Plan A - This was the original South/North Hardangervidda traverse via foot and packraft mooted many months ago by myself on Twitter and latched onto by Beni and Marco as a fine way to visit and explore a beautiful part of Norway. We bought and shared maps and routes and oohed and aahed at all the pretty photos on the internet. We fantasised about crystal clear lakes and powder blue rivers, perfect trails and the cultural lure of walking and paddling on the set of The Empire Strikes Back...
It was Beni who kept everything in check. Could we expect snow? Well, sure, it's northern Europe's largest mountain plateau, it could snow any time of year. No, how much snow will we have to walk on? Pffft! Only a few snow fields higher up. It's summer Beni, relax, all the snow will be gone by the time we get there...
So we watched the weather forecasts and looked at the webcam at Finse, Norway's highest train station that would serve as our northern terminus. Fuck, it still looks like winter up there. The grainy image on the live feed showed a man as he walked past a six foot high snow drift next to the train tracks...
A couple of visits to the DNT trekking association office in the city reassured us that the snow would go by the time we would hit the trail. Sure, we were going fairly early in the season but the summer bridges would be up and the main trails would be clear. Then we stumbled upon Willem's bang-up-to-date information from his epic Trans Scandinavian thru-hike. At least 60% snow cover, raging rivers, no bridges and bad weather. Hmmmmm....
One last trip to the folks at DNT and their previous light-hearted reassurance was replaced with stern-faced head shaking. No, the Hardangervidda was a bust. Dangerous conditions. Too much snow. No bridges. Go someplace else. With barely a week to go before Beni and Marco flew in we were forced to come up with a Plan B...
Plan B - I pleaded on the Norwegian outdoor forum for somewhere relatively snow-free that would offer some interesting hiking and packrafting and was accesible from public transport. Few replies came back but Vassfaret was mentioned, an interesting enclosed valley full of rivers, lakes, forests, peaks, nature reserves and possibly even bears... Guaranteed snow free. We couldn't find a lot of information in English and hoped it might be an under-explored gem of Norway and set about buying maps and getting into the frame of mind that we would be exploring an unknown entity together.
It started well enough. Beni and Marco's flight into Bergen coincided with 25C temperatures and wall-to-wall sunshine. Almost too hot for hiking. We walked into the city and did some last minute shopping of essentials. Chocolate, reindeer sausage and cheese. Back at my apartment we started the final pack. Odd visited us to help with some basic route planning and watch me burn the grillpølse to a blackened crisp on the barbecue...
The next morning we grabbed one more map in town and headed out of Bergen on the train. I hoped Marco and Beni were enjoying the scenery as we climbed into the mountains, past swollen rivers, hills and valleys dripping with sunshine. When the train stopped at Finse we were relieved that we hadn't decided to ahead with our Hardangervidda plan. The snow was still deep and widespread but it looked rotten too with collapsing snow bridges over angry, grey, torrents. "We made the right decision" was our chorus as the train slowly descended the other side of the mountains into a warm, drizzly, grey soup.
We alighted at Nesbyen and met a few of the perky locals as we walked into town to obtain fishing licenses for the boys and chug a last coffee. Then we walked back to the river, blew up the boats and pushed off full of hope and good cheer under warm but leaden skies.
The initial flow of the river at Nesbyen soon waned as the river widened and slowed to practically still water. We joked and watched the river valley slide past as our little boats wheeled around. Farms, rural homes, the railway and road flowed by on either side. It was all hemmed in by vertical rock faces on one side and the steep, forested hills on river left that contained the trails that would lead to Vassfaret.
After stopping once to refill our water bottles we made our way further downstream to Geitsund before hauling out, skipping quickly over a farmer's field and then up into the forest in an attempt to find water and somewhere to camp. Eventually we found both, right around the time the mosquitoes and no-see-ums found us. As the rainforest-esque drizzle began to fall with the dusk we made camp and boiled water on the Jetboil and Beni's Bushbuddy Ultra. When the scratching, rubbing and swatting couldn't repel the squadrons of insects we donned headnets before retiring to our shelters.
In the morning we returned to the river and paddled our boats through the thick valley mist. The fog hid unseen noisy whitewater monsters. Or that is what we thought. More often the scary monsters were just small side rapids that we glided past unmolested. The few riffles we ran were good fun for myself and Marco who hadn't run any whitewater at all but they bored Beni who craved something more challenging and who has more experience on moving water.
Exiting the river under a road bridge in Kolsrud we searched in vain for several hours for a faintly marked trail up into the hills without success. We did manage to piss off several farm dogs and cross the main railway line half a dozen times searching in vain. Defeated, we headed back to the river via a long trail along the railway and floated further downstream, through more riffles to Velta where we exited again, deflated the boats and found a solid bomveg track that promised serious altitude gain in the shortest possible time due to steep switchbacks.
The climb into the clouds turned out to be long and tedious. The track was well graded which made the climbing easier underfoot but monotonous on the soul. Conversation thinned as the cloud thickened and the gradient increased. Marco's Pyrenean-tuned legs coped the easiest with the toil. Running out of daylight and options we scouted a side trail for suitable camping spots but ended up in a clearing a little too close to the track for our liking. Once again the bugs found us quickly. Pitching the already damp shelters, our communal dinner over the Jetboil's roar was again done through headnets. Turning in for the night we hoped for better weather tomorrow as we laid back and watched columns of mosquitoes queue up on the paddle shaft supporting our shelter.
Staring up with fuzzy eyes, the dreary, saturated inner walls of the Shangri La 3 didn't bode well. Outside the air was thick with mist and no-see-ums. I busied myself with my camera for an hour or so while Beni and Marco tried to catch up on their sleep. The morning's route still required more track walking but the rain held off for a couple of hours. Not that we were dry. Everything was damp from the previous days and the morning river crossing and dew bejeweled foliage ensured we continued in our soggy travels. The dry weather spell didn't last long either and soon rain rolled in that required first our windshirts to repel before finally reaching an intensity that had us pulling out our full rain gear which was proving stuffy to wear in such still and muggy conditions.
Finally over the brow of the forested hills we needed to cross from one forest track to another, that would lead us to the hills surrounding Vassfaret. The faint trail marked on the map was even fainter in real life. I took a compass bearing to follow in case the faint sheep track we found disappeared. A likely possibility. Thankfully though we stumbled across a faint snow machine trail, belying it's winter course with twin tracks of slightly flattened foliage. The compass bearing did the rest and we emerged the other side of a miserably wet valley right at the corner of the hytte I had taken the compass bearing to on the map.
We stopped to eat and fill water bottles with bog water and water purifiers. Donning hoods we got set for more marching, aiming for a nature trail that would hopefully provide more interesting surroundings, and hopefully the chance sighting of a moose...
The road over Lyftet was miserable. The rain poured. Conversation ceased. We needed off the soulless road. And fast. I made a beeline for the nearest nature trail. We passed under buzzing powerlines, carbon trekking poles held low in fear and finally off the road. The difference was palpable. Our mood lifted as the trail became interesting with a twisty course, streams and flowers. Likely looking moose drinking holes popped up periodically but alas the moose were far too savvy to our clumsy approach.
Soon we were climbing the backside of Likkistefjellet at around 1000m. The trees stopped and we were walking through more open country. Not that there was too much to see. Thick cloud swirled around and when it did part slightly for our summit photo another bank of water vapour curled up from the valley below and poured up over the hillside. The lakes of the Vassfaret valley far below glowered back at us, navy blue and sullen. The peaks to the north, one of our earlier goals, remained cloaked.
Refueled and photographed we headed down the twisting trail towards the valley. Just as we got to the tree line I heard a sharp crack ahead of me, followed by a loud Germanic 'Fuck!'. Beni had managed to snap one of his prototype carbon trekking poles. Right at the wrong time too as the trail got steeper, slimier and rockier, tracking a river and offering glimpses of waterfalls as it crashed it's way to the floor of the valley.
Finally in the belly of Vassfaret we stopped at the log buildings at Olsonheimen for a break. We checked out the names and dates, carved with pocket knives into the heavy beam construction. D.K. was there in 1930. O.A.D. stopped here in 1946. I wonder what the weather was like for them? I handed Marco the map for the next section and we strode off towards the lakes, the final stretch before looking for a camp. The flowers in the valley were stunning in their colour and diversity. Beni and I studied one sample that looked like some kind of orchid with it's complex pink and white flowers.
We stopped next to a tranquil bay on the lake. Marco and Beni set about setting up their Tenkara rods while I pitched the SL3 in some very shallow soil atop a rock outcrop just in case (an ominous black cloud stalked us from across the valley) and headed off to find a more suitable camp site. I balanced my way across the rocky dam wall and it didn't take long to find a far better site for our shelters with a nicer view, more space and better tent stake purchase. While the boys thrashed the water I slowly moved all our gear in several trips around the bay to our new home. The rain finally petered out and small squares of blue sky poked through the murk. We strung up washing lines and attempted to dry ourselves and sleep gear with the aid of a fire. In reality I think the humidity just allowed us to give our quilts a smooth smokey flavour. When the erratic breeze did blow into our camp the bugs were tolerable but as soon as it abated we were attacked. We pitched the SL3 high that night, to help with ventilation but by morning everything was still saturated.
After breakfast we packed up, crossed the bridge and followed another sodden trail down the rocky spillway between the two lakes. We inflated the boats and stashed the packs under some bushes in order to explore two more lakes. The first lake was dead calm and quite, the boats paddling far quicker, unladen by our packs. We pulled out near another raging whitewater channel connecting to the main lake and walked across surprisingly dry trails to a beach. There was a cool breeze here as the valley concentrated any airflow across the wide open expanse of the main lake. It felt refreshing and wild. Small waves lapped at our upturned bows as we ploughed headfirst into the wind. We stopped at an island for a snack break and to have a look around. It would have made for a great bug-free camp being quite exposed with well spaced trees. Marco and I took photos before we paddled off, back to the beach, in the arms of a tailwind. We swapped paddles and envied Marco's Shuna. A paddle is a paddle right? Turns out we were wrong.
We traced our way back to our packs and put the boats away. Walking back to the first bridge, past the noisy rapids, I saw Marco mouth something with wide open eyes. What?! 'SNAKE!' he repeated, over the turbulent roar. Sure enough a hoggorm (adder) was coiled in a comfortable nest near the river. Obviously a good morning sunning spot, had there been any sun...
The trail along the eastern shore of our home lake was in pretty good condition, affording more views of classic moose country as we travelled north up the narrowing valley. As the trail dropped to the level of the lake at Suluvatnet we encountered more and more bogs. Thankfully this was broken by the trail along Strøselve. Dry, straight and soft with open woodland on one side and the troutiest stream on the other. We decided on a long break here. Marco and Beni went straight into Tenkara mode while I stalked up and down the river with the camera, hopeful of capturing the scene our first trout catch. Maybe we made too much noise, maybe our windshirts were too bright but we didn't catch a thing. Except cold feet.
Disappointed we continued up the steepening trail. Underfoot the bogs were replaced by deep muddy puddles corralled by slippery rocks. The drizzle continued but it was just too hot for rain gear. The lure of waterfalls now propelled us, one being marked on the map as Høgfoss. We actually came across several areas of the river crashing down and through rock chutes and cliffs. This one is Høgfoss... no, I think this one is Høgfoss.... wait, no, I'm sure THIS one is Høgfoss.... You get the picture. Lots of waterfalls. Towards the top we stopped on an ancient man-made wall that seemed designed to channel the river's power into a narrow channel and enjoyed the fresh air and slight breeze of our perch while watching the clouds caress the rock parapets of the far valley wall.
Eventually clearing the valley we found ourselves on a concrete bridge at the outlet of Strøen, a large lake, on who's shores we planned to camp. Beni and Marco watched trout playing in the current before the water spilled back down the valley. We hoped for a campsite in the next couple of kilometres but recent development of the area with many private hyttes forced us further on than our feet wanted. Even when the map looked promising we found steep cliffs and fields of boulders leading right to the water's edge. Tired, hungry and damp we had to settle for an uneven, bug-infested pitch in the woods hidden between two private hyttes.
The mood in camp was sombre. The weather had thwarted our plans from the outset. Even this, our Plan B had had to be cut short, rewritten, rerouted as the low cloud and constant drizzle ruled out higher trails and summit camps. The bugs were testing too. We just wanted a bit of a breeze and some sunshine to dry everything out, even if it was for a few hours. Another plan was hatched. A new plan. Plan C. If the weather didn't improve in the morning we would head out by the quickest trail, jump on the train back to Bergen and I would take the boys on a Svenningen ridge traverse that would offer views of glaciers and fjords. There would be the chance of some good fishing too. We retired to our bug infested, saturated shelters, Marco and I sleeping on our deflated rafts as super groundsheets against the seeping ground. We prayed for sunshine...
The weather in the morning? More rain and if it was possible, even lower cloud. Over breakfast we decided to bail, while the no-see-ums chewed on us. We toyed with the idea of paddling across the lake to our exit trail but in the end took the easier option of trudging around more overgrown jeep trails and forest tracks, crossing several streams in the process. After 7 km we came to Nystølen where we thought we would have to do another off-trail bog march to hook up with the gravel road that would lead us off the hills. Turns out it was a well marked 3km trail to the hyttes at Lyseren.
It was a further 12km down gravel roads, sometimes winding, sometimes very steep to get us back to civilisation. We ran into more and more hyttes, people, the odd car and plenty of sheep. More development was under way here, no doubt more private hyttes and the roads required to access them, especially in winter. Forestry work was also more evident. Swathes of tree stumps and new growth patchworked the hillsides as we lost more and more altitude.
Then suddenly we dropped below the cloud level, into the Nesbyen valley, and the sun started shining. Hot and fierce, like it had been doing it all the time down here while we toiled away in damp, dank misery in the Vassfaret valley high above. A final tortuously steep tarmac road march down to the train station. After an initial timetable misreading we realised we had a few hours to kill so we laboured over to the truck-stop/rest area and ordered hot food and cold, sugary drinks. We bought more supplies at the minimart (and an Aass beer for Beni...) and traipsed back to the station where we peeled off our wet clothes, leaving perfect wet foot prints on the bone dry pavement and luxuriated in the sunny afternoon wearing our less soggy sleep gear. When the train finally came the guard managed to change our tickets and find us seats all together. We watched Norway slip by again from the ease of our reclining train seats. The lush valleys giving way to the the sodden tundra and wintery mountain plateaus as we climbed back over the mountains.
Had we made the right decision to abandon the Hardangervidda? Packrafting would have certainly been minimal if achievable at all. The hiking would have been tough but it had been crossed already that season, despite what the trekking association had warned. Had Vassfaret been a good second option? Would it have been more enjoyable if the weather had played ball? Probably not. Vassfaret felt like a gamble. A gamble that didn't pay off. Maybe the biggest lesson I learned was that a Plan B should always be a nailed-on winner, not a an unknown quantity. Maybe I should have been planning an alternative route earlier, despite the mis-placed enthusiasm of the DNT staff that the vidda would be open. I mulled all these thoughts over and felt sorry for Beni and Marco who had invested so much time and money in travelling to Norway only to have their dream vacation snatched away from them by unprecedented weather and possibly poor contigency planning by me. Still, we were safely on our way back to Bergen which we had left in the clutches of true summer. We had a couple of days left to snatch some good times. Time for Plan C....
No comments:
Post a Comment