A time out of mind

August 2022

Up, one more. Come on! Give battle to these hills. Tired out of his skin but still pressing on. Devastated trying to envision a future in which the next step had slightly less of an incline than the former. The sweat running down sore muscle like some torrent enraged by a rainstorm. Fellow wanderers on autopilot going steadily up; were they immune to this toil?! A break finally ensued, and he stood heaving breath after breath down into sore lungs while the right shoulder strap of his heavy pack tore down into the shoulder below. Was there something wrong with the adjustment, perhaps? No time to look. Onwards, and the sanguine forest revealed itself all around them with the soft forest floor covered in deep moss which could be slept on save the moisture gathered up there. The giant pine tree at the crossroads looked down at them with humble dignity although it’d been dead for probably fifty or a hundred years already. The road ahead seemed somehow lighter from the onset after receiving the blessings of this dead, old tree. Strange. Lighter might have proved right were it not for our incessant need to impose will on the natural landscape. The townsfolk around here had made some sort of a path in the midst of that boggy, marshy ground around the lake. The finished product, some gravelly road, most certainly would not stand the test of time like the Romans. He’d be surprised to see it last past the turn of the decade. While somewhat comfortable to walk on once finished, the unfinished business a little bit farther up the hill made each step, once again, a dreary task. Why didn’t they just make a trail up closer to the mountainside that stood there watching over the stupidity with complete calmness? Sometimes it’s not easy to understand our own actions, let alone others’. Upon ascending that first hill the dreaded shadow of age came over him. Had the good days of yore where every step seemed all but a chore and the body seemingly had unlimited energy given a few nuts and water, finally passed? What was going on with the right shoulder acting out and making it impossibly hard to operate?!

The pack gathered upon that lonesome pass through which they’d carried heavy packs and now another plain revealed its long and wide berth out in front of them. It looked unfortunately to be an even wetter affair as the dominion they ventured had been plagued by rain all fretful summer. This day though, the sun did shine. It actually shone something fierce, making their sweat add to the currents of water in the boggy ground, and the tiny puddles inside moist shoes threatened to overflow and break the levee. Singing was the last thing on their mind then, as the grave silence of walking slow descended on them. A silence, hardship, but something of a gift to the mind. The clouds of wondering drift slowly by as we are wandering. Here comes a problem. Just as soon it’s overtaken by an idea. Some song-lyric is stuck on your mind. How come we always listen to music in everyday life? The struggle becomes everything that’s going on and refocuses it all down to putting the next foot in front of the last one. Given some time pray even the shoulder pain might go away once you get tired enough. The trail kept on a-goin’ until they reached another crossroads. There, at last, the lake invitingly beckoned them down for to jump in.

Only some hours later didn’t a local tell them that sewage was dumped directly in there, and that he wouldn’t swim nor at all drink the water? Well, some weeks later they were still standing, so the exaggeration sometimes characteristic of the people out west might’ve been in play there. The last nine-hundred or so metres to the cabin proper didn’t seem ever to end as the shoulder still sent pangs of pain and the soaked shoes weighed more than their usual one-and-a-half kilogram. Upon ascending the final steps to this log cabin donated by Olav Thon (of course) the relief of putting down the pack can only be described as ecstatic. The cabin was rather populated though, considering that one might think this would be considered off-season for a place such as this. There was the lone wolf with two dogs barking madly at anyone who did as much as look past their line of sight. There was a couple from Holland, who’d left their bikes on the other side of the mountain for whatever reason. There were the German students, with the sunshine in their eyes. They gathered around the bonfire that night. Partly to commemorate the day’s hardship, partly to enjoy the sweet sounds of that gay guitar, and finally to contemplate the path ahead. Out there where all that meant something, was the next foot forward.

Dawn shone not rosy-coloured the next morning as a layer of fog had thickened and engulfed the entire mountainside in a shroud of mystery. ‘Would that it shone through soon though’, stated Fester as they slowly consumed the gruel of the day to charge weary batteries and fortify untrained muscle. Waving goodbye to all of their newfound friends, the crew of four set out long after the sun had, indeed, broken through. The path up the valley’s drooping meadows certainly took its toll, and yet. As the hard sun punished them onwards the steps did indeed feel somehow lighter than the day before. ‘haps it had something to do with the fact that the backpack had indeed been all crooked and wrongly fitted on? He dumbly mused under furry brow. Steady progress was being made then, and the group soon enough recaptured the two vixens acquainted the day before enjoying the views of that strong river splitting up the valley down the middle. It was a game of hide and seek for some hours there, as breaks were intertwined with stages of walking. The views of that place took a man out of his mind entirely, completely in awe of what he was part of. Up above, a mighty eagle sailed the winds ever higher in tranquil circles seemingly without a grain of strain used to attain the height he needed. The totality of it all, making one feel so small, and yet, as part of it with everything completely in its right place. Fired up in the heat the only salve for that could be the cool mountain lake below, jumping in with reckless abandon. Some fell, some walked, but all were soaked to the hilt in that midday heat enjoying a feast that must be considered fancier than any British luncheon save perhaps something made by those Three in Norway more than a hundred years ago, which two of them recounted.

By the time Måsvassbu was in sight the ailments of yesterday were all but forgotten. The place proved a haven for disconnecting involuntarily. That practice which probably should’ve been something we all underwent voluntarily at least once a month. Although Fester and he stayed in a tent while Ziggy and Mr. Frost stayed in the cabin, he had to admit it was a luxury and privilege to be able to use DNTs cabins on an adventure like this. The knowledge that a warm oven and a dry room awaits somehow justifies the idea of walking all day in the driving rain over slippery stones and deep in muddy pulps of clay. That night they gathered in the cabin and heated the oven up almost to a glow. A sauna and an even closer proximity to the water were the only things missing then. Well, why ask for that, or anything else? Wasn’t it enough to be both warm and dry? Slinking out into the tent later there was nothing missing. Nothing at all. By the next morning though, a creeping feeling had entered, as if somehow the worst physical trials were yet to come. They’d enjoyed two days of sheer pleasure, save the hardships that in the heat of the moment feels terrible, but are quickly wiped out by our ingenious brains, distilling the memory into something pleasurable. Plus the pleasure really wouldn’t be pleasure without the hardship, right? Still, he wondered, could their luck be running out, today?

Nature around them became more rugged. At the outset, it’d been forest and wet marshes. The stage hiked yesterday had been accompanied by the enduring sun high up there in the sky showing the way ahead, and mountain-lakes quietly reflecting their custodians in the shape of those valiant mountainsides that stood for aeons with nothing but repose. This day though, intimidation came from on high as the cooler winds drifted in, and rains were promised to arrive shortly. Once again packing up and like some nomads of old heading back out on the trail with everything they owned on their backs, stomachs full of hearty oatmeal porridge and legs that gradually became accustomed now on the third day of hiking to a higher mode of intensity than what is usually constituted at a desk inside an office. Elevation too, makes a difference. The rocky road to the first plateau proved enough to make a slightly cooler weather feel warmer than yesterday. Upon those cliffs they met an old acquaintance, Ivarr. “Fare thee well” he shouted with a backpack hanging so low it must’ve acted as a counterweight so he could move faster down the mountainside leaning dangerously back. He also motioned that there were a couple travellers some ways up ahead that might need assistance once they got to the steep part. “Oh, we know them very well” cried a blinking Mr. Frost as the revelation gradually came over them that the two easy days of walking in green pastures had been the run-up to something more primeval.

Up that knoll and around the bend they overtook their friends from before. The common understanding that the lunchbreak would be just around the next bend was destroyed as another behemoth of a rocky climb was thrust upon them. A thick fog added layers of mystery to the endeavour, making the mind wander. Finally, they settled in near a cabin by the foot of the steepest mountain yet, where some welcome food was consumed. Oh, and by the way, that mountain was the one they were going up next. Up they went, up higher on steep rocky trails. The trails were gone then, and the pace slowed down to that of a snail. This was no ordinary trail by the Norwegian tourist association. This was full on (half-way-there) mountaineering. Rubio was feeling the pressure, and they took another break to breathe. Three deep breaths, as Arne Næss would have said. After some consolation and a common push for enthusiastically yet safely putting rock after rock under trusted boot some levelling of the elevation could finally be sensed. Their minds were fully focused then, until some snow that had stayed along from yesteryear provided ample opportunity for an ambush from behind. It’s incredible how spirits lift to laughter after experiencing moments of shared gravitas. A little marten peaked out from its snow cover to greet the newcomers as if some ritual had been completed by that ascension. Three days in and what started on an asphalt road had become a quest.

Three rugged cabins were up there at Vasstindbu, and the winds lay low in sullen expectancy of what was to come. The relaxation and relief up there in a tiny cabin with the oven on full heat is something everyone should experience at least once in their lives. Food went down in droves as it had the added benefit of lessening the weight of the backpacks. Those bites of chocolate taste better than anything you can eat at home. Singing out tunes at full volume in the knowledge that nobody is going to be bothered by it has its own charm, that works its way all the way through the body and relaxes us. The winds gradually came, as promised, although the rains thankfully had been absent all day. That night – was the worst one in the tent. From the outside you could probably discern the shapes of human bodies as the winds tore hard into the side of the tent, even bending one of the poles almost to break it. Luckily, both they and the tent survived, and the next morning the wind was gone again. Like some agreement with the gods of the wilderness to have their rage in the night, and their sleep to begin at dawn. A good deal struck, to be sure.

The final full day provided a descent down the other side of the mountain on which they’d slept. It was a different vibration altogether as the rocks on this side made for easy skipping down with a lean-back attitude and a fearless gleam in stalwart eye. Crude awakenings as each step could mean the last one, and once again they were all centred completely in the now. The way down again funnily enough goes by faster and seems to go by so much faster than that again. The crew of four soon overtook the crew of two, and Ima yelled out: “why are you so fast?”. The response came coolly from Ziggy: “years of experience”. After a brief intermission on plain ground the ascent to the final major mountain ridge of the entire hike started. Helvetestinden on one side and a wall of thick rock around a deep pit of a lake called Helvetesbottn. The climb started out pretty much straight up, but still with more foothold than the one yesterday. It was hard, indeed, but with a few breaks they made steady progress up to the first shelf. From there, they witnessed something incredible. A thunderous roar made them turn their heads in confusion until the culprit was identified; a rockslide on the other side of the pit. What an incredible display of power! The noise itself made it abundantly clear that this was not to be trifled with. The sight left the onlookers in awe as snow and rocks plummeted with haste directly into the waiting pit below, which in mid-August still hadn’t rid itself of its icesheet. Probably not something to walk on safely though. The trail provided an amazing three-sixty view of that lake plus the surrounding mountaintops gave the sensation that this was a playground of titans. Out there on the far horizon one could even get a faint glimpse of the sea. At the very crown of the mountain, a last lunch, a final meal, was held before doubling back down on the other side. On the way down there was a mountain spring where the river had gone underground and came up seemingly out of nowhere under a rock. The water tasted like nectar of the gods.

A weary party finally reached Svartvassbu and dove headfirst right into that icy lake to mark the end of a long hike, and the only part left being the trail back down to civilization the next day. In any event, it’d be a joyous last evening to commemorate the last days of walking together. Often in conversation, other times in silence. The meditative aspect of walking should not be lost upon us. Wandering in a group or alone through varied territory with a mind not locked on some menial task at work, or in anticipation of anything else than a warm meal at the day’s end, gives meaning to existence. Contemplating then, how many of our so-called needs are basically wants at best. Out here the simplicity cuts through to the bone and re-focuses our minds to achieve the true necessities; food, shelter and good company. The mind drifts off in whatever direction and you don’t tell it to stop. Like clouds our thoughts run past, and we do not engage in them to solve anything. They are there, until they no longer are. All that matters is the step, setting the foot down in a way that brings us safely into the next one. Not because the goal of the day needs to be reached, in this country you can camp anywhere thanks to allemannsretten. It is because in that moment, as in all moments, the whole world is being continually renewed all around us. One might then experience whilst walking through this unbelievable nature, a time out of mind…