Thursday 29 January 2015

Travels in Norway - from the Fjords to the Mountains

These two posts tell the story of a journey through Norway made a few years ago from the fjords to the mountains and the ascent of two peaks including the country's highest. A couple of the photos were from a subsequent trip as photos of fog and snow don't make for a good blog post but I hope to visit Norway again and bring back some higher quality photos of one of my favorite hiking locations.

There was something eerie and primeval about the sound which was instantly recognizable even to someone who hadn't heard it before. More a wail than a howl, it rose and fell in the twilight of the northern night and was answered by another - a little closer but still some distance away - somewhere in the trees...

Wolves have lived in the forests of Norway for far longer than humans though in recent times they have been hunted almost to extinction and today only a few packs remain. As I later found out, the southern wolves here were normally much further east than this so I was lucky to hear them at all. Perhaps the late cold spell had driven them further west. I set off through the trees back to my cabin feeling a sense of reassurance that this enduring symbol of the wild was still out there.

A few days later, a chilly grey morning had seen me driving down a deserted road in a light rain from my cabin between Sogndal and Kaupanger in the county of Sogn og Fjordane in western Norway. I had driven past the cloud topped Storehaugen Mountain and followed the wide and gently winding road past walls of endless pines and rocky bluffs that rose above the glassy waters of the Sognefjord. Mine had seemed the only car on the road at that early hour.

sognefjord near kaupanger
The Sognefjord near Kaupanger. The waterfall is over 700 ft high
Not long into my journey I pulled in at the side of the road to get a better view of a vast waterfall on the far side of the fjord. The falls which are called the Feigumfossen were awesome though such was the scale of this landscape that no sound could be heard across the fjord. After the recent rain the main fall which is 218 metres in height was fed by several tributary falls that dropped from the grey cloud ceiling from something over 600 metres or 2000 feet above the still water. The sense of peace here was absolute with the silent cascade opposite and the air motionless beneath the sheltering mountain walls. The rain too had stopped and a wintry blanket of white coated the higher hills where the cloud was starting to lift while ragged swathes of grey mist clung to the mountainsides below adding to the atmospheric nature of the view.

It was time to move on again though. The dark Sognefjord became narrower as I approached its end and I was soon passing through the tiny hamlet of Skjolden at the extremity of the inlet. Here I passed some small wooden cabins - known as hytter - that faced the mirror-calm water and to where a brightening sky was framed between the walling mountains. Somewhere down there about 100 miles away was the open sea and this - the largest of Norway's fjords - is still tidal here despite the distance inland I was. The fjords themselves were carved out by the glaciers of the last ice age to a vast scale and unimaginable depth. The Sognefjord is in places over 4000 feet or 1200m deep which was about as high as the mountain walls were above it - a fact that I preferred not to think about on the occasions I had crossed it on the ferry! These huts you see by the water's edge are a traditional way of spending holidays in Norway and they originate from fishing and boating huts though are now to be found in the mountains and forests as well as by water. The more basic ones can be very good value for money in a country not known for bargains.

As I left the fjord behind, the landscape became even more dramatic - forbidding even. The road narrowed and followed a rushing river through low trees and meadow littered with boulders entering a narrow rocky defile or chasm in the mountains. Silvery ribbons of water cascaded from the clouds down vast grey crags seemingly thousands of feet high which threatened to block out the daylight. Now a layer of mist hung in the chill air just above the flat valley floor. If Tolkien's Stone Giants or the trolls of Norwegian legend did exist, it is here that they would be found.

As if in response to this sombre scene, the road suddenly emerged into the much more open meadows of Fortun which consists of a small group of colourful wooden houses situated in a meadow beneath steep and wooded mountain walls. The tiny village at first appeared to be the end of the road but the thin ribbon of tarmac could now be seen climbing the precipitous slopes behind the houses in a series of giddy hairpin bends. This was the infamous Turtagro road I had been told about. Climbing 2600 feet from Skjolden to Turtagro, the road was infamous for none other than Dutch Caravanners! Apparently they choose this route across the mountains unaware of the severity of this stretch of road and I had I began my ascent. Being used to the roads in the Lake District I found it OK and was very relieved not to meet any caravans coming down the single track route and so began to doubt their existence. Perhaps the chap at the campsite had been winding me up. The climb seemed to last forever as the road ascended to and fro up under the trees on the steep slope but the hairpins - though steep - were not as terrifying as Cumbria’s Hard Knott Pass. Soon the gradient began to ease and as I rounded one of the last bends there it was - no - not a troll though that would almost have surprised me less...

The look of apprehension verging on terror on the driver's face in the car coming the other way was as clear as the large 5 or 6 birth touring caravan he was towing. That guy in Sogndal hadn't been winding me up after all! The road here was not so narrow so I was spared reversing down 2500 feet of winding single track road and in my mirror I just caught sight of the Dutch NL sticker on the back of the caravan as I passed.

I left the trees and the steep slopes behind as the road entered a wide open region of grassy meadows and great craggy rocks. The Turtagro Hotel overlooked this wild scene and in fact was the only building of ant size in sight, Turtagro not being a village as such. I pulled onto the car park and went inside. The duty manager who was also a mountain guide - many are in places like this - told me that to ascend the nearby Fannaraki a peak of 2068 metres, I would not need his services or any special kit which cleared up some confusion. My map showed a path to a hut on the summit but my guidebook which was otherwise very informative suggested that ropes would be needed. They were possibly referring to Store Skagastolstind - Norway's third highest peak whose icy rock spire towered into the clouds to the right of Fannaraki and which does involve more difficult climbing.

norwegian mountains at turtagro
Norway's third highest peak - Skagastolstind 2403m - from Turtagro
The Turtagro Hotel itself was frequented by William Slingsby the English climber who made first ascents of many of Norway's mountains - including Store Skagastolstind - and the reading room here is full of fascinating mountain literature and faded photographs of the adventurers of old - including Slingsby. The manager told me that more recently there was an English climber who he referred to as simply "The Englishman" who came here to stay every year - I can't blame him! Anyway it was time I did some adventuring of my own so I left some of my gear and set off for Fannaraki. I crossed the road which was still empty - not even any more caravans from Holland - and took the path leading off it to the right a short distance up the hill.

The trail is a well marked track that heads off eastwards into a wonderfully remote valley called the Helgedalen, passing some deserted stone farmhouses and staying almost level for the first couple of miles before beginning a gradual traversing ascent of the slopes at the head of the valley. After climbing to the left, the main path resumed its eastward course which leads up and over the pass to the hut of Skogadalsboen in the Utledalen - the next valley to the East. My route however now parted from the wide track and crossed a rushing stream to begin a steep and relentless climb. A nice leisurely flattish walk is fine but it meant I now had 4000 feet to climb in not much over a mile.

The weather had now cleared somewhat though what the weathermen refer to as occasional showers were still moving up the valley and now was one of those occasional moments. The snow dusted top of Fannaraki had vanished in the cloud as had the jagged spires of Store Skagastolstind behind as I toiled my way up heathery slopes so steep that I could touch the ground with my outstretched hand - the path was easy though. As I got higher the cloud came down to surround me in its chill dampness and the heather gave way to rocks and bilberry. At least the angle of the slope had eased a little. Patches of snow began to appear.

fannaraki summit view
The summit of Fannaraki 2068m when the sun was shining
For a short while I lost the path and found myself kicking steps up a shallow snow gully until I emerged at its stony top and found traces of path again. The cloud cleared a little to reveal the way ahead up a slope of snow covered rocks and a view across the valley to the misty serrated peaks and newly whitened glaciers of Store Skagastolstind and its range, the Hurrungane. The peak is 2403 metres - just short of 8000 feet - high and on its far side the range drops in spectacular fashion to near sea level in the mysterious woods of Vettismorki - a slope of alpine proportions indeed - this side of the range is impressive enough. Onwards I went and ever upwards. This reminded me of the tourist route on Ben Nevis - endless miles of stones - though unlike the Ben, I seemed to be the only person on this mountain. I now began to notice the altitude a little with a shortness of breath slowing my pace. Stopping for a rest I could see that I was level with the nearby peak of Steindalsnosi which my
view north of norwegian mountains from fannaraki
Looking towards Galdhopiggen 2469m from Fannaraki
map revealed to be 1900 metres - before it vanished into another cloud and it started to snow.

The slope eased out and became a bouldery plateau dappled with snow patches and I carefully negotiated the rocks until the uphill ran out and the 2068m summit was in front of me. It was important after crossing snow to clear your boots of the stuff before walking on rocks - an accident up here wouldn't make for the best of days out. The view was like that I’ve normally had from the Ben too - mist and cold damp rocks. I climbed Fannaraki again the following September when these photos were taken and the view is actually one of the best I've ever seen but alas - not today. I ate my lunch in the summit hut where the guardian told me I was the only one to climb the mountain that day, though the first week in June was still early in the season. He told me to take care on the descent
Jotunheim mountains from fannaraki
Looking into the Jotunheim mountains from Fannaraki
and I returned to the cold outside where the weather had now developed into a minor snowstorm though it rapidly improved as I descended and my trek back along the Helgedalen to Turtagro was in pleasantly warm early evening sunshine with the golden light and long shadows typical of these northern latitudes. I took my time as getting benighted here isn't an issue at this time of year - I'd been able to read a book at midnight a few nights ago with no lights on. We're not quite far north enough for the midnight sun but it never goes dark in June.

The following morning would see me driving north over the arctic plateau of the Sognefjell to the small alpine village of Boverdal from where I would attempt to ascend the peak of Galdhopiggen which at 2469 metres or 8110 feet is the highest mountain in Norway and in northern Europe. The road - known as the Sognefjellsvegen - climbs from 800m at Turtagro to 1434m at its highest point as it makes its way across a rugged wilderness dotted with small lakes some of which are frozen well into the summer.  Huge banks of snow follow the roadside in places where it has been dug out by the snowploughs and as it heads higher it is overlooked by a much less easy side of Fannaraki - a glaciated and alpine mountain face - before beginning its descent to the woods on eastern side of Norway. We enter a land very different to the fjords of the west but one which has a wild and rugged beauty of its own. The Sognefjell itself was crossed by Heinrik Ibsen in 1862 and helped to inspire the story of Peer Gynt and in those days the route was by a track marked out with cairns; the road itself not being built until 1938... To part two of this story >>>

The Peer Gynt Road, a Strange House and the Highest Mountain in Norway...

Part two of my journey in Norway takes us over the pass that inspired Peer Gynt and out of the Fjord country...

This country really is a pleasure to drive in - some of Europe's best roads and no cars on them! I'd crossed the Sognefjell road from Turtagro and was now heading down through a valley reminiscent of the Llanberis Pass in North Wales but on a much vaster scale. Looking at some of the rocks above the roadside, it was easy to see where the tales of giants and trolls came from.

I wondered what a wonderful place this was as I drove past a camp site at the end of a clear blue lake. Another car passed me going the other way - the first I'd seen in over 20 miles. The road did a sharp right some way after the lake and kept on with its steady descent of the broad, forested Boverdal Valley. On the far side, huge mountains rose steeply into the clouds, snow clinging to their upper reaches and the air almost sparkled such was its clarity.

boverdalen in norway
The beautiful forested Boverdal valley east of the Sognefjell
Having descended into the pine and birch woods, the road wound back to the left and continued its gradual descent towards Boverdal; the river now on the left. The valley began to level out by the hamlet of Elveseter where I pulled in for a drink, having neglected to put a water bottle within reach.

The small village had a strange atmosphere and on closer inspection the single street appeared deserted. I went towards the nearest building - a large wooden structure in traditional Norwegian style that appeared to be a hotel or guest house. Going in through the front door which was unlocked brought me into a large spacious hall with wooden walls that was well lit by the Sun slanting through some high windows. The place was silent and there was clearly no one in attendance. I shouted a "hello" but my voice fell flat on the still air - there was no reply.

The building had the feel of somewhere whose occupants were absent but not far away - dust particles hung in the air which smelt of sun warmed wood but there was no damp or mustiness. I decided that if I couldn't buy a bottle of water I would look for a tap.

Crossing the wide hall I began up the stairs at its far end though all the time there was an almost overpowering feeling that I was being watched – by whom I did not know - but the feeling never went away until I’d driven away. There was an almost surreal atmosphere in here that reminded me of the part in CS Lewis's Voyage of the Dawn Treader where Lucy enters the magician's house on the island - if by the way you haven’t read The Chronicles of Narnia then you should do so. The stairs brought me up to an equally large and open room containing a table running almost its full length with places set before many chairs.

The food had not yet been served but the placemats and cutlery was all neatly set out and I caught sight of a bright sparkle at the end of the table - sunlight from the window was shining on - yes it was a crystal decanter of fresh water. At the risk of disturbing whoever had laid the table I poured some into a glass and drank. Any noise seemed magnified in the silence of the room but nobody rushed in to investigate and having found what I was looking for I returned down the stairs and left before the absent diners arrived.

My thoughts were of elves and enchantments as I left Elveseter but a more rational explanation would be that the place had been occupied by a large group who had all gone out together. If they were self catering I suppose that would account for the lack of staff but it was still very strange.

I set out again down the road through the trees towards the village of Boverdal which wasn't far now and I presently reached the road which was sign posted right to Juvasshytta. Stopping to open the gate, I continued up the single track lane which rose steeply up the tree covered hillsides, before stopping again to pay a small toll to drive to Juvasshytta.Once above the tree line, the road became a dirt track and began to climb in earnest, the views expanding down the Boverdal valley and across to the cloud topped mountains opposite. I drove carefully along a section with a steep 3000 foot drop to one side, which always gives added incentive to pay attention to the road, before climbing the final curves to the flat stony expanse of plateau where Juvasshytta was to be seen just beneath the flat grey cloud base.

landscapes on the route to Galdhopiggen
Arctic landscapes 6000 ft above sea level near Juvasshytta
The word hytta or hytter as previously mentioned means hut or cabin and in the mountains they were usually the residences in days gone by, of the farmers who moved up the mountainsides to tend their animals during the summer grazing season. This hut or hostel is set in an arctic landscape about 6000 feet above sea level on a broad treeless plateau which didn't look at all like good grazing on account of the lack of grass. I was amazed to see a bus in the car park. That must have been fun, getting up here! Braving the cold wind, I went into the warmth of the hostel to meet the guide and fellow climbers. We turned out to be a group of 7 or 8 led by a local guide who was based up here.

Norway's highest mountain had remained stubbornly hidden in cloud up until now, but as we set off over the plateau Glittertind, the runner up by 11m, appeared through the clearing mists followed by Galdhopiggen much nearer on our side of the valley. The peak reminded me of Snowdon in shape and rose just over 2000 feet above the hostel. We headed more or less towards it, climbing gradually across acres of stones soon walking through snow which became deeper as we progressed. To everyone's joy the clouds rapidly dispersed, the June sun shining warmly as we reached the glacier known as Styggebreen. The name means dangerous or hazardous glacier - so called because it's one of the few Norwegian glaciers remaining snow covered and therefore with hidden crevasses, year round. Roped together, we set off over the glacier. The route was marked by poles and led in a straight line towards the right of the peak.

We succeeded in crossing the Styggebreen without any of us falling down a crevasse and unroped for the final climb to the top. The route led along below a ridge, past a small glacier called Piggbreen to our left and up over easy rocks taking care where the Sun had melted some of the snow which had re frozen forming hard ice in the shaded cracks and hollows. The final pyramid was snow and though not difficult, I did begin to feel the altitude slightly. We were after all at 8000 feet and kicking steps up the slope was fairly hard work. I made good progress though, encouraged by 2 or 3 of my companions.

Like the chap at Turtagro I seemed to have become known as 'The Englishman' by my fellow hikers - they were all Norwegian and Swedish - apparently there's not many of us around in these parts and I was again reminded of how friendly the Norwegians are towards us. If a conversation was being conducted in Norwegian, they would revert to English if I was in earshot so I could join in. Like the Dutch, the Norwegians mostly speak English as well or better than we do.

at the summit of norway's highest peak
The viewing indicator on top of Galdhopiggen
Breathlessly, I made the top, stopping at the viewing indicator to take photos. The cloud had all but gone and we were treated to a view extending past Fannaraki and the jagged Skagastolstind to the South all the way up to distant Snohetta in the North, perhaps 100 miles away. East of us the countless peaks of the Jotunheim gathered in white topped rows like waves on the sea while on the western horizon lay the flat white miles of the Jostedalsbreen ice field - the largest in continental Europe.

Closer at hand the summit fell away in a sheer drop to glaciers at our feet. We had clearly come up the easy way! There is another walkers route up here, from Spiterstulen accessed from further down the valley past Boverdal. You don't need a guide for that one - as long as you don't get lost, that is - there being no glacier crossing. The route however is much longer and involves more ascent than
views from the top of norway
Looking towards Fannaraki from Galdhopiggen 2469m
from Juvasshytta. We signed the visitors' book in the small hut just under the summit and began our way back down. I followed a couple of the party who were skiing down without skis. They were able to remain mostly upright while I descended part way on my backside much to all of our amusement!

Back at Juvasshytta and I popped in for a coffee before heading back over Sognefjell. The place was full of very athletic looking characters in ski gear. They turned out to be some of the Norwegian National ski team. Apparently they practice at the summer ski centre here as the snow's usually good all summer. Back to the car for the trip down the mountain and I noticed that the bus had gone. I never did get to see it negotiate that road.

On my return to Sogndal I'd walked to the bar to buy myself a beer - something not to be done lightly in Norway at over £4 a pint - when I was approached by a man who had clearly handed over a small fortune to the bartender that day. He'd heard me speaking English at the bar and decided to have a conversation.
     "English" he slurred at me.
     "Yes I am English" I replied.
     "London" was his next contribution.
     "No, not from London, I'm from Cheshire." I replied. The man swayed and looked blank. "Near to Manchester..." I added. At this his face lit up with apparent comprehension.
     "Manchester United!" he exclaimed smiling drunkenly.
     "No, Manchester City" was my instant reply to this.
     "Manchester United!" this time to anyone else within earshot who might be interested in contributing, followed by some slurred Norwegian that I doubt even the locals could understand.
     "Manchester City" I countered again. This riveting conversation looked set to go on for some time but rescue came in the form of the man's wife entering the bar - fishing rod over her shoulder along with a couple of nice looking trout for tea - and hauling him back out of the door - only in Norway.

If you missed part one it's right here