Thunder In The Night

For those in peril on the sea

2012-01-29T12:49:00.000+01:00

My effort to kick start my non-existant ski season suffered another blow when I woke up on Saturday morning to find a message from Mark Basso reading "Sea Kayaking in the sun....last good day for a while I think.....ring me if you're up for it. I have an extra drysuit you can use too". While my mind swam with images of icebergs and frozen hands off the Norwegian coast, in the middle of winter, of all seasons, I sipped my steaming coffee and mindlessly flipped my phone over and over in my hand.

In the end I agreed. After all, I would be going out with an immensely experienced guide. While I'm waiting for the replacement spray-skirt for 'Gwendolen' to arrive from Alpacka I thought that any kind of paddling would be good experience for future adventures in my packraft. And experience was something I was lacking. My other efforts in sea kayaks had been a very gentle paddle around a quay and marina on a humid but drizzly evening last summer and our ill-fated attempt at taking the Grade 10 kids on a sea kayaking trip towards the end of the last school year. That excursion ended up with us 'abandoning ship' 30 minutes into the trip when a storm rolled into the fjord and the coast guard was called... So with a whopping 90 minutes of experience tucked nervously under the belt of my newly acquired PFD I put myself in Mark's hand and those of the North Sea...

The actuality was an almost windless coastline. No icebergs in sight. The Gulf Stream can be kind on days like this and we launched in glassy clear waters. It took me a while to get used to the tippy kayak again and Mark gently took me through a kayaking 101 as he smoothly (me, less so) crossed the sheltered bays and straights that braid the small rocky islands of the west coast of Sotra together. With one-on-one tuition I started to get to grips with the myriad of little details I had to remember. Sitting position, body movements, arm movements, paddle orientation, different strokes, etc, all while my senses were overloaded by the beguiling crystal clear waters below and rocky scenery around me.

On our first break we put ashore on one of the desolate islands, reveling in the rock striations that fold and swirl beneath your feet and the stubborn excuses for plant life that call this rock home. Mark regaled stories of less benign weather. Of epic adventures both here and in Canada. He pointed out the route he wanted us to follow. White caps and sea foam un-eased me.

Time to go we headed back to the kayaks and put-in. The narrow straight between two outcrops known as 'The Gaunlet' surged and pulsed close by, menacingly it seemed to me. Mark then stated that he had never seen it so calm...

As we headed out of the shelter of the island and into the North Sea proper I began to feel a little nervous. Despite the calm weather the swell and wave refraction from the shore started to test my abilities to keep my body line within the confines of the boat. Slow but powerful, the swell rocked my kayak. If the swell came head-on I was fine, from the side and I struggled to keep balance. Keep paddling, Mark encouraged, maintain a course.

And suddenly I was in a world I didn't recognise. Black, wet and upside down. Somehow I kept a hold of my breath and the paddle and found the spraydeck handle. A quick tug and I pushed my self clear of the boat. Don't let go of the paddle. I bobbed to surface only to get nailed in the side of the head my Mark's rapidly approaching kayak. His calm demeanour and humour calmed my somewhat fluttering heart. With years of experience of plucking hapless souls from the brine he talked me through the 'T rescue', working together to secure then flip my kayak and empty it of sea water.

Orcas.

Don't let go of the paddle.

Bottomless fathoms.

Dark thoughts rose fleetingly in my mind before Mark's instructions brought me back to the task in-hand, porpoising myself back onto my now righted and securely rafted boat. Within a couple of minutes I was securely back under my spray deck with my paddle in my hand. Time to head back to calmer waters. Mark's confidence in me had written cheques my limited skills couldn't cash. Still a few hundred metres to get back to calmer waters. Keep paddling. A couple more heart-in-mouth moments as swells boiled up beneath my boat and we were back inside the bosom of the islands.

Now I could laugh about it. Now I could tell tales of monster waves and dramatic rescue. Truth was I had rolled in some of the calmest weather imaginable. We joked and he teased. After some more paddling to get warm and rinse the adrenaline surging through my viens we put ashore again. Don't let go of the paddle. I laughed out loud. I had exited the kayak, removed my dry-bags from the hatches and walked all the way round to Mark's landing spot, all whilst still clutching my paddle. A celebratory hot chocolate, a celebratory beer.

We set off again for a circuit of another island. The water here was glassy. We spotted giant sea urchins through the aquarium clear water near the shore line. We fished one out and marveled at it's purple coloured spines and spiky texture before returning it to the deep. We joked more. I whistled the Hawaii 5-0 theme tune, totally without conscious thought. In the gloaming light a man sat sentinal to a huge fire on the shore, it's orange flame and smoky aroma so tempting. Salt and dryness caked the backs of my hands. The muscles in my arms throbbed and cramped as the tide ushered us gently back to the dock. One more lesson to learn. Don't porpoise out onto the floating dock unless your brand new rescue knife is secured to your PFD. Otherwise you will hear a splash and watch forlornly as it's bright orange handle and carbon blade shimmer and flutter down through several metres of water and come to rest next to a giant starfish, infuriatingly out of reach, at the bottom of sea.

Save the last dance

2012-01-22T20:02:00.000+01:00

Fighting fit again but obligations prevented me from taking my tent up into the snow. On Saturday I went into town with the intention of buying much needed new ski boots and pants. I even tried on some T4s but left empty handed. I ended up at the kayak shop loading up on safety equipment instead. A PFD, river knife, whistle and throw-bag. Buying a packraft isn't cheap and neither is all the stuff you need to keep you alive either. I got a hair cut too. A bad one. I'm sure trimming the top of my ear is a skill they don't learn in barber school.

Sunday dawned unusually bright so I threw a pack together, infused the powdered hot chocolate mix with boiling water, grabbed a Snickers (or two) and headed out the door. Unsure of the snow conditions up above I elected to take my woefully underused snowshoes. They're easier to cart around than my skis and I've fallen out with the heels of my current ski boots. The snow/thaw/slush/freeze cycle of the past few days made even the flat path around the lower reservoir lethally bereft of grip. By the time I reached the trees my legs were well and truly warmed up. The snow started off patchy and thin, corralled into parcels by frozen forest duff. This in turn sat slyly on top of oozing black mud, like the thin crispy topping of a rich creme brûlée.

As soon as I was using more energy in staying afloat than in forward propulsion I stopped and released the snowshoes from my pack. It took me a few minutes to familiarise myself with the connections after a lay-off of over a year. A slug of water and I was on my way again. The joy of no longer wasting so much effort sinking into the finely sieved snow was almost instantaneously wiped out. Sure I was comparatively floating now but skis, skis would have had me gliding along. Contrails of straight lines carving away behind me instead of these monstrous, yeti-ish foot prints. Slow-shoes.

Exiting the trees again I joined the Sunday hordes briefly, on the footpath winding it's way over the back of Rundemanen. With a boot track well on it's way to being packed down it was off with the snowshoes and into line for me. Swinging away from the crowds at the crossroads it was back on with the 'shoes'. Pockets of deeper powder snow, interlaced with ice and sastrugi paved the way higher and higher. Fewer people, bluer air, keener wind. The only other tracks up here were straight and true, twinned parallel or herring-boned up steeper slopes. Apart from me, continuing my slow-shoe shuffle. Sitting in the lee of an abandoned hut I hunkered away from the summit breeze and feasted on chocolate. Liquid and solid varieties. Free from the snowshoes again I pondered their future. They got used once a year. On the day when I'm unsure of the viability of skis. Once there is enough snow for skis I never consider the snowshoes as an alternative. With the advent of other, ski-based, alternatives to the problem of "There's snow, but not enough to warrant my proper skis", such as Marquettes, Hoks and Fast Shoes is there even a need for me to continue owning snowshoes? Maybe this wasn't a slow-shoe shuffle. Maybe this was a last waltz...

Slow-shoe shuffle from Thunder In The Night on Vimeo.

Strangers are just friends waiting to happen - Part 1

2012-01-08T19:05:00.001+01:00

So I finally met up with Odd today, Bergen's other blogger with a perchent for light and simple backcountry travel. As with some of my other 'outdoor' friends we met through blogs and Twitter. If there is one thing I've learnt is that not every 'internet weirdo' is, in fact, a weirdo. Some of them are cool people who share your passions. We both ski, hike and backpack so we had plenty to talk about. We're both waiting for 2012 Alpacka Denali Llamas too so we've each got someone to learn with, probably a good idea...

We spent a rare Bergen weather window blasting round Vidden, the cirque of hills not far from my house. There was plenty of snow up there but it's been packed down by wind and rain. Skis would have been an overkill and snowshoes, well, we talked a lot about the alternatives :) We talked cameras, trips, skis and packrafts and shared chocolate chip cookies. It was a good afternoon. Thanks Odd. Don't be a stranger.

Searching for Winter

2011-12-31T17:47:00.001+01:00

It's not just here, there are plenty of places that are still waiting for Winter to turn up and put a shift in this year. Actually Bergen did have some snow, enough for me to dust off the snow shoes and pack a bag, but it departed as quickly as it arrived, replaced by rain, more 'extreme weather events' and the flu. Man flu, the particularly savage variation.

To get some skiing done at all this winter I needed to travel. Not just to find some snow but also to retrieve one of my skis that got mixed up with another guide's at the end of our last day of work together last winter. Same skis, slightly different bindings. It was a foreseeable oversight. Boarding the train at Bergen I took the just about sub two hour train ride to Mjølfjell. Stopping at Voss first, the train evacuated it's neon clad content of teenage thrill seekers, spilling out onto the platform in a miasma of cheap perfume, loud voices and excitement. Only the old remained. Plenty of plus-fours, knee high wool socks and faded cotton anoraks. Quietness and relief from the hubbub filled the near empty carriages. Wallowing slowly away from the 'adrenalin capital of Norway' the old train climbed into the mountains, passing into higher valleys, each exhibiting slightly more snow than the last. Finally at Mjølfjell I alighted with maybe three other people. I called my old boss and 20 minutes later I was sitting in his cabin, sharing a coffee and tales of the year past. An exchange of skis and handshakes, promises to reconvene and I was finally out by myself, standing at the trail head and breathing in the crisp, winter-filled air.

A few quick arm and leg swings, gloves on, pack adjusted, bindings engaged. Whoa, I always joke that the first ski session of every season is filled with trepidation and a bit of rust. Seconds later I start to remember. Seconds later still and I'm lying face first in the drift on the side of the snowmobile track, my pack unceremoniously wrapped around my head and my sleeves filled with snow. It got better. I remembered. Sitting here a day later and it's my muscles that are the slowest to remember but it did all start coming back to me. The course of the trail, the feel of the cold air gripping my nasal hairs. The coordination required in herring bone. The brightness of it all. Mjølfjell still resists the full grip of winter and the rivers remain running free but this surely won't last. Winter's tardy timekeeping has been noted this year but he is coming. He will provide you with what you're looking for, if you can remember what it was you seek.

"Toast Christmas future, and toast Christmas past"

2011-12-22T12:49:00.001+01:00

From Thunder In The Night IV

2011 is coming to a close. The year has been one of contrasts. It started with a bang and fizzled out a bit towards the middle. By October I was a right miserable bastard. Still, there were sparkling moments that keep me smiling even now and looking forward to next year.

No 'Gear of the Year' post this year. I have been far too introspective already these past few months. My thoughts on gear shift all too easily anyway and I look back at some of my previous musings on particular products and cringe. What I thought I 'must-have' turns out I didn't. What I thought would be the piece of gear to rule them all turned out to be less than stellar, or even worse, a complete dog. We are all on a journey and it seems impossible to arrive at a 'perfect system'. Goal posts move, experiences change our perspectives and technology, design and advertising roll on unabated. Now that I have finally ordered a packraft my gear needs will shift again I guess. I am looking forward to that particular facet with much excitement and a little trepidation. This country screams packrafting opportunity and with the help of new friends and aquaintences I'm looking forward to a more aquatic 2012, a lot.

I do have one request for a piece of gear in 2012 though. If anyone comes up with a design for retrofit bullet-proof knees, I am willing to test them and work on product development...

Looking back briefly though I finally got around to putting together this little video of the trip I took with Thomas along the Jotunheimstien in the summer. Shooting video was not our focus mind, and the footage reflects that, not enough quality, not enough use of a tripod, not enough artistic direction, not enough story telling. A learning experience for sure though and lessons have already been learnt.

Jotunheimstien 2011 from Thunder In The Night on Vimeo.

On Paramo (again) - to those of you in Scandinavia who registered an interest in trying out the concept of Paramo clothing by requesting a loan spell with the Velez Adventure Smock that I am about to send on, please get in contact again via Twitter DM or e-mail with your address and contact details. There was such a great response that I want to send the loaner to as many people as possible, starting with those based in Norway before going further afield. The idea is to include a contact list of those wanting to try the Velez so that once each participant has had a go with it they can bundle the jacket on to the next person on the list. Hopefully this will extend the opportunity to try out Paramo without folks having to making a financial committment (beyond shipping costs to the next participant). This will only work with trust, so be cool and 'Pay It Forward'.

Seasons greetings everyone

Taking confidence and giving Paramo

2011-11-27T21:08:00.001+01:00

The west coast of Norway has been battered this weekend by what the local meteorological offices rated as an 'extreme weather event'. Apparently that put it somewhere between a 'storm' and a 'hurricane'. They dubbed this one Berit, which was funny as I had a friend called Berit, and she was a hurricane...

So despite the wind and driving rain my knee rehabilitation continued with my usual weekend workout, trying to incorporate a bit more uneven trail each time. Greater range of motion, less discomfort, my confidence is rising. The trails were understandably quiet of traffic but the waving conifers in the forests roared my progress. Snow is forecast but the real bite of winter seems to be taking a long time to clamp down here.

Above the trees the wind was stunning. There were a few places where I struggled for a straight line and one stretch where I was bent double trying to maintain forward motion. It squeezed the breath out of my chest. Snot rockets flew perpendicular to the ground. Holes of sunshine lasered through the clouds as the afternoon wore on and the 'extreme weather event' seemed to be getting bored with Bergen. The wind started to fade as I descended into civilisation but the bar of chocolate and warm soup waiting for me at home tasted better than ever.

On Paramo

This little jaunt was also the first proper outing for my new Paramo Vista jacket. All you need to know about the way the Analogy fabric works can be found here on Paramo's website or here in Chris Townsend's article on BPL (subscription required). Yes, Paramo is a warmer option than traditional waterproof/breathable fabrics but it's lack of a membrane means it suffers far less from condensation. We're entering the time of year when it really shines, cooler conditions with cold precipitation. It weighs more than Gore Tex/eVent but in winter you can leave it on all day and you can leave your wind-shell behind, so the weight difference is minimal. I love it's simplicity.

It takes a leap of faith to leave behind membrane-based waterproof/breathable shells and I was lucky enough to be given an older Paramo Velez Adventure Smock last winter by Phil Turner so I could try out the concept. Now that I have my new Vista jacket it's time to pay Phil's generosity forward. If you're living in the Nordic countries and are Paramo-curious leave a comment below stating your interest in giving the Velez a try and, for the cost of shipping, I will send it to you to try this winter. If there are several people interested I will put the names in a draw in a weeks time. It's a Large and has some of Paramo's eccentricities (slightly weird cut, dated styling) but it's a great introduction to the concept and kept me comfortable and dry on my ski tour with Jorgen last winter.

Don't ditch your Nalgene bottle

2011-11-17T21:11:00.001+01:00

Contrary to a recent post on another blog I don't think people should be ditching their Nalgene water bottles, one of the stalwarts of 'outdoor' life in recent years. The blog post in question derided the general public for their dependence on the classic Nalgene bottle for backpacking and, to a degree, there are lighter alternatives, especially in summer conditions. Sure, the humble Nalgene's 89g (for the 500ml/16oz size) is way chunkier than that denizen of UL water carriers, the 23g Platypus soft bottle (500ml). But as Martin and others have been mentioning recently, function trumps weight. There is no point carrying the lightest version of something if it doesn't work for you in the environment you are travelling in. No other season distills this axiom more than winter. It doesn't save weight to carry the lightest water bottle on the market if it freezes solid at the first hint of the mercury heading south. A Nalgene bottle has been the cornerstone of my winter water ensemble for a few years now. Others reasons I still use Nalgene bottles:

You can open them whilst wearing mittens
You can't lose the lid
You can fill them from any open water source with the aid of a ski pole and some 'angling'
You can use them as a hot drink mug (hmm, another function. Doesn't that make it UL?!)
You can use them as hot water bottles
You can use them in the morning as boot warmers (the 500ml size filled with hot drinks)
You can pee in them. Try doing that (or any other of these points) with a Platypus...

Don't ditch your Nalgene bottles. They just might be worth the extra pack weight.

Blackened

2011-10-31T18:45:00.001+01:00

It's all a bit dark right now. Autumn dying into the onslaught of winter. The clocks falling back and whatever way you slice that little idiosyncrasy, gaining an extra hour of daylight in the morning doesn't compensate for losing it in the evening. Especially for those of us in the North. Dark months ahead.

It's Halloween too. Some people refuse to accept it as a viable 'holiday' with it's encumbered traditions. In my mind a lot of our modern 'holidays' are a mishmash of religion, paganism, tradition and these days, consumerism. Take your pick, celebrate one, ignore another but don't rain on someone else's parade. There's a bowl of jelly eyeballs and 'severed fingers' next to our front door tonight but these advertising companies are barking up the wrong tree if they think I'm Christmas shopping already. Festivus anyone?

Things are dark and dreary on the hill right now too. Yesterday I climbed the hills close to my home, skirting the reservoir, notorious in years gone by as the final resting place for the unwanted babies of Bergen and sadly, more recently, other unwanted lives. Up through the deserted stone houses and into the cloud. Black underfoot. Grey all around me. Howling wind. Pouring rain. Pondering the lies we're sold. You're not guaranteed to stay dry in Gore Tex. We don't need pockets on our sleeves for GPS units. Membranes in fleece suck. I don't need a hood retaining tab. But I learned that it's ok to change your mind about thumb loops...

Angry knees, rusted guns

2011-10-23T13:32:00.001+02:00

"I don't care about the time I run. I can try all I want, but I doubt I'll ever be able to run the way I used to. I'm ready to accept that. It's not one of your happier realities, but that's what happens when you get older. Just as I have my own role to play, so does time. And time does it's job much more faithfully, much more accurately, than I ever do. Ever since time began (when was that, I wonder?), it's been moving ever forward without a moment's rest. And one of the privileges given to those who've avoided dying young is the blessed right to grow old. The honour of physical decline is waiting, and you have to get used to that reality." - Haruki Murakami - What I talk about when I talk about running

So things have been quiet here recently. I was supposed to have doozy of a trip report or two for you from the adventures I had planned during the recent 'half term/autumn break' that education professionals enjoy as part of their working environment. The march of time and a reminder of my slightly more risk-taking past came up and bit me on the ass and put paid to that. A hangover of this episode in my life ensured I spent most of my holiday on pain-killers, stretching, gobbling glucosamine and gently rehabilitating my buggered knees. The upper half of my body feels younger than my recent birthday would indicate while the lower half feels far more advanced. It's a feeling that I've dwelt on a lot this year, the realisation that my body has reached a tipping point. No more do I have dreams of what my body could be but now I have to work hard and be regimented in my desire to maintain any level of ability that it has ever attained.

"Old man, your guns are rusted, and you've forgotten how to fight..." - Planes Mistaken for Stars

Our little corner of blogdom has been full of piss and vinegar recently and I've found myself wanting in my ability to stand up and fight. Subjects such as the ethics, neutrality and transparency of gear reviews, 'hike-your-own-hike' vs the need for mindfulness and gear reviews vs trip reports have been divisive, battle lines have been drawn and good discussion has taken place. I've been following these subjects with interest but my input has been minimal. I receive a few pieces of free or discounted equipment and have recently felt awkward about any obligations I might feel toward these generous supporters and anything I would egotistically describe as my 'readership'. Can I continue to receive this level of support and remain objective? I'm painfully aware that gear reviews I wrote in the past still drive traffic to my blog but I stand by my decision to concentrate now on trip reports and maybe more holistic gear 'musings'. Anyway, other people with far more technical leanings, do gear reviews better and have access, either free or paid, to the latest and greatest equipment. No one wants to hear about gear that once I finally feel confident about passing judgement over has, or is due to be, updated and revised to a degree that nullifies my points of view.

Is it the Libra in me trying to balance the scales? Is it just an unachievable, hippie wish for everyone just to get along? Is it my fear of jumping down off the fence on one side of an argument or the other? Maybe it's just the change in seasons or a bleed through from the current state of flux, distrust and uncertainty that seems to be affecting the whole world. Maybe it's all just a figment of my own imagination stained by my own personal circumstances. I have hopes that the coming winter will cleanse my consciousness of all this negativity in the same way it cleanses the land of the previous seasons. The birth of Spring, the glut of Summer and the rotting Autumn, all frozen, silenced and then washed away. To frost, to visible breath, to fresh lines in the snow.

Walking between the rain drops - Umbrellas in backpacking

2011-09-25T21:07:00.001+02:00

(photo of moi, on a drizzly summer day courtesy of Thomas Gauperaa at Going Lighter)

The use of umbrellas for backpacking polarises people. They're very much a 'Marmite' product. You either love 'em or hate 'em. To me they were always one of those unusual gear choices people made for backpacking trips. I didn't really understand why they carried them. You carry a hooded rain jacket for when it rains so why carry an umbrella too? Books on backpacking often mentioned them and Grandma Gatewood, the celebrated long distance trail hiker carried one. Was I missing something?

I first saw the umbrella used in anger (if an umbrella without a sword hidden in the handle can be used in anger) on the Nordic Lightpacking trip to Vålådalen. It was Jorgen who brought along his GoLite Chrome Dome umbrella but during a round of pack and trekking pole swapping it was Hendrik who ended up using it the most. Carrying a full size DSLR Hendrik found the umbrella useful for protecting his photographic investment from the continuous Swedish drizzle. I'm pretty sure it was also the source of his Legolas-like powers to float over the rotten snow us mere mortals had to post-hole.

Modern backpacking authors have differing views on the umbrella. In his book Trail Life Ray Jardine extols their virtues with almost evangelical fervour, Andy Skurka used a GoLite Chrome Dome to cross the Great Divide Basin but felt the umbrella created 'drag' and prevented him from using his two trekking poles. Chris Townsend also used one to protect himself from the bleaching hot sun on the Arizona Trail. Jorgen, in 'Smarter Bcakpacking', praises the umbrella for reducing his reliance on less-than-breathable waterproof jackets and finds other uses for it such as protecting cameras and as a wind-shield for his stove. Mike C! likes the idea but considers them a non-essential. Other bloggers have had mixed results with them. Basti swears by them but Mateusz of Luafbursche fame recently destroyed one (his opinion on their usefulness in the wild Norwegian mountains will be interesting to read). There was only one way to find out if the concept would work for me. I ordered a 207g Euroschirm Liteflex (identical to the ubiquitous GoLite Chrome Dome) with the somewhat optimistic silver foil finish (to protect me from excess solar radiation...) from Rich at Riheda in Finland and set about conducting my own assessment.

So here we are, six months later and my umbrella has been with me on multi-day backpacking trips, cheeky overnighters and almost daily on my commute (WTF Bergen? Are we trying to break the 89-continuous-days-of-rain record or something?). It's coped with thunderstorms, day-long drizzle and some fairly blowy days that have flexed the fibreglass struts pretty good. I've used it as additional shelter at the head-end of my tarp to keep out wind blown precipitation, short umbrella-bivy snack breaks in pouring rain and to shelter my pasty English skin from the beating midday sun in the middle of summer. Mad dogs and Englishmen. It turns out over-friendly sheep don't like them either. I've used it every day on some trips and sometimes not at all.

Conclusions? Well, they're inconclusive. There are times when I found an umbrella improved my level of comfort considerably. Most noticeably this was during our trip along the Jotunheimstien in the summer. Miles of forest tracks, humid conditions and sudden thunderstorms created situations where the ability to instantly deploy waterproof protection while not resorting to stopping, digging around in my pack and then wrapping my already sweat-drenched body in waterproof clothing was a blessing. A blessing that led to my non-umbrella carrying hiking partner to first covet then purchase an umbrella of his own. The midday sun was another situation where I enjoyed the umbrellas protection. I'm not sure the sneering, burly Norwegian farmers we passed were quite as convinced but fuck 'em, it was a damn sight cooler under my umbrella. Spending time setting up self-timer and long exposure photography tasks and taking short breaks in constant drizzle were other times when I distinctly remember the umbrella's instant, weather proof protection being particularly welcome. It appeared to keep quite a lot of rain off my pack too, especially those with inferior rolled closure tops. There were times when the wind and rain howled on exposed ridges or when I fought my way through thick bushes and dense forests were the umbrella was unusable and next to useless. It will be down to the individual to decided whether their chosen backpacking terrain and conditions warrant the use of an umbrella. Here's my handy decision making process:

Am I backpacking long distance established trails, with extensive gravel roads, forest tracks or jeep trails? Am I using expensive, weather-sensitive photography equipment? Am I hiking at a leisurely pace, enjoying the nature, with no need to achieve daily mileage or time targets? Am I hiking in the frickin' desert?! - an umbrella could work for you.

Am I backpacking in remote, above-tree-line environments where high winds will be not just a possibility but an almost constant issue? Will I be bushwhacking and travelling predominately off-trail through difficult, uneven terrain? Am I on an SUL trip where every ounce counts? Am I already taking skis, snowshoes, a packraft, fishing gear or other bulky equipment? - an umbrella will probably be useless. Spend the saved weight on extra chocolate instead.

Do you carry an umbrella when backpacking? Are they the greatest thing since sliced bread or a Barry Poppins fashion faux pas that should be derided in the wilderness?

Forty Six & 2 - Evolving footwear systems for Autumn

2011-09-11T19:33:00.001+02:00

In my last post I hinted that I am trying out some neoprene socks. This generated quite a few questions and subsequent conversations so I thought I'd write a quick post about how my footwear system is evolving.

I wrote about my 'summer' footwear system last year. To me it seems like a no-brainer to shun supposed 'waterproof' footwear so I'm still surprised when I talk to friends and acquaintances who struggle with the idea of getting their feet wet. Much of their concern is how to keep your feet warm when they are wet. In summer I find it easy to keep my feet warm with the application of good technique during the day (keep hiking!) and those holy sleep socks, stored dry, warm and un-touched in the bottom of my sleeping quilt, ready for the end of the day. The addition of some waterproof socks allow my sodden shoes to be worn in camp when required and with that system I'm good to go for all my backpacking in the 'peak' season from June to September.

Last year I read Dave Chenault's thorough and thought-provoking 'Backcountry footwear for the other three seasons' post which highlighted the use of neoprene socks, a technique also promoted in Mike Clelland's 'Ultralight Backpackin' Tips' book (Tip no: 88) and it got me thinking about how I would cope with cold weather backpacking like sub-Arctic Spring slush and, more topically, late season chill as we head into Autumn. Following Dave's advice I've recently obtained two pairs of NRS neoprene socks, a 2mm pair from a local kayaking store and a 0.5mm Hydroskin pair direct from NRS. I've only used them for a few days of backpacking and day hiking so far but the results are very promising. Wonderfully warm feet despite some cooler and very wet conditions of late. Sticking to the 'you can't keep your feet feet dry in the wilderness' ethos the neoprene socks don't keep the water out, rather they create a warm micro-climate around your feet. This is especially noticeable on higher ground when cold wind can rip through mesh trail runners and chill wet socks (anyone who hiked with us in Vaalaadalen will know what I'm talking about). Those who have struggled with 'wet foot technique' due to circulatory issues, even in the summer, should give them a go. They're comfortable too, thanks to their stretchy, slightly spongy texture, although it should be pointed out that they do require some extra volume in your shoes. I always buy hiking footwear one size bigger than my 'street' shoes so they fit fine. Removing the insole from your current footwear can increase the volume considerably, the slight cushion of the neoprene negating the need for an insole in most footwear.

I'm looking forward to using these weird rubber socks as we say goodbye to bugs and summer and hello to frosts and Autumn. The 0.5mm versions seem to be the best right now but the 2mm versions will be especially useful next Spring when the whole of Norway (save the few trails closet to Bergen) will be throwing off their winter coat of snow and the land will be awash with icy slush and glacially cold run-off. I'm currently using Coolmax liner socks inside them but as the mercury starts to fall I'll be giving the Smartwool Ultralight Ski socks a try. At around $25 a pair they're also an economical way to boost the insulation value of your footwear without resorting to expensive, clumpy boots.

Evolve. Or get left behind.

Camp low, lunch high

2011-08-29T18:09:00.001+02:00

Need to get out again. I picked through some dog-eared maps, still my preferred medium of surveying the land. I kept coming back to one map. I had been to Sveningen a couple of times this year already. The first I was thwarted from getting to the summit by stubborn snow pack. The second a slightly abbreviated tour, taking half the main ridge but missing the summit. But I like it there and it's accessible, even to people who don't have a car. I walked 25 minutes to the bus station, waited 5 minutes and hopped on the 600 bus.

Actually I was supposed to leave the day before. There was only one thing stopping me, the forecast of thunderstorms. I nearly just went for a quick over-nighter in the 'backyard' but when the storm hit I was glad I was spending the night at home, watching the deluge and lightning from my sheltered balcony.

The weather when I got off the bus at Syfteland was better but only slightly. Low cloud, light rain and oppressive humidity. The hour long walk-in to the trail wasn't so bad. Pretty flowers, toads, Highland cattle, bubbling streams and a light pack. I was certainly having more fun than the soldiers, exercising in the area. A few of them passed me along the road, 'yomping' along under mammoth packs, guns slung around their necks, leather boots, with a baying officer inches from their ear. Miserable, pain-filled faces.

Tarmac gives way to gravel paths and in turn these give way to bog. Something in between would have been nice. This stretch of 'trail' is marked on the map but the reality is that you have to just head 'in that direction', straight down the valley. I've walked this before, trying to stick to the higher ground but the going has been slower due to the vegetation and your feet get just as wet in the lower areas. Better just to suck it up, get your feet wet and plough on in a straight line.

After the bog there is forest track, heavier rain, soldiers crossing a lake in the buff, floating on their packs. Another short stretch of road with no sign of life except noisy farm dogs, heralding my arrival to anyone who might be in earshot. Back in the forest the gravel paths speeds me upwards, hand-railing the Sveningen ridge still wreathed in impenetrable mist. I have ideas about camping at a small lake at the actual base of Svenningen I had camped at before but through a gap in the trees I spot a likely spot on an island in the river. The low, late summer river, braided and meandering here, runs down the middle of the valley. It comprises more of gravel bars than water at this time of the year so crossing it was an easy splash through crystal clear water. Tiny trout scatter in my wake.

The area I pitch my tarp in has seen quite a bit of action. The ground is firm, the grass's knap nibbled short by sheep. There is a fire ring not to far away. The perfectly level ground and good soil means my tarp goes up in absolute perfection. Barely a crease. Drum tight. Camped earlier than I expected I while away the evening with my camera, endless cups of tea and the entertaining fingerling trout, oblivious to the giant sat above their pool, watching them.

The sky to the south, over the Svenningen ridge, is moving fast. Roiling mists give way to blue sky, moments of sunshine then black clouds, all in the space of a few minutes. Cosseted in the valley my tarp hardly registers the wind howling above. I slept well although the ground wasn't as forgiving as my grassy mattress on the last night I slept out. During the night a bit of a squall comes rolling up the valley bringing wind and rain. I hadn't expected this and not from this direction. I had oriented my tarp to give a pretty view instead of weather protection. I contemplate moving the tarp in the blackness but instead I simply deployed my umbrella at the entrance and pegged it to the ground with the only thing I can find within reach. My spoon. Comfort restored.

I was thinking of getting an alpine start (my way of mitigating not being able to sleep in any camping situation) but instead I woke up at a perfectly reasonable hour to fairer weather and hunger. Coffee, oats and some stretching and I was ready to pack up. Minutes later I was getting my feet wet again, re-crossing the river back to the trail. Half an hour later I swung right and started up the steep, slick ramparts of Svenningen proper.

The wind rises in correlation to the altitude I gain. Funnels of grass and mud between fins of slick rock. Hoods up, hoods down in answer to the changing micro-climates of each contour. Not a soul in sight. At the tiny, grimy hut, just below the 843m summit, I stop for a snack and drink. I pull on extra layers and swap my sodden wool socks out for some thin liners and neoprene booties as an experiment.

The Sveningen ridge curled away to the south-west. A good few hours of changeable under foot conditions lay ahead but a constant in the quality of views from it. I just hoped I wouldn't take the wrong trail at the end again and get lost in the forests. Poles stowed on my pack I began picking my way down off the summit hump and onto the ridge.

It was fun to walk the ridge in the opposite direction, down-climbing the few steep sections and crossing small cols than when snow packed had seemed so potentially dangerous last time. No gliders above though this time. The raging wind was probably too much for them. At times it was too much for me, catching my breath in my chest and blowing me off balance.

Lunch of warming soup in the lee of one of the rock fins that draped across Sveningen's back. Back on with the gloves and extra layers. It's still August but the best of summer has come and gone. Heading down the nose of the ridge my mantra was "don't fuck up, don't fuck up" as I promised myself I wouldn't miss the turning that led to the incongruous ending to my last trip along here. When I got to the decision point I still wasn't 100%. I knew which way was the 'wrong' one but the 'right' one didn't look good either. Taking a compass bearing I took one last look from above the tree-line and dropped down into the trail-less vegetation.

Bush-whacking my way across three small valleys and their corresponding ridges was hot sweaty work. I picked up faint deer trails periodically that seemed to be heading in the direction I wanted but saw no shoe/boot tracks or the usual paint or ribbon markings on the trees. Sometimes the trails swung away from my bearing so I left them. A little concern welled up inside me. This was taking some time. I stuck to my guns and compass bearing though, glad not to have anyone with me to worry about as I pushed through thick bushes and slid down steep rocks. Suddenly the forest changed into pine. Pine planted in straight lines. Then I saw a path, running perpendicular to me, just across a stream. I bounced across to the other bank and relished the firmness beneath my feet. With a smug grin I began my easy exit. I was pleased with myself for sticking to my compass bearing instead of blundering my way out of the situation. Oh, and the icing on the cake? As I left the trail-head for the hour long march along tarmac roads to the bus stop a car pulled up alongside me. The driver enquired where I was headed. Bergen I told him. Jump in, that's where we're headed. Alright!

I guess this trip may be one of the last this year with such a small and simple pack. Falling temperatures and different weather extremes will soon require me to carry more gear to stay safe and comfortable. In light of this I thought I'd just share with you the gear I took on this trip and that I've been taking on several trips this year. The excellent Thinglink plug-in will guide you through the contents of pack in the image above (missing from the picture is my camera and last minute inclusions of my umbrella and a Laufbursche hip belt pocket worn on my belt) I've been pleased with the simplification process my pack contents have been through this year. I'm pretty much there with how light or simple I want to go in the conditions I normally travel in. And only two stuff sacks...

I guess my new pack will be what a lot of people are interested in. The Laufbursche huckePÄCKchen in black cuben fibre has arrived a bit late in the year to get the most out of it's compact proportions but it will remain as my day pack throughout winter on everything apart from ski trips. The quality of build, attention to detail and the semi-custom service have all been alluded to before. I will only echo everyone else's praise. I haven't lived with this pack long enough to offer any reliable feed-back yet but so far so good. And as Martin Rye pointed out, for such a ridiculously light pack it LOOKS like a backpack, not a crisp packet.

The big experiment for me were the NRS neoprene socks. Paired with a thin liner these things blew me away. So much so that I am moved to write a separate post about them. For now, all you need to know is these things rock. So much WARMTH! For anyone shunning GoreTex lined footwear for any reason, these socks will become your best friends as we say goodbye to summer.

Back to basics

2011-08-16T19:44:00.001+02:00

Putting disappointment behind me it was time to move forward, by going back to basics. No elaborate plans, no mileage targets, no complicated logistics. No transport required. Local adventure. Micro adventure. In my extended 'backyard'.

I stripped my Gorilla pack of it's aluminium stay and waist belt. I cleansed my 'dinky stuff' of the minutiae required for long distance summer trails. Out went the spare batteries, bug dope, tickets, multiple maps and SPOT Messenger. I even left my keys. I packed some food that was left over from my Dirty Black Summer. With wind and rain forecast I carried rain gear and was trying out a fully enclosed Gossamer Gear SpinnShelter, kindly lent to me by Mr Morkel. Base weight 4.1 kg.

A glance at the map, a potential camp site picked. I slipped on my lightest shoes, waited for the trails to clear of weekend foot traffic and I was out the door. Quiet evening gravel roads and paths until I broke the tree-line. It was sweaty and tedious but once I was up and looking out at hills in every direction I found my smile again.

Clear of the trees the wind was ripping. Turning some of the corners it would literally take your breath away. All the vegetation danced and shook under it's influence. Once past the high point of the trip I started looking out for my chosen camp spot, a rounded plateau on the nose of a small ridge running parallel to the ridge I was on. The light was fading as fast as the trail. Time for a bit of cross-country.

Steep down. Wet and boggy across the floor and back up the other side of the valley. Watch out for the ankle-snappers. Suddenly I found a sheep trail that fortuitously led almost directly to where I wanted to camp. As the clouds thickened and the moon rose I fought with the wind for the right to pitch the SpinnShelter where I wanted it.

Camp set I tried out my new stove and pot combo, lighting up an Esbit tab for the first time. Simple and stable, even in this hooley. After eating my mac'n'cheese and supping my cocoa I laid back in the deep, dry grass. Content and smiling. The wind was still blowing hard but I was warm and it was pretty up here. Eyes heavy and scratchy I moved under the crackling spinnaker cloth, popped in some foam ear plugs and nodded off.

The rain didn't make it's expected morning appearance. I woke up fuzzy and smiling. Where was I? Oh, yeah! Sleeping up above the lights, roads, houses, jobs, TV, internet and worries. Looking down on Sognfjord. The long grass under the shelter sprouted around my bivy bag, warm and dry. I fell asleep again.

Eventually I woke up and had my Sunday morning communion with nature, sitting on a soft tuft of grass, sipping coffee. Packing up only took a few minutes. The more I simplify my pack's contents the more this task is becoming ridiculously easy and quick. I like being on the trail, heading back down off the hills, first thing in the morning. It's quiet and confounds the early morning runners. On my way home I spy a GoLite SL2 jauntily pitched just off the trail. Not the usual kind of shelter I see out here. The owner's aren't up yet so I leave them to sleep.

Spots of rain fall on the way home but I'd already hit the gravel paths again. A very fit looking old man, in shorts and trail runners, stops me and asks about the wind up top. It's better today I tell him. He thanks me and continues his fast, shirtless ascent. I hope I'm that fit when I get to that age I think to myself and vow to double my yoga regime so I can continue doing this. I must remember too that it's for the simple pleasure of lying back in the grass, away from the world, with a smile on my face. Back to basics.

The swallows only honour the houses where the people are happy

2011-08-06T15:32:00.001+02:00

The summer house. Strictly speaking it's not just a summer house. I've succumbed to it's rustic charms in the autumn, the depths of winter, and in the spring. But it's always a place of peace, tranquility, and this summer, healing. Of mind and body. After the failure of both the Jotunheimstien and Rondanestien trips this was the place where I was holed up.

Deer, bats and badgers stalk the perimeter. In fact the bats colonised the inside of the house walls. Quiet during the day then getting noisier as evening progressed. Moving towards the exits, pre-flight checks. Then in the night they went about their nocturnal aerial missions above the fields. Other sounds permeated my thoughts. As each cloud rolled over in the afternoon the metal joints of the barn's tin roof would retract, creating a clicking cacophony that seemed to applaud each previous sunny spell. When the sun came out again the tin roof would applaud it's return.

This time of year the summer house is bordered with swathes of wild flowers. Dew encrusted in the morning, buzzing with insects and heavy with scent in the afternoon. We took a few periodically, to infuse the inside of the house with their colour and fragrance.

While maybe not up to the standards of Big Sky Country the rolling arable farmscape that cradles the summer house means plenty of open sky to watch each weather front roll into town. Storm clouds wheeled around our wagon circle of out-buildings in the afternoon. One day I was laying on my back in the grass, basking in the sun. I watched one such thunderhead come rolling into view. It started to rain, big, fat dollops of water, lit up by the blazing afternoon sun. They fell to earth towards me like silver bullets. My perspective unique enough to make it almost feel like I was watching rain fall for the first time. Medium Sky Country.

Beyond the flowers, the berry bushes, the path and the out buildings there are fields. Flowing down from the forested hills to the banks of the heavy, slow river. I've seen them in various disguises. Blanketed in snowy white and sometimes laid bare in mud and broken stems. But it's in late summer that their true purpose is on display for all to see. Swaying green and gold to the rhythm of the winds, stems strong and vertical, heads bowed with the solemn knowledge that their valuable harvest will have to be relinquished soon.

The curse of the bad year for mosquitoes continued it's theme at the summer house. No one had experienced a year like it. Coupled with the gnarly, 'come and have a go if you think yer hard enough' red and black ants and the delta-winged green eyed bitey flies there was no time to drop your guard. I stalked the kitchen before meal times with a fly swat. My attitude of insect karma waning. I was creeping death. In the middle of all this I fell in love with the hover flies. Resplendent in gold and black, with oversized compound eyes, they looked like comedy B-movie wasps. Their funny non-invasive tongue, lapping at your skin. The acceptable face of bugdom.

As well as flowers there are berry bushes galore. Bountiful spoils to those prepared to fend off briars, insects, stinging nettles and the coy berry bushes themselves that seem to shield their prize from you behind curving leaves. Raspberries. Blackcurrants. Redcurrants. Giant rhubarb. Home-made jams. Porridge toppings.

My quest for a simpler life is easier here. Little in the way of external influences and few modern luxuries. I washed my clothes in buckets, chopped wood for fuel and had to collect my water from the hand pump well. Tin bath. Everything took time and gave a sense of achievement. Could I live everyday like this? Is it just the romantic daydream of a city slicker? Would I crave a simple fucking tap after a few months?! I don't know. It's nice to think I could.

Bird life around the summer house was diverse and entertaining. Melodious little green and yellow things, the stern looking black capped ones. I know, I need a field guide. Ducks zoomed overhead, often in pairs, quacking monosyllabic instructions to each other. "Left". "Right". Geese, only usually noticed in the spring and autumn when they're on their migratory package tours, honked over head on their way to the river. Cranes, stretched out in the sky with a really casual wing beat, coasted by, lit by sunshine between the thunderstorms.

But it was the swallows, the resident aviation experts, that caught our hearts and imaginations. There is a line in 'The Summer Book' that says "the swallow... that only honour the houses where the people are happy". Their young, hidden away in mud cup nests, amongst the internal roof braces of the old barn. The adults, resplendent in navy blue, silver white and crimson cheeks, would feed on insects, buzzing low over the crops swaying in the surrounding fields. Then they would circle the summer house, check their approach and swoop in at breakneck speed, diving through the ridiculously narrow gap above the barn's rickety doors. The speed, precision and ability to cope with the change in light levels had us watching them in awe on most days.

I was told there is another Scandinavian saying that suggests it is bad luck to stay at your summer house after the swallows leave. Our timing was impeccable. On the morning of our last full day in the house there was a commotion outside as the entire colony of swallows were outside, resting on power lines and pylons while their young rested, slightly less gracefully, on tin roofs. It was the day that the youngsters were leaving the nest. More commotion as a hawk circled over head, a beady eye cast over the scene in case a hapless youngster got into difficulty whilst learning how to use their perfectly proportioned wings for the first time.

"Looks like we got ourselves a 'reader'!" - I got through some reading material in that time too. No TV and limited internet access will do that to ya. I read at home, it's just that it seems to be in small, stolen moments or as an aid to sleep. Here at the summer house I read voraciously. From first thing in the morning, while the coffee machine gurgled away, to last thing at night while I waited to locate and exercise extreme prejudice on the rogue mosquitoes that had successfully infiltrated the inner sanctum of my bedroom. I read 'Two Caravans' in one day. Lying in the sun, stretched out on the couch, sitting at the kitchen table. The books shelves were not full of what I considered my usual reading material but after some initial protestations I got stuck in and couldn't stop.

My mind and body healed again it was time to leave the summer house. A morning of familiar chores that signal the end of another visit, possibly another year. Taking in the hand crafted heart, filling the log baskets, shutting off the electricity. The shame of leaving unappreciated flowers and berries, yesterday yellow and sour, now hanging heavily on their stems, red and swollen. The last of the swallows were having a final scout of the area before thinking of Africa. Their nests empty and quiet now. It will all come around again. Not just the swallows at the summer house but the mountains, the summer, the opportunities and the promises that this country offers me.

Every cloud has a lead lining

2011-08-06T13:22:00.001+02:00

A week of rest at the summer house and my shin was feeling good. Repacked, re-energised and ready to hit the trails that snaked through the Rondane mountains for a week. We were given a lift through the mountains and after tending the graves of M's relatives, driving through intense thunderstorms and several stops for waffles, coffee, rommegrot and spekemat we were dumped on the side of the road. It was raining right from the start but we started hiking into the greyness, full of good cheer and promises. Our plan was simple. Hike a couple of hours off the road, in the direction of one of the DNT huts, spend the night in the tent and then start the trail properly in the morning, back at the road.

The rain didn't last long and we were soon walking through rugged scenery, lit by intense low evening sunshine and framed by blackening skies. You could see the weather systems rolling in and count down the arrival of the next shower. Rainbows, thunder, roiling mists from the valleys below and wheeling tentacles of dark cloud above. Lemmings and ptarmigans scattered in our wake.

The evening light show was truly mesmerising. I sat and watched the sky change colour and shape constantly. The sun was painting pictures across the sky and the cloud was the ever morphing canvas. Dark and menacing one moment then, in the time it took to look down and squash an attacking mosquito, light and playful the next.

Then a weather system fanned in from the east, dumping rain, and we got into the DuoMid to wait it out. We had dinner and shared a book, taking it in turns to read to each other. The rain continued and we realised that we were in for the night now. We squared away all our gear and hunkered down. Foam ear plugs dulled the tempest and I drifted off, glad to be back outdoors.

I awoke to the sound of driving rain. Had it rained all night? Did the seams hold out? Oh wait, no, they hadn't. Gazing up at the yellow apex I could see several streaks of water down the side of the inner net. I should have resealed the seams at some point. It had been fine during the thunderstorms on the Jotunheimstien but up here, above the tree line, the constant rain was ably assisted by the wind into exploiting any weakness. M's sleeping bag was damp on one side. She purred in her sleep and rolled over while I lay wide awake fretting about the weather, our route and those pesky seams.

When we were both awake we discussed our options. Keep going on our planned itinerary or bail to a lower route, possibly somewhere where I could reseal the shelter's seams, until tomorrow where we could rejoin the Rondanestien further into the park. Opening the DuoMid's door another factor revealed itself. Visibility was minimal. Instead of watching the clouds, we were IN a cloud. OK, more organic scheduling. Get up. Pack everything inside the shelter. Hit the trail. Eat breakfast next to the hut at the trailhead that lead towards the interior of the park. There we would make a decision about the safety of going over the 1300m+ pass that would take us towards the next hut or camp site.

On the morning march into the wind and rain our decision making process followed our agreed plan but kept coming up with different solutions. The weather was bad, but the trails are well marked. Keep going. The weather was bad and we didn't have a fully waterproof shelter any longer. Go lower. The weather was bad, but we could always stay at the next hut to dry out. Keep going.

My mind swung back and forth as we walked through the swirling damp. The rain was easing. Muen, a constant over our shoulder yesterday was still absolutely absent. Not even a faint outline of it's bulk could be discerned. Similarly the mountain road, which could be seen from parts of the trail as a thin shiny ribbon yesterday, was totally missing. We just had to keep walking west, following the red T's and we would get to the road. I recognised bits of the trail from yesterday. All was ok.

Then 'thump'. My shin. Was it just a bad step that caused me to notice the site of my old injury? No, there it was again. Hmmm, maybe it's just a bit of a hangover from when I injured it. "It would be shit to have to call an end to the trip because of that flaring up again!" I laughed to myself. "Ha ha!". Owww! No, there it was again. It wasn't fine after all. M strolled up behind me, in the middle of one of those positive mood swings that said the trail was well marked and we should probably head for the next hut. I told her that my shin was playing up again. We continued in disappointed silence.

We didn't even see the road until we were practically standing on it. We had a fairly tense and silent breakfast in the lee of the hut at the trailhead. It looked like we required a third option for the day. Immediate retreat from the mountains to one of the valley roads and hopefully a bus to Ringebu and the train station. And that's what we did. We followed the mountain road down into the valley. The walking was painful for me and saddening for the pair of us. We talked a lot on that walk. I really felt that I was letting M down. At first she was understandably upset, these were her final days in Norway. Then the acceptance from both of us that these things happen. We weren't having to put our plans on hold due to stupidity, or lack of planning. We'd done the best we could with the situation we had. We made our way to a hotel. While we dried our gear and I rested my leg M went off and explored the local trails by herself. In the evening we had dinner sat down by the trout-stuffed river, heating food over our gas stove and quaffing red wine from my Kupilka kuksa.

The next day we rose at a reasonable hour and wolfed down a breakfast that was fit more for people heading off into the mountains, not those of us heading to the parking lot and waiting for the rural bus that plied it's trade down this valley just once a day. The bus cruelly wound it's way back over the mountain pass we had driven up, walked away from, walked back towards and ultimately walked all the way down, yesterday. The visibility was better but the mountain tops were still hidden under their wigs of cloud. Ball-ups with the rail network and hangovers from yesterday's disappointment and frustration bubbled over at Ringebu station. The rain fell and the mood darkened.

And then I noticed this bit of graffiti on the train station wall:

And it got me thinking. You know what? I shouldn't be really angry. Anger is wasted on situations like this. Sure things didn't pan out the way we'd hoped and planned. I was sad that I was unable to give M the kind of farewell to Norway that we had hoped for. I was sad that I hadn't been able to complete the Jotunheinstien trail with Thomas. But Norway isn't going anywhere. The mountains aren't going anywhere. And neither is M's connection to this part of the world. There would be other times.

And with that I decided to look forward. Let's get this injury issue sorted, work out what I need to do to prevent it reoccurring and start thinking about the next adventure. After a protracted journey by bus, taxi and car back to the summer house we had the dismal task of unpacking backpacks that we had meticulously packed, with a supplies for a week, just 48 hours earlier. With that task out of the way we sat down to a relaxed supper and the sound of the iron stove crackling away. Home-made jam and brown cheese. Smiles returned. Our train tickets to our respective homes were not valid for another week. So we eased seamlessly again into summer house time. The summer house where the big clock no longer ticks or tocks and only chimes when you close the bedroom door too hard. Where the kitchen clock requires constant winding to keep going, a task which often gets forgotten because... is it really that important? There summer house where I remove my wrist watch, set it down on the dressing table and let time stand still. Just for a while.

(more photos can be viewed by clicking here)

Dirty Black Summer - Joy & Failure on the Jotunheimstien

2011-08-05T14:40:00.001+02:00

Well, it's a pretty well known fact now that my plans for the summer didn't quite go according to, well, plan. Maybe I should have heeded Hendrik's advice and just kept my big mouth shut. The two trails I'd chosen with two different companions didn't seem out of my league. They were just easily navigated footpaths through a variety of terrain. It was my holiday. I would take it all slowly and enjoy it. No overbearing time pressures. I had high hopes. I was prepared. But I guess you can't make contingencies for every eventuality. My Jotunheimstien adventure turned into my Dirty Black Summer.

Dirty? There was plenty of dirt. The Joutunheimstien was pretty wet and boggy this year. Some days it felt like my feet were permanently under water, from morning until night. Late thaw, lots of Spring rain. Coupled with the hoards of livestock that roam the forests and hill farms it was tough to stay 'clean'. Spending more than a couple of days on the trail you start to shift your expectation of what is clean and what is dirty anyway. Black? Black I guess certainly conveys my mood at the point on this trip when things went sour. I've moved on from then but I still get twinges of disappointment despite the subsequent positive feelings of lessons learned or personal growth attained. It wasn't all bad though. I remember lots of laughs and smiles. Grinning from ear to ear at the simple satisfaction of winning the cherry stone spitting contest. Laughing at our different approaches to playing the Guessing Game. Summer? Well it was the summer. Summer is short in Scandinavia and there is an expectation to cram in as much outdoor time as possible. Did I bite off more than I could chew this year? I don't think so. It just didn't work out the way I expected. At least this summer was warm. Some 20C nights that had me sleeping in nothing more than a layer of merino, laying on top of my quilt.

Anyway, for a far more positive, less whiny and day-to-day account of our time on the Jotunheimstien I must point you in the direction of Thomas's wonderful accounts on his blog. And a whole bunch more of my photographs can be viewed here. Instead, in this post, I'll ruminate about aspects of life on the trail as I experienced it.

Karma Bums - During our journey we were keen to keep our karma account topped up. Frequent deposits of uneaten snacks in any hut we passed. Trying not to kill mosquitoes. Doing our best to highlight deficiencies in the route marking for the benefit of any hikers following us. In return we made withdrawals on our karma fund by knocking on a few trail-side doors for drinking water and once asking cheekily to pitch our shelters on someone's lawn. This request was answered in the most emphatic and kind fashion possible (read Thomas's account on his blog of this particular slice of trail magic) and reaffirmed our faith in human kindness. This particular act of charity seems even more poignant now in light of recent events here in Norway.

Group dynamics - Backpacking trips for many of us are solitary affairs. Some people prefer it this way. Some people prefer to always hike with others. I kinda like the benefits of both and easily switch between the two. Plunging yourself into the fairly close proximity of life on the trail, for two weeks, with someone you've never met in person before can seem a little daunting to some. Happily I felt I'd gotten to know Thomas pretty well through the digital medium for quite some time. Previous trips with other 'internet weirdos' have always worked out wonderfully and we hit it off from the start despite Thomas being taller than I expected and me being shorter than he expected ;) We quickly slipped into a hiking groove and found our pace in synch for much of the time.

I think you know you're getting on well with someone when there are no such things as awkward silences. We switched happily from incessant conversations about our lives, backpacking and future projects (whereupon we would inevitably lose the trail) to total silence when we would enjoy powering through the trail, eating up the miles. Getting it done. Keep on keeping on. I never saw these short periods of silent, focused marching as negative aspects of our time on the trail. They evolved organically and we both enjoyed them immensely. It was thinking time. Exercise time. In the mornings we seemed to talk a lot about gear, in the afternoons less esoteric subjects. We had in-jokes and shared phrases and sayings from our respective cultures. "Fancy a brew?"!

We relied on each other a lot and that came naturally too. When we hit steeper climbs I liked to lead us up, used to huffing and puffing up the lumpier terrain of the west coast where I live. Whenever we needed to 'get some miles done' in the afternoon we took it in turn to 'draft' each other. I sometimes had to rely on Thomas to 'take us home' later in the day, when those last kilometres to chosen campsites or huts dragged and I got tired and quiet. We picked up gear for each other, shared snacks and tried to lift each other's spirits during times of stress or illness. I was sick for a couple of days with stomach complaints and another when I suffered splitting headaches all afternoon (initially I thought it was dehydration but pulling my pack's shoulder straps in an inch miraculously cured that). Thomas registered my mood and reacted accordingly. I gained a good friend on this trip.

Learning by doing - I felt we both learned a lot from each other and the trail. We were both new to hiking for more than a few days in a row (my previous longest trip was six days) and we each brought different techniques and gear to try and cope with trail life. Thomas taught me useful knots (from his world of hammocking) and how to use more creative aspects of my camera than IA (Idiot Auto not Intelligent Auto) mode. He also taught me on one occasion a more positive attitude to a particularly irritating section of trail which was making me inadvertently teach Thomas new Anglo-Saxon words that he didn't need to add to his excellent English.

Together we learned about keeping safe and hygienic on the trail. Not taking chances on slippery rocks and roots for the sake of a slightly easier stream crossing. The abundance of animal shit on some sections of the trail meant we had to keep aware of contaminating not just ourselves but also water sources for others. This was the first trip where I'd had to treat pretty much all my water. We also learned about how our bodies coped with distance, pace, sleep and food. Gear was discussed a lot, we can't help it, we're nerds like that. It was strangely comforting to be in the presence, for once, of someone who also fretted over the same practical details. It was interesting that we were moving towards very similar systems yet we still had areas where we saw things differently. We discussed our findings together. The lessons learned will stand us in good stead for future trips.

The simple life - this was a concept we had discussed previous to our trip. A state of mind that intrigued us. While we were nowhere near any kind of true 'living off the land'/bushcraft kind of existence our daily needs did distil to common denominators. Water. Shelter. Food. We made no claims to be completely 'getting away from it all' on this trip. We wore watches. We carried keys. We both carried phones that allowed internet connectivity in places (some to greater success than others...), I carried a GPS SPOT Messenger and Thomas a regular GPS unit. Are we still 'getting away from it all' or is the seeping of digital technology into our outdoor existence just progress, in the same vein of nylon, velcro and plastic sporks? That's down to the individual to decide. All I know is I enjoyed sitting in the gutter of a forest track, heating my water for breakfast on a recycled cat food can stove with the sun on my face and nothing on my to-do list that morning except 'find water', 'appreciate the trees' and 'keep walking'.

Final lesson - disappointment. I think it was the ninth day of hiking. After our 'zero day' at a B&B we pulled two 30km+ days and were feeling strong, comfortable with life on the trail and full of energy. A short time after leaving one of the DNT huts where we had spent the night we decided to dump our packs and catch a quick summit off the trail that, according to the guide book, offered our first glimpses of both the Jotunheim mountains and also the Rondane range. The view was magnificent. Wide open country, finally above the tree line after nine days in the forests. The trail promised to be more like I was used to hiking in the west, drier, rockier and open with great views. Back to our packs we hit the trail. I started to get a niggle in my left shin. A momentary tightness. I stopped a few times to shoot more video and pictures of Thomas and gave it a bit of a stretch. Half an hour later I asked Thomas if we could stop a bit earlier for a break. My shin was getting painful. Ibuprofen. Stretch. No good. The further we hiked towards our lunchtime goal of waffles at a roadside cafe the more painful it became to walk. The pain stretched now from my ankle to under my knee. A couple of times I had to pull up instantly. Shooting pains. It was slowly dawning on me that I wasn't go to walk this off. It wasn't going to get better overnight either. Thomas looked back. "I think this is it for me" I said, "I'm off the trail". In silence I managed to hobble to our lunchtime stop where I slumped dejectedly on a picnic bench. That was me done.

Phone calls were made. My extraction organised. Plans for the rest of the trail adjusted. Plans that didn't include me. I would never have expected Thomas not to finish the trail but it still hurt when he left the next morning while I sat around waiting for friends to come and rescue me. The only silver lining to the situation was that it happened where it did. We'd managed to get to a road and my exit from the trail was carried out without little effort. I was left feeling disappointed and frustrated. Would I come back and finish this trail? Completing it as a thru-hike seemed a bit arbitrary one moment and the whole point of our journey the next. Why had I gotten injured? It wasn't the result of a moment of recklessness. I felt stronger and fitter in the last few days than I had for a long time. We had been careful not to push too hard. We stretched often and rested well. What was life trying to teach me here? What could I learn from this situation? Time for introspection stretched out before me. I left a generous pile of unneeded snacks at the road side hut as my final instalment to the karma fund. For Thomas.

What I needed now was rest. My friend's whisked me back to their summer house, nestled in the folds of rolling farm country, a few hours drive away. The car effortlessly unwound the miles we had toiled to accrue. There were still a chance to visit the mountains of the Rondane. If I rested well and my injury relented then maybe I could be back on the trail in a week or so?

"What's going on buddy?" "You're being put into carbon-freeze"

2011-07-02T20:39:00.001+02:00

Yep, things will be a little quiet on this blog for a while as I head out to enjoy the simple life for a couple of weeks with Thomas, backpacking north on the Jotunheimstien trail in southern Norway and then 10 days with M, south on the Rondanestien trail. I had every intention of trying to round up some guest bloggers for your entertainment but I've been too busy with running our Summer Camp at school and too tired after weighing and packing 24 days of food to get around to organising it. I like the guest blogger concept and have enjoyed posting on a couple of blogs, most notably Hendrik's where some good discussion took place on the merits of leaving those pesky rain pants behind. The irony being that I've decided to take mine on my month long trip due to the weather forecast, the length of time away and varied terrain of the journey. Those desperate for a fix of my ramblings would do good to keep an eye out on Beni's blog in the near future...

I will endeavour to try a bit of very simple, low-tech mobile blogging, just to keep you up to date with our progress and you'll be able to follow our progress on my SPOT page when it's activated on Monday.

Have a great summer, whatever you're up to. I'll see you in Jabba's palace, when Leia defrosts me from my carbonite.

Package tours

2011-06-21T21:35:00.001+02:00

Summer is here! Everyone is planning big adventures. Myself included. Firstly I'll be hitting the trail with Thomas in July. Motivated and inspired by this photo set we will be walking the Jotunheimstien from the outskirts of Oslo to Jotunheimen, home of the giants. Once there, amongst the granite monsters, we will decide wether to extend our trip deeper into the heart of this austere and epic landscape. When that little jaunt is over I will travel by bus/train to one of Norway's other treasures, the achingly pretty mountains of the Rondane, which I last visited on a road trip back in 2008. There I will swap hiking partners and join my friend M. We will embark on a 10 day waltz along the Rondanestien trail, through her family's ancestral backyard, as a way for her to say goodbye to Norway for the foreseeable future as she pursues her career and a return to Ethiopia.

The trip will take me through changing scenery. From the country's capital city, through dark, green forests of the south, up into two very different rugged mountain ranges and back into the flatter forests of the east. This trip will test many facets. Group dynamics, my fitness, my psyche and gear choices. It will be my longest trip by far and the idea of leaving home for a month with nothing more than I can carry in my Gorilla pack fills me with a giddy apprehension.

So what is going in the Gorilla? The DuoMid for sure. Too much for the forest? Not stable enough for the mountains? It'll be fine. It'll also cope with switching between one occupant and two. I'll take the BushBuddy Ultra stove for the trip with Thomas (the first 10 days in the forest should be it's ideal habitat) and switch to a more 'instant' canister stove with M in the Rondane. I'm pretty sure I'll spend some quality time napping and 'power resting' during my extended holiday so I'll carry a CCF pad either instead or in addition to a blow-up. Wearing the same clothes for a month will be interesting. I'm toying with the idea of a polyester button up shirt instead of the more usual technical base-layer. Nerdy or not you shouldn't fear zip-off pants either. Shoes are still undecided. Made in England or Made in China. Hell, I might even carry rain pants...

Dead Reckoning

2011-06-07T20:58:00.001+02:00

I haven't felt 'the fear' for a while and it's arrival, here in these benign, warm woods, less than an hour's drive from Bergen was surprising. We had camped the previous night aside a tranquil lake, been walking beautiful mountain trails all day and now, after a seemingly minor mistake, had just spent two hours trying to find a faint trail that would finally connect to the path of our inward journey yesterday. It's a trail I have failed to find twice before, both times going in the opposite direction, up. This time we had walked off the nose of the ridge, following a clear and definite trail. The mistake I had made was not unfolding the map properly and missing the fact that there was a second trail, right in the crease of the well folded paper. For a second I assumed I knew exactly where we were going. My friend then made the mistake of keeping quiet and not questioning my judgement when she got an inkling that this descent off the ridge wasn't as straight forward as I was making it. Minor errors that when combined lead to a descent on the wrong side of the ridge and wasted time and energy trying to rectify the situation. We didn't fancy climbing back above the tree-line to where we had missed the other trail. At least three hours. It was late and we were running out of food. We'll head due west, across a couple of kilometres of heavily wooded hillsides until we find the trail...

So deep in the woods, concerns of forcing my friend to endure an enforced camp with no food and the bewildering and claustrophobic trees surrounding us, 'the fear' rose in my chest, just for a moment. I decided to head back to the last known trail, head for the nearest road, hope for a phone signal, swallow some pride and humble pie and call for back-up.

The trip had started so light heartedly. A somewhat spontaneous overnighter after a day of gentle canoeing and with thoughts of summer plans of much bigger mountains. We took the bus out of the city and alighted next to a football pitch where keen amateurs were shouting and hustling. The cafe was open so we took on a last minute waffle with jam and coffee. Walking down the sun baked road we stripped off layers in the heat and marvelled at sun-bathing snakes and slightly over-dressed Highland cattle cooling their hooves in road-side streams.

The tarmac morphed into gravel and that in turn gave way to game trails that wound into the bogs between the chain of lakes. Navigation here was easier, stay between the valley walls. The conditions underfoot were very wet, a sign of the week of heavy rain that had preceded this weekend's short, sharp heat wave. M was trying out her Tech Amphibians as hiking shoes. She wasn't too keen on the water rushing in but loved the water rushing back out again. Another convert I believe. After making camp on the shores of Wolf Lake we spent a few hours in the warm rays of the fading sun, playing cards and eating couscous before retiring to the 'mid to lie wide awake, unable to sleep in the land of the midnight sun.

The sleep that eventually came ended with a damp, chilled morning. Someone protested that they weren't getting out of bed until they had a cup of tea in their hands. Even when they did get a freshly brewed cuppa they didn't exit the sleeping with any expedience.

The morning sun burnt off the mist and highlighted the bejewelled spider webs. We packed up and headed into the forests that smother the lower ramparts of Svenningen. This time we would climb the side ridge that juts out of Svenningen's midriff.

The forest may have been silent and muggy but at least it offered shade. The steep rocky climb continued under the full gaze of the late morning sun. We broke the climb into a few sections and enjoyed breaks at vantage points, sucking in air as well as crackers, nuts and melting chocolate. By the time we reached the top it was lunchtime and we sliced up pitta bread that was disappointingly passed it's best and we tried to cheer it up with Babybel cheese. As is the case with every visit to these hills we were serenaded by the creaking carbon of the gliders dancing above and below our perch.

We spent the afternoon gliding south west, along the ridge. Stinginess with the sun screen in the morning would later haunt me in the post-hike shower with a burning reminder. Man, I've got some stoopid tan lines right now. The mid-afternoon slump was alleviated with a refreshing mountain frappuccino. Half a bottle of snow melt water, half a sachet of dark chocolate drink powder, half a sachet of instant coffee. Add three good spoonfuls of snow. Close lid. Shake. Dreamy.

We almost made it. We were heading towards end of the ridge. Hunger and commitments willed us on towards the descent, the forest, the road out and, hopefully not long after, a bus ride back to the city. Little mistakes. Bigger consequences. Anyway, we got home eventually. Maybe not as conquering heroes but humbled, more aware, better educated.

"Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes" - Gandhi

Press Gang

2011-06-04T00:46:00.001+02:00

Messin' about in boats is pretty cool. You see the world from a different perspective. You experience nature at a different pace. You're ass will probably get damp too.

Once again we took to the rivers and lakes of Hauglandsdalen, this time a flotilla of two. Low clouds and greyness waved us off from the dock.

But it couldn't keep us down. Swallows, wagtails, ducks, butterflies, tadpoles and bugs kept us fascinated and enthralled as we explored. The day brightened. We brewed fresh cups of tea and everything was good.

We hauled out at the furthest point and set about grilling. More cups of tea and banter. Times past, times to come. Things have changed since last we were here and things will change again. The hills and mountains around us reminded us that we are merely passing through.

Fuelled on grilled meat snacks we played in the tails of some minor rapids. The white water further up looked fun. Another time with a different crew maybe.

There was time for one more stop. Yet more tea, this time of the afternoon variety. There was dainty cake too. It was all terribly fucking civilised.

Breaking radio silence

2011-05-29T14:02:00.001+02:00

May. It has almost passed in a blur of contradictions. It started off here in Norway blazing with summer promise but fizzled out in a sombre, autumnal mood.

It's been a few weeks since I posted on here so I just thought I'd let everyone know that I haven't dropped off the face of the earth. In fact I did have a blog post half-written but when Hendrik asked for guest posters on Hiking In Finland, while he was messin' around in the water, I submitted my 'Death to Rain Pants' article which started some good discussions.

Excuses for the lack of content? Well, I haven't been out into the mountains since my last excursion. The end of the school year is always busy and that has kept my ventures local and short. I've also found myself becoming less interested in posting gear reviews. Doing gear reviews well takes time, contacts and dedication. Often I find 'First Impressions' or 'First Looks' spike desire, envy and consumption without providing long term evaluation and subjective reactions. I am as guilty as the next blogger of this and you'll probably see less of this type of content on here in future. There are far superior exponents anyway. Hendrik, Phil, Maz and others provide far more detailed, topical and interesting gear reviews. No one wants to hear about how awesome my three year old Montane rain jacket is, especially when it's design has been up-dated three times since I bought it!

And it's not that I haven't been inspired recently. Between Roman Dial's inspirational monster of a guest post, Dave Chenault's hopes for a traverse of the 'Bob', Jorgen's Voxnan adventure and the arrival of books from Andrew Skurka and Mike Clelland! I am looking forward to my own time in the mountains this summer with relish. I will be hitting the trail with Thomas in July and I'm looking forward to spending time with him and exploring the heart of Norway. I'm also gagging to give packrafting a go. The recent explosion in this form of wilderness transportation and the almost endless potential for adventure here in Norway has me itching to don a dry suit and blow up one of these weird and wonderful little boats.

"Mayday! Mayday! Man overboard again. The sharks are already circling. They only eat the brave" - The Gallows

Adders and Bandannas

2011-04-25T16:05:00.001+02:00

It's nice not to have deadlines and goals sometimes. Too often trips into the wilds are sandwiched between other obligations. We rush around clocking miles with one eye on the timetable. Wouldn't it be nice, just once, to take a trip out to the mountains and forests and not have a planned itinerary beyond getting back to civilisation? Not even a definite route? To just follow your nose?

Dreams do come true and over the Easter break I got to wallow in a self-gratifying trip that had little more in the way of plans than 'get to the mountains, walk home'. With the public transport system shutting down to an almost stand-still over the holiday week I was lucky enough to have good friends save the day and offer to drive me the short distance to Ulvvatnet, the scene of many of our glamping trips last year. I exited the car and waved goodbye before turning around, squelching my feet instantly into ankle deep mud and thinking to myself 'Right, which way?'.

I had some vague ideas about making the summit of Svenningen at some point of the trip but this depended purely on how much snow there would be. I have to admit to being firmly in a summer state of mind now, all vestiges of winter well and truly swept out of my mind after Finnmarksvidda, so I carried no crampons or ice axe and had shunned snowshoes in a last minute pang of UL-itis during packing. No, I was here with a light pack and heart. I started threading trails together from a variety of previous trips along with unknown trails and roads and hoped they would coalesce into a workable and diverse journey back home.

I didn't just stick to trails. In order for the unfolding route to work I had to link together cross country rotes with roads, farm tracks and jeep trails. This brought me into contact with a lot more human evidence. Houses, holiday homes, gates, deserted farm yards. Far from taking anything away from the journey they added colour and life to these stretches. I'm not about to abandon my quest for the quieter, deserted swathes of the Norwegian countryside but it's nice sometimes to get that contrast. Instead of my existence being squarely in either the city or the wilderness this was some kind of middle ground, both environments juxtaposing each other nicely.

When I'm on a trip like this I'm not usually one for stopping and talking to everyone I meet beyond a smiling salutation. Sometimes I do if I have information about difficult conditions about the trail in the direction the other person is travelling but mostly I keep myself to myself. Then I met Jimmy.

On the trail up to Svinningen I bumped into a guy with a great big white beard, a pink knitted hat set at a jaunty angle and two hiking staffs in his hands that looked freshly hewn from oak trees. He tapped my spindly carbon Gossamer Gear LT4 trekking poles with his behemoth hiking staffs with such force I thought they were going to snap in half. "Two poles. Good idea" he said. We had a brief discussion about the trail ahead. He didn't think I would make the summit of Svenningen. Another month at least before the snow receded he said. I thanked this crazy mountain man for his input before informing him that I would camp up ahead and consider my options in the morning. He smiled, tilted his head and bade me good evening, leaving me to march up the trail onto ever deepening snow-pack. Along the way I came across what can only be described as 'installations'. Hand painted signs of Bible verses, poems and even one with a cuddly troll and bottle of schnapps that, when I later had it translated to me, welcomed travellers to take a nip to fortify their weary feet and increase their bravery but warned against taking the whole bottle in case they ended up in hell. Unable to read it fully at the time I was pretty sure it was telling me to partake of the hooch lest I came a cropper later on the trail. So I took a shot. Every trail should have one of these. When I got home I did a little research on the area and discovered that the crazy mountain man I had encountered is a character known as Jimmy Øvredal.

More 'installations' appeared, another one imploring me to imbibe yet more alcohol (with more schnapps, shot glasses and empty bullet casings...), a metal crucifix fixed to a tree and one sign encouraging and subsequently festooned with women's bras and panties that quite frankly left me speechless. At the time it was all very surreal and even a little sinister given that I was concerned about the condition of the trail up to Svenningen but now that I know it's all Jimmy's work I've come to look back on his installations with a smile. Next time I meet him on the trail I'll be sure to sit a while and to listen to anything he has to say.

The combination of the worsening trail conditions, creeping darkness and the dawning that exiting the valley via Svenningen was not on the cards had me heading back down the valley in search of camp. This took forever. Everywhere I looked the ground was sodden. Not just damp but literally swimming. Every enticing looking clearing was nothing but moss and grass floating on water. Eventually, after climbing another trail in search of firmer terra firma, I found a small clearing that afforded something approaching solid ground underneath.

The next day I backtracked again down the valley to the crossroads I had passed the previous day. Looking at my map last night I reckoned I could join two trails, either side of a steep ridge, that would take me around the back side of Svenningen, well below the snow-line. My powers at finding trails that don't exist are matched only by my powers at not finding trails that allegedly do. More artistic route finding when I left the trail at Baggeskardet had me heading towards a chain of small lakes, still in the grips of winter ice. But in this heat, surely not for long. Trying to go around these lakes was sweaty work. The bogs that surrounded them were endless and their steep sides thick with scratchy bushes and trees. Eventually I discovered faint animal trails right on the edge of the lakes that made discernable forward progress possible again.

During all my bushwhacking adventures on this trip I had thought about snakes. As in England, the only one to worry about here is the Adder and I was pretty sure they would beat a hasty retreat as soon as they heard my less than stealthy approach. So it was with a certain amount of surprise that I took my eye off the trail for one second after lunch that I nearly stepped on an Adder sunning it's self in the blazing afternoon heat. I caught it's movement out of the corner of my eye, coiled like a venomous, hissing firework ready to go off at any moment. By the time my body reacted I was almost straddling the damn thing. It had a half-hearted attempt at striking out while I regained my balance and reached for my camera. By the time I had the camera in my hand it was snaking (...) off into the undergrowth, hissing it's indignation at being disturbed from it's solar powering. I spent the next hour with my eyes rigidly focused on the trail ahead until the adrenaline worked it's way out of my system.

A short road stretch and I was climbing again. In the heat of the afternoon it was a relief to be walking alongside the Sandelvi river and it's crystal clear waters that crashed and boiled their way down from the retreating snow on the surrounding hills. More than once I stopped along this short stretch of sublime river to tank up my fluid reserves, sit in it's cool air and wash my face and neck in it's elixir-like properties. With no tight schedule or transport connections to worry about I enjoyed this pressure free travel. I stopped wherever I wanted, even if it was 20 minutes past the last spot that look inviting. This also was refreshing in a way deeper than the waters of the Sanelvi could ever reach.

Never stop learning. Whilst waiting for the next Mike Clelland instalment to hit my post box I had been reading his earlier Going Lighter! tome as well as Jorgen's Smarter Backpacking and Ray Jardine's Trail Life. I pick up pearls of wisdom every time I read these books and hope I never get to the point where I feel that these people can't teach me anything. The humble cotton bandanna was case in point on this trip. I lost count of the number of ways it got used: neck drape, towel, face cloth, lens cleaner, oven mitt (for holding freezer bags full of hot porridge), etc. Jorgen and Ray's musings on footwear had me make subtle changes to my own system that lead to more comfort and blister-free 'plates of meat'. Reading rocks.

Cowboy camping was fun. Inspired by Helen's recent blog post on this style of ultra minimalist camping I found the perfect conditions to emulate her night out. Warm and dry with hardly a breath of wind. I fixed up a simple hiking pole configuration to hold the bug netting of my bivy bag off my face and winked out under a sky full of stars. It was bliss. The camp was made even more comfortable by finding an old fire ring that allowed for an evening of quiet contemplation, staring into the flames for a couple of hours. Packing up in the morning took minutes.

Linking up the trails back towards Bergen was not without it's low points. One valley became an hour long slog through horse-shit infested icy slop and the trails that lead to Livarden were an obstacle course of rotten snow, mud, ice and stream beds. My way linked all kinds of thoroughfares. Tarmac roads, bridleways, trekking association trails, footpaths, game trails, no trails. Sometimes I got to a trail and decided at the last minute to go another way, sometimes I went the wrong way altogether but all the time I walked with the air of not rushing. There was no need to beat myself up about getting down a trail quickly.

The only time I felt any pressure to get out of an area was the descent of Furedalen. This valley is obviously rarely, if ever travelled and I now know why. It's hard to appreciate a valley that is full of shin deep bog and dead trees. But even here I found myself taking positives from the situation. Sure it was energy sapping, not very pretty and difficult to find in the first place but it was path to better trails and times later on. And it least it was all downhill. If I had to have walked up that bastard I might have changed my mind. Plus I got to see a lady frog wearing a man frog as a backpack in the middle of the path. What's not to love?!

With Furedalen not providing any particularly enticing campsites I ploughed on a bit longer than planned for the last night until I found this sweet grassy shelf on the steep sides of Hauggjelsvarden, part of the hills that make up the plateau that sits to the north east of Bergen. My house lays directly on the other side and I thought about my evening sun drenched balcony as the sun dipped over the hills behind and washed up over the peaks and ridges in front of me. The sun's passing first filled the valley below with shadow before retreating up over the contours changing their colour's from grey to brown to ochre and pink. The next morning I had the simple task of a 15 minute cowboy camping pack-up before striding up and onto familiar trails at last. The clouds rolled in to provide some final heavenly drama on this Easter morning. I stood and looked at the rays of sunshine filtering down and smiled as I looked back on a few days following nothing but my sun burnt nose.

Lots more photos, including some more of Jimmy's work can be seen by clicking here.

Thunder on the Tundra - The Gear - Final gear list

2011-04-19T20:30:00.000+02:00

I like lists. My brain is wired that way. Sure, sometimes I'll just throw stuff in my backpack for short trips in the summer (a sure fire way to leave your NeoAir behind...) but I still draw up a spreadsheet for bigger undertakings. Our trip to Finnmarksvidda was such an undertaking. Forgetting an essential piece of gear in that environment wouldn't just be an inconvenience, it could be potentially dangerous. So to wrap up my coverage of this amazing trip I've posted my final gear list here, together with pre and post-trip comments. I hope some of you find it interesting, especially when thinking about your winter trips next season. Leave any questions as a comment and I'll try my best to justify the choices I made.

The Picasa web album of our trip has also now been made public so pop over for a look at some of the photos that didn't make it onto our blog posts by clicking here.

Thunder on the Tundra - The Gear - Sleep system

2011-04-13T19:20:00.003+02:00

More gear ramblings from our adventure in the far north. In the old days I would have just said "here is the sleeping bag I used" but these days it's 'sleep system'...

So taking my cues firmly from the Jorgen Johansson school of lightweight winter gear last year I purchased a -7C rated Western Mountaineering Ultralite sleeping bag (879g in Long) as a replacement for my Alpkit PipeDream 400 which has always been a little under-gunned for the Scandinavian winter. While I have switched to quilts for 3-season sleeping I still like to have a bag in winter. I find them less draughty, especially when thrashing around at night in a cold tent.

And so to the quilt. This is the key piece in the system. I had read about people combining down and synthetic bags/quilts for winter backpacking over at BPL. Jorgen had been singing the praises of doubling-up for the last year and it formed a large portion of our discussions before and during the trip. Jorgen uses a home-made quilt with a unique mesh inner but more importantly it's filled with synthetic insulation. The key here is the synthetic insulation's ability to keep insulating even when wet, unlike down which turns into a useless lump. As my sewing skills are far from ready for a project like this I went down the route of ordering a Mountain Laurel Designs Spirit 30 quilt. In XL, Pertex Momentum 50 shell and eVent head and foot strips it weighs 556g.

So what's the point of having two sleeping pieces instead of one super fat sleeping bag? The key is trying to obtain the benefits of both insulation materials. Down is very warm for it's weight but fargile. Synthetic insulation is heavier but more resistant to damp. Basically you keep your down sleeping bag nice and dry by slipping the synthetic quilt over the top. This protects the bag in a couple of ways:

From the inside - Moisture from your body passes through your down sleeping bag and condenses in the outer layers which will begin to 'collapse'. If the outer layer is a synthetic quilt then this build up of moisture, that increases ever day, won't affect the loft of the synthetic insulation keeping you warmer.

From the outside - Frost formed by condensed water vapour on the inside of your shelter showers down onto your sleeping bag, your body heat turns this back into a liquid and your bag slowly collapses. Frost also gets picked up when moving around, especially in the foot area. With a synthetic quilt on top any moisture is more easily dealt with and your down bag keeps dry and fluffy next to your body. The eVent foot strip on my MLD quilt coped particularly well with my feet brushing against the tent walls. Jorgen pulled his Paramo jacket over the end of his quilt.

Other benefits from a 2-piece sleep system? I can use both pieces at other times of the year. My MLD Spirit quilt will become my main sleeping piece during the coming peak backpacking months. My WM Ultralite bag is great for 'shoulder season' and lower elevation winter trips. This means that as yet I don't have need for a very expensive winter-only sleeping bag that might only get used for one week each winter. Another benefit we found on this trip was using our synthetic quilts as 'comforters' during lunch breaks and around camp where their increased resistance to moisture means they don't have to be treated with kid gloves and leaves our sleeping bags safely stored in their dry bags until needed for sleeping. Jorgen, especially, was grateful to being able to pull out his quilt at rest stops to re-warm his cold, damp feet.

In addition to the sleeping bag and quilt I also wear insulated jackets and pants. These comprised of a Rab Xenon ultra light synthetic jacket (60g Primaloft), Patagonia Micro Puff Special pants (80g Polarguard) and if I still felt cold I would wear my Montane North Star down jacket (200g+ 800 power fill).

Under us we used similar combinations of Closed Cell Foam and inflatable pads. 14mm thick CCF full-length pads provide plenty of insulation from the cold snow and are idiot proof, unlike insulated inflatable pads, an important consideration when you're a couple of days away from civilisation. For a bit of cushion we used short Thermarest inflatable pads, Jorgen a NeoAir (260g) and I used a ProLite (303g) which offered some nice ultralight plushness to our shoulders and hips after a hard days skiing.

Did it all work? In a word, yes. To be honest we didn't endure anything below about -15C but I slept well and warm most nights. A couple of times it took a while to warm up, possibly due to over-tiredness or not eating or drinking properly but the synthetic over-quilt really made a difference to my comfort on the trip. My down sleeping bag stayed warm and fluffy the entire time apart from a small area around the face where my breath condensed. Towards the end of the trip I got to dry my quilt out on a couple of occasions in the sun and wind and I was really surprised how effective this was. On the last night my quilt and sleeping bag were almost as dry and lofted as the first night. I know some people prefer vapour barrier technologies to combat moisture accumulation in their sleep system but there is something about the idea of stewing in my own juices doesn't appeal to me. I'll stick with this system for the foreseeable future.

Thunder on the Tundra - The Gear - Gimme shelter

2011-04-11T22:30:00.001+02:00

During the planning stages of our trip to Finnmarksvidda I bombarded Jorgen with e-mails about what shelter I should take. I knew from his blog posts about the gear he took on his earlier ski tour to the Sarek that he used a Black Diamond FirstLight, a '2 person', 4 season single skin shelter. I liked the look of it but I wondered what else was out there. I looked at the Rab Summit Bivvies with their bomber design and eVent fabric but their 700mm height put me off. The Brooks-Range Rocket tent was interesting option but expensive to import and requires an avalanche probe to be carried. Whatever I picked had to be light but also able to stand up to high winds on the mountain plateau. I also wanted it to be easy to pitch in a hurry, use a minimum of stakes and keep the spindrift out of my gear. My searching kept coming back to the FirstLight. Despite a couple of negative reviews that appeared to concentrate on using it as a 3-season shelter there were plenty of people who thought it winter mountain worthy. With the help of Beni I found the new 'wasabi' green model for a good price in Germany and pulled the trigger.

So how did I get on with it?

First of all I'm pretty sure the FirstLight's 1.28kg is still well within the limits of what most people would call a lightweight shelter, especially considering it's size and suitability as a winter mountain tent. I thought I'd save a bit of weight by ditching the over-engineered stuff sacks for some custom cuben ones from Joe at Z-packs but then saved even more by ditching them altogether and just strapping the tent to the compression straps of my Pinnacle and poking one end into the bottle pocket. This makes it far easier to get at in a hurry and also stops you having to empty the contents of your pack onto the snow to get at it.

Going back to the size, the FirstLight is advertised as a '2 person' shelter and for ultra minimalist summit attempts by some very friendly alpinists it probably is but in reality it is just a very roomy 1 person 'palace'. Saying that it also means that in the case of losing or damaging one of our FirstLights then we would still be able to keep ourselves out of the weather in an emergency. There is plenty of room to lay your gear out around you. Sleeping diagonally offers a bit more room for those taller than my 6'1/2" (184cm) and this is how Jorgen fits his 187cm frame in. The seated headroom is fantastic. There is a lot of room to get changed and move about. You can even kneel up and pee in a bottle/bag...

No stakes to carry. The shelter was secured to the fjell-side with just our skis and poles. It would also be easy to use snowshoes, trees and other items with the inclusion of a couple of guy lines and this is how we used our Incredible Rulks as anchors (and potentially our SnowClaws) when the wind picked up. I also carried a couple of sil-nylon parachute anchors but didn't need them. The built-in floor (unlike all my other shelters) has a 2000mm hydrostatic head.

Being able to get out of the weather fast is a crucial aspect of shelter design in these environments and here the FirstLight really shines brightly. Wanna pitch your tent? Stick a ski in the snow, hook one of the rear corner tie-outs over it. Tent isn't going anywhere, even in storm winds. Take you other ski, stick it through the other rear corner tie-out. Do the same with the front tie-outs' using your poles as anchors. Unzip the door and slide you and all your gear inside. This takes less than two minutes if you're quick like Jorgen and just one more if you're still learning like me. The poles can be fitted in another couple of minutes once you're inside and that's it. Dome, sweet dome.

Once inside the design easily coped with the winds we endured on this trip, including a couple of Arctic storms that rolled in from the north. I have to admit to feeling a little nervous on the second night, when we got pinned to the Hillside from Hell, and the tent was bucking like bronco, but Jorgen was adamant that the FirstLight could cope and as the week wore on I became more confident in it's capabilities.

There really isn't much more to the FirstLight. The canopy material is a highly water resistant, breathable fabric called NanoShield. It breathes well and I happily used my stove inside the tent. It was also protective enough to keep the fat, wet snowflakes of the penultimate morning at bay. There are a couple of small internal pockets and an insect screen inner door but I don't use either of these. I am contemplating getting the scissors out. These features might be useful if I was going to use the tent at other times of the year but my FirstLight really will be just used in the winter mountains so they're dead weight as far as I'm concerned.

Downsides to the FirstLight? It's single-skin construction means it's more susceptible to condensation than a double-wall. In the winter mountains this manifests itself as frost. There is a zipped rear vent which when used in conjunction with opening the front door offers a degree of airflow but in certain conditions this can also lead to spindrift finding it's way in. Thankfully the steep walls and large size of the shelter meant that I didn't often come into contact with the frost. In high winds the frost is shaken free and falls onto everything. Our synthetic over-quilts kept our sleeping bags dry and the cold temperatures meant most of it could simply be brushed towards the door, swept up with the SnowClaw and dumped out the top of the door.

Talking of the door, the one on the FirstLight is not perfect in my opinion. I like the design of the Rab Summit bivys where the door is fixed at the side meaning in bad weather it's possible to gain a 'dry' entry by just unzipping the lower edge of the door and slipping in (this is made easier by digging a foot-well just outside the door). On the FirstLight the door is fixed at the bottom and unzips from the top which means some snow can enter the shelter when you're entering or exiting. It's not a huge problem and I learned to be quick and careful to minimise the ingress of snow.

I managed to break one of the poles but this was my own fault. After a week of use the elasticated cord inside the DAC Featherlight poles had frozen to the inside of the pole. Instead of freeing it properly I half-heartedly gave it a bit of tug. This left one of the sections slightly lose. When I put some pressure on the pole to push it into place the end of the section that was loose split the female section. It's was an easy job to fix in the field and a replacement pole has been ordered.

In conclusion I'm overjoyed with the FirstLight. It is light, easy to pitch and quick to set up in poor conditions. This means you're more likely to pitch it at lunchtime or during longer breaks when you need to adjust something or deal with a minor ailment like a blister. It offers really generous accommodation, useful if the weather is poor and you're forced to spend some time indoors. The minor niggles I have with it's design are easy to live with when used in the environment I use it in. It strikes a great balance of weight, price, size and function.

Gimme shelter on the mountain plateaus of northern Norway? Gimme a Black Diamond FirstLight.

Thunder on the Tundra - Day 5, 6 & 7

2011-04-07T07:26:00.001+02:00

Day 5

"Three knuckles to the left" - Jorgen Johansson

Poor nights sleep. It had taken me a while to get warm. Probably more tired than I realised after ploughing through that headwind all afternoon. I'm warm now and I can see what looks like sunlight through the nylon. Ha, I won't fall for that old chestnut again! I'll snooze a bit longer.

Time to get up. Hmmm, still sunny outside. I can hear a zip not far away. I sit up and boil the water from the two Nalgene bottles in my sleeping bag. Coffee and porridge. Breakfast of crampons. I then melt enough snow to fill the Nalgenes again, filling one with hot berry drink and the other with hot chocolate with the contents of a Via sachet dropped in there. The choco caffeine combo bomb. I stash one in my Forty Below cosy to be stored in my pack and put the other in my Paramo jacket pocket along with the gas canister and today's snacks. All eight of them.

While dressing and packing I exchange banter with Jorgen. There appears to be a ball of flaming gas in the sky. Does he know what it is? Is the sky supposed to be that blue colour? Yes, the day after we decide to play it safe and head back to Alta the weather gods bestow perfect mountain weather upon us. Even the wind is having a day off. It's so nice I even get to air out my over-quilt for the first time.

We ski off side by side smiling and joking, the stresses and strains of the last few days melt away. Blessed with visibility we're now not sure why we craved it so much. The vidda is desolate. The only thing breaking up the whiteness are small outcrops of rocks and low, subdued hills. This plays tricks on your depth perception and ability to judge distance. What seems like a valley slides by as flat ground. Rock outcrops that we mark as waypoints either never get closer or we reach them after a few metres and have to spot another one. The skiing however is magical. The fresh covering of snow glides effortlessly. The sun behind us highlights each of the diamond-like crystals across endless fields of perfection. The two small valleys we need to cross pass almost without notice. No ravines, no crevasses, no detours, no drama. Just sublimity.

Lunch would be taken outdoors today. We don puffies but lay out on our sleep mats in the sunshine and even a couple of passing snow flurries can't hide the fact that it's a beautiful day. Our mileage requirements are less stressful now so we linger a while. More smiles and laughter. Were we actually enjoying ourselves?!

Water bottles refilled we head on towards the pylon line in the distance. We arc slowly towards it knowing that it follows a long gentle valley back towards Alta. A small steep hill stands in our way but herring-boning on to the top we get a grand view of the big, bold mountains to the north of the valley we had skied up on the first day. Our route however swings east now and I get another lesson in efficient backcountry skiing as Jorgen takes the lead and smooths out some lumpy hills and valleys. It wasn't long before we started to pass tenacious but stunted birch shrubs as we slowly transitioned from the mountain plateau to it's flanks.

As we begin our descent we pass through pockets of birch trees making pulling the Rulks difficult at times. Jorgen perfects the Johansson Turn, his Rulk getting caught around trees effecting an almost 90 degree turn on your skis. Tiring of this Jorgen shoulders his Rulk, lines up an eye-of-the-needle descent through the birch and promptly wraps himself around a tree.

The penultimate camp would be in the birch forests not far from a lake. According to the map on the far shore of the lake is a cabin. We stop this side of civilisation. No need to bury the Rulk as a snow anchor down here. We use dead branches instead of our skis to anchor our tents which is just as well as we need our skis to manoeuvre around the soft deep snow. One step off our work hardened tent platforms and it's FWWWUMP! Up to your nuts in snow. We celebrate our descent off the vidda in Jorgen's tent with a couple of tins of mackerel in tomato sauce that Jorgen had been carrying for a suitable occasion. Somehow this feels like that occasion. Somehow the tinned fish tastes like fresh food. Somehow I had overlooked brining anything to celebrate with. What's the point of going light if you can't bring a wee nip with you?! Lesson learned. Back in my tent I melt more snow and make a couple of hot water bottles to slide into my sleeping bag. The birch forest is eerily quiet. Not quite sure why I put my ear plugs in but I guess it'll drown out the howling wolves...

Day 6

"We're on vacation after all" - Jorgen Johansson

It's snowing again and the sky is leaden. I don't sense impending doom as I had a couple of days earlier however. We're on our towards civilisation and home. Unlike the snow of the vidda though this variety is fat and wet. Jorgen wore his Paramo jacket over the foot of his quilt last night and it's soaking. It'll make an interesting experiment he says. Let's see how long it takes to dry out. We take photos for research purposes. The trail we're trying to follow down towards the lake is nothing more than car width sized gaps in the birch. It's probably only used in the summer hence the lack of ploughing. I'm kind of glad. I don't want to ski on prepared trails until the last minute. We lose the trail and pick it up again periodically. We pass the cabin and begin a sweaty ascent over a couple of small hills.

On top of one hill we get a view of a lake below. The snowmobile trails that carve across it are obvious and unwanted as they signal our integration back into the modern world. But here, between us and reality is a beautiful hillside. Studded with widely spaced birch trees and paved with the most delicious untracked powder snow I've ever seen. Jorgen goes first and I fire off a couple of frames before pulling on my mitts and dropping in. The snow is soft enough to control the speed of the Rulk nicely and I cross over or follow Jorgen's tracks as my heart desires, zigzagging our way to the valley below. There is a steeper section at the bottom that requires me to short-line my Rulk but as I emerge from the trees onto the snowmobile track I'm grinning from ear to ear. I could have happily skinned back up and done that all day. The snowmobile track is the first prepared trail we've been on for six days. It doesn't feel right being told where we can and can't go so we turn off towards the lake to make our own way. As we reach the banks we spot two people sat on some logs next to a hytte. We skirt around them and head towards the middle of the lake but Jorgen changes his mind. Maybe they could offer us some crucial local knowledge about the trails ahead and our camping options tonight and tomorrow? He was right, they did.

We wanted to spend one more night in the wilds before heading to a campground just outside town for much needed showers and cooked food. We planned to camp near a lake in the pine forests further down the valley but our stomachs told us that lunch was due first. Back on our skis we went to cross the lake to sit in the sunshine on the far shore. Unfortunately my skis broke through the softening midday snow and into some icy over-flow on top of the ice. Panicking slightly I flailed around trying to drag my skis out from under the water and snow and just ended up unbalancing myself. Looking very cool, swearing and on all fours in the slush I hoped we were out of sight of our friends sitting on their log by the shore. Nothing the Scandinavians like more than watching Englishmen making idiots of themselves on skis.

Thankfully our planned long lunch in the sun gave us time to not only dry out my boots and gloves but also our quilts. The synthetic over-quilts had been a stroke of genius on Jorgen's part protecting the down sleeping bags from collapsing and providing rugged, moisture-resistant insulation whilst lounging around in camp or at lunch. Over the course of a week they had picked up some moisture and an hour in the sun and wind while we cooked food and melted snow did them wonders. Jorgen even had time to have a ski-esta while I got itchy feet and practiced my tele turns on a small hill.

We packed up again and headed off along the snowmobile tracks, bombing several short, sharp descents down through the pine trees as the valley narrowed again. After scaring a dog senseless we turned off the main trail towards a lake. We followed the trail all the way down a valley and onto the ice, feeling the temperature drop sharply in the katabatic air. We turned around and headed back up the path to a slightly warmer altitude. The snow was deep in the pine forest so we flattened a couple of tent platforms and left them to sinter while we dug a fire pit and collected wood for a celebratory camp fire that would mark our last night out in the wild. As darkness fell we told stories and watched the stars wheel across the inky sky. With little cloud cover the night got cold and despite sitting in front of a fire I cooled quickly. I left Jorgen to finally dry out his frozen footwear and called it a night. It was late. It was almost 9pm...

Day 7

"Like we said in the army, it's like half an intercourse" - Jorgen Johansson

I didn't sleep well that last night. I had gone to bed cold and I had to get up in the middle of the night to make a couple of hot water bottles. And to wolf down a big bar of chocolate, for the calories you understand. I checked the night sky for Northern Lights but didn't see any. I felt sure this would have been the trip where I got to see them. Jorgen had a great idea in the morning. Breakfast 'on the porch' at -10C. We sat in the early morning sunshine and made our last breakfasts. My food bag was looking very empty now. After breakfast we skied unburdened and wrapped in puffies down to the lake and back up to our camp. After packing up for the last time we skied down the steep and packed trail to another ski trail and finally a road. Still several kilometres from Alta we picked up the floodlit ski trail that ran all the way to town.

The trail was very pretty. Tall rock faces towered above us and snow covered pine trees lined our route and saved us from thumbing a lift on the road but there was no sense of adventure for me anymore. I've skied plenty of trails like this at weekends and with friends and enjoyed them immensely but it all felt a little tame after our adventures over the previous 7 days. We were on the trail for about 2 hours before we stepped off the deep snow and onto the rock hard, thin snow and ice cover of a ploughed road. We followed road signs instead of our map now and bombed one last hill towards the 93 route road. Snow-ploughing on ice to a stop at the t-junction we watched trucks and cars speed by. The adventure was now over but our flight wasn't until tomorrow.

I guess we were the only visitors at the Alta River Campground at that time of the year. We took a small room and immediately festooned the entire apartment with our gear. Jorgen's tent was evicted to the outside on the grounds of good taste after his accident with his pee bag. We finally got to took showers. We gorged on left-over snacks. We caught up with our journals and made that final connection with the outside world. Checking e-mails and Twitter on our phones. We walked into town for a hot meal and bought Cheez Doodles and dark lager beers to while away the evening. In the taxi on the way back to the campground we found out that the weather on the Friday had been severe enough to close the airport and all roads in the area. It felt good that we had endured those conditions and despite not making Kautokeino, which, let's be honest was just a point on a map, we had shared an amazing seven days in the far north of Norway. We looked over our photos and relived the whole trip one last time. Sharing our dreams and fears. Revealing secrets and thoughts. Tomorrow we would take a taxi back to the airport, fly back to Oslo then go our separate ways but right now, just before we go to sleep on real beds, we would keep the journey alive. Just for a few more minutes.

Don't forget you can read Jorgen's version of today's events over at Fjaderlatt

Thunder on the Tundra - Day 4

2011-04-06T07:24:00.001+02:00

"The Alaska Winter Classic? It's not my cup of tea. I'd rather have a cup of tea" - Jorgen Johansson

Dawn on our first full day on the vidda promised much. Up at 03.30 I witnessed a crack of light between the snow covered tundra and the night sky hinting at a better day and improved visibility. It didn't last. By the time I was packed up and we were loading the Rulks the weather had closed in. To be fair it wasn't as bad as the last couple of days. At times the sun was at least trying to shine, filtered by a blanket of air-born snow that seemed only a few metres deep. When the sun could be seen through the murk it was a welcome reference point for balance as well as navigation. The skiing underfoot was actually good, a layer of fresh snow across endless lakes and marshes and the wind at our back made for good travel. At one point we were convinced we saw a troll. We both saw it in the distance, crouching on the side of our route, ready to pounce when we got closer.

The conditions got progressively worse. The wind got stronger and it seemed to be getting colder too. Donning my puffy jacket at every break I found myself skiing in it for longer and longer periods of time to warm up when we got skiing again. Eventually we hit the big ravine that we would handrail south. Jorgen was keen to instil some efficient backcountry travel skills in me and had me concentrating on contouring the intermittent hills and ridges so as not to waste time and energy bombing down and grinding up all the elevation changes of my normal 'point me in the right direction and watch me go' style. Indeed, as well as being put 'on point' for much of the day I was also promoted to CPH (Chief Pole Holder...) who's main responsibility appeared to be holding Jorgen's ski poles during our frequent consultations with the maps and our bubble filled compasses.

Our frequent navigation checks enabled us to start formulating a plan of how to access the next stage of our journey, on the other side of the ravine we were following. We finally found the reindeer fence we wanted to handrail in the distance and the ravine appeared to be petering out into a shallow valley. We set the fence as our lunchtime goal and decided to cross. Effortless downhill powder skiing put smiles on our faces as we descended. Suddenly Jorgen broke into a hard snowplough stop and I immediately felt tense. Extending one ski pole Jorgen pointed to a layer of blue snow and ice. The river in the bottom of the valley was deeply cut into the bedrock creating an almost crevasse-like obstacle. Not deep enough to show up on the 1:50k maps but impassable none the less. Then we realised that we might be standing on a sizeable cornice being on the windward side to we started heading away from the blue abyss, back up through the deep powder. Then Jorgen noticed that he could only see the 'blue snake' when he looked to the side or behind him. It appeared that the gaping chasm was following us, pushing us higher and further away from our goal. Eventually we found some solid ground and decided to put up the tents to get out of the insidious wind and reassess our plan and progress.

After eating a lunch of cheese, chorizio and polarbrod I made my way over to Jorgen's wind battered tent. The mood was subdued. We knew we had spent way too much time on The Hillside from Hell. Combined with this latest setback we were now around 25-30km behind schedule. If everything went smoothly from here on we might jut make it to Kautokeino in time for our flight home on Tuesday. But could we rely on the weather? One more day of poor visibility and low mileage would put us a day short of our goal. It was dawning on us that a new plan was necessary. West? Two huge ravines to cross before we would hit the 93 road. East? Off map completely and we knew what a gamble that could be. That left North. Back towards Alta via a slightly different route. My heart sank. The thought of ploughing into that wind and retracing our steps over our hard won progress was not the kind of 'option' I was hoping to take. We looked at the maps again and our original planned route south. It was still neat and adventurous but just too much to risk. If we'd had another just one more day's grace and half a days more food then we would have gone for it. Our margins were too tight though. Think with our heads, not with our balls. This wasn't the kind of place where you wanted to fuck up. With heavy hearts we packed up the tents, battened down the hatches and retreated into our hoods.

That first couple of hours heading north were the low point of the trip for me. Low visibility, retracing our steps, uncooperative Rulks and that cold, cold wind. We moved in single file and silence except for the howling wind. We stopped for a snack break and Jorgen asked if I was ok. I guess he sensed I was not overflowing with joy. Refuelled, I took my place at the front. I strained to keep the ravine in sight on my right whilst maintaining altitude along the ridges and rises. I selected rocks in the distance as my markers and just kept heading for them. When I reached them I picked out another rock from the greyness and headed for that. One foot sliding in front of the other. Slowly we swung away from our route earlier that day and forged a new route. As the day before the evening wind seemed to drop. The visibility started to improve as well. Now we could at least see the white desolation all around us. We started searching for deeper snow again and when we found some we pitched the tents side by side, buried the Rulks and retreated in solemn moods to our shelters.

Don't forget you can read Jorgen's version of today's events over at Fjaderlatt

Thunder on the Tundra - Day 3

2011-04-05T07:25:00.001+02:00

"Let's salami the situation" - Jorgen Johansson

I surfaced from my dreams. I strained to sense if the storm was still raging outside. I couldn't feel the tent bucking. I couldn't hear the fabric shredding (although it later occurred to me that this may have had something to do with my earplugs). It must be safe to venture out. I pushed the over-quilt off, wriggled an arm free and blinked in the 'wasabi' green light of my nylon womb. Snow drifts had reduced the floor area of my tent by approximately half. A quick peek outside my door revealed a calm world capped by a huge cornice sitting over the narrow ravine we had climbed yesterday. Maybe if I had seen that yesterday I would have suggested to Jorgen that we found another way up onto the vidda. Ahh yes, we were still stuck on the side of a hill...

After the usual morning chores (digging a cat hole in 3 feet of snow on a 30 degree slope was interesting) Jorgen and I put out heads together on how best to extricate ourselves from this hillside that was threatening to keep us mired for another day. First task was just getting to the next 'step' in the snow, where the gradient seemed to slacken off. Breaking out the Snow Claws we took it in turns to hack away at the snow drifts, inching our way upwards and stomping down the snow under foot. We'd aim for the next clump of birch. Then the next one. Breaking down the hillside into bite-size chunks. Eventually we made it to some flatter ground below a crumbling rock band. We trudged back down our new trench to our camp and ferried the Rulks up one at a time, one person pulling, the other pushing. Then back down again for the skis and poles. That had taken us another hour. Jorgen scouted a way up over the rock band. More digging, more stomping, more ferrying. Another hour and Jorgen's feet were getting cold again. We finally heaved the Rulks onto almost entirely flat ground and I couldn't help but smile, whoop and stick two fingers up at the slope below us. Jorgen had been right. Salami the problem and trust that there is an end.

While I went back down over the rock band one last time to collect the last of our chattels from the hillside from hell Jorgen set up his tent for lunch. Out of the wind Jorgen could strip off his still sodden boots and get some heat back into his toes with the aid of his quilt and a hot water bottle. Despite the condition of his feet Jorgen was in good spirits and there was plenty of banter in that tent, especially when he managed to spill the water he was boiling in my direction. At least it wasn't piss...

We were still off map but were now almost on the vidda proper. We could also now put our skis back on. It had been nearly 24 hours since we had last travelled any distance on our skis so it was with much swearing and frustration that I struggled to get the bindings on my borrowed skis to actually bind. When I finally got myself connected to my planks we moved off through the birch that slowly thinned as we headed to the wide open expanse of the plateau.

And what greeted our triumphant exit from the grip of the god-forsaken gradients below? Wind. So much wind. Thin snow cover and sharp rocks. And the sastrugi. The hard edged, wind blown snow formations made skiing awkward. Also greeting the conquered heroes was a whiteout that we actually watched in real-time roll in from the north. One minute we were in-line, following each other in our own hooded bubbles, the next we needed to travel side-by-side to stay in visual contact with each other. I couldn't see a damn thing. With no reference point for speed I had a weird moment when I was sure I was moving along slowly on my skis. When I looked down I saw my feet stock still on the ground. My brain took a second to catch-up and I suddenly felt dizzy. Whiteouts are no fun. Jorgen suggested digging in for the night right there but the winds were biblical and the snow not deep enough to drive the skis in as anchors. For the first time I told Jorgen that I didn't agree with his thinking on this. We took on more calories and thought about it. We agreed that we would keep skiing, at least for another hour to see if the winds would die down and visibility improve further into the vidda.

We skied on for the other hour, took another break for snacks and then skied some more. The winds were slowly abating and the air-born snow reducing too. Ptarmigan exploded from behind a rock. Searching for deeper snow we eventually found a spot where we could drive our skis and poles at least halfway in. I felt safer here even though there was nothing around to protect us from any wind that might spring up during the night. Jorgen showed me the best way to set up the FirstLight in windy conditions, driving the Rulk deep into the snow and attaching a guy line to the windward corner of the FirstLight. We gathered snow in our stuff sacks and settled in for the night. My tent was an oasis of calm. As I zipped up my front door I looked south across the plateau. Mile upon mile of whiteness. The endlessness. I was glad to finally be free of the ravines of the first two days and hoped for good weather tomorrow as we headed out into the frozen wastes.

Don't forget you can read Jorgen's version of today's events over at Fjaderlatt

Thunder on the Tundra - Day 1 & 2

2011-04-04T07:58:00.001+02:00

Jorgen and I have decided to synchronise our diary posts that resulted from our ski tour trip of Finnmarksvidda, way up in the far north of Norway, inside the Arctic Circle. It will, I hope, be interesting to read our separate recollections of the same trip. If there are discrepancies then I put them down to cold, hunger and the adventurer's ability to tell a good tale. You will have to forgive me for the lack of place names and generalised navigation in my account but Jorgen has the maps! After reading today's instalment why not head over to Fjaderlatt and read what really happened.

Day 1

"Everything has an end. Except sausages. They have two" _ Jorgen Johansson

04.00 and the alarm on my phone belted out it's tinny rendition of The Lovin' Spoonful's 'Summer in the City'. The halide lamps on the construction crane across the street from my Bergen apartment gave a sickly hue to the rain that was falling. Sideways. I swapped the righteous feeling of walking to the bus station for the guilty opulence of the back of a warm, smooth Mercedes taxi cab. Like the fast cut sequence of a Guy Ritchie movie I flitted from taxi to coach to one airplane and then another. Along the way I was joined by Jorgen Johansson and we landed in the town of Alta, inside the Arctic Circle, just after lunch. Our plan: spend 7 days skiing across part of the Finnmark mountain plateau, from Alta to Kautokeino.

We proposed walking to the centre of town but a few kilometres later and after asking a local we decided to catch a bus. A quick pit stop at the first sports store we could find had us loading up with some slightly less than optimal gas canisters. We probed the store owner for advice on the best way to access the plateau but, like the DNT office we had e-mailed previously, he pointed us in the direction of the hut-serviced marked ski trail to the east. He didn't like our plan to travel off trail. It didn't sound like fun to him. Undeterred we grabbed a 'last supper' in the greasy diner next door and hit up the tourist information office who were kind enough to call us a cab and fill up our water bottles.

The taxi driver didn't seem impressed with our plans either but dropped us off far down a snowy lane, deep in a valley marking the northern edge of Finnmarksvidda. As we pulled our skis and Incredible Rulks! from the boot of the taxi we looked south towards the rocky ramparts. No problem. Head south for 7 days. How hard could that be?!

The early skiing was easy. A road, then a track to a ski hut in the forest. When the obvious man-made trails petered out at a remote house we simply dropped onto the valley floor and skied along the frozen river. Soon though we were not only off-trail but off-map too. From looking at a large scale map we had been sent by the DNT office we knew we were heading in the right direction but we lacked the topographic detail we would need to make informed choices over the next 24 hours before we got ourselves back on track. Jorgen didn't appear concerned. An opportunity would present itself. Periodic waterfalls offered small obstacles to our smooth forward progress, complicated by the Rulk's desire to find their own way over the icy rocks. A couple of hours later and the light levels began to dim.

First camp was made on some flat ground on the inside of a bend in the river. The wind was low. The temperature tolerable. I settled into my tent and laid my gear out around me. It was all clean, dry and in perfect working order. I didn't feel like I'd really earned my dinner of game stew and a large bar of chocolate but I wasn't complaining. Across the short space between our tents we discussed our plan for tomorrow. Continue following the valley until we could turn south. I blipped the 'OK' button on our SPOT tracker. Burying myself into my down bag and over-quilt I fell asleep quickly and with a grin on my face. Our adventure had begun.

Day 2

We decided we would utilise daylight hours efficiently so we woke up at around 05.00. Porridge and coffee was first order of the day. I tried to think about packing effectively, making sure any items I might need during the day would be at the top of my pack. Jorgen and I kept tabs on how we were progressing with breaking camp to ensure we exited the tent at the same time, minimising the amount of time one might have to wait for the other in the freezing morning air. Rulks loaded there was only one more thing to do and that was peel off the puffy jacket, stow it in the top of our rucksacks and get skiing.

The morning started as the day had ended yesterday, following the frozen river and slowly gaining altitude. The wind was a little fresher today and periodic snow squalls reminded us that this was still winter, in the far north of Norway.

I was following Jorgen when he appeared to sway, seemingly rocked by some unseen force. What was going on? My brain couldn't or didn't want to process the information that the snow bridge he was crossing was slowly collapsing under him. Jorgen was soon wallowing in the icy river, trapped by the awkwardness of his skis. Finally my brain caught back up with me and I reacted to the unfolding situation. Digging the edges of my skis into the suspect snow bank I edged towards the hole and grabbed his hand. Together we managed to extricate Jorgen from his icy bath. He promptly began rolling himself in the fresh dry powder, like he was trying to extinguish some invisible flame. "It soaks up the excess water" Jorgen informed me. Another lesson in winter skills. I had much to learn. Stripping off his wet gear Jorgen pulled on pile socks and leggings before concentrating on wringing out the worst of the water from his clothes.

Back into his damp clothes we got moving again quickly, Jorgen keen to get some warm blood flowing into his feet as soon as possible. We came to a fork in the narrowing valley. Only one way headed south. The terrain got steep and icy. In front of us, at the end of the ravine, rose a blue waterfall, frozen in time until the Spring thaw. The only way out of this canyon and onto the vidda was by climbing the birch forested slope on the eastern wall. We looked at it. It didn't look too high from here. Sure, the slope dropped away in a vertical wall of rock to the valley floor below but the birch trees should stop us falling to our deaths in the highly unlikely event of us falling...

Skis off and Rulks shouldered we started post-holing.

An hour later and we hadn't made much progress. The snow was either hip-deep powder or an icy crust that required steps to be kicked before breaking through as soon as you put weight on it. Eventually we hit a band of hard snow that just wouldn't be kicked into submission. Spearing my skis into the snow I tried to use them as stepping stones from the relative safety of one birch trunk to another. Suddenly the skis gave way. Instead of a rapid slide-show of the pertinent points of my life flashing before me all I got was a dizzying sky/tree/snow/sky/tree/snow blur. My brain was also bereft of anything intelligent in the way of final words and I slid towards my doom shouting 'oh SHIT!'...

Thankfully I clothes-lined another birch tree that arrested my fall and my skis luckily wedged themselves into a near-by sapling. It took an hour to get myself back to the point where I fell, needing to make another trip down the hill to rescue my skis, in which time Jorgen had put his skis back on in an effort to use the metal edges to step across the hard snow band. Balancing on his skis, he edged himself across the gap but met the same fate, losing traction and cartwheeling down the hill. As with my tumble his was stopped by a clump of birch but he maintained enough cool not to blurt out expletives. He was however stuck in an awkward position that required my assistance to get him out of his skis and up-right. Both of us clung to a birch tree, sucking in air while we took stock of our situation. We were tired, I was cramping from kicking steps all morning and Jorgen's wet boots were causing him to start suffering from numb feet again. We needed to stop, have a late lunch and get Jorgen's feet warmed up. We decided to work together to ferry our Rulks one at a time, followed by our skis and poles to the one piece of the hillside that was slightly less steep than the rest. We hooked our loaded Rulks to a solid birch by their hip-belts and while Jorgen got on with trying to thaw his feet out under his quilt with a hot-water bottle I tried to scout us a better campsite. With the rest of the hillside looking even steeper and an Arctic storm sweeping up the ravine below we decided to pitch our tents and have an early night. I cut two platforms in the snow and put up both the tents. We got Jorgen into his tent so he could get on with the laborious tasks of melting snow, drying his gear and warming his feet. Just in time. The storm hit.

Despite our sheltered pitch the storm buffeted our tents for hours. The winds raged down the two ravines that passed below and in front of us and roared past the cornice that lay a few feet away. At one point I was started getting concerned about the FirstLight's ability to cope with this constant battering and packed some essentials into my pack in case we lost one of the tents and had to share one shelter like some desperate alpinists! Snow was drifting around my tent pushing the walls in until there was only room for me in the middle of the floor. A couple of hours later Jorgen's voice appeared just outside my tent door, enquiring if I was ok and sounding perfectly calm. I unzipped my tent door just enough to see Jorgen's face and the storm behind him. He was just checking the skis and poles that acted as our tent stakes and added a guy line to the Rulk he had embedded as a snow anchor. My nerves salved I settled down into my sleeping bag, pulled the quilt over my head and shut the tempest outside with the aid of a couple of foam ear plugs and exhaustion as my sedative.

Thunder on the Tundra - the trip in numbers

2011-03-31T19:35:00.001+02:00

Kautokeino or bust! Well, we bust. Battered by Arctic storms, struggling after a skier/river interface and lacking some crucial local knowledge we were forced to change our plans and our attempt at a north/south traverse turned more into a circular escapade around the northern tip of the Finnmark plateau. Those of you following on SPOT must have been laughing your asses off!

A failure? Never. We experienced and learnt more about the terrain and ourselves than we would ever have on a sunny, effortless traverse. Nothing worth learning comes easy. So as we sit back and reflect on the lessons learnt and experiences endured, upload photos and write-up diaries I leave you with some trip numbers:

Blisters - 1 (Joe)

Stuff-sacks lost to the wind - 2 (Jorgen)

Tent poles snapped - 1 (Joe)

Rivers fallen in - 1 (Jorgen)

Lake over-flow floundered in - 1 (Joe)

Trees crashed into on skis - 1 (Jorgen)

Trees crashed into while sliding down a mountainside towards certain possible death - 2 (one each)

Times we were lost - 0

Times we were not 100% certain of our exact location - the first three days...

Languages spoken - 4 (English, Norwegian, Swedish and Anglo-Saxon)

Pee-bags sat on whilst inside the tent - 1

Rocks ran over on borrowed skis - lots (sorry Steve!)

Pairs of socks worn or carried - 4 (2 each)

Tent pegs carried - 0

Compasses that crapped out - 1

Trolls seen - 1

Times I got really scared - 2

Memories that will last all my life - countless

On the wrong side of the tracks?

2011-03-20T17:22:00.001+01:00

Jorgen and I will be carrying a SPOT II GPS Satellite Messenger on our Arctic Circle ski tour from Alta to Kautokeino. Hopefully, from Tuesday afternoon, you will be able to follow our progress in real time by clicking here and watching our trail of electronic 'breadcrumbs' on our shared page. I have also integrated the SPOT II's 'OK/Check-in' function into my Twitter stream.

Some might feel that this electronic tracking reduces the feeling of 'getting away from it all' or that we may become complacent, relying on technology instead of skills to get ourselves out of trouble. Friends, family and the curious might disagree. Discuss.

Guide to live, live to guide

2011-03-19T10:19:00.002+01:00

"What I enjoy most about backcountry guiding is allowing clients to feel hardcore without actually having to drink their pee" - Ryan Jordan on Twitter
While Ryan's tweet made me smile it also got me thinking. What do I enjoy most about guiding? Is it working in the mountains instead of an office? Is it passing on wilderness stewardship to another generation? Is it watching kids from different cultural backgrounds develop from absolute beginners to novice skiers in just a few days? Maybe it's working with a diverse yet like-minded group of guides? The truth is it's an element of each of these facets. Due to work and trip commitments my availability to guide this year has been severely restricted compared to last year but I have just spent a sublime week based at Mjølfjell, helping to guide a couple of groups of school kids from the city of Bergen.
These guiding assignments consist of much more than skiing instruction. Indeed, who am I to instruct some of these children how to ski when they have already been skiing twice as long as I have?! Our job is more about teaching them to stay safe, care for each other and enjoy the mountains that sit enticingly on their doorstep.

The first day is spent in the lower valley, assessing skills and instructing some of the lesser able skiers in basic cross-country skiing. The following day we head out on a longer tour, up the valley towards Upsette. Here we help foster some team spirit with a 'build the biggest snowman' contest.

Lukas brings a different skill set to the group of guides I work with. A wagging tail and soft tactile fur can have a surprisingly reassuring effect on a youngster who is outside their comfort zone.

Nothing a bit of duct tape won't sort out! In fact, this was the easier of the two broken skis I fixed this week. The next day someone managed to snap one completely in half. Splints made from biro pens, branches and a fair application of duct tape got the kids back on the trail.

Slalom races after lunch on the 'big' day keeps the kids warm and smiling, important considerations for some of them who have never spent a day in the mountains. We carry some brass sheep bells for that Ski Sunday alpine racing vibe. Maybe we could carry full size cow bells if we can find some made of titanium...

The avalanche awareness and rescue exercises were undertaken by the kids with fascination and a surprising degree of seriousness. Recent tragedies in near-by mountains this season have brought the risks sharply into focus for many Norwegian youngsters.
The week came to a close far too soon. As the guides dispersed for the weekend I couldn't but help but feel jealous that many of them will be returning next week for more. It's a job I love despite the long hours and deep levels of concentration, empathy and patience required. Whilst the guiding season is short for me and there seems to be no such thing as a 'job for life' anymore I think I'll spend the rest of my life looking for ways to guide others in the mountains that have enriched my life so much.

Thunder on the Tundra - Skiing Finnmarksvidda - The Plan

2011-03-13T00:13:00.002+01:00

Yep, I'm heading to the tundra in the far north of Norway. While much of Europe is in the first flush of Spring there are still some Winter adventures to be had here in Scandinavia. The plan is simple. Fly to Alta at the north-western edge of Finnmarksvidda and then ski in a southerly direction, vaguely parallel to the 93 road, to the town of Kautokeino. Travel will be off-trail and will not cross any roads. It's hard to give an exact distance as the route will be at the mercy of the terrain and navigation choices (follow the stream beds or ridges?) but by road the two towns are roughly 125km apart. This will be my longest winter trip by quite some margin.

Thankfully this man, Jörgen Johansson, will be on hand to try and keep me out of trouble. Vastly experienced and a proponent of the lightweight wilderness travel philosophy I have enjoyed Jörgen's company before on Nordic Lightpacking's Vålådalen trip. When Jörgen first suggested this trip to Finnmark I knew I had to do everything possible to make it happen. Last year Jörgen undertook a trip that really captured my imagination with his ski tour of the Sarek in Sweden. His musings on the lightweight equipment he used in this type of winter environment resonated with me strongly and have directly influenced many of my choices on this trip.

Chief amongst these is the decision to use Incredible Rulks. Jörgen first highlighted his take on using small sleds combined with rucksacks in this article on BPL. He developed the design further with The Rulk Rebooted which also happened to be the direction I saw the concept moving. Having used one now I can see their advantage over trying to ski under a large heavy pack or using a traditional pulk that can't be 'shouldered'.

So that's the plan. We'll be heading north in a little over a week. I'm going with my eyes and mind wide open to what I hope will be an enjoyable, challenging and educational trip.

Knapsacks and sesame snaps

2011-03-08T00:24:00.002+01:00

Winter Break. A week of active rest over on the far side of Norway. A 10 hour drive clean across the country, through freezing fog, to The Time Machine - a friend's family hytte just shy of the border with Sweden where your watch grinds almost to a halt and everyday conveniences like running water, instant heat, internet and television are a thing of the past.

The hytte is full of tiny family treasures. This simple ceramic salt cellar sparked a trip down memory lane.

Almost all the heating and cooking is done over wood. Chopping, fetching, stacking, kindling, lighting. Living in the city I don't get to do these chores enough.

We spent most of the daylight hours on our skis. Unearthly silence during a lunch break in Finnskogen.

Kick ass Sesame Snaps. They're made with sesame seeds and they kick ass.

Can't see the trees for the woods? Low winter sun filtered through the trees and created a strobe of shadows as we skied past that was almost hypnotic.

Far away from our regular wind crusted mountains of the west we revelled in the gossamer soft powder.

C'mon, you can weigh in here and let me know exactly which wee rodent this little chap is. A vole? He looks pretty vole-y to me.

They don't make 'em like they used too. A trip to a second-hand store unearthed an awesome retro knapsack resplendent in orange canvas, leather straps and chrome buckles. We couldn't resist. It just looked so pretty.

One evening we went to check out a near-by village's flood-lit urban ski track. It was surprisingly technical but the longer dark sections that ran along the side of a road gave someone the heebie-jeebies. Amongst talk of zombies and truck-stop murderers the photo session was cut short before I worked out how to capture us AND our head-torch traces in the same shot.

After completing all the chores that surround basic needs like eating, heating and water there wasn't a lot of time to kill before bed beckoned. Evening entertainment can be as simple as a pack of cards and some dice.

Someone's socks spent their holiday either being shoved into ski boots with a failed lining or hanging around next to the kitchen stove.

It's not all about dramatic landscapes. Sometimes even tiny things can take your breath away with their delicate perfection. Another day on the skis that this time started with some special stage winter rally driving.

Deep in the forest the wind hadn't been able to shake the frost and snow from the fir trees creating a magical winter wonderland that delighted at every turn.

I can remember being taken to see my first art-house movie. A French number about a knife thrower or something. The program said the movie was shot in 'stylish monochrome'. I soon realised that just meant black and white.

Our search for wildlife on this holiday was limited to following animal tracks in the snow and a couple of small rodents. This particular one proved pretty easy to sneak up on...

Deep in the woods there is a small but perfectly formed hytte, operated by a local ski club and open for anyone to warm their cockles by the stove, melt some snow and make a cuppa or snack on some delicious chocolate that can be bought for a few kroner and left in the pot.

On the sunny side of the lake we skimmed along with gloves off and zippers open. We pushed back along this shore wearing every stitch of clothing we were carrying.

Flasking and basking. A Thermos flask of hot chocolate is a welcome treat in the afternoon where, despite basking in glorious sunshine energy levels were starting to flag. Time to hit the trail for the long gentle descent back.

We had to tear ourselves away. Reality and responsibility were pulling us back across the country. Another 10 hour drive punctuated with a hair-raising crossing of Filefjell that looked fairly benign at this point but soon deteriorated into a blind crawl as the clouds rolled in and the snow whipped across the road. Once down into the valley on the other side the visibility returned and I stitched apex to apex together on the winding road back to Bergen.

Do not speak unless you can improve the silence

2011-02-21T13:33:00.002+01:00

This trip was born out of a combination of factors. Foremost was the need to get out of the bustling city after the write-off that was January and find myself some peace and quiet. Then there was the need to spend some quality skiing time and the desire to try some kit and techniques before I head north in March. I chose Mjølfjell, two hours by train from Bergen, to stretch my legs for two reasons. A cold but stable weather forecast and I knew the area well, working there as a ski guide last winter.

I might know the area well but what I didn't expect was the amount of snow that greeted me when I alighted at the station on Saturday morning. The drifts on the side of the road as I walked from the station were above head height! Stepping onto the trail and into my bindings I pulled a deep breath and drank in the atmosphere. Deathly silence. Cold, clean, sun-infused air filled my lungs, cleared my head and instantly froze my nose hairs.

First order. Lash myself to my incarnation of Jörgen's Incredible Rulk concept. My experience with pulks is narrowed to just a couple of days last Spring with a traditional fibreglass one combined with a solid trace and full body harness. The Incredible Rulk is plastic, has a paracord trace and simple hip-belt. It's waffer light in comparison but still feels weird compared to wearing my usual rucksack. I felt like a Husky dog, pulling at the leash, eager to get going. It didn't take long to get into my stride and after bombing the first descent, and not being wiped out from behind by the runaway Rulk, my confidence soared.

So I spent a sublime afternoon exploring the Mjølfjell valley, keeping away from the prepared trail in an effort to familiarise myself with the Rulk's behaviour over a myriad of terrain. Off-camber descents and ascents, herring boning, deep powder, wind crust and through tight trees. Along the river bank and in the shadow of Mjølfjell itself the temperature dropped significantly and I stopped to melt snow to refill my water bottle and eat some lunch. After butter-laden lefse and blueberry toddy I set off again, heading south through the flatter, sparse birch and pine forest. I continued to tinker with my Rulk's cordage and started to think about dinner. Skiing does that to me. No sooner is one meal or snack consumed than I start thinking about the next.

Picking a spot to set up camp was easy. Endless kilometres of almost perfectly flat snow. Work hardening a platform for the FirstLight didn't take long either, once I found an area of wind crust amongst the pockets of powder. With the shelter up I set about melting more snow, enjoying one of Real Turmat's Wolfish Casseroles and sitting back to watch the sun slip over the ridges. In place of the light an insidious cold crept up out of the snow. Donning all my layers I went for a ski around my chosen neighbourhood, taking photographs and following rabbit tracks.

After some jumping jacks to get the blood really pumping it was time to turn in. One of the downsides to winter camping are the long nights. One of the joys of winter camping is the almost guiltless consumption of calories. Babybel cheese and chocolate for supper. Burrowing into my sleeping bag and over-quilt I prayed for a long deep sleep.

Yeah, that was never going to happen. I slept fitfully. Sometimes I was warm, sometimes I felt cold. My dependable, rugged 14mm foamy, along for testing, wasn't as comfortable as my usual 7cm insulated air mattress. A need to urinate in the middle of the night didn't help. Awake I decided to find out the temperature. I slipped my Suunto watch off my wrist and set it beside my head, watching the numbers on the thermometer slowly drop. The last digits I saw were -25C before the whole unit blinked once and give up the ghost.

I slept best in the early hours, after a thorough session of isometric exercises warmed me up again. Weird dreams and the buzzing of my phone, buried deep below layers of down and synthetic insulation, made for a bizarre rousing. The text message was from a friend. Inspired by my digital musings of blue skies, sunshine and deep snow the previous day she had decided she wanted a piece of the action and was on a train bound for my locale. With a deadline to meet her at the station in a couple of hours I packed up camp quickly in the bone chilling greyness and headed down the valley. The early sunshine that slowly filled the valley was heatless but full of promise. All was suddenly right with the world again.

I made the decision at the station to leave my camping gear there. Despite the renovated station buildings there were no lockers at such a small rural outpost. So I buried my sleeping gear and tent in an anonymous snowdrift, trusting that the hoards of inquisitive school children that pass through this station on a daily basis from the near-by hostels would be too keen to sit in the warm waiting room rather than play in the snow and uncover my treasure.

I took my big fat sleeping mat and stove along for the ride as we climbed back up the valley. We stuck more to the trails today, easier on my companion and faster, allowing us to cover more ground. I was grateful for the lunch stop, in the direct path of some of the sun's finest winter glory. I was actually warm again. We shared hot chocolate, coffee and musli bread smothered in blue cheese. Skiing past the hostel below Ornaberget we climbed the Rallarvegen, unrecognisable from last year thanks to five feet of snow that obliterated the track, blending our trail into the 45 degree traverse of the hillside. We rested once more in Uppsetdalen, revelling in the views of the rugged, avalanche scarred mountains contrasting with the perfectly flat frozen lake surface. It was here that we really felt the silence. It's not often in our modern world that you get to feel silence like that. Mesmerising and total. We zoned out, somehow de-tuned to the world but completely at one with it's rhythms. A thundering goods train rattled past us, tooting it's horn as it passed each tunnel along the side of the valley, bringing us back sharply into focus.

Our train was due in a few hours and we still had lots of good skiing ahead of us, starting with that fun descent back to the valley floor. No silence here. Excited whooping, a sudden 'Oh shit!', wind rushing past my tingling skin, fishscales and nerves buzzing on patches of ice.

Go and find your own silence. Appreciate the moment. Then break it with your favourite soundtrack.

Wax on. Wax off. Get bent. - Why I heart waxless skis

2011-02-16T07:10:00.001+01:00

Blasphemy. High treason in this country. I shunned waxed skis right from the start, after a single session on some borrowed waxed skis. Waxed skis are 'the law' here it seems, where cross-country ski racing is as commonplace on the national TV stations at the weekend as football or motorsport is back in Blighty.

Waxed ski have their place. For racing the ability to fine tune your skis to the conditions can gain you seconds where grip has to be balanced against glide. The snow conditions can be fairly accurately predicted for the short time frame of the race and the best wax applied. This task is not even done by the elite racers themselves but by the wax alchemists, masters of the dark art of choosing between 'extra blue' and 'special violet'.

All day touring means you can ski over many different snow conditions. Hard and icy in the morning, wet fresh snow in the afternoon, wind blown crust on the plateaus and deep powder in the birch forests. On some of my first days out skiing with locals I remember having to stop several times while they had to clean off the wrong wax and re-apply fresh as conditions changed. Even with 30 years of experience the snow started building up under their skis or they'd be slip sliding backwards when the trail rose by even a few degrees.

And then there's the mess. Working as a ski guide last winter I had to clean and wax the clients skis every morning and often during the day too. Klister was even worse. That shit gets everywhere. Gloves, pants, hands, backpack and jacket all streaked with the black gunk. And the weight. Having to carry a scraper, cork, cleaner, several waxes and a tube of klister adds up to a fair old chunk of weight and volume.

But waxless skis. Clean. Idiot proof (thankfully...). Always ready. Or nearly always ready. I can think of only two occasions when they failed me. Once at the beginning of Winter when some fresh dry snow decided to clump up under my feet and once last Spring when a particularly cold morning turned the thin compacted trails around the lodge where I was working into ice rinks. But that's not too bad. Two days out of 3 seasons. Sure, the waxless pattern base gives a little noise and a tiny amount of vibration but only under certain conditions and it's not going to ruin your day. And if you start on waxless skis then you just accept the 'feel' right from the outset. Slower? Maybe, but we're not racing here. We're enjoying our day out or dragging a pulk.

So I urge those of you thinking about buying your first cross-country skis or indeed replacing a pair: Go waxless. Unless of course you enjoy cleaning gunk from your clothes, spending decades mastering the dark art of choosing the right wax or you enjoy carrying all that extra crap around. Or maybe I'm just lazy.

Let the arguing begin...

First Look: Forty Below Light Energy Shortie overboots

2011-02-14T15:44:00.001+01:00

While looking at ways to ensure I keep my feet warm during ski tours in the winter I looked at several options. Switching to plastic double boots (T2's, Excursions, etc) and 3-pin bindings would be an expensive option and the boots would be an over-kill for my touring skis. Another option I had heard discussed was buying a HUGELY oversized pair of NNN-BC boots and using a felt liner but that too seemed like a 'hammer to crack a walnut' solution. I started to research overboots but all I could find were thin, ski-racing options until I remembered reading about Andy Skurka using early versions of the Light Energy TR Overboot from Forty Below to keep his feet warm in the frigid conditions he faced on some of his earlier adventures including his Sea-to-Sea and Nation's Ice Box excursions. The original LE overboot has a long, stretchy gaiter built in.

On Andy's more recent Alaska-Yukon epic I noticed on his gear list that he was using a newer model Light Energy Shortie overboot. Intrigued I contacted Joel Attaway at 40 Below. Joel confirmed that they were indeed now offering a lower fitting LE overboot with a stretchy knitted cuff. This sounded like the overboot would work better for me under my Patagonia Backcountry Guide ski pants with their built-in mini-gaiters. Joel was a joy to work with, his family has been skiing and mountaineering for decades, and he answered all my questions promptly and in detail. After giving Joel the dimensions of my ski boots I sat back and waited for my overboots to arrive.

Construction & materials:

The main body of the overboot is constructed from a nylon-faced neoprene material. The nylon-facing offers abrasion resistance while the 3mm neoprene insulates your foot from the cold. There is a very thin but tough, textured sole that is great for gripping snowshoe decks and ski bindings. The Shortie collar is a soft, stretchy, knitted affair that is really comfortable and conforms well to the cuff of your chosen footwear. Super chunky YKK zippers may seem like overkill to the UL'ers amongst you but you'll be thankful of them when trying to pull the overboots on whilst wearing mittens! Behind the zip is wide, comfortable neoprene flap that prevents snagging and cushions against the zip.

The overboots were perfectly sized to fit over my Crispi NNN-BC ski boots. I also tried them over my Montrail mids and Inov-8 330 trail runners that I would use whilst using snowshoes and they fitted well. The fit can be further customised using various insoles or even the Forty Below Simple Slipper. My size Large overboots weigh in at 346g for the pair.

Light Energy TR Overboots and ski bindings:

During discussions with Joel I enquired about using the overboots with Nordic ski bindings. The problem with Nordic boots and bindings is that they require holes to be cut in the sole of the overboot for the binding and boot to connect. Joel assured me that the tough fabric used on the sole would allow them to be customised depending on which binding system you use (NNN, NNN-BC, SNS, SNS-BC, etc, etc). The key is to use very sharp scissors and follow the 'measure twice, cut once' philosophy! I started by cutting a small rectangle so that just the binding bar was exposed but found that the binding engaged far easier by opening the aperture to allow more of the binding plate to engage with the grooves on the sole unit. For those rocking AT/ski-mountaineering set-ups then Forty Below also offer the Fresh Tracks model that will work better with Dynafit type bindings.

The hole in the sole doesn't mean that the boots can no longer be used in snowshoes or as camp wear. Slipping the supplied CCF foam insoles into the overboot seals up the hole to a suitable degree. There will be some snow ingress but it's minimal and doesn't appear to affect the overboot's ability to keep your feet warm.

So far I've been unable to test the Light Energy Shortie overboot in truly frigid conditions but I can confirm that they have kept my feet warm on wind-scoured mountain plateaus at -10C. I'm hoping they keep my tootsies warm on an up-coming trip to the far north. For next year Fort Below are working on a specific Nordic ski touring version of the Light Energy overboot that should come with the binding aperture pre-cut.

Cabin fever

2011-02-07T16:21:00.001+01:00

January was a write off. Hours after my last day ski trip I was flat out on my couch with a cold. A week later I was suffering from a sinus infection that gave me a constant headache, toothache and earache. Working as a substitute meant I still had to go to work at the school when they needed me but the rest of January was spent watching winter pass by the window from the warmth of the living room.

As a result I am well behind on the number of days I've been out on the planks. This time last year I had already clocked up over 30 days of skiing. This year I had managed just 2.

Thankfully February bought better health and I vowed to make a real effort to get out and make the most of what winter was left. First order was just getting back out and sliding along. Thanks to the wonders of public transport in Bergen this means a days skiing is just a short ride on Skibussen away.

The weather forecast wasn't good, a prediction confirmed by the few dedicated skiers and boarders dotted around the empty seats on the bus. The first stop is the lift-accessed alpine thrills at Eikedalen. Here the bus emptied almost completely, save the bus driver and us. Last stop is the far quieter Furedalen. Our arrival was greeted with a member of staff informing us that the cross-country trails had not been prepared that day due to a broken Snowcat. We might not see many people on the trails today. If that comment was supposed to put us off then he obviously doesn't know us very well.

We explored new trails and revisited favourites. We went up. We went down. We went up again and then up a bit more. Eventually we slid all the way back down, reduced to having to feel our way through the flat light and featureless snow. Back to the cafe at the lift base for hot dogs and chips. We had battled hail, wind, wet snow and white-out. We had flexed tight muscles and loosened rusty skills. Back on the bus we enjoyed another benefit of public transport, the ability to nod off with a smile of your face, awash with endorphins. January had been a write-off but February is shaping up nicely already.

First Look: Mountain Laurel Designs Spirit quilt

2011-01-30T18:32:00.001+01:00

The sweet pain that is waiting for another Mountain Laurel Design product to be lovingly constructed and delivered is over. This weekend I finally took delivery of my new MLD Spirit quilt. I heart quilts.

Design and construction:

As with most of MLD's products there are various product options to choose from. My particular Spirit quilt is the 30 degree (-1C) rated model. I opted for the XL size as I am a smidge over 6 foot tall and would be using it as an over-quilt in certain circumstances. Unlike the majority of quilts available the Spirit quilt sports an adjustable foot-box. There is a soft velcro strip, snap, draw-cord and 'plug' that allows the foot-box to be fully sealed, vented, slackened off for use over another bag or even opened up completely into a flat quilt for summer. How useful this range of adjustment will be remains to be seen. It's certainly an area where even more weight could be saved if you are happy with a simply stitched, non-adjustable foot-box. The quilt's ability to be opened completely flat speeds up drying and means it can double-duty as a hammock under-quilt for those monkey-loving backpackers that like swinging from the trees. There is a single back strap with low profile clips that is completely adjustable under a wide variety of conditions and sleeping pads and can be used from both sides. In addition to the neck draw-cord and snap it allows the quilt to be sealed tight around the user in cold, draughty conditions. With the options I chose my Spirit quilt tips the scales at 578g.

Materials:

The main body of my quilt is constructed with Pertex Momentum 50, a lighter version of the micro-grid ripstop Momentum 90 that MLD use on the majority of their other products. The Momentum 50 option saves around 30% in weight. Currently only available in an eye-watering yellowy-orange, under my yellow DuoMid it's going to make for a real sunny morning whatever the weather outside! I also opted for the eVent head and foot strips, added in an effort to combat condensation from my breath and tent walls. The weight saving of the Momentum 50 option over the standard Momentum 90 more than offsets the weight increase added by the eVent strips. Nice! The synthetic insulation is Climashield Apex at 120 g/sq/m. Cord sleeves are constructed from Epic for water resistance and durability.

Use:

This winter I plan to use the quilt to augment my Western Mountaineering Ultralite down sleeping bag. The combination of a synthetic over-bag/quilt used in conjunction with a down sleeping bag is well known as a way to combat cumulative moisture build-up. Basically evaporative moisture from my body will condense in the synthetic quilt rather than the down bag where it will be easier to dry and cause less loss in insulation loft. That's the theory anyway. It's a system that I know Jorgen used to good effect last winter across the Sarek and will prove invaluable for a similar trip for me this year. I know some people opt for vapour barrier technologies but that is a strategy I have yet to experiment with and, to be honest, don't particularly like the sound of. There is another reason for combining two lighter '3 season' sleeping bag/quilts. Modularity. I will use the Spirit quilt on it's own in the coming year as a more moisture-resistant option to my GoLite Ultra 20 down quilt on certain trips. I can't justify buying myself a dedicated deep winter sleeping bag/quilt just now. A suitable -20C rated down bag/quilt is a major investment when weighed against the few nights a year that I might need one. Maybe next year I'll do more winter camping and will be able to justify it. It would certainly be a lighter option. In the meantime, combining my 'summer' quilt with a 'spring/autumn' bag makes sense.

Fill in the planks

2011-01-09T15:11:00.001+01:00

With a wedding, holidays, Christmas and New Year finally out of the way it was time for my little band of ex-pat ski brothers (and sisters) to get together for our first little ski outing of the season as a group. Having only a few flat local mini-excursions under my belt it still felt like the first time I'd been on skis in months and I was relishing being in the mountains and getting in some ups-and-downs.

Parking the car and skiing past the lift queues I'm always glad to leave the thrill-seekers behind to their expensive lift-accessed pleasure and earn my vertical more honestly. Conditions under the skis were good with plenty of fresh snow making the going easy but slightly slow, filling us all with a false but useful sense of downhill confidence so early in the season!

Eating is always a big part of being outdoors for most people and guilt-free calories are the best. We snuck out of the wind as best we could and packed down the snow to form a seat. Skis and sit-pads formed the upholstery while I dug out the rest of our picnic trench.

The weather was 'interesting' all day. The wind changed direction at will. The snow stopped and started when it felt like it, changing from dry swirling sprinkles to lazy fat wet flakes that smothered sound. Mountain views were the only constant, obvious by their almost complete absence throughout the day.

The trail eventually petered out into nothing but deep powder. We watched the more skilled telemarkers carve up the headwall and lusted after their god-like turns. We turned into the wind, pointing ski tips downhill. Wearing goggles and smiles we enjoyed the fruits of our uphill endeavour with a gravity assisted homeward journey. The almost effortless return's serenity was only punctured by a quick came of 'Dodge the Unleashed Dog' as we descended through the hyttes. Back at the car there were excited snippets of conversation in between mouthfuls of Christmas cake. It was a ____ing good day!

Like a kid at Christmas

2010-12-29T20:44:00.001+01:00

Time to burn off some Christmas excess. Like a retreating Santa Claus I decided to head upwards with a bag on my shoulder full of presents. Out the front door, walk up the road for all of three minutes and it was on with the crampons. The path is really steep here. And covered in hard ice. Which in turn is cunningly covered with a layer of fluffy dry snow.

One sweaty hour later I was at the top. Time for more toys. Crampons exchanged for snowshoes. On with a wind-shirt, hat and bigger gloves.

Swinging west into the wind I settled in to my new gait, feet slightly wider apart than when I'm on my skis. It was hard to tell if there was any change in my pace. On my skis I'm quicker on the flat and on the down-hills. Apart from when I'm lying face first in a drift.

The snowshoes did allow for as-the-crow-flies travel while the ski tracks zig-zagged around me and the odd boot tracks, post-holed the path of least resistance.

Time to head home. The sun, on it's lazy winter arc, decided to wind down for the day. Christmas marzipan treats and hot blackcurrant drink fuelled my swing south and home.

The sun gave a quick wave goodbye, bursting briefly into the space between the cloud and horizon flushing the hills with pink. Animal tracks popped out of the flatness. The light caught the waft of dry snow that erupted with my every footstep and made it sparkle like crystals. The light show was beautiful but short lived. The various trails from over the hills slowly converged and the snow grew firmer. On the edge of the city the trail stopped and the streetlights started. Toys packed away I buried my hands in my pockets. Ah good, I hadn't lost my front door key.

Tuff Stuff - my 'gear of the year' post

2010-12-27T20:16:00.001+01:00

This time of year is traditionally one of reflection and, like many other outdoor bloggers, here are my thoughts on some of the better decisions I made when choosing stuff that made my all-too short and infrequent forays into the mountains more enjoyable.

Mountain Laurel Designs DuoMid shelter - Impeccable construction and design, Ron's reputation oozes from every stitch of this modern take on the pyramid tent. I know the Trailstar is everyone's 'on trend' shelter in the latter half of 2010 but I'll stick to my DuoMid. Two people or one? Bivy or InnerNet? Closed or open front? The DuoMid can do it all and despite what some people say this style of shelter can handle some pretty serious weather. And it makes me smile. The colour. The shape. The memories.

Bushbuddy Ultra wood stove - "Only dead fish follow the stream". I tried to resist. I attempted to go my own way. Against the grain (...). I tested several wood stoves this year in an effort to find an alternative to the ubiquitous and highly regarded Bushbuddy. But you wanna know why the Bushbuddy is ubiquitous and highly regarded? It's because it rocks! I finally gave in and brought one for myself. If I needed any convincing to it's sublime design and construction it was on mine and Steve's canoe trip in the summer where it rained for days leading up to the trip and for most of the time we were out too. Despite a fuel supply that was damp, at best, the Bushbuddy Ultra kept us supplied with plenty of hot water for drinks and cooking. It also provided us with a less quantifiable benefit - a focal point and task, tending a fire, that taps deep into basic human instincts.

Gossamer Gear Gorilla backpack- Strictly speaking I didn't spend my own hard earned cash on this 46 litre, 658g backpack. A slightly used test model was given to me as part of several Gossamer Gear test products for our Vålådalen trip in Sweden. I was dubious about using a pack that I hadn't tried beforehand but the Gorilla and me got on famously. Comfortable, light, versatile. The removable hip-belt, pockets, chest strap and aluminium stay means it can be stripped down to 428g for overnighters. The materials are light but durable. I like the back-pad system a lot. The mesh pockets are great too, the side ones being perfectly placed and sized for access along the trail. It sits in that magical 'invisible kit' category. It does it's job quietly and competently.

There were other gems: I finally sourced some quality mini dropper bottles and Dr Bronner's organic liquid soap which reduced my wash kit to miniscule proportions. Haglöfs Shield pants, with 100% recycled fabric, stopped me carrying softshell and rain pants in the summer months saving me a bunch of weight. Swapping my plastic or titanium mug and small Platypus bladder for a more traditional kuksa changed the way I stayed hydrated on the trail and enjoyed my morning coffee. Talking of coffee, Starbucks Via sachets ensured I could finally get a decent tasting hit of caffeine when I was miles from a coffee shop.

Well that's it for gear highlights in 2010. A whole bunch of winter-specific gear has been arriving lately and trips are planned to get out and enjoy the snow in the next few months. See you in 2011!

Waxless lyrical

2010-12-22T23:38:00.001+01:00

"Hello Mr Snow. Where have you been? I thought I saw you around town the past few weeks but you kept disappearing". "Hey Joe, yeah, sorry about that. I've been kinda busy bringing joy and frustration in equal measure across the Northern Hemisphere but I'm here now. Hopefully I'll stick around. I'm a little thin right now but not for long". "Yeah, I noticed! That scary 'buzzz!' where some hidden debris catches my fishscales and nearly sends me flying! It was good to see you piled up in the corners though".

"Hey Mr Skis! Good to see you! Where have you been?!". "Locked up in that dark cloakroom, covered in dirty wax from that last trip in April when you forgot your skins and tried to get by with clister!". "Oh yeah! I forgot about that! Sorry, I should have cleaned you off before putting you away for the summer". "No worries, it's good that we're out together again".

"Whoa! Abductors! Adductors! Abdominals! Deltoids! Where have you guys been for the past eight months?!". "We've been severely underused since April and to register our protest we're gonna be breaking your balls for a few days so you don't forget to stretch us out! Capiche?". "Ha ha! Yeah, I guess I had that one coming. Sorry. Can we work out together again?". "I don't see why not. It'll do us both the world of good".

(This post is brought to you courtesy of lactic acid, smiles, memories, dreams and brown cheese. It was my first time on skis for 8 months. The images were taken on my battered old Sony Ericsson phone and I apologise for their quality)

Inverting the Spider

2010-12-22T14:08:00.001+01:00

In super cold conditions the efficiency of the Primus ExpressSpider remote canister stove can apparently be increased by inverting the gas canister. I've only see a couple of ways of doing this and nothing is commercially available so I'm interested in your ideas.

My first idea was to use the Primus Clip-on windshield that I use with my Optimus Crux top mounted stove. This has the advantage of being very easy to store as it can be clipped flush around the canister when not in use. At 60g it's not too heavy to carry but not too stable either when used in this unconventional way.

In accordance with UL principles inverting the canister should ideally be achieved by using items you're already carrying. I tried this by utilising two velcro ski straps and three titanium V-pegs. This set-up proved to be far more stable but fiddley to set up with cold fingers. The other problem is that I don't usually carry these small pegs in winter although at 36g for the three pegs (I'm already carrying the ski straps in winter so their weight isn't included) it's not a hardship to carry them.

So how do you invert your Spider?

MYOG: Stove pad

2010-12-22T13:56:00.001+01:00

I've not really dived into the whole Make Your Own Gear ethic. When we were younger it was my brother who was always the one taking things apart and tinkering. He's got a real talent for it. I had a go at some insulated pants last winter when I couldn't resist some XXL Mountain Hardware Compressor pants really cheap in a sale. I took out the side zips and shortened them. The results weren't pretty but they kept me warm.

I was given a Primus ExpressSpider remote canister stove to try out this winter and realised I would need a stove pad to keep the unit from sinking in the snow while I'm melting snow or cooking food. A quick flick to page 44 in the bible of backcountry winter camping, Allen & Mikes's Really Cool Backcountry Ski Book, showed me that such a device didn't need to be expertly crafted. Perfect for my kind of ham fisted attempt at MYOG!

So what do you need? A bit of plywood or masonite for a stable base. Some CCF foam to insulate the stove from the freezing snow and some duct tape to keep the whole thing together. Check.

I measured out roughly how big I wanted the stove pad to be by drawing round a couple of plates with a Sharpie onto the piece of scrap masonite I found in the basement.

Out came the jigsaw and I followed my pattern as best I could.

Then I had the idea of adding three 'studs' to keep the feet of the Express Spider central so I marked out their position and broke out the drill. A rummage in the 'bits' drawer resulted in three short, countersink bolts that fitted perfectly.

Using the finished masonite plinth as a pattern I used the pen to draw out the shape on the scrap of CCF foam I had lying around.

A quick squitz of hot glue and I was ready to trim the whole thing in duct tape. This required a bit of snipping and folding around the curved sections of my pad. An additional wrap of tape around the middle ensures the foam won't be going anywhere and voila! I do however question my judgement on putting the 'rough' side up (for 'grip') rather than the more weather resistant smooth side...

It's all a bit ad hoc, by eye and bodged together but it should do the job of keeping my stove and pan from sinking in the snow. At a little over 300g it's not the lightest but in winter we sometimes have to make sacrifices in weight for practicalities. I'll make another stove pad for my Optimus Crux stove that will be smaller, lighter and square. I'm getting the feel of this MYOG malarkey. I'll be knocking up an Incredible Rulk next...

First Look: Montane Extreme Mitts

2010-12-13T20:42:00.001+01:00

Yeah, I have a problem. Gloves. I'm a fussy bastard. No one makes the perfect glove. Actually that's not strictly true. There are some perfect liner, shell and back-up gloves out there. My quest has been for the perfect warm, weather resistant but breathable, hard wearing mitt for winter adventures. When PTC* first blew the whistle on the Montane Extreme Mitts earlier this year I was intrigued. No membrane, pile lining, lightweight and only £30?! Could these be my one true glove?

Design and construction:

The outer layer is constructed from Pertex Classic 6, a tough, wind and weather resistant but breathable woven fabric. The lining of the palm is a pile called Dryactiv 2000 and the back of the hand is lined with 100g Primaloft Eco insulation (good choice Montane!). There is a pre-curved finger area with a 'hypalon' reinforced palm. The cuff is long and part elasticated wrist with a velcro strap that is easy to adjust with a gloved hand or even your teeth. There is a plastic 'D' ring just inside the cuff for 'idiot cords' (not supplied) and the mitts come with a stuff sack too. Quality appears good so far. A season ski guiding will soon highlight any weaknesses in that area.

Fit and weight:

It's with the fit that I had my first surprise. I normally wear a Medium liner glove and go for Large shells or over-mitts. When the Extremes arrived I pulled them on over my bare hands and immediately thought 'Uh oh. These are going back'. Too tight. Especially on the thumb and as the only digit that has to stick out on it's own in a mitt it's the one that always gets cold. Tight gloves restrict circulation and increase the risk of cold hands so back they went to be replaced by some Extra Large. Be aware of this if you have shovels for paws. My Extra Large sized pair weigh in at 136g.

Use:

My 'system' comprises of a couple of pairs of liner gloves, the Montane Extreme Mitts and some great big Gore Tex shells that will go over everything if necessary. This gives me loads of potential combinations. Liners, liners & shell, liners & mitts, mitts, mitts & shells or even liners, mitts and shells in serious weather.

Initial impression:

I've only had them out on a couple of day hikes so far but I do know one thing: these puppies are WARM! Really warm. The Primaloft insulation and pile lining mean almost instant warmth when you pull them on. Because they don't have a membrane they also breathe far better than most manufacturers 'Big Dumb Mitts'. My only concern with their design is how the Primaloft insulation handles any moisture build up on longer trips.

The materials seem really tough so far, especially the 'hypalon' reinforcement. I've no qualms about 'palming' down granite boulders in them, something I would never do in my Buffalo mitts. It will be interesting to see how they cope with some ski touring. Cross country skiing generates a lot of heat and I'm pretty sure the Extremes will be too warm when grinding up hill or in most Spring conditions. In the depths of winter and in high mountain terrain is where I expect them to shine. They should be great when I'm working as a ski guide too. When carrying out delicate repairs or adjustments on my client's gear I need to be able to use dexterous thin liner gloves and then stuff my hands back into warm mitts. I've already added some idiot cords so I don't drop or forget them.

I'll let you know how I get on with these over the winter. Mind you, why wait for my recommendation? At only £30 they're very good value and they could be worth a punt for anyone who suffers from cold hands at this time of the year.

Finally...

2010-12-05T22:20:00.001+01:00

It was finally the city of Bergen's turn to get a dusting of the snow that the rest of Europe has been enjoying. Not much to start with but plenty enough to having me grinning like a kid at Christmas. An afternoon stroll along the icy ridge was in order, relishing the change in the cityscape's palette and racing the short daylight hours.

The city looked great. Monochromatic. Tendrils of mist reaching in out in every direction from the icy lakes and lagoons. Chimneys lazily puffing away. Descending back into the city the gloaming was studded with golden points of light. The smell of wood smoke and cooking filled the still, cold air. Time to clean the skis and look forward. Oh yeah.

Striking a balance

2010-11-28T18:09:00.002+01:00

Too much gear talk not enough walk. That's my view of the content on this blog recently. Time to tip the balance back in the favour of adventure. With the mercury taking a dive-bomb all over northern Europe at the moment it seems everybody has been out playing in the white stuff apart from me. I left my home, swathed in soft-shell and sunshine and struck out hoping to find a little more equilibrium.

Thermo-regulation. Another balancing act. Climbing steeply away from the city, in the lee of the hills, it was all zips open, headwear and gloves stowed. Balancing warmth against perspiration. Once I broke the tree-line it was into the teeth of an insidious wind. Fresh from the bitter east it tore at my clothes, trying to steal my heat. Zips and hoods up. Buff buried into. Numb digits stuffed into Pertex, pile and Primaloft. Thwarted by tightly woven fabrics the wind went back about it's business, carving the thin layer of snow into endless, repetitive forms.

Old and new. My battered old thermal mug and unsullied new mitts. My trusty spiky boots and untested new pants. Fresh out the packet socks and a backpack that gets dragged out the cupboard on a regular basis. This winter has me buying some new gear and fondly using gear I've come to love and trust.

Staying on two feet. The most basic balancing act of all? Nothing too technical today, mostly well worn trails and compacted snow but my Icebug's reached their limit on the hard water ice. Additional spiky contraptions are required. Weight v function. Cost against frequency of use. Aluminium up against steel. More points (excuse the pun...) to ponder.

It's a good job I'm Liberian.

The Kupilka kuksa and alternative drinking strategies

2010-11-21T23:00:00.001+01:00

So what is behind the recent resurgence in these weird little old fashioned Scandinavian drinking cups, especially in the often technologically 'early adopter' UL world? Hendrik has to take some of the blame/credit. While everyone else was drinking out of the UL standard drinking vessels such as Platypus bottles and recycled soda/smoothie bottles Hendrik was enjoying his beverages and drinking water from his small traditional wooden 'kuksa'. It caught on quickly after a couple of international UL backpacking trips and it seems to have snowballed from there.

The kuksa is perfect for drinking water in most of Scandinavia. Instead of filling a Platypus bottle and sipping from it along the trail you just drink a couple of cups of fresh drinking water from the abundant, clean water sources that fill this part of the world. You never seem to be more than an hour from potable water, even in late Autumn when all the snow from the previous winter has melted and many small streams have dried up. The mug also doubles as your camp drinking vessel. I know we all like to go ultra-light and drinking and eating from your cooking pot is a way to save weight but the little kuksa is far more civilised and if I have to consider it one of my 'luxuries' then so be it.

When friends visited me here in Bergen in the summer two of us went to the local sports store to stock up on some things before a camping trip. I bought myself a mass produced wooden kuksa and my friend did the same. When we joined the rest of the group on the camping trip there was much mug envy. Kuksa's are just neater, nicer to drink from and more in harmony with the surroundings than any of the titanium or plastic mugs that the rest of the group had.

So the recent release of Kupilka's new range of innovative but reassuringly retro outdoor crockery and cutlery caused quite a stir in blogdom, helped in no small part to Hendrik's fine piece here.

I have been lucky enough to receive one of the new '21' kuksas from Michael at Kupilka. It's manufactured from a 'Natural Fibre Composite' which is 50% pine wood fibre and 50% polypropylene plastic that doesn't contain those nasty plasticizers that have caused health scares in recent years. The composite material has several advantages over cups made with either wood or plastic. It's dishwasher proof, doesn't absorb odours or flavours and yet is comfortable to hold and it's colouring is in tune with nature. Actually this can be a minor disadvantage in that it could be easy to lose the '21' around camp so like Hendrik I've replaced the stock natural cord with some bright 2mm dyneema cord. The '21's thermal insulating characteristics are just about spot on for me, keeping beverages warm enough while you drink them without insulating your lips too much which can lead to surprise mouth burn as happened to me using a double walled titanium mug.

Another nice feature is that the composite material is strong which allows the kuksa to be thinner walled than my traditional kuksa, saving weight and increasing volume. The '21' weighs 82g and has a volume of 210ml. Perfect for a good cup of coffee in the morning. The products can all be recycled at the end of their life and all the packaging is made from recycled materials. It would make a great Christmas gift.

The humble kuksa has changed the way I drink in the mountains and the Kupilka '21' kuksa has changed my perception of these little cups. Thankfully here in Norway we don't have to worry about treating our water in the majority of the country so I will continue to stop at bubbling streams and savour the clean, cold revitalising water. I've never been ill from drinking this way.Touch wood... or Natural Fibre Composites.

First Look: Integral Designs Hot Socks

2010-11-17T22:56:00.002+01:00

I've been trying a few different solutions to keeping my feet warm in camp these past two winters. I started with just wearing thicker socks (not warm enough), then two pairs of socks (restricted blood flow which lead to cold feet), fleece slippers (not warm enough), followed by Needle Sports's Pertex & pile over-socks (good at drying damp socks but terrible long, narrow fit), over-engineered synthetic filled arctic camp boots (far too heavy) and simple pile hunter's socks (again good at drying damp socks but lack insulation). So the search was on for something more suitable.

I first read about Integral Designs Hot Socks on Backpacking Light's genuinely brilliant three part guide to Lightweight Footwear Systems for Snow Travel. If you haven't read these articles then I strongly suggest you make time to sit down with a cuppa and give them a peruse. A subscription is required but these are the kind of articles I pay my BPL subscription for. In-depth and well researched. Part 1 deals with Principles and Techniques for Keeping Feet Dry and Warm. Then Part 2 looks at the Components of a Lightweight Footwear System and finally Part 3 shows various Model Lightweight Footwear Systems for Snow Hiking, Snowshoeing and Snow Camping. More recently Phil shared his thoughts on lightweight winter footwear here.

Design and construction:

The Hot Socks are constructed from a Pertex shell for water resistance and breathability. They have a Cordura sole for abrasion resistance and a stretchy fleece panel running down the back that makes putting them on and off a breeze. There is a soft fleece cuff and the lining is a nylon taffeta that glides easily over even the fuzziest old wool socks. Insulation is 4oz (113g) Primaloft Sport offering 1/2" or 12.7mm of loft.

Fit & weight:

Normally taking a 10.5UK size shoe and knowing I'll be wearing big fat wool socks in the depths of winter I went for the XL size and they fit great. One point I'll make here is that anyone over maybe size 12UK might find them a bit tight so you might want to look elsewhere. They weigh 148g for the pair.

Use:

Even on winter trips I often only use two pairs of socks. When I get to camp I'll slip off the socks I've been wearing all day and put them in a pocket close to my body to dry out as best they can. Then I'll simply slip on the other pair of wool socks that I've been drying in my pocket all day and layer the Hot Socks over the top. The Pertex shell and Cordura sole should offer enough water resistance for short trips outside the tent but I'll probably carry a pair of 30g Tyvek industrial shoe covers just in case. Lets hope the Hot Socks help keep my tootsies warm this winter.

First Look: Rab Xenon insulated jacket

2010-11-09T16:23:00.001+01:00

I've long been a fan of Rab's Generator series of insulated jackets and vests. Simple designs and light weight. I have both the 100g Primaloft filled vest and last year's 60g Primaloft pull-over. What I always wanted them to release was a hooded version, especially now that I use quilts as I find hoods wonderful at keeping you warm, trapping a cosy bubble of air around your neck and noggin that hats just can't compete with. Rab have had the hooded Generator Alpine for a while but with it's heavier fill and highly weather-resistant Pertex Endurance shell it is a bit 'too much jacket' for 3-season backpacking. Then earlier this year I read rumours on BPL that Rab were about to release two ultra-light insulated hooded jackets. This resulted in the sublime down-filled Infinity (PTC takes a sneaky peak at it here) and the synthetic Primaloft-filled Xenon. Prayers answered. So here it is. The Rab Xenon.

Materials:

The Xenon's shell and liner, like the Infinity, is made from the new 10d Pertex Quantum (25 g/sq/m) nylon. It still has a mini rip-stop grid but it's so gossamer light that it must be witchcraft! It's has a DWR that repelled the snow it encountered today and is also very wind resistant. It will be interesting to see how well this fabric stands up to real world conditions but as this jacket will be mainly used on rest stops and in camp then it should be more than robust enough. There was a flurry of interest in the Xenon on Twitter just before I ordered mine and this might explain why the more subdued colour options ('Dark Shark' sounded particularly cool) were sold out and I ended up with a rather retina-burning 'Juicy' orange...

Insulation comes from the Primaloft One fill. I prefer synthetic insulation for 3-season use and 60g weight is just about perfect for peak backpacking season. In early spring and late autumn I might be inclined to boost it with my Generator vest if I'm expecting particularly cool weather.

Design:

It's a very straight forward full zip jacket. I'd actually prefer a pull-on design, which saves a bit of weight and packs down a bit smaller, but on such a lightweight item as this any savings will be minimal.

I love the hood on the Xenon. Other insulated jackets I own have wired brims and volume adjusters but sometimes I question their usefulness, especially in camp. I rarely, if ever, wear an insulated jacket whilst on the move so I'm not sure that the protection from the elements offered by such features is crucial. I'm usually wearing a cap anyway so I have a brim if I need it. On exposed breaks during the winter ski tours such a featured hood is more desirable but this ultralight jacket is not primarily designed for such harsh adventures. The hood can be rolled down and secured out of the way. The inside of the face and neck area is lined with a soft fleece to reduce discomfort from moisture condensing on the shell fabric from exhaled breath.

The rest of the jacket is very simple too. There are two hand-warmer pockets, which I love to use when sitting round the camp fire telling stories but to keep things light and simple they don't have zippers. If you want to keep anything secure then there is a zip on the chest pocket, where I like to store my emergency mid-night peanut M&Ms and foam ear-plugs. The chest pocket can also be used as a stuff sack if required. Me? I prefer to loosely pack this kind of jacket in the top of my backpack, ready to pull out at any rest stop.

Construction:

Usual Rab quality here. I've never had a problem with the build quality of Rab products. Stitching is top notch, quality YKK zips and the pullers are light and simple. The main zip also sports an insulated internal baffle. There is a double-exit draw-cord for the waist hem to keep draughts at bay and the cuffs are simple elasticated affairs. The Xenon, in my size Medium, tips the scales at a feathery 295g.

Fit:

More reassuring Rab-ness here. A fairly slim, technical fit. No excess flapping material. Long enough in the body to overlap my Integral Designs PLQ pants without exposing my kidneys to the elements. Arm length is spot on. No sudden 'sleeve-creep' when reaching for your cooking pot. The hood is thankfully not 'helmet compatible' in the traditional sense. It's slim enough to slip under a helmet if required but not excessively voluminous to fit over one, and for backpackers, cross-country skiers and other non-helmet wearing folk this means less weight and more function.

Use:

While this jacket is primarily designed for 3-season use it will also find it's way into my pack in winter. Here we have a jacket that is lighter, more weather resistant and more compressible than a fleece mid-layer for up-coming winter ski trips. It's silky shell means you can easily layer a heavier, more weather resistant belay jacket over the job giving you a very flexible system. And with that 'Juicy' colour I just need to make sure I always pack my sunglasses. The future is bright, the future is Xenon...

Gossamer Gear and me...

2010-11-08T11:13:00.001+01:00

Well, as some of you will know by now I have been chosen (along with Hendrik) to represent Gossamer Gear on this side of the Atlantic. Acting as Trail Ambassadors we will be working with Gossamer Gear to promote lightweight and ultralight backpacking as well as helping with the design, testing and promotion of their products. As I often review equipment on this blog I thought it only fair to inform my readers of this development. I am under no obligation to use their products exclusively and I'm encouraged to feedback to Gossamer Gear with all my views on their products. You can check out all their products, as well as gain loads of good tips on how to go lighter and simpler in the wilderness by visiting their all-new web site here.

I have been using several Gossamer Gear products extensively during the past seven months including the SpinnTwin tarp, LT4 hiking poles (which I reviewed here) and the Gorilla, their lightweight mid-sized backpack (review upcoming). All these products are designed in the hot and humid American Southwest and it will be interesting to see how they cope with the cold and rain of the west coast of Norway.

I look forward to working with Gossamer Gear in the future and thank them for this opportunity to work with like-minded folk with a passion for lightweight wilderness travel.

(photo courtesy of Gustav Bostrom at The Bearable Lightness)

First Look: Rab Alpine Pull-On ultra-light softshell

2010-11-07T16:54:00.001+01:00

Most of you know how much I love 'wind-shirts' for 3-season backpacking and hiking. In my opinion no other garment in my wardrobe is as adaptable or useful. The only time I ever found my current wind-shirt lacking was when skiing in winter where the minimal features and simple hood left me feeling a bit exposed. Enter Rab's new Alpine Pull-On, a wind-shirt for winter?

The two sides of Equilibrium. The fine outer filaments on the left and the larger inner filaments on the right.

Materials:

The Alpine Pull-On is constructed from Pertex Equilibrium, the same wonder fabric used on the outside of Rab's legendary Vapour-rise 'true' soft-shells. Pertex Equilibrium uses the capillary action of the 'denier gradient' fabric to draw moisture away for the inside of the fabric to the outside where it disperses and evaporates. It's also wind resistant and carries a DWR well.

Design & construction:

Fixed hood. Crucial on any jacket calling itself a 'soft-shell' in my opinion. The hood on the Alpine Pull-On is a gem. There is an 'exoskeleton' external draw-cord that neatly adjusts the volume of the 'helmet compatible' hood (perfect when switching between headwear and eyewear during the course of a day) as well as a very structured foam and wire peak that should prove very useful at keeping wind driven snow out of my face. The hood also sports regular draw-cords for really pulling in the face aperture. There is also plenty of height and volume in the neck/face area preventing instances of torture when beards get chewed up by the zips on less generous garments.

The twin A-line pockets are an improvement over the 'kangaroo' pocket on my older model Vapour Rise smock. The deep pockets are mesh lined to allow even more ventilation. One feature that is a welcome cross-over from my Vapour Rise smock is the two-way deep chest zip offering plenty of ventilation adjustment, even while wearing a pack with a sternum strap. The sleeve cuffs are simple elasticated affairs that save weight and bulk .

Everything seems first class so far. The stitching is good and the YKK zips are quality. I may 'winterise' a couple of the zip pullers with lengths of 2mm dyneema to make them a little more 'glove friendly'. My size Medium weighs in at just 250g.

Fit:

Long sleeves are wonderful, especially in winter when I'll be swinging around on the end of long cross-country ski poles. Good body length with a slight drop tail seals the midriff up nicely and a slim, technical cut make this ideal for most 'active' users. Despite this being a 'shell' I went for the Medium as this fits nicely over base-layers and assists with wicking while allowing me to layer a burlier 'storm' shell over the top.

Usage:

A winter wind-shirt is basically what I'll be using this for, layering it over base-layers of various thickness, especially my Ibex Indie and Patagonia R1 hoody to hopefully give me a slightly more adaptable twist on Rab's Vapour Rise concept. The Equilibrium fabric should help keep me dry, especially useful during high aerobic activities such as ski touring and snow-shoeing. I will review the Alpine Pull-On in full in the coming months.

Red skies over the Blue mountain: 24 hour photo essay

2010-10-19T23:56:00.001+02:00

The week didn't get off to the best of starts when I discovered that the miniscule packing size of my small NeoAir leant itself perfectly to getting left behind in a mountain hut. In sympathy the weather stayed dry, sunny and cold for a whole week and I decided to head for the hills near Dale again.

30 minutes on the local train deposited me in the small town of Dale, home of Dale of Norway merino. After stopping to duct tape my new insoles to the insides of my shoes I took the bridge across the river and straight up the steep side of the valley. 600m in the first hour and a half. The sun shone enticingly over the cliffs above but in the shadows it was freezing, despite the effort. The trail goes under and and over some industrial sized water pipes and a scary looking rail track.

The stepped flanks of Blåfjellet kept promising views of the summit but each ridge just revealed another step to climb. I satiated my thirst for summits by looking north towards Stanghelle and Hestafjellet on the shores of Veafjorden.

Sunshine! Ahhh, it warms you to your very bones. The aptly name Blåfjellet (Blue Mountain)stretched up and away from me.

Blåfjellet's many ponds and lakes were decorated with swirled icing.

Higher up the trail started following a natural weakness in the geology. I stopped at a breezier spot for a rarity for me, a warm lunch cooked up on my stove, washed down with my favourite winter beverage, solbærtoddy, which is basically warm Ribena.

The trail rose and fell along the weakness, following stream and river beds that in the spring and summer would probably be raging torrents. At the tail end of autumn they are reduced to quiet, easily navigable pebbled paths interspersed with frozen puddles. In places the streams are still flowing, bubbling away under their carapace of crazy-paving ice.

The trail begins to fall into Tverrdalen, a wide valley carpeted in wavy blond grass that steadily narrows into a dark, steep, rocky chasm. The trail turns from a curvy path to a game of stepping stones. I want to go back in the spring, when the trail would be a pretty hair-raising scramble along the edges of a tumbling river. In fact the conditions underfoot on this trip couldn't have been better. A dry week and sub-zero temperatures meant even muddy patches were firm underfoot.

Somewhere above Flatavatnet (720m) I found a few square metres of dirt amongst the granite and pitched my DuoMid. Steaming stew for dinner and numerous hot chocolate drinks while I ran around taking photos and built myself a small fire to while away the minutes between the fiery red crescendo to the day and the studded brilliance of the night sky.

I watched, jaw agape, at heavenly and not-so-heavenly bodies playing in the inky blackness. Planets, stars, galaxies, airplanes and satellites all fought for my attention until my eyes and heart were captured by the best meteor I had ever seen blazing across the sky as I posed for yet another 30 second exposure.

I slept warm and long, swaddled in down and Primaloft and floating on a bed of air and insulation. I awoke right on cue to watch the sun appear again, in another fiery salute that belied the freezing cold. Coffee never tasted so good, enhanced by pure water, silence and solitude. Porridge flavoured with joy, brown sugar and cinnamon.

The almost total lack of wind made the cold easy to bear. The world was almost completely silent, save the odd call of a crow somewhere on the cliffs behind me.

Jack Frost had paid a visit during the night, coating everything with his calling card. As the sky turned from black to pink to blue it was time to pack up and head down.

The colour starts to bleed back into the hills as you lose altitude and the sun arcs across the sky. Blue rock gives way to golden grasses and brown heather.

Elevenses at the caves above Budalen. Sheltering hungry backpackers, a colony of rodents and cows in the summer the caves are currently home to two pairs of skis, abandoned on some failed adventure either into of off the mountains in the past year. On this day it was just me and a bag of cashews and raisins. Soon I was walking below the falls on the Lonane river and out to the trailhead. Then the long slow trudge down the valley to Vaksdal. The coldest part of the weekend? Standing on the platform for three hours, waiting for the train to Bergen.

Ibex Indie hooded merino base-layer review

2010-10-12T18:30:00.002+02:00

It's been a while since we were told to 'Hug a hoodie' but as we gallop headlong into the guns of winter it is time for me to urge you all to embrace the hood once more.

Hooded base-layers have a couple of neat tricks that deserve some attention as we start to think about keeping warm in the mountains. The main advantage of a hooded base-layer over a separate base-layer and hat is that you will never lose or forget your hood! Obviously in deep winter you may need to carry other hats as conditions dictate but having that first layer, always at the ready, in just the right place is a god-send and saves faffing around in pockets or your pack. If thermo-regulation is less of a chore then you are more likely to do it, keeping your body at just the right temperature to fend off sweat and heat loss. If your knitted hat is sewn into your base-layer then it's also one less thing to carry in your winter pack which, despite your best efforts, is bigger and heavier than your tiny summer UL satchel.

Hooded base-layers aren't always the easiest thing find though. For some reason the outdoor clothing industry doesn't see the need for them. While there are a few options if you search hard enough it was BPL that had the market almost exclusively 'sewn up' at one point with their legendary merino wool Beartooth Hoody. Seemingly always 'out of stock' some people resorted to stitching a balaclava to their base-layers while the rest of us signed up for e-mail stock alerts and waited and waited and waited...

Then I read that Andy Skurka was wearing an Ibex merino wool hooded base-layer, called the Indie, on his crazy Alaska-Yukon expedition. I hopped on over to Ibex's web site and liked what I saw. With a weight of 195g/sqm the Indie's 100% 18.5 micron New Zealand wool is a slightly heavier than the Beartooth's 150g/sqm but I don't usually wear merino until well into autumn and winter so the extra warmth and durability would be welcome. I pulled the trigger and ordered one.

The Indie has all the features I was looking for. Having a decent length in the body helps keep the top tucked-in in winter. The arms were also nice and long. This keeps your wrists covered when using ski or hiking poles or reaching up when scrambling. The 'thumb loops' I can live without. If the arm length is long enough then I've never quite seen the point of thumb loops. My size Medium tips the scales at 285g.

The hood is nice and snug. I didn't want anything too 'casual' that would blow down in a wind and pulling the zip up to the top cinches the hood nicely around your face. Add a Buff or face mask in deep winter for even more protection. Another benefit of a hood is the seal around the neck, especially useful for those pushing quilts into the colder months.

Above 10C (50F) I have found the Indie to be a bit warm, despite the venting offered by the 9in chest zip. It's in cooler temperatures that the Indie really shines. Changeable autumn days is the perfect environment for merino base-layers and the Indie's flexibility is welcome. On the way up the sunny side of the mountain you can push the sleeves up and pull the zip down for maximum cooling effect. Walking in and out of the weak autumn sun-light you can easily flip the hood up and down as required. On the wind swept summit ridge you can pull the sleeves down, put the hood up and pull on a wind-shirt for a really breathable but warm combination.

I've not had a chance to wear the Indie on ski tours in deep winter yet and it will be interesting to wear it alongside my Patagonia R1 Hoody, a slightly heavier, synthetic hoody that has achieved Holy Grail status in alpine climbing circles. The R1 should theoretically dry quicker but the Indie will stay warm when damp so it will be interesting to see which one wins although I have a sneaky suspicion that they might work best together as part of a system...

So I'm really pleased with my Ibex Indie so far. While not the one-base-layer-to-rule-them-all that I had initially hoped for it is still a very adaptable hooded base-layer that will stay part of my Autumn/Winter wardrobe for the foreseeable future.

On the cusp

2010-10-10T20:18:00.001+02:00

Well Autumn doesn't appear to be hanging around. Running around the northern hemisphere on it's annual world tour it recently waltzed into my town, making the trees blush before encouraging them to throw their flimsy leaves on the stage. Jack Frost was the support act but both appear to be leaving the hotel without paying their bill. Winter is on his way. Older and wiser than Autumn he will be in town for a while, playing sell-out shows in the mountains.

One last chance. I will be off to the mountains this week for a couple of days. Maybe the last time I'll sleep under my quilt before I return to the snugness of a sleeping bag. Maybe the last trip without my big down parka. Maybe the last time without skis, snowshoes or crampons. It will certainly be my first trip in a long time that I'll be cooking over gas. Hopefully I'll get a chance to catch the end of Autumn's show, to experience some of Autumn's best loved numbers. Fallen leaves. Starry nights. Crisp mornings. An encore? Well, a smattering of snow would definitely get my lighter in the air...

Hytte me with your best shot

2010-09-27T23:05:00.001+02:00

Despite being a cornerstone of recreational Norwegian life I had yet to spend a night in a tourist mountain hut, or 'hytte' as they're known over here. Often owned and run byone of the local DNT organisations these hyttes provide safe, welcome refuge for the hiker and skier.

So when my friend suggested we try out one of these hyttes as an alternative to a tent I thought it was about time. Besides I was still suffering from a minor but persistent flu virus picked up from one of the kids at school and my hiking partner doesn't do tents when the mercury is in single digits overnight.

A quick phone call to Bergens Turlag for ideas and we were on the train to Vaksdal, just 25 minutes from Bergen. Obviously it's the law to stop at any small town service station and sample the local 'dubious meat snack' (Phil Turner would approve I'm sure) so amongst the out-of-date crisps and X-rated car air fresheners we polished off a hot dog, smothered in ketchup and mustard as a 'second breakfast' and hit the trail.

It might only be September but the seasons have decided they've had enough of being known as 'changing' and now just want to be called 'changed'. The wind was keen and in places it shook the birch trees free of their thinning leaves and showered us in gold confetti.

The last few days of high pressure had done a good job of drying the trail but as usual there was plenty of elixir-like fresh water to quench our thirst. We were travelling light, a lot lighter than I normally do at this time of year in the mountains and my thoughts drifted to this concept of not carrying a shelter or cooking equipment. I thought about my first music festival. Sleeping in a tent, poorly pitched on the side of a car park. Then I remembered getting older, still going to festivals but the tents getting more sophisticated and the pitches more refined. Even older now I still like the idea of going to festivals but the idea of going back to a hotel room at night appeals. Is this what will happen to my backcountry adventuring? Eventually abandoning my tent for a comfortable hytte with a stove, drying room, soft beds and a fully stocked larder?!

On the way up we passed a few signs of human life. A few beautifully positioned private hyytes, a farther and two sons hunting team and even an abandoned toy ice cream truck. It was old and battered but probably sorely missed by some young child, left here after a day out with the family to weather the elements. A foreign object, conspicuous by it's colour and straight lines but somehow totally at home in the autumnal hills.

I've walked many trails in Norway and they are generally well marked with the famous painted red 'T' on strategically placed rocks, almost to the point where a map is just a back-up. This trail was different though. Despite being one of the areas most popular trails it was poorly marked and in places the map seemed to contradict the trail markers. This led to several detours, one of which cost us a couple of hours of unnecessary climbing to re-gain the trail.

Eventually we topped out over 900m and entered a world not so warm in colour or temperature. Up here the wind really did try and cut us in two and we clambered around the rocky shorelines of the chained lakes before we found Høgabu hytte. Unfortunately it was incredibly busy and we were lucky to get the last couple of beds in the 14-bed attic dormitory. The more regular hytte users clocked us instantly as newbies but seemed reluctant to show us the correct etiquette or procedures. With our limited Norwegian and some common sense we managed to cook ourselves some well earned stew. It was then that a big group of 14 people decided they were going to take over the entire living room and kitchen area and turn it into their private party domain. We retreated to the dorm upstairs and amongst some other shocked guests we quietly shared a wee nip before turning in, mindful to block out revelry with ear plugs.

I actually slept really well and we didn't stir until around 07.00. We were the first ones up and along with a couple of Norwegian girls we collected two buckets of fresh drinking water from the stream, fired up the stoves and put some water on to boil. Unfortunately the big group from last night didn't like us having some space to ourselves in the morning either and descended on the living quarters, almost literally pushing the rest of us out. Still unsure of proper etiquette but pretty pissed off with the big groups attitude to anyone else we filled our thermos with boiling water, selected some breakfast and lunch from the larder, settled our bill and hit the trail under the gaze of a reluctant moon. Our black mood lifted slightly along the shore of the first lake with the sighting of our first wild lemmings.

After 40 minutes of cold, gray light, dicey trails along the sides of the black lakes and a lack of caffeine we decided to stop for breakfast in the lee of a boulder and watch the sun rise over Gravatnet. Short on hot water we discovered that two packs of Via in a kuksa packs a beautifully powerful punch.

The way back was far easier in every respect. Being mostly downhill we found it really easy to find our way, even with the slightly eccentric trail markers. The cruel wind that had buffeted us on the way up yesterday was now at our back and actually dropped to almost nothing by the time we reached the tree-line. The sun shone and warmed our bones and hearts. We forgot the overcrowding and rudeness of the hytte and revelled in the autumnal colours.

As if to complete our healing descent from the madness of the hytte we were passed by a car as we left the trailhead car park, before we made our way down the road to the train station 6kms away. The car stopped and a very kind old man offered us a lift all the way into Vaksdal. He chatted with us about the mountains, excited that these foreigners were so in love with the wilderness he had enjoyed for years. My faith in humanity was restored. It wasn't the hut system that was broken, it was just a few idiots that spoiled it for the rest. Staying in hyttes isn't my first choice of accommodation in the mountains but I feel better for giving it a try and better prepared for what to expect should I have to seek refuge in one in the future.

I still prefer my own shelter though. Maybe I just don't like people...

Bounty hunters

2010-09-06T12:03:00.001+02:00

Like a lot of my 'internet weirdo' buddies I've been out gathering some of nature's bounty. While some are collecting kilos of mushrooms I'm sticking to produce I feel safe in identifying. Blueberries. The velvety indigo bubbles of Vitamin C and anti-oxidants seem almost too good to be lying around out there, free for anyone willing to expend a little energy and a few minutes bent double in their pursuit.

But there is more than food to be found out there.

It's been a while since I've ventured beyond the smooth trails around the reservoir near my home. The busy start of a new academic year and a lingering twinge in my reconstructed knee after my Hardangervidda adventure has kept my wanderings in check recently. But I'm hungry again.

The weekend's sunshine certainly put a dash of summer into a fine day in the hills day but there are signs of Autumn. A chill in morning air. Birch leaves edged in gold. Moving that fleece from the bottom of the wardrobe to somewhere more accessible.

So I've started planning some outings. Maybe one last trip in a canoe before the first frost. Hopefully a trip to a forest in October to wrap myself in autumnal colour. Thoughts of the winter's first ski trip start to arise. Beyond that are rumblings of something a bit special. Something cold and arduous. Something to day dream about.

Fruit, fungus, beauty, challenges and rejuvenation. Nature is truly bountiful. Go get some.

Under The Weather - Ultralight adventure in the Hardangervidda

2010-08-10T18:25:00.003+02:00

This was supposed to be a 7-day adventure across the stunning Hardangervidda, testing myself and the suitability of ultralight backpacking gear in a mountain plateau environment. My planned route was basically a north-to-south crossing, starting at Finse and exiting somewhere near the town of Odda and it's transport links back to Bergen.

I experienced plenty of adventure and stunning scenery but I also suffered a bout of illness and poor trail conditions that changed my plans. I will cover how my UL gear stood up to the test in a later post but for now here is a report of what happened:

(more photos can be viewed here)

After a ball-up with the trains on the day I left Bergen I found myself alighting at Finse train station (1222m) slightly later in the day than I had planned. The sun was still glowing but a cool wind blew across the lake. I walked down the Rallervegan for a while before crossing the dam. I left the crowds of tourists behind and with the Hardangerjokulen glacier on my right I headed into the Hardangervidda.

Across granite slabs and fields of talus I followed the DNT trail south. It felt good to be finally underway and the fresh environment soon rinsed away the detritus of modern life. Those first few hours, with the sun starting to set over my shoulder, felt cleansing as my legs got stretched, my lungs breathed deep on fresh mountain air and thoughts of the sights and sounds I might witness over the next few days filled me with excitement and apprehension. The weather forecast was mixed and my pack felt ridiculously light considering I was carrying seven days supply of food.

Making camp on the first day was relatively simple. Once I found a slightly more sheltered patch of bare ground to set my tarp it was simply a case of using some rocks to augment the pegs in the loose, thin soil. Foraging for some wood for use in my stove was also an easy task. Despite the total lack of trees there was plenty of dried twigs from low lying bushes hidden amongst the boulders. Once the sun dipped behind the sentinel glacier the mercury dropped significantly and I was thankful for a warm supper and hot drink before getting into my bivy and easily drifting off to sleep.

The next morning there was a shift in the wind direction and some early low lying cloud. More wood was gathered to heat water for breakfast and I was soon heading south, passing chains of glacier-fed lakes sporting different hues of aquamarine, powder-blue and forbidding black. Walking down the banks of the Viero river the sun started to shine between short, sharp showers. The Viero finally emptied itself into Sysnevatnet, a huge lake that looks prehistoric from the wild northern shore but is in fact a man-made reservoir, it's southern boundary, some 4kms away, consisting of a huge dam.

The trail turned east, following another river upstream. The water cascaded over rocks and churned through gorges, scoured through the granite by eons. Across one of the familiar high, bouncy bridges and I was soon passing by the cozy buildings of the Kjeldebu tourist hyttas. Several people were enjoying the warm, cosseted microclimate afforded by the folds in the geography. We shared waves and I headed on. Climbing again in the fierce sunshine I was soon feeling tired and frazzled. I dug around in my hip-belt pockets for a sugary snack but found nothing. Fantasising of food I stumbled across a chocolate bar, still perfectly wrapped, lying right in the middle of the trail. Obviously dropped by one of the hikers resting at Kjeldebu it was a much appreciated dose of unintentional trail magic. I checked my map again for water sources and saw what looked like a potential campsite for the night. After checking out a couple of likely spots I eventually chose one right next to a high alpine lake.

Despite a few mosquitoes it proved to be a nicely sheltered campsite. I washed my clothes and dried them in the late evening sunshine. During the day I'd managed to get myself slightly dehydrated during 7 hours of hiking. I drank long from a cold stream and felt much better as I turned in early and watched the sky burn orange, pink and red through the triangular end of the tarp.

My early bedtime meant I awoke really early the next morning, early enough to watch more dazzling colours paint the opposite side of the sky. I was on the trail by 07.00 and spent two hours walking across wide, wet, windswept moorland. I crossed the high road that crosses the Hardangervidda east to west and decided to stop for a second breakfast in the cafeteria at Dyrnaut. Ham and cheese rolls, dark, strong, slightly over-brewed coffee and a very welcome thick slice of cheesecake had me brimming with energy as I headed south once more, down towards the river and the gateway to heart of the national park. Now, the trails here in Norway are well marked, as many of you will know, with big, bright 'T's' painted on rocks and cairns along the way. Maybe I was drunk on the cloying stodginess of the cheesecake but somehow I missed my turning and instead of heading south west on a trail that would take me towards the wild centre of the Hradangervidda I ended up heading due west, skirting the edge of where I wanted to be. It was a mistake I only discovered after an hour of traversing the lumpy hillsides and I made the decision to keep heading west, knowing that I could head south again tomorrow, rejoining my intended trail.

The strong wind was now at my back and the intermittent rain thrashed at my pack and hood. There were brief glimpses of sunshine that allowed me to drop my hood but these seemed to occur just prior to the next rain shower and I spent much of the day ensconced in my rain jacket. The trail was easy to follow but underfoot it changed frequently. One minute I would be trundling along at a fair clip on firm, dry trails before my pace was slowed by bog, tussocks and swathes of mud. Much later in the day the trail dropped into a series of quieter valleys, sometimes following beautiful bubbling brooks that snaked the valley floor in natural, granite lined aqueducts.

High above the Veig river valley and the hyyte at Hedlo I decided to make camp in the shelter of some granite boulders, calved from what seemed like a natural quarry that was also home to a stream and small waterfalls. The soil here was just a thin carpet on the solid bedrock and it took quite a bit of effort to get a secure pitch. Despite the shelter of the quarry and the boulders the wind raked my camp all night. The thin titanium pegs flexed in the shallow soil. It took a while to get my stove working well and it was not long after dinner that I started to feel ill. Cold and achy to start with I was soon feeling sick to my stomach and had to lie down for a few hours until the worst of it passed. Later in the evening I wondered if my navigation error earlier in the day, that now placed me closer to an exit point, was a blessing in disguise.

Still feeling like crap when I woke up I couldn't even bring myself to brew up and have a warm breakfast. I mixed my cereal cold, packed in a few minutes and hit the trail. I wasn't sure what to do. I could still head south towards the interior or cut my losses and head west towards Kinsarvik, following part of the trail I backpacked last summer. I could even hole up in one of the tourist hyttes for a couple of days. I'd give it a few hours and see how I felt.

I dropped down into the valley and crossed the Veig, running far lower then when I saw it earlier in the season last year. Climbing hard again I took a final look at the Veig. To my dismay the sky was turning black and the accompanying rain was visible in the air as it swept across the valley and caught up with me as I crested the valley wall and trudged around the many small lakes.

After several hours the rain abated and I got short bursts of sunshine and blue skies. Through one valley I was harried by an hawk or kite that screamed and bombed over my head, probably trying to scare me away from a chick, hidden somewhere high on the cliffs above me. The tables were turned soon after however when a group of small birds mobbed the bird of prey and I was left in peace to continue my trek around the lakes that lead to the head of the Stavali valley. I passed a large group of young Norwegians, the front runners fresh faced and smiling, heading away from Stavali. In contrast the three trailing youths trudged past me with downcast faces, carrying their monster backpacks and guitar cases...

I could have stopped here at the Stavali hytte and looking back at the trip this would have been the best thing to do. I could have rested in relative comfort, seen how I felt it the morning and if I wanted I could have headed back into the interior of the national park with just an hour or so of back-tracking up the valley. If I had still felt sick in the morning then it was just five hours back to civilisation. As it was the rain was pouring and all I wanted to do at that moment was get off the mountain. Stupidity, bloody-mindedness, call it what you want but I made my decision there and then to cut my trip short and basically compress two days hiking into one in an effort to get out as quickly as possible. By then I'd been hiking for about 5 hours and thought, possibly through the judgment-impairing fug of pharmaceutical pain killers, that I should just keep going. I regret it now but at the time it made complete sense.

I don't want to make this sound like a completely negative experience. I was still enjoying the majesty of the hills and cliffs that encircled the trails but I can't deny that it wasn't turning into something of an endurance test. Just keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Across the drenched Grondalen I was basically walking with my feet constantly submerged in mud and water. I kept breaking the journey down into smaller chunks. Just get across Grondalen. Just climb out the other side. Just descend into the rocky, corridor-like Vierdalen.

The end of Vierdalen is a wall. A wall of water vapour and noise erupting from the mighty Kinso river and the half a dozen waterfalls that cascade down the massive gorge, descending from the Hardangervidda plateau to the fjord. A fall of nearly a kilometre.

On foot the descent is pretty brutal. Most of it is steep, smooth granite slopes that I remembered well from last year. This time the slabs were slicked with rain. My feet, softened by submersion and by now around 9 hours of hiking, felt like raw hamburger meat in my shoes. My route down was a zigzag of searches for cracks, weaknesses and vegetation that offered more grip than the rock slopes. Last year I spent hours exploring the valley and photographing the waterfalls, this year I trudged on by, barely glancing over my left shoulder at each of the thunderous maws as thousands of gallons of water crashed into each abyss in sequence.

Down into the forest and the trail still wasn't done with me. The rocks and tree roots along the trail are lubricated with rain and spray. The earth around each rock and root is a quagmire of mud and water from a wet summer. I was using my Lightrek 4 poles almost every step just to keep me upright. Another hour later and I was finally at the trail-head. I sat down for just a few minutes, conscious that I didn't want my legs to think the effort was over just yet and flood with endorphins. There was still an hour to go, down the soft gravel road and the 'turveg' that snakes through the trees on the outskirts of town. Finally, I poured out onto the fjord-side road in Kinsarvik, 11 hours after breaking camp. A short walk brought me to the front doors of the hotel and despite it being the weekend, during holiday season, they found me a room. I peeled off my clothes, stood under the shower and, like the cleansing I had felt at the beginning of trip, I let the warm water wash away the trail. One final chore. A short walk to the store and I returned to my room with a cold cider, more ibuprofen, a family sized bag of chips and ice cream.

Buzzed on fatigue, sickness, the celebratory cider, pain-killers and saturated fats I fell asleep.

Dish of the day

2010-07-28T15:52:00.001+02:00

While I sit here waiting for storms to stop raking the Hardangervidda so I can begin my trip I thought I'd share with you my 7-day backpacking menu.

Breakfast - It's good to get yer oats in the morning and this is exactly what I'll be doing. My oat breakfast is easy to make, delicious, healthy and cheap:

3/4 cup mixed oats
2 tablespoons 'muesli mix' (mixed chopped nuts & seeds)
handful of raisins
1 tablespoon dried milk
1 teaspoon brown sugar

All placed in a 1litre 'ziploc' freezer bag to which I simply add water, a little at a time, give the contents a good stir and squeeze then wait a few minutes before adding any more water as necessary. This kind of breakfast can be enjoyed with hot water or cold which is a bonus in cases of weather extremes or sudden time constraints due to transport connections.

Snacks - nothing revolutionary here, just a selection of muesli bars, candy bars (marzipan wrapped in dark chocolate being my favourite), small bags of nuts and dried fruit, crushed Pringles and 'energy bars'. The key here is variety. It's well known that even your most favourite snack begins to lose it's appeal after eating it for days at a time. Everything not in it's own wrapper is packaged into small, single serving, plastic bags. I'll pack three snacks per day, one for mid-morning, one for the afternoon and one for dessert/bed-time to stoke up my metabolism before bed and keep me warm at night.

Lunch - On the Nordic Lightpacking trip to Sweden earlier this year I was surprised to find myself the only member who doesn't normally stop for a warm 'lunch'. On that trip it was a case of 'when in Rome' and I 'brewed up' like everyone else but my usual style is simply a pitta pocket or fajita wrap with a selection of shelf-life sausage, long-life cheese, individually wrapped foil pots of fish or chocolate nut spread.

Dinner - There are times when I will buy and eat commercially produced freeze dried meals, the best in my experience are the Real Turmat range by Drytech. In winter I find their convenience and strangely-warming 'stodginess' very welcoming but the rest of the year I like to save myself money and weight (the packaging on the Real Turmat meals is heavy) and increase flavour by knocking up my own freezer bag meals. Freezer bag meals are prepared in the bag and require only water to be boiled in your cooking pot. No washing up necessary. This reduces mess (no trying to scrape burnt cheese sauce from the inside of a titanium pot Gustav!), weight (less equipment and detergent required) and flavour cross-contamination ("Hmmmm, a nice hint of coffee in my macaroni cheese tonight!"). On shorter trips I'll wash out and re-use the ziploc bags.

Based on easy to re-hydrate carbohydrates like couscous, dried potato flakes and small macaroni pasta I play around with other dried or shelf-stable ingredients until I find palatable meals that I'll enjoy and will go some way to refuelling me after a hard day's hiking. On the Hardanger trip I'll be taking:

2 x couscous with an Italian tomato & basil flavouring, sun dried tomatoes & pine nuts
2 x dried potato flakes with onions, garlic and parmesan cheese
2 x macaroni with cheese sauce

To cook these meals I just add hot water to the contents of the freezer bag, stir and squeeze and leave to re-hydrate for a few minutes. At this time of year I find 'cozys' unnecessary. Always add less water than you think to prevent your meal turning into gloopy slop. Volume markings on your cooking pot and writing the correct amount of water required on the outside of the freezer bag helps with this. I'll add tuna (in lightweight foil tubs) or dried spicy chorizo to these meals to bump up the fat, protein and flavour. I also carry a small bottle of olive oil which really helps to add richness and calories to the meals.

Drinks - 'Coffee is god' says the fridge door magnet in our kitchen and I can't argue with that. While I enjoy a really good cup of coffee at home (Ethiopian is my favourite) I'm no snob when it comes to an outdoor cuppa. I just need a jolt of caffeine to wake me up and I've been pleasantly surprised by the flavour and convenience of Starbuck's Via sachets (thanks to Phil for acting as my Pablo Escobar of caffeine). Forgive my inclusion of a sachet of brown sugar, that's just how I like my first brew in the morning.

In the evening I like to sip a warming kuksa of hot chocolate (sometimes with a wee nip in it) and will be packing single-serving sachets that provide enough creamy, choccy goodness for two kuksas worth. During the day I'm happy just drinking the clear, refreshing Norwegian stream water but I have experimented with 'isotonic' powders in the past. They're ok but seem expensive on longer trips. Nuun tablets were my favourite for their convenience and less sickly-sweet taste than the others I tried.

So there you have it, my 7-day menu. Enough calories to keep me going but with a slight deficit that will mean I'll probably lose a couple of pounds, which I can afford at the moment. Enough variety and flavour to stop me getting bored and keep me looking forward to every meal/snack. Enough dried ingredients to keep the weight down so my food bag for the 7 days weighs just under 6.5kgs.

Just enough so when I get back to civilisation I can gorge myself guiltlessly on raspeballer. Nom nom nom!

Useful articles/web sites:

Groovy-Biotic Cooking - Quick, healthy meals with an ultralight cook kit - Mike Clelland's legendary article on BPL.
Freezer Bag Cooking 101 - Trail Cooking.com - Good advice and 100's of amazing recipes for the backcountry traveller.

Keel hauling - backpacking with a canoe

2010-07-19T17:13:00.003+02:00

Twenty minutes drive south of Bergen there is a road-side cafe. Next to the cafe there is a shed. In the shed there are paddles. Behind the shed, down a short gravel path, there is a pontoon sitting on a lake with various watercraft bobbing around. For hire. A very small amount of money changed hands and that was it. No deposit, no questions, no safety demonstration, no rules. Next thing we knew we were afloat with the very loose plan of paddling as far as we could up the system of lakes and streams (and then maybe a bit further), camp overnight and then return the following day. The waterways were stuffed with trout we were told and so off we went, a-huntin' and a-gatherin'.

We stopped often along the way, trying various fishy-looking spots with little luck. There was no sign of trout even breaking the surface. The only ripples we witnessed were made by a frog who stopped it's busy breast-stroke commute briefly while we took it's photo before continuing on it's way across the lake. The scenery on either bank was beautiful, ranging from open rolling farmland to narrow forested passages. Brightly painted hyttes appeared silently in small clearings as we cruised by and faded, dilapidated boat houses kissed the shore line.

We glided on mill pond still water from bay to bay, island to island, trying to find the elusive trout but finding nothing more than a couple of eager jack pike to puncture the frustration of our increasingly trout-less quest. Wild flowers on the bank provided sparkles of colour while these buttery yellow lilies studded the water like jewels. Soft rain started to fall.

We found more wildlife as we wend our way up through the lake system. Swallows performed stunning aerial displays, often within touching distance our canoe, their red, white and blue plumage and physics-bending manoeuvres as striking as any Red Arrow show. Steve found a mass of baby frogs on one bank, seemingly content to sit on our warm hands and have their photograph taken. The trout however remained elusive.

Eventually we came to the end of the main lake system and faced a tough uphill section through several sets of rapids, smaller lakes and streams if we were to reach our chosen camp. One of the portage sections required us to carry the canoe above our heads across a forested island. After a short paddle across another lake we were out of the boat again as we 'walked' the canoe through shallow rapids, slow progress on the slippery rocks and strong flow against our legs. Packrafts would have made all this an awful lot easier.

One last portage was needed to gain access to the top lake. Waterfalls stopped us gaining access via a side-stream so we pulled up to a beach, lugged the canoe up 300m of rough trail and slid the green beast down a steep bank, threading it through a gap in the trees. The process was hot, hard work and we were ready for food and shelter. Just the task of paddling across a very familiar looking lake before we could beach the canoe and set up camp.

Eagle-eyed readers will recognize this spot as a regular camp site of mine. Usually sheltered from the worst of the prevailing weather by the steep cliffs behind, the little beach faces the sunset and provides enough space for several shelters. The ground drains really well too, something we were grateful for as the rain continued to fall and we sheltered under my Gossamer Gear SpinnTwinn tarp, improvised into a lean-to shelter with the addition of the oars and a branch as supports. Steve slept in my DuoMid and I slept under the SpinnTwinn after returning it to it's more regular tarp configuration.

Never have I appreciated good design as much as watching the Bush Buddy Ultra stove happily consume damp twigs. Days of rain have reduced even the most protected wood source to soggy pulp so it was with much amazement and gratitude that we sat mesmerised as the little handmade Canadian wonder bloomed into orangey life and merrily reduced pencil-sized fuel to ash.

Dinner time. Aware that our super fishing powers might let us down I packed some chorizo sausage to augment the sun dried tomato and pine nut couscous. Steve loved the food and was glad we weren't living on freeze dried meals. The Bush Buddy proved itself to be a fine marshmallow cooker too and we gorged ourselves on the crispy surfaced gooey wonders, accompanied by hot chocolate with our choice of tipple. If you're wondering why Steve has his hood up while sheltering from the rain under the tarp, it's because we were inundated with midgies that also found the tarp a useful shelter from the weather and attempted to join our meal time by feasting on our blood.

A last stroll around our camp to stretch legs, drink in the view and witness another shower pass over our secluded valley while the sky over Bergen glowed tauntingly bright. Tired but warm and well fed we retired to our shelters and drifted off to sleep to the sound of softly falling rain and gurgling waterfalls.

After sleeping warm and well we awoke to altogether heavier rain thundering against the shelters. The space under the SpinnTwinn allowed me to remain dry, reclined under there in comfort, periodically drifting off to sleep again.

One final heavy shower kept our heads down for another half an hour but as the last drops raced each other down the taut spinnaker fabric before hurling themselves onto the ground below we got up and made a warm breakfast of coffee and porridge oats with nuts, seeds and raisins. Miraculously the sun even made an appearance and lent a hand to our packing by trying to dry our gear as we loaded up the canoe and pushed off into the dark waters.

Going home was the first day in reverse. Not just the fact that we failed to catch any trout but also in the series of paddling and portages we had to perform. The first step was to paddle across 'our' lake, don backpacks and then portage the canoe 300m back down the track and into the middle lake. Skimming through swathes of reeds and grasses we turned north then west and rattled our way down the rocky connecting stream until common sense overtook our sense of adventure.

As the canoe wasn't ours we decided to 'walk' the canoe down the shallower, rock-studded channel that led towards the lower lakes. We really wanted to shoot this section, we knew that canoe could probably take it but didn't want to get stranded 8km from the car with a hefty repair bill to swallow.

As we lost height through each successive lake we had one final portage to negotiate, down the middle of the forested island, the channel one one side choked with reeds and the other channel home to a boiling, frothing set of rapids that were well beyond us and our boats capacity. We trudged across the island, following the narrow path through the trees with the canoe on our heads. At the other end we gazed up at the rapids and wished for more suitable craft. As we put the canoe in we promised to return and conquer the noisy maw. We talked-up our paddling prowess as we pushed the canoe off the bank and promptly flipped the canoe and ejected all the contents, including ourselves, backpacks and fishing gear into the dead calm, 2 foot deep margins...

The rest of day passed slowly as we battled our way back to the car, against a stiff wind that reduced us at times to silent, heads-down effort on the wider, less sheltered sections. We stopped a couple of times to half-heartedly try our luck with the trout but Steve only managed to catch a Joe-fish when he cast his lure overhead and managed to snag the back of my neck with the treble hook. Thankfully I de-barb the hooks to aid unhooking and reduce damaging any fish I return so no field medic operations were required.

Despite the weather, the shy trout, capsizing our canoe, the midgies and the unfortunate incident with the fishing lure we had an amazing time. All within a stone skimming's throw of the city.

And the winner is...

2010-07-15T14:10:00.001+02:00

Thanks to everyone who entered this caption competition. There were loads of entries that gave me a huge laugh and made me realise that us UL geeks actually have our own brand of humour! But now to announce the winner of the Evernew DX stove set and pot, as chosen by the whizzy random number generator:

Basti with his entry:

"I should really train my bear-bagging-skills. Always get messed up..."

Congratulations Basti. The Evernew DX stove set and pot will be winging it's way to you as soon as I get your address.

Thanks to everyone for entering and thanks to Hendrik for letting me use the photo.

First Look: Katabatic Gear Bristlecone bivy

2010-07-12T11:52:00.001+02:00

Katabatic Gear may be a relatively new company in the UL world but they already seem to building a loyal following for producing some excellent hand-crafted and innovative gear. Roman recently took a peek at their Palisade quilt and seemed to like it. To find out more about Katabatic Gear and it's owner, Aaron Martray, I suggest you read Hendrik's excellent interview here. In the market for another bivy I ordered a Bristlecone bivy which will be going with me on my trip across the Hardangervidda.

Katabatic Gear offer their bivys in '6 foot' and '6 foot 6 inch' versions, with right or left hand zips. Being on the cusp at a smidge over 6 feet I went for the longer version and being right handed I ordered the left hand zip option. My Bristlecone weighed in at 205g in this configuration. Trying the bivy out in the wilds of my apartment I found that there is easily enough room for my NeoAir, 3-season quilt, BPL dual chamber pillow and me. The bivy has a nicely fitted cut that helps to reduce weight and the flapping, excess material that bugged me about one of my other bivys.

Constructed with a 1.4oz sil-nylon 'bathtub' base for waterproofness and a highly breathable Pertex Quantum top, the Bristlecone will hopefully offer enough water and wind resistance to keep my down quilt protected from any elements sneaking their way in under my tarp.

One of the key design features of the Katabatic Gear sleep system is the patent pending Cord Clip method of securing their quilts to your sleeping pad. Katabatic Gear supply lengths of 2mm cord for this purpose and there are four corresponding triangle-shaped plastic loops stitched into the floor the bivy. Unfortunately my GoLite Ultra quilt isn't fitted with the necessary Cord Clips so I'll be using two lengths of 3mm shock-cord to anchor my NeoAir as I do in my MLD Soul bivy.

Anyone who uses a bivy without a zip knows about the 'Bivy Wiggle', the shuffling contortionist's dance performed when you're trying to get in and out of the bivy. I switched to zipped bivys to make this task a lot easier. Sure there is a slight weight penalty but I'll take it. The Bristlecone's smooth-running YKK zipper runs across the top of the bug netting opening, across and down to the hip area making entering and exiting the bivy a breeze.

The simple bug netting opening protects you from blood sucking insects while you sleep and should offer plenty of ventilation. In the picture above I've pulled my GoLite Ultra quilt up inside the bivy to increase the contrast and allow you to see the size of the netting. Also in the picture you can see the overhead hanging loop, allowing you to attach a cord from the bivy to the clips/loops inside many tarps/shelters, holding the bug netting off your face. I use 3mm shock-cord to reduce any stress on the bivy or the shelter when I'm moving around.

The craftsmanship is very high, easily on a par with my MLD Soul bivy. The stitching is uniform and straight and the materials used are first class. I've got high hopes that this bivy lives up to my expectations on my upcoming Hardanger trip and I will let you know how it performed.

Back to the Front - planning a revisit to Hardangervidda

2010-07-10T15:27:00.001+02:00

With the collapse of my plans to hike the entire Nordkalloten trail this summer due to reasons beyond my control it was time to figure out where to go and spend some quality time in the mountains. I still have plans to revisit the Rondane and make a foray into the Jotunheim but it was my memories of the Hardangervidda that has lured me into planning a week long trip across this beautiful mountain plateau. I will start at Finse train station and follow several DNT trails in what is basically a due south heading, running through the middle of the national park, to the east of my trip last summer, before swinging west at the end towards Odda and transport connections back to Bergen. I will pass glaciers, walk between towering peaks and along lonely rivers.

(photo courtesy of Fjäderlätt)

Averaging just over 1100m I am slightly nervous but excited about using my Gossamer Gear SpinnTwinn tarp and Katabatic Gear Bristlecone bivy as my shelter for this trip. I am lucky in that I have a very flexible schedule and will select a good weather window to mitigate my own concerns about the storm worthiness of such a minimalist shelter but my Laser Comp was almost 'too much' last year and the SpinnTwinn offers plenty of coverage should I endure significant precipitation. 'Storm worthiness' will be down to my pitching abilities and site selection. Protection from bugs will be more of a concern and I'll employ the Bristlecone's bug netting, an MLD Head Net, weapons grade DEET and judicious campsite selection in an attempt to thwart the over-attention of the little blood suckers.

I will also be taking the brilliant Four Dog Bushcooker LT1 stove. Now I know what you're thinking, isn't the Hardangervidda a 'treeless' mountain plateau? Well, yes, but there is still plenty of fuel available in the form of dwarf birch and berry stalks. Every night on my trip last year I was able to quickly gather enough 'wood' for a fire which I never actually got around to lighting due to the high temperatures and relentless daylight. I'll be packing a few Esbit tabs as back up in case dry fuel is scarce but I'm interested to see if this is a viable way of boiling water in this environment.

All my other gear will be pretty standard UL fare. The minimal footwear system, a clothing ensemble with precious few redundancies and a wash/hygiene kit that is 'bare bones' to say the least. It will be challenging but I have learned a lot since last summer and will mitigate many risks through careful planning and the luxury of that loose schedule. If it all goes 'tits up' there are always the DNT huts that stud the area where I can seek shelter. The hardest job is collating the 7 days of provisions and trying to cram them all into my Gossamer Gear Gorilla. Then it will be a case of picking a travel date, getting myself to the train station and returning to the wonderful Hanrdangervidda for more adventure. Revisiting the stunning flora and fauna. Going back to the Front.

Rematch - Doing battle with Lønahorgi

2010-07-06T15:13:00.002+02:00

I first attempted this hill two years ago, when I first moved to Norway. Sitting high above Voss, the adventure sports capital of Norway, it's towered peak let out a siren's call. Foolishly I believed that if I could see the top, I could get there. I didn't. I ran short of food, time and legs. I've learned now that the mountains of Norway are a little different to the rolling fields of southern England. After failing on that first attempt Lønahorgi sneered at me every time I passed through Voss, either by road or train, on my many journeys to the mountains since that day.

Well we went back at the weekend, with two years worth of hill legs under our belts and a greater appreciation of the rough terrain and stacked contour lines. We also used out smarts this time and took the gondola from Voss up the ridiculously steep, forested lower buttress of the massif. This saved us an hour of viewless, sweaty toil. Squeezing into the gondola with various thrill seekers, all in Voss for the extreme sports weekend, was an experience. I think Catherine especially didn't appreciate the close proximity of so many lycra clad teenage boys, their pointy mountain-bikes or the clumsy mega backpacks of the para-gliders.

We left the adrenalin junkies to jump off the hill back down to Voss and wound our way in the sunshine and warm breeze along the trail. Before long we realised that the extreme sports action was extending it's reach. Paragliders whirled over head and our route to the summit crossed the race course of a crazy 11km mountain running event starting down in Voss and topping out at just over 1000m. Dozens of wheezing, panting participants jogged past in short shorts and Inov8s. Steve echoed my strange feelings that this actually looked like fun and we should enter next year...

Above the crowds at the race finish area we started to finally get the sense of freedom and wilderness that we were searching for. We met few people up here. The snow fields started and the way became a series of 3-D rock jigsaws. The sky put on one of it's light-shows, mixing blue sky and sunshine with crushing black clouds and distant haze.

Soon we passed the 1370m contour line that marked my previous high point on this hill and we were heading to the top. The 1410m summit is a little surreal. Instead of the usual cairn and wild 360 degree view there is a massive tower that looks not unlike a James Bond villain's lair. I've still not managed to find out what the tower is used for but it's still impressive to think that someone built it up here, raked by high winds and sub zero temperatures in winter.

A quick lunch stop with mountainous views in front of us and the buzz of industrial concrete and machinery as our back rests and it was time to head down. The snowfields were fun. Slip sliding the snow and leaping the melt-water streams that snaked across striated rocks. Going down took almost as long as going up and we also had to navigate the brutally steep forested lower slopes as, bizarrely, the gondola stopped running at 17.00, despite Voss being awash with hundreds of thrill seekers who needed gravity. The lower slopes were steamy and choked with flies. Breaking out the verdant cover into the breezy meadow below was welcoming.

So Lønahorgi was conquered in six hours. No longer able to sneer at us every time we passed through Voss on our way to the mountains. Plans were made for scaling more of the peaks that we had reconnoitred from Lønahorgi's summit. A very welcome ice cold coke at the garage and we were on our way home to Bergen.

Four Dog Stoves Bushcooker LT1 stove review

2010-07-04T10:44:00.001+02:00

My brief dalliance with the Evernew Ti DX multi-fuel stove I tested here piqued my interest in using wood as a fuel for my backpack cooking needs but left me slightly disappointed and in search of something more suitable. I knew I wanted it to be primarily a wood burner but one that could also use other fuel sources in a pinch. I also wanted it to be small enough to fit inside the 700ml pots I use on solo trips. Some internet research and discussions with Hendrik lead me to try the Four Dog Bushcooker LT1, the smallest of the three Bushcooker LT stoves. The stoves are available in Scandinavia through Riheda Outdoor, Finland.

Designed and handcrafted from titanium by Donald Kevilus in Minnesota the LT1 weighs in at just 76g according to my digital scales. The finish is top drawer and the design is simple, neat and very effective. The key is the two walls. The outer is a cone which makes the stove very stable. The inner wall, that makes up the 'firebox', is a straight sided cylinder. This creates a space for air to be drawn in through the holes in the conical outer wall and then into the firebox in two ways. The first is through the 'fan' shaped base and the second is up the sides, between the walls where the air is heated and 'injected' into the firebox through subtly tweaked ports. Four simple legs act as pot supports and that is really it. No moving parts to break. Despite being constructed from thin titanium sheet the LT1 has a robust feel to it. It doesn't feel flimsy or 'tinny' although I would always transport it inside my cooking pot to prevent accidental crushing.

I'm finding the LT1 a joy to use. It burns quietly and efficiently and with far less 'fussing' and blowing than I found the Evernew DX required. Sure, you still have to sit there and feed the little beast but ask any pyro-inclined backpacker, that is a good thing. It's nice to sit there and take your sweet time over the process. It doesn't take too long either to be honest. The Four Dog website claims a pot of water can be brought to the boil over dry twigs in 6 minutes. I'm not sure that I've quite managed it that quickly yet but that may be because Bergen has been 'enjoying' lots of rain and heavy thunderstorms recently that have left all the wood a little damp. Has that prevented me using wood as a primary fuel source? Hell no! A pinch of pocket-dried birch bark and the smallest, driest twigs I could find soon had a fire burning that was hot enough to burn even damp pencil-thick twigs. I found it easiest to light the kindling through the fan-shaped base then added very small twigs until the fire really took hold. Once I placed the pot on top it was easy to feed the larger twigs in between the pot and stove.

I'm sure it's all to do with the design but the LT1 definitely burns faster and with far less smoke than the Evernew DX. It's also more stable thanks to it's conical shape. The Bushcooker stoves come supplied with an ash pan and a shallow alcohol/esbit pan that can be used as a 'starter' when using wet wood. You start with a bit of an esbit or alcohol, just to get the kindling started, then switch over to just wood once the firebox is nice and hot. This is especially useful above the tree-line where my main fuel source will be dwarf birch and low-lying berry stalks that are more open to the elements than the nicely protected dead branches of trees at lower elevations. I have read that the Bushcookers can also be fuelled with other 'biomass' fuels such as pine cones and dry animal dung. With all these options you can see why fuel weights with these stoves are so low, you really don't need to carry anything beyond a couple of emergency 14g esbit tabs, even on long trips.

Now to another crucial factor for me. Compactness. I like my 'kitchen' to fit inside my cook pot with no need for caddies or separate stuff sacks. The LT1 slides into my Evernew Pasta Pot like a glove. I mean really sweet. It's like they were made for each other. No rattling, no scratching. It's perfect. There is enough space left over for kindling and fire-lighting supplies and Hendrik showed me another neat trick with these kinds of stoves, priming them with kindling and twigs whenever you find suitable fuel so they're ready to rock when you need them down the trail. Especially useful on long, cold wet days.

Donald has created a masterpiece as far as I'm concerned. The design is simple and effective and the faultless construction should provide years and years of reliable service. That I don't need to rely on gas canisters or alcohol not only saves me weight on every backpacking trip I take but it also saves the world's natural resources during my journey through life too. A stunning bit of kit.

"We'll not risk another frontal assault. That rabbit's dynamite!" - Evernew Titanium Pasta Pot review

2010-06-29T13:03:00.001+02:00

The quest for the Holy Grail. The perfect Chalice. There have been may pretenders but this one might be as close as you can get. This is the Evernew Pasta Pot Small, a 700ml capacity 'solo' sized titanium cooking pot/mug. Big enough to swallow a 110 gas canister, or my Four Dog Bushcooker LT1, it weighs in at a scant 95g.

Evernew pots are made in Japan to very high specifications. Evernew claim "We use TP35C JIS Ver.2 sheet metal Titanium, which is currently the best material in the world" which allows them to use a material just 0.3mm thick. Cold press construction leaves the material stronger and the finish smoother than the competition. The Pasta Pots are different from the rest of the Evernew Ultralight range in that they incorporate a 'strainer' into the lid, which is a very neat addition if you're cooking basic pasta or Ramen-style noodles in your pot.

Robin prefers the the long, narrow handles on his Evernew 640 pot but I much prefer the more mug-like folding handles on the Pasta Pot, especially on trips when this will be both my pot and mug. The Evernew pot handles are covered in a heat resistant silicone tubing. Time will tell if they cope with unruly flaming wood fires as easily as they cope with the more controlled flame spread of canister stoves.

The attention to detail really sets these pots apart from much of the competition. The Pasta Pot has a few features that should be standard on all cooking pots, in my opinion. Volume markings really help when preparing meals. Too much water and it's easy to turn your freezer bag meal into unpalatable gelatinous gloop.

A spout helps too. I like having spouts on a cooking pot. My MSR Titan Kettle has one. Pouring boiling water into a freezer bag or your kuksa is less of a gamble. Much less chance of pouring it into your lap.

The Pasta Pot also has a 'positive' lid, meaning that it doesn't just sit on top of the pot but snugs down nicely with the tiniest amount of pressure thanks to a simple roll of the titanium around the spout portion of the lid. That also stops it rattling around in your pack all day. The pot arrived clean too, without the metal dust and fingerprints that have been evident on other pots I've bought in the past.

So Evernew pots manage to be built to a higher standard, combine more features and weigh less than much of the competition. Who knows how Evernew does it. We, the consumers, are the winners here. I've finally found a pot that manages to combine all the features from various other pots into one, light, well-made chalice. My quest is over. Highly recommended.

"Right! Silly little bleeder. One rabbit stew comin' right up!"

Say something funny & win an Evernew Ti DX stove set & Tibetan Titanium pot!

2010-06-25T15:37:00.001+02:00

This was supposed to be the post I used to re-launch Thunder In The Night on it's own custom domain but after a week of tears, hair-pulling, worry, brave attempts at helping my IT-incompetent ass from friends and an awful lot of swearing we are back at square one.

And so on to the give-away...

In order to simplify my budding stove selection I'm giving away the Evernew Ti DX stove set I reviewed here, along with a Tibetan 700 titanium pot. The stove set is boxed but will of course fit nicely into the pot making a very light (201g) and compact package. All you have to do to win this set-up is leave a funny caption as a comment, for the photo, above, of Hendrik. I am aware that some banter may result so please pre-fix your competition entries with 'ENTRY'.

As you can see the gear has been used a few times but it's all in A1 nick, if a little sooty. The competition is open until 15th July 2010 when I'll employ one of those clever random number generator thingummys to pick a winner. I'll then contact the lucky person via e-mail and post the prize! The competition is open to anyone in Europe.

Looking forward to your comedy gold!

Follow the leader...

2010-06-20T09:57:00.002+02:00

So, do you want to learn how to backpack above the tree-line with lightweight equipment but are unsure if you'll stay comfortable, well fed and in good spirits? Want to visit some of the beautiful, wild Swedish mountain scenery with a knowledgeable guide? If so then Jörgen Johansson has got you covered as he offers his 'Learn Lightweight Backpacking in Arctic Scandinavia' course being run on 21-27 August. Visit his website here for more information on what is guaranteed to be a highly informative and enjoyable trip.

Tripping the wet fantastic

2010-06-18T13:51:00.001+02:00

After some interesting discussions recently concerning the whole 'keep your feet dry' subject I thought I would run through the gear I wear during summer & '3 season' conditions and how I implement it (for the last word on lightweight footwear in deep winter conditions I strongly suggest you go to BPL's excellent 'Lightweight Footwear Systems for Snow Travel' part 1, part 2 and part 3).

Firstly why this subject comes up at all. If you believe what you see and read in the outdoor media some companies promise to keep your feet dry during your wilderness experience by wrapping them in their 'waterproof/breathable' membrane-lined footwear that they spend millions of dollars advertising each year. If you hike gentle terrain, in cool, dry conditions they're probably right. But if it's hot or steep your feet will sweat and soon overpower the alleged 'breathability' of the membrane. Sweaty feet are prone to blisters.

In wet conditions it's even worse. The huge design flaw in all 'waterproof/breathable' footwear is that there is a big hole in them. The one you stick your foot in. With all the will, side-stepping and ballet prancing in the world you can't keep your feet out of the water if your hiking anywhere with streams, rivers, snow, rain or even dew. This is even more likely when you're off-trail, away from well worn paths, bridges and stepping stones across water courses. The old-fashioned way was to wrap your lower legs up in even more 'waterproof/breathable' membranes in the form of gaiters but this led to guess what... hot, sweaty, blister-prone feet at best and and more likely, creeping water ingress that eventually soaked the entire footwear system and stayed wet for days.

So what's the enlightened answer? Prepare to think outside the box here and go against everything you've been told about keeping your feet dry in the outdoors. Get your feet wet. That's right. Let the water in. Sure, it can feel a little cold for a second as the icy water first finds it's way in through the mesh of your unlined but light and comfortable trainers but it's ok. You won't die or suddenly get struck down with trench foot. After fording the river you hit the trail again and guess what happens to all that water that's sloshing around in your shoes? It comes flowing out again, back out through the mesh. If it's a warm, dry day you might even find your socks dry out in a couple of hours. Your hiking partner with the lined footwear? The water that splashed over the top of their boots, or wicked into their socks from hiking in the damp grass is going to stay there. All day. Quite possibly for a few days after you've stopped hiking.

Obviously this approach takes a little more care in equipment selection so we'll look at the individual components for a typical backpacking trip:

Unlined, highly breathable trail running shoes. Light, grippy and quick drying thanks to the mesh upper construction. The mesh also keeps them cool in really hot conditions leading to less sweaty feet.

Two pairs of socks. One pair are thin, quick drying merino wool blend or fully synthetic 'trail running' socks and the other pair is a taller, thicker pair of wool socks that I keep purely for sleeping in and keep stored in the bottom of my sleeping quilt's dry bag.Some people will take a second pair of the hiking socks on longer trips but I'm happy to use just two pairs for most backpacking trips up to four or five days.

Mini-gaiters. Not essential but great at keeping twigs, dust, stones, seeds, thorns, etc out of your socks and shoes. Forget waterproof membranes here too. Go for stretchy, breathable materials.

Waterproof socks. Not strictly necessary if you like to crash out in your tent for the night the second you stop hiking or are lucky enough to hike somewhere like the desert but here in Scandinavia they are very useful. 'Waterproof/breathable' membranes are allowed here!

Miscellaneous items. A towel to dry your feet and some foot lube. I use a 14g micro-fibre 'kitchen towel'. They're much more absorbent than those 'travel towels' they try and sell you in outdoor shops, much lighter and far quicker drying. Sure they won't last forever but have you ever smelled one of those expensive 'travel towels' after a while? Yuk!Hydropel sports ointment is awesome. Also not strictly essential but I'm a fan. A small amount smeared into your feet first thing in the morning stops your feet from macerating and becoming prone to blisters. Sometimes difficult to get hold of and relatively expensive I save it for trips over a few days in duration.

Putting it all together. First thing in the morning I apply some Hydropel to dry feet before slipping them into my hiking socks, mini-gaiters and shoes. During the hike I just keep walking. No need to desperately try and keep my feet dry. In fact, if you're hiking early in the day your feet will get wet just from the dew on the grass. Sometimes during a midday break I'll whip off my socks and shoes to let them dry out but this will probably only happen on warm, sunny days.

At evening camp my routine is to set up my shelter in my damp footwear before getting inside and sitting on my bivy. I whip off my wet shoes and hiking socks and remove the insole to speed up any drying (if conditions allow). I'll wash and carefully dry my feet before digging out my dry, fluffy sleep socks from the bottom of my sleeping quilt's dry bag where they've kept dry all day. Dry feet into dry sleep socks and then on with my 'waterproof' socks. This allows you to put your feet back into your wet hiking shoes for any other camp chores, taking photos or simply sitting around a camp fire. I wring out as much moisture as I can from my hiking socks and put them in a pocket close to my body to start drying. If you're lucky enough to have a nice camp fire then now is the time to try and dry out your hiking socks, insoles and shoes. Just be careful, I've seen plenty of socks 'crisped' and shoes melted by being left too close to the flames! The only things that should be melted are the marshmallows... When it's time to turn in for the night my shoes get left inside my shelter to keep them out of the rain and I slip off the waterproof socks and into bed. Hiking socks go back into a pocket near to my body or even under my base layer and will often dry completely overnight with my body heat. Laying them on your stomach, while your warm, high calorie dinner is in there digesting is a good place to put them.

On the second morning I stuff my dry fluffy sleep socks into my sleeping quilt's dry bag, smear on some Hydropel and fish out my hiking socks from under my baselayer. My hiking socks and shoes may not be totally dry but that's ok. They'll be comfortable enough to put on and get hiking and will probably be wet again after a stroll in the dewy grass or the first river fording. But guess what? My dry, fluffy sleep socks are waiting for me at my next camp and who knows, if the sun keeps shining today my feet might even dry out on the trail!

So the key is not to try and keep your feet dry all the time but to make sure your feet get dry and warm for a period of time every day. This is best done overnight and will go a long way to keep your feet in tip-top nick. Foot problems occur when your feet are damp and cold for long periods of time so break that cycle and treat your 'plates of meat' to some TLC every night.

Mountain Laurel Designs Sil-nylon DuoMid shelter review

2010-06-14T09:36:00.000+02:00

Not a lot more needs to be written about the allure of modern, ultralight pyramid shelters than Ryan Jordan's eloquent piece here and more specifically about Mountain Laurel Design's DuoMid (albeit the cuben fibre model) on Andy Howell's blog here but suffice to say that the DuoMid really could be the 'one shelter to rule them all'. Sure there are occasions where I still like a more minimal, simple tarp (in high summer) and I'd prefer the rock solid protection of a true high mountain tent in the winter mountains of Norway but for 90% of the time this wonderful, simple, light and adaptable shelter is all I need.

The MLD workmanship is legendary and the design is elegantly simple. Customisation is also available and the 6-8 weeks delivery can feel delightfully painful. Big enough for two people at a pinch (although for extended use I would size up to the SuperMid to avoid possible companion conflict) it is a palace for one, especially in poor weather. No need for yoga poses when your getting changed. Plenty of room for spreading your gear out and even cooking inside if your stove can be trusted to behave itself. Rumour has it that it's the ultimate shelter for one man and his dog. Modular in the respect that you can use it with a choice of InnerNets, bivys and with or without a ground sheet, this shelter can cope with all kinds of weather. It goes up quickly and there is little to fuss with beyond learning to pitch it as tight as a drum. I chose yellow because I don't have to worry too much about being 'stealthy' over here and it's a beautifully sunny, happy place to wake up in. I chose Sil-nylon because it was far cheaper than cuben fibre and allegedly more durable. I understand I might have to fuss around with the pitch slightly more due to Sil-nylon's tendency to stretch a little on poor weather but that's ok with me. It's another piece of gear I would replace in a flash if I ever lost it and this reinforces my belief that this shelter is close to perfection.

Anyone want to buy a Laser Comp?!

Evernew Ti DX stove set review

2010-06-12T17:45:00.001+02:00

No other stove has garnered as much hype in the UL community recently as Evernew's Ti DX. It promises much. Multi-fuel versatility, ultralight and importantly for me, compact enough to sit inside my cooking pot without the need for things like caddies or extra stuff bags. Elegantly manufactured from titanium in Japan the finish is sublime. The whole thing packs down to sit in the bottom half of a typical 700ml pot leaving plenty of space for folding sporks, your choice of fire starters and kindling. It weighs 86g for the upper and lower rings, 'Power Plate' and the Trangia-inspired alcohol burner. In fact you can find all the fine detail on Evernew's website so I can spend more time telling you how it worked...

I've had a chance to use this little stove in two of it's three guises, as a wood burner and as an alcohol stove. It will also burn solid fuel 'Esbit' tabs but they are proving a little hard to come by over here and the two tabs I do have left I'm keeping as emergency fuel back-ups in case I run out of alcohol or can't find any wood dry enough to burn.

I bought the Ti DX to use primarily as a minimalist wood burner and the first time I got to use it was a pleasant, warm, dry, over-nighter, up above the tree-line. There is still a bountiful supply of fuel here but you have to look harder for it. Dry, dead heather stalks and alpine berry stems are hidden below the undergrowth and offer more than enough combustible material and a couple of handfuls will easily bring a 700 pot of water to a boil.

With a single match and a pinch of pocket-dried birch bark as tinder the Ti DX was soon burning nicely. Unlike other wood burning stoves it does need a little more attention as the fire box is small but when time isn't a priority it's actually an enjoyable task, feeding the flames with pencil sized morsels through either of the slots. It pulls air in easily enough through the perforated 'Power Plate' acting as a base and the circular holes around the lower edge. The slightly golden finish of the titanium when new was soon lost to it's working uniform of blued metal and soot but it's a fine looking unit when flickering away with orange flames.

When I took the Ti DX on the Scandinavian UL Bloggers Meet-up in Sweden the unit, in stripped down, wood-only, 52g guise, was up against some difficult, wet conditions and superior wood burners. The gold standard of UL wood burners is currently the highly regarded Bushbuddy and next to a couple of those, with experienced users, the Ti DX struggled to match their performance. It took a lot longer to bring water to a boil, sometimes marked by my friends happily starting their dinner while I was still waiting for water to boil. If you travel alone and time is something best spent enjoying the task of feeding the stove then this is of no consequence but in Sweden we travelled in a group and during short stops in bad weather it's time-consuming action made breaks longer than necessary. The Bushbuddy is, however, heavier and requires a larger, heavier pot for storage, around the 900-1000ml range, something to bear in mind.

The alcohol burner is neatly crafted and resplendent with metric and imperial fuel volume markings. It sits in the lower ring and the 'Power Plate' can be sited on top. I'm not analytical enough to run dozens of tests to ascertain it's fuel consumption scientifically (thankfully people like Dave are) but in use it doesn't appear to be the most miserly of units, using around 35ml of fuel to boil 600ml of water compared to about 26ml of fuel in my Super Cat stove. On a long distance hike, using just alcohol as a fuel source, this could be significant.

So while the Evernew Ti DX has some serious advantages like ultra-low weight, superior compactness and versatility over some of it's rivals it is not without a few niggles. Thirsty in alcohol mode and a little slow and fussy when burning wood it comes down to the individual to decide if the advantages outweigh the minor disadvantages. The answer to our quest for the ultimate do-it-all UL stove? Maybe believe the hype.

Inov8 Terroc 330 shoe review

2010-06-11T20:21:00.001+02:00

Inov8 Terroc 330's are from the chunkier end of Inov8's ultralight footwear range. Aimed at long distance off-road travel they have something of a cult following amongst lightweight and UL backpackers. Sporting technical sounding features such as Meta Flex, Met Cradle and Terra Shank they are actually very simple and nicely low-tech compared to some of the over-stuffed, pumped-up, fussily engineered rubbish that passes as athletic footwear these days.

My Terroc 330's were actually warranty replacements for my ill-fated Flyroc 310's. It was nice of Inov8 to have enough belief in their product to replace the 310's but they were proving to be a popular model last year and they didn't have any in stock. I was happy with the 330's as a replacement as I'd heard how supremely comfortable they were whilst still retaining Inov8's commitment to low weight.

The Terroc 330's, built on the 'Comfort' last, have a wider toebox than many of Inov8's models, something that is very welcome in shoes that might be used for 8 hours a day and they cope with any slight swelling easily. The mesh is fairly free flowing and as well as letting glacier-cold water in during early season fording they also allow it flow out again and dry somewhat after a few miles if you're lucky to be blessed with a dry trail. The heel cup is also good, somehow I find it deeper than the 310's and 315's and I've not had a blister on my heel, the part of my foot that seems more prone than the rest, whilst wearing these. For the gram weenies, my size 10.5UK shoes weigh in at 803g a pair.

The sole unit isn't my absolute favourite in the Inov8 line-up, I much prefer the sublime mud shedding abilities of the Roclite sole as the Terroc sole does tend to pick up bits of gravel fairly easily but it's still very grippy and far superior to the Salomon's that seem to be the 'other' UL footwear of choice. The tough rubber toe guard is also welcome on a long days hiking when energy flags and foot falls are not as accurate as earlier in the day. I also like Inov8 laces. Tough, normal laces instead of the 'hi-tech' damage-prone systems of some other manufacturers. In fact, when a fancy kevlar lace system failed on a pair of other shoes I replaced them with some spare Inov8 laces and they've been perfectly fine ever since.

They are one of those items of gear that if I lost today I would go out and buy exactly the same item tomorrow. Comfortable, light, well ventilated and grippy they cover just about every necessity that an enlightened backcountry traveller could have. Highly recommended.

It's not rocket science

2010-06-10T22:24:00.001+02:00

A fun little project for anyone with an MSR Titan kettle kicking around. Timo in Finland wrote about this one over at BPL a while ago and it seemed like a neat idea to me. A trip to IKEA, £4 of my hard earned, about 20 minutes of my time and I had myself a nice little wood burner stove that nests oh so lovely around the Titan when not in use. I've also finally found a use for the hilarious Terra Nova titanium pegs that come with the Laser Comp tents, they're now pot supports. 87g all in. Sure, it needs a way to lift it off the ground slightly to improve air flow a bit but I'm working on that. A nice little way to boil up water for the whiskey spiked hot chocolates we consumed at the weekend. They tasted even better in the new kuksa!

Thunder In The Night

For those in peril on the sea

Save the last dance

Strangers are just friends waiting to happen - Part 1

Searching for Winter

"Toast Christmas future, and toast Christmas past"

Taking confidence and giving Paramo

Don't ditch your Nalgene bottle

Blackened

Angry knees, rusted guns

Walking between the rain drops - Umbrellas in backpacking

Forty Six & 2 - Evolving footwear systems for Autumn

Camp low, lunch high

Back to basics

The swallows only honour the houses where the people are happy

Every cloud has a lead lining

Dirty Black Summer - Joy & Failure on the Jotunheimstien

"What's going on buddy?" "You're being put into carbon-freeze"

Package tours

Dead Reckoning

Press Gang

Breaking radio silence

Adders and Bandannas

Thunder on the Tundra - The Gear - Final gear list

Thunder on the Tundra - The Gear - Sleep system

Thunder on the Tundra - The Gear - Gimme shelter

Thunder on the Tundra - Day 5, 6 & 7

Thunder on the Tundra - Day 4

Thunder on the Tundra - Day 3

Thunder on the Tundra - Day 1 & 2

Thunder on the Tundra - the trip in numbers

On the wrong side of the tracks?

Guide to live, live to guide

Thunder on the Tundra - Skiing Finnmarksvidda - The Plan

Knapsacks and sesame snaps

Do not speak unless you can improve the silence

Wax on. Wax off. Get bent. - Why I *heart* waxless skis

First Look: Forty Below Light Energy Shortie overboots

Cabin fever

First Look: Mountain Laurel Designs Spirit quilt

Fill in the planks

Like a kid at Christmas

Tuff Stuff - my 'gear of the year' post

Waxless lyrical

Inverting the Spider

MYOG: Stove pad

First Look: Montane Extreme Mitts

Finally...

Striking a balance

The Kupilka kuksa and alternative drinking strategies

First Look: Integral Designs Hot Socks

First Look: Rab Xenon insulated jacket

Gossamer Gear and me...

First Look: Rab Alpine Pull-On ultra-light softshell

Red skies over the Blue mountain: 24 hour photo essay

Ibex Indie hooded merino base-layer review

On the cusp

Hytte me with your best shot

Bounty hunters

Under The Weather - Ultralight adventure in the Hardangervidda

Dish of the day

Keel hauling - backpacking with a canoe

And the winner is...

First Look: Katabatic Gear Bristlecone bivy

Back to the Front - planning a revisit to Hardangervidda

Rematch - Doing battle with Lønahorgi

Four Dog Stoves Bushcooker LT1 stove review

"We'll not risk another frontal assault. That rabbit's dynamite!" - Evernew Titanium Pasta Pot review

Say something funny & win an Evernew Ti DX stove set & Tibetan Titanium pot!

Follow the leader...

Tripping the wet fantastic

Mountain Laurel Designs Sil-nylon DuoMid shelter review

Evernew Ti DX stove set review

Inov8 Terroc 330 shoe review

It's not rocket science

Wax on. Wax off. Get bent. - Why I heart waxless skis