Monday 25 April 2011

Adders and Bandannas

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.

Tuesday 19 April 2011

Thunder on the Tundra - The Gear - Final gear list




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.

Wednesday 13 April 2011

Thunder on the Tundra - The Gear - Sleep system


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.

Monday 11 April 2011

Thunder on the Tundra - The Gear - Gimme shelter

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.

Thursday 7 April 2011

Thunder on the Tundra - Day 5, 6 & 7

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

Wednesday 6 April 2011

Thunder on the Tundra - Day 4

"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

Tuesday 5 April 2011

Thunder on the Tundra - Day 3

"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

Monday 4 April 2011

Thunder on the Tundra - Day 1 & 2

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.