New places, old places

We'll it's taken a while but finally I'm settled in my new apartment and have (nearly) all my belongings around me. Living a car-free lifestyle is great, until you actually need a car. Huge thanks to my friends who came through to move/store/move my shit, and to Mark who gave me a roof over my head for a month. The last stuff to show up was all my camping gear so it was with great delight that I loaded up my bike on the same weekend that summer descended on the west coast of Norway.

I headed south, along the fjords, but not before stopping less than a kilometre from my home with some major crank/pedal issues that I needed to 'unfuck'. I discovered a not-insignificant hill with a ribbon of tarmac draped across it. Odd Arild knew about this, as did all the local lycra-clad road weenies. They also seemed to know something about which direction to ride it because they were all going one way while I went the other. I didn't see the difference, on 2.2inch rubber and a full touring road it looked a bitch in both directions. I may have walked a bit of it...

Over the hill, and not so far away, are the ruins of an abbey, Lyse Kloster. In a grassy courtyard I laid on my back for a while, recovering and soaking up the rays. Lunch break. Summer's advance was everywhere. Flowers and shoots abound. Children let ice cream melt down their fingers and the tarmac was littered with the desiccated carcasses of worms.

I took a road across the hills and into the more familiar Hausdalen valley. Some off-roading and pushing across the bog took me to a regular camp site. The sun was relentless. It took a few hours of drinking fresh stream water, fruit teas and sitting in the shade to get me cooled down and rehydrated.

As well as forgetting to bring a spoon (again) I also didn't bring my fishing gear, which was a shame because the lake was looking sublime and I had a few hours to kill before the sun went down. 20.00 and the temperature in the shade was still 26C. I passed some of the time fashioning an eating 'scoop' from a twig with my knife. I won't offend spoons by calling it such, as my shaped twig was nothing so technically brilliant.

When the sun finally dipped below the forest ridge I got to play with the firewood I'd spent time collecting. Not a lot comes close to the sense of achievement of lighting a fire with a spark and the sense of communion with nature and our ancestors. Hot chocolate supper then I turned in for a night under the fully opened tent fly. Darkness never really visited before dawn was back. Head-torches are redundant in the northern summer.

It was warm already when my alarm reverberated deep inside a dry bag somewhere. I don't have my alarm set for weekends but it was a national holiday and my phone wasn't smart enough to understand this fact. Ah well, better get the coffee going.

Packing is always easy on dry mornings with minimal gear. I found myself back on two wheels by 07.00 and pedaling around the lake on the 'beaches', bogs and finally jeep track. I was home soon enough, had a second breakfast and hit the local trails with a weighted rucksack. Backpacking trips on the horizon!

Gear notes

Finally got try try out my first 'real' tent since my Laser Comp. I bought the Unna second-hand (practically unused) from someone on the Norwegian trekking forum. I didn't try it in it's traditional double-skin configuration. Fly only, wide open to the breeze and views due to the unbelievably hot weather and paired with an Oookworks tub groundsheet. I like the Unna for bikepacking. No trekking poles, low profile for near-road camp sites, masses of usable space and a reasonable weight for a pitch-anywhere shelter. Lighter bug inner required but I'll have to wait until Sean is less busy.

The newer version of Revelate Design's Harness is a winner already. Simpler set-up, doesn't interfere with the cables on drop bars as much, more room for your digits and rock solid, both in mounting on the bike and in holding the dry bag.

Lastly I got to play with my Light My Fire Swedish FireKnife. Total impulse buy from a local supermarket. Plenty of bushcrafty smiles. May not make it on gram-weenie trips but playing with it in the woods was ace. I doubt I would have carved my eating 'scoop' with my teeny Victorinox Classic so easily. And it got this fire started :)

Bye Bye Black Dam

The time to move has arrived and with it I must say farewell to Svartediket, the Black Dam. For four years it's dam, reservoirs and trails have been the ever-present escape from the city that lay just a few minutes walk from my front door. A notch in the wall of the Seven Mountains that led to a quieter world of shadows and towering rock, mystery and history... and a nicely graded trail with lights so I could even go there in the evening... 

Ulriken's bulk has been the view from my kitchen window and the wall at the end of my street for a long time now, my house laying just over the ridge to the right of the photo above. Taking a break from final packing it was time to grab some fresh air and say goodbye.

Even on this brief farewell tour it revealed surprises. Who would of thought that the wee frozen waterfall on the far side of the cirque could be viewed through a hidden culvert. The seamless trail I'd walked hundreds of times before was lain on the backs of giant slabs of rock, the storm drain nestled within to direct Spring's run-off. I'd never even noticed.

The lengthy cold spell has left the reservoir frozen for an age but the falling water levels mean the margins are covered in a patchwork of carefully arranged slabs of ice, each tile six inches thick. A Robison Crusoe-esque lean-to shelter perched on the edge will no doubt be washed away when the thaw arrives and the waters return.

I have spent many hours here and I know I will visit again but I feel a part of me being removed. I have walked, run, skied and ridden around these paths. I have shared them and had them all to myself. I have been happy, sad, tired, refreshed, cold and sweaty. I will not be far away but it is time to see another side of the city. And there are seven mountains that surround Bergen. Time to find a new one to call 'home'.

The dream goes on...

Down below the feet were marching on

There was glory calling, flowers were thrown

Although the sun was shining

The cold blue light of morning

Can't melt the layers of dreams

Left from the night before

The dream goes on...

Snuff - Vikings on the Tundra

So things have been quiet here. The usual suspects. Apathy, time, real life, illness. But the dream goes on. Restructured, new priorities, fresh inspiration. Sometimes there just doesn't seem to be enough time, especially for me as I pack up my worldly possessions and prepare to move house. Hence this wee jaunt, tagged under Alastair Humphrys' 'micro adventure' initiative.

Two hours. That's all it took me to leave the packing cases, bin bags, stress and reality behind and be somewhere timeless and pure. I left home in the middle of the afternoon with a hurriedly packed bag and headed up with only the vaguest of ideas of where I was going to spend the night.

The trails away from the city were clear but as I fell into the shadow of Våkendalen and climbed into the cool air, the patches of ice slowly joined together to form a solid sheet clear across the path. Tarlebøvatnet was the limit of my grip and I donned mini-crampons to ease the perilousness. Across valleys and ridges I climbed higher, and breathed deeper.

The Viking hut is one of several dotting the Byfjellet hills above Bergen, sitting at about 590m. It is wired by thick cables to the ground, a testament to the winds that can run up here and it has a wooden bench running the length of the building, facing the afternoon sun. I didn't stop this time, preferring instead to continue along the ridge towards Grønetua, in search of a spot that would give me views of both the evening and morning skies.

A suitable site picked I gathered snow to melt for water and sat down to a tasty feast of pasta bolognese, solbærtoddy and chocolate. The evening sun, bloated and fiery, dipped behind a distant band of cloud before it's light, and any associated heat, was extinguished in a matter of minutes. It seems you only truly know the fleetingness of days when you watch a sun set or rise in real time.

The night passed peacefully, the stationary high pressure weather system appearing to suck every sound into the heavens. Just the usual it's-cold-outside-so-I'm-gonna-make-you-wanna-pee trick from my bladder. I thought there might be an inversion or aurora so I skipped the pee-bottle routine for a dalliance under the stars. No romantic meteorological events though, save a big, fat, full moon so bright it hurt to look at it.

My alarm reverberated in a chest pocket and required enough fumbling to fully wake me despite sleep clinging to my eyelids. Still no inversion but a purple sky welcomed the day with a blushed horizon in the pre-dawn. I melted some more snow for breakfast and sat on a rock with a coffee, watching the sequel to last night's solar performance. A pin-prick of yolky yellow lasered across the mountains from the East. Within minutes light flooded the plateau and it was time to pack up.

Still wearing a layer of fleece under my windshell I soon warmed up as I first climbed then descended the ridge. I stopped at the Viking hut this time, to shed some layers and pull on my sunglasses. My tracks from yesterday glinted across the valleys in the morning light and shards of ice from my crampon points, like discard diamonds, shimmered and swayed across icy traverses. After an hour and a half the day was really warming up. De-robing as I walked I then had to pull it all back on again as I descended into the still-shadowed valley to the reservoirs. I saw only one person on that walk home.

The winter hasn't gone according to plan. Real life takes over sometimes. But the dream goes on...

Gear Musings:

I don't do gear reviews anymore but I still spend an unhealthy amount of time musing about the kit I use so in future I'll blab about it in shorthand after any trip reports (idea totally ripped off from Roger Brown...)

My poor Firstlight has not had much love recently so I gave her a run-out with the cold and dry forecast. Still a cinch to put up and comfortable to live in. Still don't like that door.

Normally I anchor the Firstlight on snow with skis and poles but I managed to find a pitch on bare tundra. Unfortunately the ground just below the surface was either rock or frozen solid. With only a gentle breeze to contend with she stayed put with the MSR Blizzard pegs dead-manned under some rocks.

There was no need to lug this -15C rated beast up there in only -10C weather but I wanted to. I haven't had a chance to use my Western Mountaineering Antelope MF yet so I wanted to take my new toy out and play with it. So. Much. Down. Too warm on this trip, which bodes well for trips when I've shivered in my Ultralite. The shell coped with brushing up against the Firstlight's frosty walls but there was some frosting around the mouth area, as there always seems to be in winter. Will someone design a sleeping snorkel for winter camping please?! On longer trips I would still take a synthetic over-quilt.

First real outing for the HMG Porter and I'm instantly in love. Very comfortable, it feels like it's been custom made for my torso. I guess it's been a while since something off-the-shelf has fitted me so well. Enough volume for a winter weekender and the outboard daisy-chains made for easy stashing of my Ridgerest, crampon bag, un-used BD poles and Sno-Claw. The colour is adorable, it's just a pity it's on my back so I can't see it more often. It's a good job it's versatile and I like it so much because I've sold every other pack, save an Epic for packrafting/long trips, a Talon 22 for riding/running and a Goruck GR1 for everyday use... Four packs! I'm down to four, that's GOOD!

The Hillsound Trail Crampons were stellar. They were crucial on this trip with so much ice and compacted snow. They gripped really well, didn't interfere too much with my gait and fended off mix-trail sections with rock and gravel. I don't think there is much difference between these, the Kahtoola Microspikes and the other generic versions I've seen in the local sport shops, save for the small velcro strap that loops over the forefoot. 

Also on my feet were the Inov8 295s, some Bridgedale trekking socks and some OR Ultra Trail gaiters that I've only used a few times but I like the cut of their jib. Still light, stretchy and non-waterproof but infinitely more robust than other 'UL' gaiters I've used in the past.