Lofoten
Lofoten is famous as an attraction of north Norway; the wall, a ridge of mountains extending far beyond the edge of the mainland. It is constructed out of several islands that together with Vesterålen - the other part of the ridge - is about the same length as Wales, but only a few mountains thick. The majority of mountains are between 700 and 900 metres, but a few are noticeably over 1000 metres.
For days we had seen the wall from the far side of Vestfjorden, which in itself is a major feature. But now it was time. We would ford the fjord, and spend two days up in the mountains of Lofoten.
Vest-Hamarøy, our faithful companion.
The three amigos; Knut Hamsun (apparently a famous Norwegian author - don't ask me) grew up here, and has several museums in his honour.
Hamarøyskaftet, as up-close and personal as I wish to get.
I had this Monty Python feeling when I saw this. I could just imagine a small human complaining that the giant finger had just poked them in the eye.
Leaving the Hamarøy coastline, Vesterålen was barely visible through the haze to the east. Unfortunately the haze was very bad on this trip, and many pictures were ruined.
To the west, the tip of Lofoten was virtually invisible (the camera could not see it without some help). At the tip of Lofoten, Vestfjorden is at its widest, over 90 kilometres - the master-fjord that collected the ice from the smaller fjords, it has literally thousands of fjords spawning from it, like a veritable Medusa.
The mountains of Vesterålen, a very impressive sawtooth. It would take months or even years to climb just one row of these to the far end at Narvik.
Vågekallen (942 metres) in Lofoten, the unmistakable peaks seen many times from from Hamarøy.
The inside of Vesterålen, looking east. Vesterålen is significantly thicker than Lofoten, and offers several routes through the mountains, if you have the time.
The mountains surrounding Kabelvåg on Lofoten; Vågekallen, Tretindan (700 metres), Stortinden (731 metres), Kongstindan (640 metres), Rismålstindan (754 metres), Rundfjellet (803 metres) and Blåtind (621 metres). This area feels very touristy; restaurants, hotels, isomorphic holiday homes, museums ...
Vågekallen is just a mass of little peaks, there are 18 separate peaks visible from this direction alone.
A sea eagle soaring over Vågekallen. This is the first bird-of-prey I had seen in Norway, despite having spent plenty of time in the forests and mountains.
Who needs the Bahamas? These stunning colours were brought to you by Henningsværstraumen.
Henningsvær, carefully kept above sea level using stilts.
An enourmous (football sized) jellyfish floating down the Henningsvær harbour.
Hjellvolltind (746 metres). This reminded me of Temple Mount, probably nothing like it, but it's still nice.
The Viking museum at Borg.
The Borg, and their sphere; Himmeltinden (930 metres). It would be futile to try to resist taking pictures.
Some ridiculous prices for "authentic" (machine made!) knitted clothing, with astronomical prices; sweater, skirt and hat, Just so you know, 1756 NOK is about £150, E225, $225, whatever. In Oslo, they are often many times this price.
A pretty little peninsula (Skotind, 671 metres), with an ominous town name: Gravdal; the Valley of the Dead.
Looking between Andopshesten (652 metres) and Napptinden (740 metres) towards Stortind (866 metres).
A freak channel of clouds pours quickly down Selfjorden between Sundmannen (432 metres) and the ridge of Kitind (757 metres), Måltind (651 metres) and Fuglehuk (557 metres). It was still streaming there when we left the next day, it is probably still there right now.
Selfjorden, with Narvtind (688 metres) and Kitind.
Drying headless fish in Reine. Jonny is addicted to dried raw fish that smells worse than an unwashed scarlet on a sunday morning. When the smell of it wakes you up in the car, the first thing you can think of is that something must have gone wrong in the night; Urgh!
The stunning view over Reine and Kjerkfjorden; Navren (697 metres), Storskiva (858 metres), Stamprevtinden (750 metres), Moltbærtinden (751 metres), Krokhammartinden (731), Rostantinden (767 metres), Olstinden 642, Klokktinden (863 metres), Bukkskinntinden (768 metres), Lilandstinden (700 metres), Festhelltinden (389 metres).
Moose and I started the walk around the Kjerkfjord.
Looking across to the end of Kjerkfjord.
The rock began to slope more and more, and our boots were failing to grip on the polished surface. The slopes could be seen continuing deep into the water. We tried climbing up over it, but it required an ascent of nearly 200 metres on black slime. Any fall here would be deadly, as our bags would quickly drag us under. The next sloping section would have required a full climb to the summit ridge, at nearly 700 metres, and even then, there was no guarantee we could make it. With heavy hearts, we turned back towards Reine.
The cost of living so far from a city, the nearest fire service is nearly 400 kilometres away, and would never reach you in time.
We climbed part way up between Navren and Reinebringen above Reine and found the small Reinevatnet lake to camp beside; it was already midnight.
We made some tea, and settled down in our sleeping bags to sleep out in the open. In the morning we found the sign that said not to camp there; oh well, we weren't really camping, we had no tent ;)
We did not sleep. For 5 hours, we just lay there and talked about our views of the world, preferences, tastes, anything. The mountains blocked out the midnight sun, but they did not shut out the light. Who needs sleep anyway?
Sunrise over Lilandstinden and Festhelltinden at 05:00, bathing Reine in a rich glow. Well, strictly speaking, it is not so much sunrise as sun-not-blocked-by-mountains-any-more. On the other side of Lofoten, the sun shines during the night, and is blocked by mountains during the day. Freaky rhythm reversal.
By 06:00, we were on our way, and took our last looks at Reine.
Djupfjorden with Gylttinden (542 metres), Munkan (775 metres), and Reinebringen (666 metres). We would walk around the edge of the fjord along the most stupid, inconvenient path, which wound its way unnecessarily over boulders, tree roots, muddy streams, and anything else that it could possibly encounter.
The bridge over Djupfjorden in the early morning.
The first water stop on the walk up Munkan, finally at the end of the fjord.
The path dragged slowly upwards, zigzagging noticeably, but never managing to hide from the glare of the burning sun.
Gylttinden and Djupfjorden. In the bottom corner of the picture, Moose was refreshing himself from the mountain stream, so I battled upwards, hoping to maybe make the 1000 metre peak beyond.
Aah, snow - so it must be cold up here, right? Right?
At the ridge, I was greated with the tremendous panorama of Stølva (824 metres), Ertnhelltinden (940 metres), Hermannsdalstinden (1029 metres), and Brynliskardtinden (798 metres). Hermannsdalstinden is the tallest mountain in this part of Lofoten. Just to the left of Hermannsdalstinden is the Krokvatnet lake (complete with floating ice), under that is Ternesvatnet, and then on the near ridge is a small lake with a hytte. I started down towards the hytta, then sat down and sheltered from the sun for a while, slowly drifting into a sleepy daze.
After about half an hour, some hikers reminded me that I should not sleep as Moose would walk past me; doh! So I ran back up to the ridge to find him, and not seeing him, I ran part way down the other side and found damer. I asked if they had seen a guy on his own who matched Moose's description. They had, so I ran back up and whistled for him until a hand appeared from behind a sheltered outcrop. He was too tired to continue immediately, so I let him sleep for 2 hours, while I made some Lofoten fish soup, and took pictures.
A glacier cave - a very small one - but it is still a cave, and that is good enough for me.
Ternesvatnet, Hermannsdalstinden, and Brynliskardtinden. Just off to the right is the end of the Forsfjorden branch of Kjerkfjord.
Fjerddalsvatnet with Tindstinden (490 metres), Tinddalstinden (562 metres), and Stølva in the background.
An impressive 200 metre waterfall dropping from Stølva into Fjerddalsvatnet.
A juvenile (left) and mother (right) snow grouse, each beautifully camouflaged.
The juvenile was actually so well camoflaged that initially I did not see it until I nearly stepped on it, even when I was looking directly at it. I thought it was a tuft of grass.
We reached the high point for the day; Djupfjordheia (510 metres) and were rewarded with this view. Looking down over Tridalsvatnet and Studalsvatnet and a myriad of small lakes towards the small town of Sørvågen, and the Tind mountain range.
Two of the small lakes, with the water dropping a mere metre between them.
Stølva (on the right) and the imaginatively named "Tind" (peak) mountain range, Tindstinden, Tinddalstinden, and Småtindan (574 metres).
The path down became a bit steep with safety chains for walkers. It was still easier than the way we had climbed up, and was obviously more popular with the damer as a result. I ran from the bottom of this to Sørvågen, and got there just in time to catch Claudio and Jonny before they drove past. It makes a change from the Oslo countryside, there are always insane joggers running past you along the routes by Oslo, here I was the only person running.
The town of Å (meaning "river"), at the end of the road, and the end of the Norwegian alphabet. For British or Australian english speakers, that is pronounced the same as any one of these: ore, or, awe, oar. For American or other english speakers, there is no equivalent spelling that I can give to show you how to pronounce this letter.
Mengelsdalstinden (826 metres) and the Tind mountain range, with fish drying racks in Å.
The road to Hell (or is that the highway to Hell). As always, it is paved with good intentions. We had been told to go to Hell, and we were prepared to go to Hell and back, come Hell or high water (or Mælstraum). But our plans began to go to Hell in a hand-basket when we found that we would either have to pay the Charon to ferry us across the Styx, or ascend the stairway to Heaven with climbing equipment. What the Hell were we supposed to do? To Hell with our plans, we were forced to make some new ones. Right, enough clichés.
Hell (or Helle) is at the tip of the main Lofoten islands. Beyond it is the Mælstraum, the strongest ocean current in the world. Beyond that are the last few islands, and the end of Lofoten.
It was time to go back to Hamarøy, watching the waves beat against the bow of the ship. Both Moose and I had fallen asleep in the car on the way back, completely out of touch with the time after staying awake all night, kept company by the smell of Jonny's dried fish. In Oslo, they eat sweets that are a cross between licorice and amonia from the bottom of a cat's litter tray; right now, I would have preferred to eat a whole bag of those than smell that fish again.
Vest-Hamarøy, our faithful companion.
The three amigos; Knut Hamsun (apparently a famous Norwegian author - don't ask me) grew up here, and has several museums in his honour.
Hamarøyskaftet, as up-close and personal as I wish to get.
I had this Monty Python feeling when I saw this. I could just imagine a small human complaining that the giant finger had just poked them in the eye.
Leaving the Hamarøy coastline, Vesterålen was barely visible through the haze to the east. Unfortunately the haze was very bad on this trip, and many pictures were ruined.
To the west, the tip of Lofoten was virtually invisible (the camera could not see it without some help). At the tip of Lofoten, Vestfjorden is at its widest, over 90 kilometres - the master-fjord that collected the ice from the smaller fjords, it has literally thousands of fjords spawning from it, like a veritable Medusa.
The mountains of Vesterålen, a very impressive sawtooth. It would take months or even years to climb just one row of these to the far end at Narvik.
Vågekallen (942 metres) in Lofoten, the unmistakable peaks seen many times from from Hamarøy.
The inside of Vesterålen, looking east. Vesterålen is significantly thicker than Lofoten, and offers several routes through the mountains, if you have the time.
The mountains surrounding Kabelvåg on Lofoten; Vågekallen, Tretindan (700 metres), Stortinden (731 metres), Kongstindan (640 metres), Rismålstindan (754 metres), Rundfjellet (803 metres) and Blåtind (621 metres). This area feels very touristy; restaurants, hotels, isomorphic holiday homes, museums ...
Vågekallen is just a mass of little peaks, there are 18 separate peaks visible from this direction alone.
A sea eagle soaring over Vågekallen. This is the first bird-of-prey I had seen in Norway, despite having spent plenty of time in the forests and mountains.
Who needs the Bahamas? These stunning colours were brought to you by Henningsværstraumen.
Henningsvær, carefully kept above sea level using stilts.
An enourmous (football sized) jellyfish floating down the Henningsvær harbour.
Hjellvolltind (746 metres). This reminded me of Temple Mount, probably nothing like it, but it's still nice.
The Viking museum at Borg.
The Borg, and their sphere; Himmeltinden (930 metres). It would be futile to try to resist taking pictures.
Some ridiculous prices for "authentic" (machine made!) knitted clothing, with astronomical prices; sweater, skirt and hat, Just so you know, 1756 NOK is about £150, E225, $225, whatever. In Oslo, they are often many times this price.
A pretty little peninsula (Skotind, 671 metres), with an ominous town name: Gravdal; the Valley of the Dead.
Looking between Andopshesten (652 metres) and Napptinden (740 metres) towards Stortind (866 metres).
A freak channel of clouds pours quickly down Selfjorden between Sundmannen (432 metres) and the ridge of Kitind (757 metres), Måltind (651 metres) and Fuglehuk (557 metres). It was still streaming there when we left the next day, it is probably still there right now.
Selfjorden, with Narvtind (688 metres) and Kitind.
Drying headless fish in Reine. Jonny is addicted to dried raw fish that smells worse than an unwashed scarlet on a sunday morning. When the smell of it wakes you up in the car, the first thing you can think of is that something must have gone wrong in the night; Urgh!
The stunning view over Reine and Kjerkfjorden; Navren (697 metres), Storskiva (858 metres), Stamprevtinden (750 metres), Moltbærtinden (751 metres), Krokhammartinden (731), Rostantinden (767 metres), Olstinden 642, Klokktinden (863 metres), Bukkskinntinden (768 metres), Lilandstinden (700 metres), Festhelltinden (389 metres).
Moose and I started the walk around the Kjerkfjord.
Looking across to the end of Kjerkfjord.
The rock began to slope more and more, and our boots were failing to grip on the polished surface. The slopes could be seen continuing deep into the water. We tried climbing up over it, but it required an ascent of nearly 200 metres on black slime. Any fall here would be deadly, as our bags would quickly drag us under. The next sloping section would have required a full climb to the summit ridge, at nearly 700 metres, and even then, there was no guarantee we could make it. With heavy hearts, we turned back towards Reine.
The cost of living so far from a city, the nearest fire service is nearly 400 kilometres away, and would never reach you in time.
We climbed part way up between Navren and Reinebringen above Reine and found the small Reinevatnet lake to camp beside; it was already midnight.
We made some tea, and settled down in our sleeping bags to sleep out in the open. In the morning we found the sign that said not to camp there; oh well, we weren't really camping, we had no tent ;)
We did not sleep. For 5 hours, we just lay there and talked about our views of the world, preferences, tastes, anything. The mountains blocked out the midnight sun, but they did not shut out the light. Who needs sleep anyway?
Sunrise over Lilandstinden and Festhelltinden at 05:00, bathing Reine in a rich glow. Well, strictly speaking, it is not so much sunrise as sun-not-blocked-by-mountains-any-more. On the other side of Lofoten, the sun shines during the night, and is blocked by mountains during the day. Freaky rhythm reversal.
By 06:00, we were on our way, and took our last looks at Reine.
Djupfjorden with Gylttinden (542 metres), Munkan (775 metres), and Reinebringen (666 metres). We would walk around the edge of the fjord along the most stupid, inconvenient path, which wound its way unnecessarily over boulders, tree roots, muddy streams, and anything else that it could possibly encounter.
The bridge over Djupfjorden in the early morning.
The first water stop on the walk up Munkan, finally at the end of the fjord.
The path dragged slowly upwards, zigzagging noticeably, but never managing to hide from the glare of the burning sun.
Gylttinden and Djupfjorden. In the bottom corner of the picture, Moose was refreshing himself from the mountain stream, so I battled upwards, hoping to maybe make the 1000 metre peak beyond.
Aah, snow - so it must be cold up here, right? Right?
At the ridge, I was greated with the tremendous panorama of Stølva (824 metres), Ertnhelltinden (940 metres), Hermannsdalstinden (1029 metres), and Brynliskardtinden (798 metres). Hermannsdalstinden is the tallest mountain in this part of Lofoten. Just to the left of Hermannsdalstinden is the Krokvatnet lake (complete with floating ice), under that is Ternesvatnet, and then on the near ridge is a small lake with a hytte. I started down towards the hytta, then sat down and sheltered from the sun for a while, slowly drifting into a sleepy daze.
After about half an hour, some hikers reminded me that I should not sleep as Moose would walk past me; doh! So I ran back up to the ridge to find him, and not seeing him, I ran part way down the other side and found damer. I asked if they had seen a guy on his own who matched Moose's description. They had, so I ran back up and whistled for him until a hand appeared from behind a sheltered outcrop. He was too tired to continue immediately, so I let him sleep for 2 hours, while I made some Lofoten fish soup, and took pictures.
A glacier cave - a very small one - but it is still a cave, and that is good enough for me.
Ternesvatnet, Hermannsdalstinden, and Brynliskardtinden. Just off to the right is the end of the Forsfjorden branch of Kjerkfjord.
Fjerddalsvatnet with Tindstinden (490 metres), Tinddalstinden (562 metres), and Stølva in the background.
An impressive 200 metre waterfall dropping from Stølva into Fjerddalsvatnet.
A juvenile (left) and mother (right) snow grouse, each beautifully camouflaged.
The juvenile was actually so well camoflaged that initially I did not see it until I nearly stepped on it, even when I was looking directly at it. I thought it was a tuft of grass.
We reached the high point for the day; Djupfjordheia (510 metres) and were rewarded with this view. Looking down over Tridalsvatnet and Studalsvatnet and a myriad of small lakes towards the small town of Sørvågen, and the Tind mountain range.
Two of the small lakes, with the water dropping a mere metre between them.
Stølva (on the right) and the imaginatively named "Tind" (peak) mountain range, Tindstinden, Tinddalstinden, and Småtindan (574 metres).
The path down became a bit steep with safety chains for walkers. It was still easier than the way we had climbed up, and was obviously more popular with the damer as a result. I ran from the bottom of this to Sørvågen, and got there just in time to catch Claudio and Jonny before they drove past. It makes a change from the Oslo countryside, there are always insane joggers running past you along the routes by Oslo, here I was the only person running.
The town of Å (meaning "river"), at the end of the road, and the end of the Norwegian alphabet. For British or Australian english speakers, that is pronounced the same as any one of these: ore, or, awe, oar. For American or other english speakers, there is no equivalent spelling that I can give to show you how to pronounce this letter.
Mengelsdalstinden (826 metres) and the Tind mountain range, with fish drying racks in Å.
The road to Hell (or is that the highway to Hell). As always, it is paved with good intentions. We had been told to go to Hell, and we were prepared to go to Hell and back, come Hell or high water (or Mælstraum). But our plans began to go to Hell in a hand-basket when we found that we would either have to pay the Charon to ferry us across the Styx, or ascend the stairway to Heaven with climbing equipment. What the Hell were we supposed to do? To Hell with our plans, we were forced to make some new ones. Right, enough clichés.
Hell (or Helle) is at the tip of the main Lofoten islands. Beyond it is the Mælstraum, the strongest ocean current in the world. Beyond that are the last few islands, and the end of Lofoten.
It was time to go back to Hamarøy, watching the waves beat against the bow of the ship. Both Moose and I had fallen asleep in the car on the way back, completely out of touch with the time after staying awake all night, kept company by the smell of Jonny's dried fish. In Oslo, they eat sweets that are a cross between licorice and amonia from the bottom of a cat's litter tray; right now, I would have preferred to eat a whole bag of those than smell that fish again.