, the whiteness, the endless...ness.

After a kilometre or so we were aware that we were slowing down our hosts and we waved them on and I tucked in behind M and let her set a more comfortable pace. At the strange crossroads of trails on the middle of the lake we took a left and headed towards the shore where we got to put our poor impression of the 'herring-bone' gait into practice to climb the shore line.

A few hundred metres later we were glad to see a hand painted sign offering hot drinks and warm food just off the trail. A few minutes later we were enjoying fresh warm waffles and hot coffee. We then had to decide on a plan for the rest of the day and, after checking the highly detailed and FREE maps, offered by every hotel and petrol station (are you reading this Ordnance Survey!?), plumbed for a wee excursion back across the lake and across to the lumpy, wooded island of Uggen that promised groomed, rolling trails and a connection back to the resort's trails.

After using the coldest toilet I have ever had the pleasure of frequenting we made our way back to the trail and then headed towards the lake enjoying a long, gradual downhill that allowed us to try important, technical skills known as 'stopping' and 'steering' that we were informed would be useful in any future backcountry adventures.

Back on the lake we crossed straight over at the 'crossroads' and into the teeth of the wind. We followed the birch branch road signs towards Uggen. It took a long time to cross the lake, maybe an hour and a half on flat, glide-able terrain and by the time we got to the other side and climbed the shoreline we needed another break.

In the shelter of one of the little hills that covered Uggen we sat in the warm sunshine and recharged. The trails over here were a lot softer and less travelled than elsewhere and progress was slow which allowed us to soak in the quiet, stark but pretty landscape. After making our way across the main road (that leads to the resort) and fighting our way up the steep hillside , through deep snow we suddenly started losing signs of other skiers. We knew we were heading the right way on the right path, back towards the outer trails of the resort, but the lack of other ski tracks, probably a combination of it being a quieter trail and the wind blown snow scouring the surface clean of tracks, worried M. With darkness and our departure time approaching we decided to turn back and ski home on the side of the road. The road turned out to be a good surface to ski on in such a tired state, just enough snow and well packed by vehicle tyres to be smooth and almost effortless. 45 minutes and a couple of Honey Stingers later we were back at the hotel and a steaming pan of fish soup with warm crusty bread was waiting for us. An hour after that we were back on the futuristic NSB train with hundreds of other skiers and snowboarders, picked up from various resorts, and two hours after that we were back in Bergen but already planning our next trip. In 48 hours we'd gone from complete beginners, falling over around the hotel car park to being on our own for hours at our time in some pretty spectacular countryside. I get the feeling we'll be trying this cross country skiing lark a bit more. The ratio of 'face/ass/snow interfaces per hour skiing' is much more endurable.

Try something new

We tried curling on Sunday. We were invited to join a bunch of expats for a few 'ends'(?!) of one of those sports you see on the winter Olympics TV coverage and think to yourself "I could do that". Well, you probably can't. Like the bastard offspring of lawn bowls, ten-pin bowling and ice hockey it's compelling and frustrating in equal measures. It's a lot harder than it looks but it is a lot of fun. It took me the whole hour just to stay upright when I sent the stone either stuttering to a halt in the middle or giving it too much mustard and threatening to break someone's toes at the other end. My team failed to score a single point but I loved it. In the photo below Aberdeen Dan-gus shows us how it's done, 'brushing' up on his technique on only his second try at it.

Get it while you can

Mercury is rising. The days of sunny sub-zero days are at an end for now. It's been good while it lasted but it's time to step back and let nature takes it's cyclic-course once again.

I had one last chance. One more day in the hills before most of the snow is taken away from me.

I also made a solemn oath never to venture up to the Storfjellet plateau without some kind of artificial flotation devices strapped to my feet. The snow up there will be sticking around for a few more months and I'm getting tired of battling with hip deep snow. I was the only person on the hill that day who wasn't on skis or snowshoes. Next time I go up there I will be floating on planks of sandwiched wood and carbon fibre.

The descent off the plateau was hairy. The tracks and paths were completely obliterated by the last snowfall and despite thinking I knew this part of the hill like the back of my hand I discovered I didn't. Thankfully I found some ski tracks after a while and then more and more until I found the notch in the ridge I was looking for.

Goodbye for now snow. See you again soon.

Accrington Stanley?! Who are they?!

I remember watching old Laurel & Hardy, Harold Lloyd and Norman Wisdom films with my granddad when I was young. People falling over just makes me laugh. I think that's why I'm enjoying these current Tine Melk adverts on Norwegian TV. The music choice is a touch of genius too.

Advert No.1

Advert No.2

It doesn't get any better than this. Really, it doesn't.

A perfect morning. Blue skies. Bright sunshine and another few inches of fresh snow. Too good an opportunity to pass up and with a day off work I filled my Jirishanca and walked up the hill, against the flow, as everyone else went down the hill to work in the city. The path up the ridge was untouched. No footprints apart from rabbits. I shuffled through shin deep powder and marvelled at the silence.

I couldn't believe my luck. It was stunning. I wanted to take photos every few steps. I wished all my friends could have experienced it. I met a few locals out enjoying themselves and practiced my Norwegian. All of them were on skis or snowshoes, gracefully sliding across the jewelled surface while I stumbled up the hill. One minute I was walking along firm crust then, just as I started to relax, the snow would give way and I'd fall up to my hips in powder and have to swim out! One old lady told me I should get some skis as she gracefully skated up the steep slope on her x-country skis, leaving a perfect herring-bone pattern in her wake.

The wind picked up the higher I went so I dug myself a sheltered little arm chair, upholstered with a Duomat and fresh powder and ate my lunch in the sunshine, charging up my personal solar panels. Too soon it was time to head home. I wanted to get up to the summit today after running out of time on Sunday but everything was taking twice as long in the deep snow so I reluctantly retraced my steps down to the main forest track then took a little detour down through one of the quieter, less trodden side tracks. As the afternoon sun warmed the snow caught on the pine tree branches it cascaded off in crystal waterfalls, creating a constant 'shush' sound as if the trees were telling me to stop spoiling the peace with my presence. I couldn't believe how lucky I'd been. I've had many great days here in Norway but this was the most beautiful.

Run to the hills!

A constant 36 hours of snow midweek followed by daily sub-zero temperatures and crisp, clear weather ensured that this weekend would be busy in the hills around Bergen. Even at the car park, next to the recycling bins, people were getting skis, sleds, snow shoes, etc, out of their cars and heading upwards. At the top of the forest track we stashed our plastic bum sleds under some bushes. We would retrieve these later as our 'getaway' vehicles off the hills.

It had been really cold last night (-10C) and the morning air was very 'fresh'. Coming down from the first trig point we saw that people had cleared a skating rink on the lake near the ski trail. Some people were just skating across the lake, ankle deep in powder. All across the hillsides the tiny figures of people were moving, like ants on a giant snowy ant hill. Mostly on skis it seemed (AT, Tele and x-country). We really must get our act together and learn.

Upwards. We turned north after the reservoir and headed up towards the Turnerhytten. After an hour of huffing and puffing and slipping and sliding we made it up onto the Storfjellet plateau and stopped in the lee of the first hut for coffee and sandwiches. It was good to get out of the bitter wind that blew across the plateau. We sat for a while and gazed out across the endless white mountains east of the city. M has reports to write for school so instead of heading to the summit we had to head towards home. We struck out back towards the Turnerhytten and then traversed back down the different ridges; Storfjellet, Ulriken and Nattlandsfjellet, each time losing height and slowly turning towards the sun.

Back at the top of the forest track that snakes steeply in a series of 'steps' down through the woods and out into the hilly suburbs we recovered our bum sleds from the bushes. After ensuring our packs were secure and gloves sealed we took it in turn to whizz down the track. M was much better at steering her sled (christened 'Little Johnny Frostbite') than me, something she puts down to plenty of experience in the playground with the kids and their sleds at lunchtimes. With Motorhead's Ace of Spades ringing in her iPod she repeatedly ran back up each section of the track and whizzed down again and watched, laughing, as I careered down each straight then plowed into the powder-filled drainage ditch at each corner. It was a fun way to end another excellent day in the hills.

We will be back up the forest track during the week. It's a good 40 minute steep hike to the top and we often walk up there in the evening (it's floodlit!) just for a bit of exercise. This week there will be added incentive! I will learn how to steer my sled ('Black Bess') and M will learn how to take decent photies ;-)

Oh, and it's started snowing. Again.

Sweet new ride

So I finally got a bank account and my first pay check. Life is sweet. To repay M's generosity these past few months I decided to splash out and buy her a sweet new ride so she doesn't have to walk to work in the cold, dark, snowy mornings anymore.

I wanted something that would handle the cold and snow well. The road conditions will be icy until March/April and maybe even May in the mountains.

I decided on automatic transmission just to make life easier for her. There are so many hills around here and the city centre can be really stop-start at rush hour.

I splashed the cash and went for the option of upgraded upholstery and bucket-style 'sports' seat for the driver.

I even went as far as speccing some go-faster-stripe type detailing just to make it a bit special and show her how much I appreciate her looking after me since we got here. Nothing's too good for my lady.

I gave it a quick test drive yesterday. It's perfect. Nice and quick and the handling is pretty tight once you get used to it.

I hope she likes it. She seemed excited when I told her that I'd finally been paid and that she'd no longer have to walk everywhere.

I can't wait to see her face when she gets home from work!

Oh yeah!

The view from here

View from our balcony this morning while I nurse a bruised hip and elbow after going A-over-T last night on the way down off the hills after our stealth mission. Respect the ice. Lovstakken rising above the mist that blankets the city while 5 inches of fresh powder clings to every horizontal surface.

Short and sweet II

Short: Daylight hours after work for playing in the snow

Sweet: Head-torches and secret ninja missions into the hills to play in the snow

Short: Quality time together between being at work, working at home and college courses

Sweet: Taking a time-out to sit in the snow and share a flask of whiskey-laced hot chocolate

Short and oh so sweet

It started snowing here at 09.00 and hasn't stopped. All. Day.

Please Sir, can I have some more?

All day we watched sunshine bathe the hills surrounding the city through classroom windows. As soon as we could we headed back up hill to enjoy a beautiful sunset over Bergen. The snow covered hillsides behind us turned to pink frosting as the sun died. With the temperature dropping every minute we didn't hang around long. More snow forecast on Wednesday.

Share the love

On Sunday we invited a few friends to join us for afternoon stroll around our backyard and then indulge in some Shepherds Pie, which I had cooked two mahoosive ones of the night before. A rabble of expats and locals turned up at the allotted time and we showed them around one of our regular loops on the Nattlandsfjellet Ridge.

Everyone enjoyed the views over the city and we spent lunchtime pointing out our homes and places of work in between mouthfuls of coffee and chocolate. We shared spare hats, gloves and fleeces to keep everyone warm in the icy terrain and freezing wind. We had an impromptu speed skating race across the frozen lake at the top of the illuminated ski trail. Norway v Scotland first. Then England and America joined in and soon it was a free-for-all on the five inch thick rink.

We finished the day with a quick detour up to a trig point for final photies and then headed downhill and back to ours for steaming hot Shepherds Pie and sjokolade pudding with vaniljesaus. Everyone had a great time and for some it opened their eyes to the good hills and trails we have just minutes from the city. All vowed to return. Good times.