Norway, HardangerJokulen: Day 6

Friday, and an absolutely incredible Friday it was too. We'd been in the wilds of Norway for 5 full days and living the dream. Yes, home had seemed far away and an absent comfort at times but there was no denying that it had been an absolute privilege to be here. The freedom of wild camping in Norway was refreshing and almost alien to us. Despite being in charge of our own destiny it felt as though we should be up and moving once we'd eaten and had the first cuppa of the day - it took some effort to shake this feeling and we were envious of the Norwegians and their utopian outdoors world!

Whilst perfectly clear it was also incredibly cold and overnight the temperature had dropped considerably leaving a shimmering layer of frost all over the tent fly. I had a bad back from too many hours on my Neoair and needed to get up to stretch a little and was almost frantic with the need of some toilet relief! Exiting my bag was shiver inducing and I bounced about on my mat trying to get my trousers on whilst making a right old racket. Paul soon stirred and we both exchanged grunts as I unzipped the fly, donned my cold shoes and headed on out to a brisk but bright paradise.

The small tarn next to the tent had a good layer of ice all over it which gave a good indication of how low the temperature had dropped over night.

It was glorious - Nuff said. Not a cloud to be seen, the sun just popping over the shoulder of Finnsberg and casting long distorted shadows across our soft, flat, green mattress. I turned to look at the lake and listen to the sounds of the cascades as the sun tried to warm my back. The sun was neve goig to be enough however, so I was still relying heavily on my Flash jacket. Did I mention I love my down jacket?

I fetched my sleeping bag and draped it across a large boulder to take advantage of the sun and light breeze. Whilst back at the tent I'd tried hard to disturb Paul's sleep but it was a wasted attempt at evil. I decided I'd make the most of the tranquility and wandered over to the shoreline to skim stones. This was nice but quite difficult, as the wind whipped up the waves which would swallow (what I considered to be) my greatest ever skims.

I sat for a while wondering what was happening back home and specifically what were people doing instead of this? Most likely colleagues would be making their various ways to work, probably stuck in traffic and counting the hours for the weekend to begin. My weekend had began six days ago when we flew out to Olso, had an epic night out with some incredibly hospitable locals and now was sat enjoying day seven at the shore of a remote lake at around 1200 metres.

Then my thoughts swung to Charl, what was she doing and what about friends? It's very easy to get lost out in a place like this - mentally rather than physically that is. At first apprehension and excitement combine to leave a mindset that is cautious and aware, whilst prolonged thoughts for loved ones and home are ever present in the background. Then instinct kicks in and thoughts of home become concentrated towards the end of each long day. I'm not normally an emotional character but out here I wasn't just treasuring the freedom, beauty and experience of each passing day - I was truly appreciating what love, friendship and companionship really meant. What is was to understand how it feels to need something and more importantly someone. Make no mistake, being out here was a dream come true. However, I couldn't stay here indefinitely regardless of how much food or equipment I had. Survival is but one facet to human life and I hadn't been able to bring the one thing that I needed just as much as the essentials……Charlotte. If I cold get Charl out here doing this, I'd be made and I set about the impossible task of working out how I could make this incredibly unlikely scenario a reality - whilst firing up the JetBoil.

With the blast of pressurised gas igniting my thoughts were returned to the 'here and now' and I wondered how far we might travel today bearing in mind how close to Finse we now were. Paul must have tuned in to my frequency as he emerged from silnylon grunting and scratching. We drank some tea, checked out the map and, with our routine now at military precision, packed away with effortless speed. We decided we'd take a nice stroll north, enjoy the weather and make the most of the chance to stop and drink tea out of the rain. The option was there to continue on to Finse which was more than reachable before sun-down but this wouldn't be necessary or worthwhile considering out train wasn't due until 12 the following day.

I was now using only one pole and it must of been a sorrowful but entertaining sight for anyone watching - my splintered pole hitching a ride in my pack! I wondered whether this was a sign from the Gods that new poles were available and waiting to be tested. You never can tell the true message of the Gods at times but I was certain that I was on the right track this time!

We passed a raft of clear, dark blue tarns as the track weaved its way north. It was roasting in the sun and starting out in two layers quickly became very unnecessary. We stopped to take photos every few hundred metres and the irresistible urge to drink tea by the water got the better of us.

We remembered our adventurous but miserable first days out on the track and praised the DNY hut system like a biased parent or lover! It was all going to work out OK this walking in the wilderness lark. We'd came with an open mind and would leave with it full of experience, memories and aspirations. Paul wanted to come back in winter and we tried to picture how very different and hostile this place would be. There was no way we had the skills to tackle something like that but we never say never any more and we promised to look at winter skills courses and weigh up the possibilities over a beer in due course.

Anyways, we quickly blocked the thought of sipping on an ice cold beer and concentrated instead on lunch. I attempted to record some audio of us reviewing some gear and talking about our experiences thus far but we quickly found this to a painful and unwarranted assault on a potential listener. Delete.

We were climbing up gradually now and we agreed that a bite to eat would be our reward for reaching the high-point and with any luck we'd be able to see the glacier whilst we ate. This prophecy came true and we were soon boiling water next to the clearest, coldest mountain tarn we'd seen - at least since the last one! It was couscous and chorizo for me whilst Paul lived another dream with a Fuizion meal and didn't he let me know it! There were groans and sighs of enjoyment which I easily ignored by talking over them and giving the impression I hadn't heard them over all of the other noises like the……..er……noises - all of the wild noises!

The reality was it was quiet. It was peaceful, warm (provided we kept out of the breeze) and most of all it was a great vantage point to look out across where we'd been and where we were headed. From here we could see endless crevasses like deep cut wounds on the blue/white glacier. The map showed there was a hut out there somewhere and from here we knew the trip to that hut would be epic. This gave way to the (quite obvious but better avoided) observations that we'd seen nothing of what this small corner of a beautiful country had to offer. There was nothing for it - we'd have to come back and purely in the interests of……..science??

We soon started to feel the cold having been stopped in just our base layers so it was nice to stow everything away and get back to walking in the warm sun again. From here we had a short, easy decent but made difficult by our eyes always being distracted by the jokulen to our left. We'd both wanted to get up close and had originally hoped to do so via and outlet to the north east called Blaisen. Our last minute decision to take an anti clockwise route had meant that we'd not had that opportunity when we'd first envisaged. Looking back it would have been miserable but in these conditions it would be incredible.

Even if we had the time, it was quite a way from our current position so we trundled on talking about the possibility of camping just below it - weather, time and suitability of a pitch permitting. The landscape was easing up a bit now and climbs or descents became less obvious and smaller bodies of water seemed to open up everywhere. Most of the route had now become almost exclusively rock with the track staying hard and dry nearly all of the way. Had the weather in the east been like this the whole time whilst we'd been punished over in the west day after day?We decided it was best left unanswered and continued our way along in relative silence. Feet were beginning show signs of fatigue and the unfamiliar hard ground wasn't helping at this stage in the game.

A larger body of water opened out upon what had started to be termed the 'moonscape' and we saw two men in the distance fishing off the rocky outcrops of the vatnet. It was odd to see other human's again but nice to know there hadn't been an apocalypse in the 5 days since we'd seen another soul. Perhaps there had but nobody had told these two dudes fishing like they hadn't a care if they caught anything or not!

Given that we were still a ways out from Finse, we wondered if these two had come from a private hut nearby but we soon spotted their shelter off in the distance on a dead-flat silt marsh just below Blaisen. It was so flat and green we made a bee-line both thinking (but never saying) that this would make an incredible pitch. The area was massive and was showing all of the signs of being soft if not a little damp! Jumping the river at its narrowest point I ventured on to find it exactly as expected - bouncy, a little water-logged but almost measurably flat. It seemed to hold a peg well but for some reason Paul hung back taking photos and didn't seem too interested in stopping. I rejoined the path where Paul then decided he might want to take look himself - how very rude! I decided to stand my ground and dropped my pack, pulled out a jelly baby and propped myself against a perfectly shaped rock. As Paul began to make his way onto the silty bed it became apparent how easy it was to lose sight of the sheer size of this place.

We pondered making our way over to Blaisen but also liked the idea of a pitch that could see the glacier and Finse from the same spot whilst making for an easier departure in the morning. The map suggested that the river weaved its way down to a flat area about a kilometre further along. It was indicated as marsh but we decided to take the risk anyway. We'd have a shorter trip in the morning to catch our train and it would have the views we wanted - provided we could find a decent spot.

From here Finse was just visible with the railway tracks carving a clear scar on the landscape. It really was blue as far as the eye could see with no signs of any changes on the horizon. We dropped down passing tarn after tarn - each as pristine as the next. Paul walked on ahead as I stayed back at a gushing stream to record some audio on my zoom H1. There wasn't an awful lot of point in this but at the time it seemed like a great idea!

I caught up to Paul who was now traipsing around in tall, almost orange, grass but not looking satisfied. Paul's pitch finding face and stance is really quite a beautiful thing and should be witnessed at least once! Its beautiful because he's bloody good at it. He can spot a patch at just the right size for a Scarp II from a remarkable distance. It's not just that but his hit rate for a spot that is level, has views and will be remembered is commendable.

Paul, I hereby salute you. For this…and only this. Oh and your incessant pestering that I should come to Norway with you for a wonder. I understand that this is partly because you wanted to share this incredible place and the experience and partly because the last time you came here alone you nearly died and might have made a few silly mistakes in your calculations.We'll say no more about this as not to detract from the praise I've just given only a few sentences earlier! Moving on.

It was now 3.45 and the sun, although still definitely up, was making a rapid descent in the direction of the hills to the west. Even now the temperature was noticeably lower then just 3 hours earlier and we both wanted the tent up and a chance to relax and watch the sunset over the Jokulen one last time. By 4.03pm the tent was up on a spot that can only be described as 'money'* by all accounts. It was the only soft, flat spot on the bend of a fast flowing river of rapids and only around a metre or so higher than it.

To the west was the glacier and to the north-east was Finse. To say we were connected with the surroundings wouldn't do it justice and needless to say there was no petty squabbling about sides this evening.

We sat around by the river washing socks and feet but the grey, silt-heavy water was genital shrinking cold so we soon thought better of that and cooked food instead whilst watching the sun sink lower behind the hills to west. For a brief moment the wind died down and everything was bathed in a silent cast of orange.

We looked back over to Finse and from here there were no signs of life, no sounds, no movement and very much like an abandoned mountain village. We sat out in down jackets until the sun totally disappeared at 7.09pm. Then, something really cold happened, and we retreated to our sleeping bags like a proper pair of girls! Out here there is no hiding from the cold or the wind. It finds you wherever you hide -  except of course inside a cumulus sleeping bag and topped with a Western Mountaineering Flash down jacket - seemingly.

For some reason Paul was eager to do some more sound recording so I pulled out the H1 and Paul lay there just talking at it - summarising the high and lows of the trip. It made for a monotonous hour or so of recording but I let him carry on seeing as he was so content just muttering away  - poor little sod!

It was hard to accept or comprehend that we'd spent the last 6 days wondering about in the Norwegian wilderness and even harder to think that by this time tomorrow evening we'd (most likely) be drunk in a Bergen bar regaling some polite, but clearly unimpressed, Norwegian folk about our trip. We lay in our bags talking through the days and nights and vowing that we'd be back. Paul likes to look forward a little more so than me and he masked his sentimental thoughts by banging on about an Epic night still to be had in Bergen. To be fair I was looking forward to it too but I find it harder to re-adjust when faced with the bold assertiveness of civilisation. My thoughts were far from Bergen and were, once again, back home and looking forward to seeing Charlotte.

I caved before Paul and had to make a hot drink. Paul tried (and failed) to take a decent shot of Finse which by now was well lit and looking very appealing. They had beer over there for christ's sake and we were freezing our nuts off making hot chocolate! We must have been mad just sitting there watching the lights whilst sipping on our drinks in the freezing air when, just 30 mins or so away was a small place serving beer in glasses!

By 9pm it was already frosty out and I opted for one last toilet break before hitting the sack for the last time. Earphones were pressed into place and I hit play on Bob Marley's 'Legend' album before realising that it wasn't fitting of my mood or the place and opted instead for Lykke Li. I found it hard to settle even with a soft voice to send me off. Paul, on the other hand, had peaked a little early with his sound recording efforts and was already curled up in a ball and starting to impinge on my tent space. I decided to stay away a little longer to ensure there would be no spooning!

The wind was picking up again and it was getting colder at an astonishing rate. Arms were moved inside the sleeping bag and the draw cord cinched down nice and tight to avoid any drafts. This was clearly what was needed as the next time I woke was to the sound of a small bear snoring…..

*google it.

Norway, HardangerJokulen: Day 5

It was quite a windy and cold night, most likely it felt more so than it really was since we'd gone a bit 'soft' from the hut experience. I removed my ear plugs once it got light and just lay there snoozing to the sound of the water lapping up on to the rocky shore. The wind was still there but there was certainly no rain this morning and for that I thanked the Gods and offered Paul as a sacrifice in the hope that it would continue.

Soon, there was a soft warm glow through the tent fabric, casting a strange hue inside the tent making all of our clothes look aubergine in colour. It was the tell tale sign of the low sun on a clear morning. The tall slope rising up from the shore of the fjord meant that we'd not see it and nor would it super-heat the tent until much later. Neverthless the prospect of both was enough for us and we both just lazed around in our bags, being immature and generally yawning a lot. This ritual happens most mornings when Paul and I go away and its more about who will crack and make the mornings tea rather than our enjoyment of lazing around on our Neoairs. I generally find that its nothing to do stubborness either and more about how desperate you are for that morning wee!

As usual I caved first because the feeling of kidneys and bladder aching in protest isn't something I enjoy, whereas Paul does this sort of perverse thing for fun. I didn't mind really as I wanted to get out and take a look around and do a weather 'reccy' as it were. What I did mind was cold, wet shoes...

On the way out of the tent I passed a strange looking spider just on his (or her) way in. Since I didn't want Paul to be too lonely in the tent I left the mesh open a bit so he could have some company. I obviously didn't make the entrance obvious enough as it clearly never made it into the inner tent owing to the distinct lack of dramas or sounds of Paul scrambling around inside trying to get out. Shame really, it might have been a beautiful friendship but now we'll never know.

It was pretty damn cold and the clear air seemed to nibble at every bit of bare skin. My Western Mountaineering Flash Jacket was proving to be an incredible addition to my kit list and the hood (though making me look 'special') was needed and very welcome this morning. It really is incredibly light and warm (considering its weight) and is thoroughly recommended.

The Jetboil Sol Ti took no time at all to boil some water for tea and was already boiling itself to oblivion by the time I returned with another full platypus from the nearby stream. Paul hadn't moved and he complained that his legs were still aching from our pilgrimage on day 3. Eventually he found the energy to raise a hand from within his bag and take ownership of his cup of tea. My new insulated aluminium mug was working a treat and causing burns to my lips way after I ever expected. Paul likes to point out that it isn't as pretty or technical as his insulated Hurtigruten mug, complete with lip guard and lid, but I like to remind him just how much he paid for that mug and so it can be as technical as he needs it to be to justify the enormous expense! I'm not at all jealous of it you understand and nor have spent hours on eBay trying to find one before the trip. That didn't happen*

The sun was just peeping over the top of the hill behind us now and we were feeling the warmth spreading through the tent until the wind would come along and replace it with a fresh, cold air. Whilst we sat and ate breakfast and drank numerous teas, we decided that today we could probably just sit tight and spend two nights here. It was a nice spot, the weather looked good and we could spare the time. In the end we couldn't commit so decided to see what the morning would bring and how we felt before writing up the minutes and finalising the whole deal.

I, for some reason, decided that I would go for a swim and a wash, you know, seeing as it was soooo nice out. The problem, as I quickly discovered, was that bare skin was like a meal to the cold wind and as such as I stepped out in Icebreaker boxers I immediately regretted it! Cut back to minutes earlier when I'd shaken off Paul's (now quite wise) words of discouragement thinking I was the bigger man. At the waters edge I was suddenly feeling a bit sheepish. It wasn't that I was bothered so much about the imminent cold that the water would bring to my goose-pimpled skin but more the issue of getting warm afterwards. Paul and I had struggled to get warm in the tent in the early part of the morning and I could see that 'x10' happening after this little adventure. Soon I got bored of procrastination and just got in.

Shivering, back at the tent, I sold Paul the dream that it had been a life changing experience, the freedom, the freshness and most all the thrill - whilst he played back the video he had taken of me and laughed like a girl. He was right, it was a bit ridiculous, but I took smugness out of the fact that I wouldn't be using wet wipes today, oh no sireee Bob. "Only fresh vatnet water for me these days Paul. Im all about luxury my alcohol-wipe-dependant friend"!

After my little dip I proceeded to put on all of my clothes. All of them. Not for any reason and definitely not because I was feeling hyperthermic - just because I could. We lazed around for a few hours, listening to iPods and enjoying the warmth of the tent. I came around from my snooze to see Paul sat up with the map. "What dya reckon? Lunch and then back on it?" he said. I nodded and before we new it we'd eaten lunch and the tent was back in the bag. It had been amazing to leave the tent up until gone midday and just take the decision to move whenever we liked. No people passing by, no fear of angry land owners popping up out of nowhere. We were literally nowhere and we were kings!

We decided that we'd just walk north along the rest of shore and then head north-east along the trail to Finnsbergvatnet below the peak of Finnsberg. It looked like a great spot, nice and sheltered and may even get a view of the Jokulen from the top of Finnsberg. The distance was a approx 3 miles and was an easy walk over nice terrain.

It was all going well along the trail as we approached the falls and the bridge near the hut at Larsbu so it was nice when things got mixed up a bit as I slipped, got my pole wedged in a rocky crevice and hit the ground to the sound of splintering carbon fibre. The casualties were adding up on this trip. and for those who may need a reminder, the things broken so far are:

• Expensive Lightweight Tripod
• Expensive DSLR Camera
• Expensive Carbon Fibre (Titanium Goat) Walking Pole

Now lets move on…..

Me, storming off in a mood, having broken my pole!

I wasn't happy about this but nonetheless took comfort in knowing that this incident was probably the end of failures or breakages for me. Thing come in threes and as far as I was concerned that was me done. I cursed the Gods and vowed to get my revenge and walked on in silence trying to work out just how and what it would be.

The trail crossed the bridge, passed by a number of unnamed vatnets and climbed up to cut the eastern shoulder off of Finnsberg. We were now walking in base layers and celebrating with some mountain beat-boxing and odd musical improvisation. Our pace was slow and relaxed as we knew we'd be at our planned spot in no time. Standing at the crest of mild climb, next to a large salt-lick, we could see wild-camping paradise below. Next to the lake was a large, reddish, flat area just perfect for a tent. Provided it wasn't a bog it would most certainly be spongy and flat and lovely and lots of other adjectives to help visualise the scene.

Spot the tent

We dropped down along a rocky path heading straight for the small stream as it met the trail. Jumping across it told us everything we needed to know and we just dropped the packs and out came the Scarp II. The only distraction from our tent erecting objectives was the argument about who was sleeping on which side. This was important, you see, because Paul had made it so when he 'bagsied' a particular side on the first night - claiming it was a 'preference thing' and nothing to do with the view or wind direction at all. I thought it was rather unfortunate that Paul's preferred side faced away from the late afternoon sun and into a slight wind - and so did Paul! So much so that when I stood my ground and explained the principal of why I wasn't swapping, Paul threatened to allow me to keep my side but would unpeg the tent and rotate it 180 degrees so he could have the view and I the wind. As tempted as I was to let him do this, I walked to the water's edge for some quiet time! When I got back there was an apologetic tea waiting - which I drank with a smug grin on my face until we both just creased over in laughter!

Paul enjoying the view from 'my' side

We sat on a some large rocks listening to and watching the nearby falls, chatting and taking photos (with my flippin iPhone) and just relaxing in the evening sun. I sat in the tent and called Charl (I still had a mobile signal!) and Paul scrambled up Finnsberg to see if the Glacier was visible and to watch the sun disappear over Helvetashorga.

I noticed as soon as the sun went down by the plummetting temperatures inside the tent. It was such a strange feeling to be away so long and be so far away in the wilderness and still be able to call Charlotte. It made me homesick and I missed her. It's strange how you can be having the time of your life but yet it doesn't seem 100% complete without loved ones to experience it with - No offence Paul.

It was about 40 mins after leaving for the ridge line that Paul returned out of breath and looking cold. He was happy he'd been but admitted he was chilled to the core. There was only one thing to do and that was to cook and eat - which we did and then proceeded to climb into our Cumulus sleeping bags and pondered the map to work out a plan for the morning. It had been an easy day with a total result with the weather and the pitch so there was nothing left to do to complete such an awesome day other than to drift off listening to Phantogram (mixed in skilfully with Paul's snoring) followed by about 12 hours sleep. "Goodnight Norway".

*It did.

Norway, HardangerJokulen: Day 4

I slept right through so assumed that the night was uneventful but woke with a start wondering where the hell I was. My body still ached and outside my sleeping bag the room was cold. I enjoyed the silence for a while before venturing out of the bag and over to the window to check out the weather and was 'surprised' to learn that it was still raining!

Paul's night had been uneventful too but the leaky window had caused him to have to move a couple of times to avoid damp cushions as the water seeped closer and closer - sweet justice!

The clothes and other items we'd set out to dry were all good to go, except my new SLR which had taken on more water than an SLR really should and was still acting up. It was not a good situation since I'd carried it all this way and now it seemed as though it was giving up the ghost. Photographically this trip was just not meant to be! My big ideas of a mountain movie about two mates escaping the traps of city life had been hampered by tripod issues and and the latest disaster meant that was now just a romantic dream.

We got dressed into warm dry clothes (a pure luxury), ate breakfast and drank tea whilst we lazed about the hut deciding on our next move.

The rain was still coming and we decided that we had time to wait and see what the afternoon would deliver. We sat around just perusing the map and deciding what Fuizion meal we would have for lunch - owing to fact that we had a spare following yesterday's missed lunch and last night's tinned balls! Paul was working his way to eating two meals for lunch whereas I was simply happy to eat food out of the rain and look forward to a future glutinous evening - should I be with a ravenous hunger.

We were soon getting restless, so we ate, packed our bags, put the last of the fire out, restored order to the hut and ventured out. The wind was still pretty strong but the rain had stopped so we took our chances back on the trail.

Rather than retrace our steps to reach the junction, we decided to head due east and pick up the trail after it passes the north shore of Fisketjorna - a smallish vatnet to the north east of the hut. We stopped for one last luxury poo in the toilet block and we were back on it!

The feeling of warm dry clothes was incredible and we both fully appreciated the good fortune. Mine was short-lived, at least in the foot department, as the waterlogged ground made friends with my socks. We'd seen the first river crossing on the map and I decided that it was just not worth risking my dry Sealskin socks within minutes of leaving the hut. Moments later I was loving this decision.

Once again the sound of the river reached us before we saw it and the track we'd been following faded away at almost the same time. We trudged on waterlogged moss to find that once again we'd under-estimated the width and pace of the river. In fairness to us tough, the rain had dumped a whole lot of water into the table over the least few days and it was almost impossible to gauge how swollen the river would be. There were no two ways about it, this was going to be another epic crossing.

As before we headed upstream to begin our sweep of the options.The steep gradient meant fast water and a LOT of noise. Looking back down to the vatnet it was clear that it looked shallower further down if not a bit wider, so we headed down to take a look. In some ways it was riskier because the river had split into two defined strands and each of these was seemingly broken up by rocky outcrops. This temped us into thinking that the sectioned approach was safer when in fact it turned out the sections in between were deep, and almost silent, as the water rushed past. With wet feet and poles I ventured in where I thought was a good entry point and immediately found the water up to my knees. Ahead was a bushy embankment and with this target in mind I spread out using my poles (far more than I should) to give 4 contact points with the ground. The rocks moved with my weight and soon it was all I could do to keep myself from laughing. In my minds eye I was looking down on myself - a bambi-like creature looking quite pathetic trying to cross the river.

My feet were now really cold and this was beginning to move up my legs with shocking speed. I found a large slab and stepped up onto it and another large step later I was on the bushy island as the water tried to reach up and pull me back in. I looked back at Paul who hadn't entered the water but was looking a little apprehensive. I realised that I had selfishly used both poles where one might have sufficed and I quickly threw one back over -  despite Paul's protests. Soon Paul was stepping and wobbling like a drunk leaning on a stick, the sight of which I could only respond to by creasing over with laughter. I like to think it was just this type of encouragement is what got him across in the end.

There was barely enough room for two on the small island and Paul being Paul decided not to bother stopping and carefully passed me by. It got deeper and deeper and looked like it was going to be filling Paul's trouser pockets if it had carried on. Out of nowhere Paul found what must have been stepping stones but were now below the water level by a few inches, which meant on stepping up he was well out of danger. I ventured over but the feeling of ice cold water creeping up my thighs threatened to bring on panic. On reaching Paul's position we both stepped over the large submerged boulders until we were half way across. Once again the sound of our panting was the only sound we heard above the river! We were having to shout to hear each other but eventually I understood what Paul was saying and pointing at as I looked upstream at the epic scene ahead. We were standing ahead of huge foaming rapids and if there was ever a photo I should have taken it was then. Sadly my SLR had killed three of my four batteries and was safely inside a dry bag in the bottom of my pack. I just hope my memory of this scene is never lost from my mind.

We still had another 10 metres or so to go and after that it just looked like ankle deep watershed. We moved quickly along with a pole each until we finally reached the soggy bank on the opposite side. Feet and shins were well and truly numb and wet and neither of us hung around to reflect on the crossing, we just moved on in the direction of the track.

We soon warmed up and our pointless conversations started up again but in the main the weather was the recurring topic. The rain came and went but most of the time is was behind us which meant for much easier walking. We crossed many

more rivers (from streams to shallow rivers) with striking confidence and eventually the sun threatened to break through the thick rolling clouds.

The open vistas were just massive and especially so now that we were beginning to climb up to Langehaugen and leaving the windy shores of Heimsta Olavsbuvatnet behind. The route from here was undulating and mainly covered in low cloud. We had all but given up hope of seeing the sun and even more so when we looked back to see a hint of blue opening up back out west! We plodded on discussing how far we might go today and whether the opportunity of a great pitch was more important than distance. We'd spotted signs from the hut that the next set of huts were along this trail but had no intention of reaching them and definitely no intention of staying. Provided that we could stay dry we were craving a night under sil nylon again!

 

We dropped down into a small basin and passed by a very atmostpheric unnamed vatnet which would have made a great pitch. Sadly it was doused in low cloud and, besides, it was too early to stop. The track began to climb out of the bowl gradually over the next few 500 metres or so and then our trip changed for the better as Dragiedfjorden came into view when we crested the hill. I've never been so emotional to see such a small patch of blue sky! I was so overcome I dropped by pack and dug out my camera just hoping it would work…..thankfully it did.

We both just stopped and took in the view which were just amazing but with no sense of scale to help put it all into perspective. I tried and just decided it was…..well…….VAST! We hung about taking photos of the views and each other with me having to remove the battery after every photo - which I enjoyed immensely.

 

The low, dark grey cloud fired on past overhead and just seemed to get thinner and thinner before our eyes. We fired off shot after shot just to make sure that if this didn't last we'd have proof that the sun still existed and had shown itself on the trip! At one point we were even treated to a shadow.

 

 

We decided to check out the map from here to try and work out a pitch point using the view to help us make out the distant terrain. Suddenly the light changed completely and huge patch of clear sky drifted overhead and moved quickly into the distance. I nearly wept.

We got over our emotions (just) and carried on descending south west towards the next junction. Here was a signpost for two huts: Kreakkjahytta and Halne fjellstova. It occurred to us that we should be able to see Kreakkjahytta and sure enough on closer inspection - we could. It certainly looked completely different to the other two huts we'd been used to and even from here we both thought it looked like a huge complex. It was literally in the middle of nowhere but we could make out a Caterpillar snow plough and some boats near the shore.

We rambled on down and Paul talked about moving back into his house following some bad times that we don't talk about on blogs. He seemed quite excited about the prospect and for some reason was banging on about Bosch appliances! Had the clear sky had some sort of strange affect on his mental well-being?

It seemed like no time at all had passed and suddenly we were heading north to the huts. We had decided that the site was so massive that they must sell beer and have showers and it was the least we could do to drop by and be sociable. You know, rock up and say 'Hi' to the lovely Norwegian peeps and regail them with our stories of drunken Oslo nights, water-damaged SLRs and lighting fires with Jetboils. It was only fair…we thought.

As we got closer to the complex the scale of the place became apparent. We could hear the distant sound of an outboard engine but pretty much nothing else. It didn't look particularly busy and as we entered the rear courtyard it was looking a lot like we might be the only guests tonight. We'd have to just tell the warden our entertaining and educating stories instead. The outside lights were on but we could see no other signs of life. We knocked the door and looked through the window of the main building but all that presented itself was a dry-suit and some hefty boots. It wasn't looking good. On the western edge of the building there was a tall cage and upon spotting this the largest dog I've ever seen presented itself by jumping up onto it's large kennel. The sound of air entering and leaving its lungs was enough to rattle my rib cage and I kept back in case it decided to make the most of two unexpected visitors.

We tried a few other doors, which were open, but nobody was around. Paul was gutted that his shower and beer prospects (or should that be beer shower) were rapidly demishing and said as much just as a tall, bearded, grey-haired man emerged from the rear door of the main building. He explained (in a very serious tone) that the hut had closed for the season just yesterday but the next hut along would be open for a few more days if we wanted to head over there instead.

We didn't.

Dejected, we said our farewells and pulled out the map to spread it across one of the picnic benches. From here our route would follow the eastern shore of Dragiedfjorden so it seemed a no-brainer to head off over in that direction and see if we happened to come across a dream pitch. Paul's idea was to simply pitch the tent by the hut but this idea wore off once I reminded him of the dog and the warden's fairly harsh tone. There was nothing left to do but walk on and head north before the sun went down.

As always with these things, you see a spot, walk to it, find it isn't in fact even close to being flat and rejoin the path and the process starts all over again. There was a small and quite nice looking island on the southern tail of the Fjord so we found a dry way across only to be denied a worthy pitch once again. The sky was getting moody and the sun was dipping lower and the race was on to find a pitch without having to don a head torch. We pulled out the map and decided to head for the small peninsula that might give us more options on the north east shore so with head's down our pace quickened and we soon began to find some 'flattish' options. Paul took a gamble and wondered off onto the peninsula and a moment later I could just make out the sound of his voice before the landscape swallowed it up. I couldn't make out the words so I just headed on down to where Paul stood right on the edge of the water. It was soft with a bouncy undergrowth and just large enough to take the Scarp II. It was on.

It rained lightly as we pitched the tent but, as usual, it was up in no time at all. Neoairs were inflated and sleeping bags lofted whilst we got the jetboil on for dinner. The rain gradually faded completely and even though we'd started late it had felt like quite a long day on the legs. It was all good though, we had a flat pitch and we just stood examining the views whilst the light faded and were grateful in the end for the opportunity to pitch the tent and sleep outside. I turned on my phone to find I had a signal (Un.be.lievable) and Charl had sent through news of an improved forecast for the next few days. Clear with temperatures dropping gradually it looked like a period of high pressure was winning through. Did this mean we'd have a few days of sunshine and views - we didn't want to let our thoughts run wild only to be disappointed, but couldn't help doing so all the same.

Would we wake tomorrow to an incredible sunrise? Would it be a base-layer only day? What else would our route have in store? I went to sleep listening to Edward Sharpe, eager to find out.

 

Norway, HardangerJokulen: Day 3 Part 2

Really sorry about the delay in getting this Part 2 out guys. The dislocated shoulder debarkle has left some nerve problems which meant I’ve been pretty much unable to type with any efficiency for weeks.
Continued from Part 1…….
It was beginning to feel as though there had been a nuclear blast and we would never see the sun again. It was simply claggy and flat and there was no view at all of the surrounding mountains as we moved along the track. My feet were cold and though we were moving with pace I was feeling colder all of the time. Paul confessed to feeling the same so we made some corrections with jelly babies, chocolate fudge and sickeningly buttery flapjacks.
Soon the terrain changed to a green, boggy and undulating environment and the cloud showed signs of weakness in the distance, allowing a little more light through than we had been used to all day. Suddenly we spotted movement ahead as small black blobs below us and as they approached we all exchanged greetings in English and discreetly checked out each other’s kit. I'm sure they thought we were mad with our strange, small bags and flimsy shoes. These four guys were literally carrying enough to re-stock an entire DNT hut for the winter - perhaps they were?
We reached a wide, deep but rapid-free river crossing at the end of the long steady descent but there was no procrastination this time. We just waded on in, deeper than before, just getting on with it. We were now tuned to the environment and I like to think it was playing AC/DC.
It was quite a chore with all of the swapping through descents then ascents and time felt as though it had stood still. There wasn’t much to see, the wind was picking up and we were hungry beyond belief. This continued for a while longer until we crested the next climb to catch a glimpse of Sysenvatnet through a cleft to our right.

On the map this had looked like an impressive body of water but from our position looking down across the lake to the opposite shore and beyond, it felt much larger. From here the view was impressive and full of drama. We could see the next micro weather system rolling in, sometimes giving way to short blasts of sunlight through the cloud cover as it blew on in closer towards us. The hazy, blurring signs of rain could be seen sweeping across the lake among the low cloud so another drenching was inevitable.

The thought of more wasn’t at all threatening now, we couldn’t get more wet or cold and on the other side of this hill was our saviour, a beacon of warmth, safety and self-service hospitality. Somewhere down there was a group of huts, or even just one, and all we had to do now was locate it and follow the red T’s for our reward!

We took the advantage of our elevated position to scan the landscape but neither of us could set our eyes on anything resembling the wooden huts of Kjeldebu. Both trying to recall the mental image of the map we just kept moving whilst looking out into the distance. The problem, you see, with this landscape (as we’d quickly realised on day 1) is there isn’t a lot to enable the mind to put a perspective on the size or distances when just looking out into the vista. We knew the hut could be right in front of us and we’d easily miss it with the naked eye.
We pressed on and over the summit which quickly turned into a cartilage-crushing, muddy descent - though this didn’t bother us any more as we both agreed it was just a case of putting one foot in front of the other. We were so in tune and adapted that we were on autopilot and able to take in the views whilst scanning for dark square shapes in the distance.

Our knees hurt, our inner cores shivered and the day had turned into an epic - Not just in terms of distance and terrain but experiences and feelings, which had left us both mentally tired. The route down was quite difficult with water making any indent into a bubble-rimmed puddle and every rock a slippery gamble.
It was soon after this that I caved and pulled the map from Paul’s rucksack as the suspense of the huts got too much. As soon as I opened and oriented the map I knew. We were a long way off the huts yet, perhaps another 3-4 miles at least, but distance wasn’t my biggest issue. It was the unforgiving terrain ahead and the start of yet another heavy downpour from above - we were being screwed every way we looked and it was obvious by now that we were being tested. Paul wasn’t happy and let the world know as he shouted a heartfelt “B*LL*OCKS”! I returned the map and picked up where I’d left off, hysteria now very much kicking in as I walked off giggling (in the same way you do when you’ve hit your funny bone) for reasons I still can’t explain.
The recent blow had left a stench of doubt around us and now we started to prophesise about the huts being closed or full. We both agreed a night in the tent tonight would be damp and miserable but I’d already resigned myself to this as a worst case scenario and to be fair it wouldn’t be all bad once we’d gotten into our dry clothes. It would be getting dressed in cold, wet clothes the next day that would be the test of our metal!
Oddly, despite our current disposition we started to muck about and ramble on about childish but quite funny scenarios as we ‘worked’ along. Paul took great pleasure in recounting our meeting with the German lorry driver as we both bumbled down the track in hysterics! Odd how the mind reacts to raise the spirits and despite its random content was welcome all the same.
It felt like we’d never reach the next junction which would indicate a mere 2 or so miles to the huts. We were reminded of the true scale of the environment we were in as we approached the next bridge which wasn’t far from bring engulfed by the ferocious falls.

The soundtrack was loud and relentless and we just stood and stared in amazement as the water began to reach up on the rock steps leading to the bridge. We crossed as slowly as we dared and watched as the white water threw up clouds of cool mist into our already soaked bodies. Had we had enough energy and inclination left we would have loved to have waited to see if the water level would actually reach the bridge.
After this the next half an hour passed without too much effort and the terrain seemed to gently rise upwards though the ground got soggier. As we rounded a cleft to the left a small, obviously private, hut clung to the hillside. It was small and painted dark blue and came so close to being occupied by two cold, dejected Brits and it doesn’t even know it! Trudging onwards the waves of self-pity returned with the tailwind, which by now was almost pushing us along to the huts. Still invisible though, they seemed to want to leave it until the last minute before revealing themselves and at was looking as though the tent could make an appearance after all.
The Gods weren’t finished with this day’s walk just yet and we were then presented with another high bridge to cross the small ‘vatnet’ to our left. Suddenly Paul stopped without warning and was fiddling around trying to find his camera. I had no idea why he wanted a photo at that point as raining, windy, cold and exposed it wasn’t really time for photo in my view.

It wasn’t until I reached the top of the steps on the bridge that I noticed the huts and turned back to see Paul, now grinning and with a skip in his step. “Mate, its on, its properly on. Can you see any sign of smoke from the chimneys?”. I stopped half way across and squinted to see if there were any signs of life. There was nothing and even if there was the stiff wind would disperse any smoke in an instant. The only thing that stood out for me was the sheer size of the buildings and the fact that there appeared to be a complex of huts ahead – not at all what we were expecting.
Our day’s walk still wasn’t over just with two more river crossings to negotiate as the track doubled back twice, worryingly taking us away from the huts for a time. We both said very little during the next 5 minutes as we followed the river towards the huts trying to avoid the extensive boggy areas as they tried to provide one last unrewarding challenge.
Passing the large hut on our left, we were faced with some choices. There were 3 more large huts and a toilet/storage block which was quite over-whelming after our fairly wild and isolated day. Water squelching off our shoes and water dripping from our chins and clothes, we located the main hut, signed in and were half way through completing the payment form when a young, female and wind-swept face appeared from the the communal living area door. She spoke no English and on further investigation was with a young man so (grinning) we made our excuses with pigeon English and hand gestures and moved to the next hut. We weren’t sure if that was the right thing to do but it seemed a little awkward and they had made themselves right at home and so much so that it felt as though we were disturbing them. After all, a secluded mountain hut with only a wood burner and candle-lights would fit my bill for a romantic hideaway any day of the week*.

On reaching the first hut we decided this was the one for us as this had the best view and a large dedicated drying room - with its own stove! After doing a quick sweep and general assessment we dumped our wet gear and set about lighting the stoves. There were only a few matches in the box on the shelf and having exhausted those I resorted to using the Jetboil to get mine going**. I was cold and ridiculously hungry and fire lighting was not on my list of fun things to do before feeling comfortable. Stoves lit we hung up the wet gear and ventured back out to see what delights the store room had to offer as a supplement to our only meal of the day! Never have two people been so pleased to return with a huge tin of Reindeer balls (not literally) in thick gravy with a pouch of jasmine rice. A ‘Come Dine With Me: Mountain Hut Special’.

Sitting down at the table and reviewing the map, it became apparent how tired my body was and it ached until we’d cooked and eaten. We lit the remains of a few candles and just sat reviewing the day. It had been huge both in terms of terrain, distance and experiences and as tough as it was out there we both agreed we’d do it again in an instant – what idiots!
We made the hut our home and laid everything out to dry or to air and sat looking out into the darkness as the wind and rain pounded the windows in a relentless display. The hut had two wash rooms, a drying room and three separate dorms with bunks and thus positively a mansion for two! To take advantage of the palatial space over the tent, I left Paul in the lounge/diner (where he slept below a leaky window) and slept in a dorm for 8! I barely had chance to get myself horizontal before falling asleep to the sounds of the outside trying, quite literally, to get in!
*Not today, you understand? Any date with stubble is a big “no, no”!
**God bless you Alan Sloman.

Norway, Hardangerjokulen: Day 3 Part 1

This is another long post folks as this day really was an epic. Its in two parts so get a tea and a scone and get comfy….
I woke at various points throughout the night, hot and sweaty each time. Not only was it toasty in the hut the my Cumulus Quantum sleeping bag was just too much even when opened out and draped over me. I had to think it was made worse by the fact that we had been slowly getting used to the colder conditions in the hills over the past two days but whatever it was I ended up sleeping in base layers until 7am the next morning.
I hopped out of the bunk and off to make tea while Paul dozed, listening to his iPod. Looking out of the window it initially seemed to be damp but not raining and I watched the thinning remnants of an inversion rising up from Eidfjord, over the dam wall and eventually dissipating into nothing. I pondered the map while the large steel kettle came to the boil on the gas hob. We had some options today and could take some time to explore the glacier before heading off on our way south-east, though where to we hadn't yet decided.
We pottered about gathering our things from the various hanging places and once again breakfast was eaten out of a real bowl - though the Spork made an appearance to keep it all real! My camera had a new friend in the form of a modified zip-lock bag that allowed the camera to be clipped to my chest pouch harness (used by my OMM chest-pouch) but be relatively free from light rain whilst taking the odd photo. If it rained all day again then it would have be stowed in the dry-bag and back in the pack but this at least afforded the opportunity to have it out in between showers.
By 9am we were packed, the hut tidy and the map stowed having decided we would just saunter on along the trail and see where we got. In reality we wanted to reach the junction at just south-east of Leirhalsen before the track turned east to give us some more choices on day 4. With this in mind we tightened our shoes clipped on our gaiters and left the hut behind. I stepped out with high hopes for the weather as the stable door was thrust back at me in the wind and after fighting to get it open again was met with a nice fine drizzle. Excellent I thought.

It became apparent just how much water had fallen overnight when we stepped off the wooden deck and onto completely waterlogged ground surrounding the hut but we didn't really care and headed off chatting taking photos and drinking from the many newborn streams cascading down from the high rocky cliffs above. The trail was all over the place today, seemingly taking us up to go down and vice versa when a perfectly good natural level route seemed to exist each time. I got over it but Paul was particularly annoyed and confused by this which entertained me no end after a while!

Irrelevant of general moods, it was a shame to have to walk with hoods up and restricted views - not that there was much to see. The cloud was low and heavy with moisture and it was fairly cold in the mix so we moved quickly until the glacier opened up into full view on our left. It was immensely impressive but it was virtually impossible to gauge the scales from our position and no reference points. Despite the rain we were both excited to explore so turned east off the track and headed up the steep, rocky ascent to meet Mr Rembesdalskaka and see what delights he had in store for us.

During the progressive ascent there were two immediate observations: 1) the icy cold breeze falling down off the glacier and into our pale, wet faces and 2) the deafening roar of the falls above and blasting on by to our left. Initially we had some reservations about getting too close as we could see large boulders of pale blue ice had recently separated from the front of the ice shelf. Unusually though I insisted we press on and get up close as this was an opportunity not to be missed. The route up was predominately rocky and very slippery with lots of moss and algae making for a nerve wrecking climb at points. There really is nothing but rock, small shrubs, pools of water, moss and more rock.

It was clear that this place was rarely dry and with the huge volume of water gushing out beneath the glacier it was no surprise that each flat, sloping slab of granite was like a skating rink (only without the crash barrier or the show-off spraying you with ice). It wasn't a matter of if you'd face-plant or coccyx crush but when! I was consciously trying to take as many photos as possible but the spray from the falls along with the rain just soaked the lens despite my attempts at drying and shielding. I wish someone could have filmed the scene as I lost my patience after a few cycles of this and just waved my hands in the air, shouting obscenities at the Gods. I was starting to get the hint that they weren't happy with my photographic intentions and at one point I contemplated asking Satan for help – it was that frustrating.

We continued climbing and slipping and negotiating short scrambling sections until it was literally towering above us. At this distance the scale of the glacier is acutely clear and its gives off a graduated blue-white colour that is nothing short of amazing.

The effort had been worth it though and we explored the cavernous ice caves as they glistened in a deep blue mirror effect and the sound of water echoed all around.

At this distance we could feel the sheer force of the water undercutting the glacier and exiting with a relentless violence as the sound thundered through our rib cages. The water was carrying heavy loads of silt which left it a cloudy brown with just a hint of that glacial blue-grey that almost begs to be touched as though it has some sort of healing power.

I hadn't seen anything like that in my tiny life and I took it all in as best I could, even closing my eyes at one point to try and somehow concentrate harder! The landscape is harsh, unforgiving – its freakin prehistoric - and it shows its teeth as it gnarls at you and tries to force you into turning and running away. It's the senses that keep you there and gobble it all up like a forbidden fruit – an addictive natural narcotic.** Moving on............

Needless to say, Pauls ridiculous idea that there would surely be a place to cross further up the falls turned out to be, well ridiculous, and the feeling of slowly soaking through was starting to take hold and deliver the odd shiver - since we were hardly moving . It was slightly annoying to have to back-track all the way down so we could cross the bridge which, from here, seemed like it was made for Borrowers. As usual we weren't entirely resigned to our fate and wasted far too much time looking for any 'leap of faith' that might be vaguely achievable but our arch-enemy Scale caught us out every time as we approached each 'possibility' to find even a gargantuan leap of Neil Finglegton would struggle to make it let alone our hobbit like dimensions. Wet and just a little dejected we made the treacherous descent to the bridge, nearly losing Paul to the falls along the way as he slid, seemingly in slow-motion, down a huge stretch of granite rock and only just stopping short with his feet literally being licked by the foaming rapids. In hindsight its funny but there and then we both just exchanged the acknowledging look that we needed to be mindful of our situation and caution was a good friend to hang out with - sometimes.

Reaching the bridge we then began a just as treacherous climb back up the opposite side of the valley in the cold, fine mist that cooled and drenched our universe. There was a lot of banter prior to this point but I was certainly not feeling in a jovial mood. Out of the mist a sign-post appeared pointing west to Eidfjorden, North to the hut we had just left and south to Kjeldebu – another hut but gave no distances (this is normal). We pondered whether or not our detour to take in a view above Eidfjorden was worthwhile considering the conditions but despite agreeing it was pointless we pursued it anyway. A couple of miles further in the increasing rain we stopped and made eye contact, shook our heads disapprovingly and turned 180 degrees to rejoin our original route back on the main trail.

It was lunch time and we were both hungry but we weren’t stopping now that we were wet, cold and feeling just a little sorry for ourselves. The executive decision was taken there and then with no debate. We'd head to Kjeldebu hut and despite the distance and cost, stay another night and take the opportunity to dry out. As we walked heads down and increased pace we tried to recall the route and the junctions from the map and from our collective memories felt we had a good chance of making the hut by late afternoon. We might have been a little down but now we had an aim, a target and that target ended with a wood-burning stove and a real seat for a poo – we hoped at least!

The terrain was now more grassy with lots of small unnamed 'vatnets' (tarns) scattered along the way and even in the poor conditions we both commented with some frequency just how good some of the spots would be to pitch a tent. In good weather they would all have been sublime.

We trudged away the hours putting one inov-8 in front the other and ascended a bit, then dropped some, then ascended a lot, crossed some bridges over furiously fast water and then suddenly it got more interesting. We were in a bowl, surrounding by high rising rock faces, small tarns and our familiar friends the red 'T's. This itself wasn't any more or less interesting than normal but what raised the game slightly was one red T stopping dead at the edge of a swollen river which was almost exclusively white water and then just making out the familiar red blurriness of another T a good twenty meters away on the opposite bank. Neither of us had logged this in memory from our time gazing down at the map! Paul made it all better by shouting 'boll@cks' at the top of his voice (mimicking the greeting we had received from a German lorry driver we'd met at Stansted airport 3days earlier) and proceeded to make his way upstream hopping with purpose across the boulders with a view to finding an alternative crossing point. I was slightly perturbed by this obstacle because through the mist all I could see upstream was steeper, faster white-water and it was clear that this was the preferred place to cross. Under normal conditions this might be a fairly normal ankle high wade to the other side but with the sheer amount of rain and run-off, this was now a very different river and I was honestly frightened to cross. This fear marked a turning point in my mindset and confidence on the trip, where I'd let Paul lead on such obstacles and I'd just hang back and be typically risk averse when it came to water.
It was deep. I didn't need to test it with my pole to see this but did and the force of the water grabbed at the pole and I imagined what that would be like dragging on my legs and feet. How high would it come up and would it stay that high or get worse in the middle? The unknown was exciting and head-shrinking in equal measure and all that went through my mind was that we had never encountered a crossing like this and an error in judgement or otherwise would bring less than desirable consequences to an already tough day! I joined Paul further up the falls.
The noise was amazing and the atmosphere was thick with spray and mist. Each rock we tested was either unstable or offered no traction and the only chance at a jump was asking for trouble since there was no telling what lay in wait at the next hurdle. My mind was made up and I knew I didn't have the metal to risk it higher up and returned to the red T as my H&S head took control. I wasn't entirely confident that Paul would make the same decision so I constantly stopped and gestured for him to follow and he successfully avoided each attempt as he concentrated hard on calculating the risks. Paul is amazingly good on his feet but I wasn't so sure he had the legs for any of the opportunities I'd seen upstream. 5 minutes later I was stood at the same position as before and just staring across to the other side. Suddenly my right foot was in the shockingly cold water albeit not where I'd intended as the flow pushed hard against my shins. It was suddenly up my knees and with the shock of the cold water surrounding my lower body and the sheer force of the water pushing against my best efforts I was aware that panic was just a neural pathway away. Amazingly my body just sucked it up and I went at it with gusto - almost accepting whatever fate the Gods had in store. Displaying absolutely no poise, little balance and clenched glutes, I edged further in as rocks tipped under my weight and the white water disorientated my every sense in an attempt at delivering some proper misery. I was now half-way and worked out that the stepping stones that once offered safe passage had been shifted and offset in the deepest section but the latter third was still in-tact and walking diagonally up-stream I met them and clambered up so only ankles were submerged. A short few hops later and I was on the other side to the sound of a deep, dog-esque panting sound. Turns out it was me.
Looking back across it looked every bit of the undertaking it had been and from this vantage point it looked worse! It genuinely was bad and I knew this because of the caution Paul was displaying as he crossed. I was quietly worried that Paul would suffer for my success - as is the nature Karma. Nevertheless it was an identical crossing to mine complete with stumbles, wobbles and elation at reaching the other side. We gripped gloved hands in a victory shake, brothers in arms style, and continued on as though we'd taken it all in our stride. I guess in a way we had and it was exhilarating. More deep glacial white water for us please!
** something clearly happened to me out there, I now appear to be writing like Nigel flippin Slater***
***No offence Nige.
To be continued.....