Hytte to hytte on the Hardangervidda 2011

     As we stood in the deserted tunnel that constituted Hallingskeid railway station, bereft only of rolling tumbleweed to complete the picture, we looked at each other and wondered what the hell we had let ourselves in for. Only two years after being introduced to cross country skiing by Hanne, my Norwegian partner and her family, we were setting out on our first hytte to hytte tour on the Hardangervidda in Norway, the highest plateau in Northern Europe. Ever since my first tentative steps on cross country skis at Skullerud in Oslo, with no prior skiing experience whatsoever, I had had this picture in my head of Kirk Douglas fleeing the pursuing Nazi storm troopers in the film “The heroes of Telemark”. Delusional? Possibly! Naïve? Definitely! Yet here we were, in the very same place those heroes of world war two had evaded their pursuers during one of the worst storms in living history. We were not totally unprepared though. I had grown up in the shadow of the Welsh mountains and, as a Norwegian, Hanne had been skiing since she could stand, albeit the sum of my experience on skis at the time probably only amounted to two weeks’ worth. On top of this, we had sought advice from experienced travellers, friends and family, and spent a lot of time selecting equipment and routes.

     The initial stage of the trip saw us travelling from Oslo to Hallingskeid on the Oslo to Bergen train. If you should ever have the opportunity this is a “must do” railway trip and should definitely be taken during daylight hours as the views from the train really are breath taking. I was like a six year old kid in a toy shop during the journey and was totally bemused to find Hanne fast asleep whilst I was bounding from one side of the train to the other, much to the annoyance of our fellow travellers, afraid of missing the smallest geological feature, grass roofed hytte or fleeting glimpse of a moose! As we eventually passed the iconic hotel at Finse, Finse 1222, adjacent to the highest railway station in Norway, we began to gather our gear as Hallingskeid was the next stop. The excitement was building over our imminent journey into the unknown, but as the train pulled into the station, situated inside a tunnel, we were horrified to find that we were the only passengers disembarking at this deserted spot in the middle of nowhere. I don’t recall a single word passing between us as we stood beside the tracks and watched the train pull off and disappear into the distance. Felicity Aston describes her feelings as she stood alone on the Antarctic ice watching the plane that had dropped her there disappearing into the distance in her book, "Alone in Antarctica", and I think at that moment I understood just a little of what she felt. To Hanne and I, inexperienced Arctic explorers, this really was a big deal.

The deserted Hallingskeid railway station.

     So, we were on our own and about to begin our greatest adventure to date. I donned my rucksack and went to leave the waiting room of the station, but instead of strolling outside I walked face first into a locked door. At least I thought it was locked! In actual fact the door was blocked by the piles of snow stacked against the outside surface of the door. After eventually managing to force the door open we were further shocked to find ourselves at the top of a steep drop. From the little glimpses afforded by the drifting snow, it was evident that a stairway led down from the waiting room but that that stairway was now hardly visible, let alone usable. Pulling ourselves together, we donned our skis and set off for our accommodation, a nearby hytte owned by the Bergen hiking association and there the similarity with Polar exploration ends! We were NOT 600 miles from the nearest humans, civilisation was right in front of us. We gingerly side-stepped down the hill, conscious now of a large group of school children playing around on skis as though the skis were themselves part of their own limbs, and not wanting to look as much of a novice as I actually was. As we plodded rather than glided through the deep snow, I heard an "Uh oh!" from behind me and turned to see Hanne quizzically examining the end of one of her ski poles. The large snow basket designed to stop the pole disappearing in deep snow had itself disappeared. Not having realised, Hanne had taken her next step and tumbled to the snow as her dysfunctional pole plummeted into the icy depths! Okay, no big deal, I would just dig the basket out and attempt some repair. That was easier said than done. What could be easier, just look for the hole where the pole had gone into the snow, reach down the hole and grab the wayward basket. Ten minutes later found me lying flat on my stomach in the snow with my right arm buried to the shoulder frantically feeling around for something man-made. How the heck could it have gone so deep? On the point of unpacking the shovel to dig down even further my fingertips brushed something solid and I triumphantly held the offending basket aloft, much to the amusement of the gathering schoolchildren who had clearly decided watching this crazy Welshman floundering in the snow was much more amusing than the games they had been playing. Repairing the pole consisted of just clipping the basket back into place, job done.

     Feeling very red faced I sheepishly pushed my way through the group of schoolchildren whilst Hanne had a quick conversation with one of the supervising adults. Growing up in Wales as a non Welsh speaker I am used to being in the company of people holding conversations I could not understand, and don't normally have an issue with it, though this overheard conversation had me wondering what the Norwegian for "Stupid bloody Welshman!" was. Surely she wouldn't do that to me?

     For those unfamiliar with the mountain cabins/hytte of Norway, they are similar to British youth hostels. Most are owned by the DNT, which is the Norwegian trekking association, and are either staffed with food served, self-service, or bed only. Membership of the DNT ensures reduced rates at the hytte and a journey involving several overnight stays makes it worthwhile to join. Those cabins not owned by the DNT, such as Hallingskeid, are operated in very much the same way and most offer similar discounts to DNT members.

The hytte at Hallingskeid.

On our arrival at the hytte we were pleased to find a basic but cosy building with a well-stocked pantry that operated on an honesty system. You basically helped yourself to what you wanted and left the correct amount of money to cover the cost.

The "pantry".

     We were not alone in our lodgings as we found a couple of German guys already in residence. Although complete strangers, and this is one of the wonderful aspects of overnighting in the hytte, everybody has a common purpose and thereby conversation is both easy and relaxed with the ice being broken by discussions involving routes, weather, equipment and a myriad of other shared interests.

     That first night saw us settling down to a meal of “Joika” (processed reindeer meatballs in gravy) and potatoes which we had brought with us from Oslo and prepared in the more than adequately equipped kitchen, eating by candlelight in front of a roaring fire. Feeling very contented we decided to check the route for the following day on our map. "Where's the map?". "What do you mean where's the map? You had it!". "No I didn't, you had it on the back of your rucksack!" "Well you were behind me, so what happened to it?". I'm not going to elaborate as to who said what, but suffice to say the last time the map had been seen was in the rush to gather our gear and leave the train. Clearly suffering a guilty conscience, I "dressed up" and trudged all the way back to the station to find my map case lying next to the tracks just where we had stepped from the train. Did I say MY map case? I clearly meant OUR map case!

     Once again we settled down to examine the following day's route in the warmth of the hytte. The only downside to this hytte was the toilets, or I should say lack of toilets! These were actually situated in a neighbouring building, also owned by the Bergen hiking association and occupied by the party of school kids we had met earlier. Due to continued and heavy snowfall, the path between the two buildings was constantly buried by snow. This meant a "quick trip to the loo" involved donning boots, coat, gloves and a hat before, shovel in hand, you ventured outside to dig your way to the toilet thus making a quick trip rather lengthy. In the basement of our building though were two wash rooms, each with a sink and running water. As the evening wore on, trips to the adjacent toilets through the raging wind and snow reduced, replaced it seemed by a dramatic increase in the need to wash hands! Think about it! All of this merely added to the experience though. To give an idea of the snowfall in the area, our bedroom which was on the first floor had snow piled halfway up the window.

Snow piled up outside our bedroom window.

     We awoke the following morning to a rather grey and windy day, but were gratified to know that our new found German friends were travelling to the same destination as us, the DNT hytte at Finse. As one of them was a certified guide, and well-travelled in the area, we were encouraged to set off in conditions that would have otherwise left us debating whether to travel or not. Certainly the wind was stronger than that which we had been advised to make our limit for skiing in and we were slightly uncomfortable, however, the safety blanket provided by our travelling companions gave us the confidence to venture forwards. They would be leaving after us so we knew if we encountered any difficulties then help would not be far away. Should they pass us at any time, then they could also raise the alarm at a pre-agreed time had we not arrived at our destination.

     As soon as we left the hytte we very quickly learned that the well-meaning advice we had received from friends and relatives was not as accurate, or useful, as we had been led to believe. First was the miss-conception that the trails between the various hytte were prepared. We had been left with the impression that this meant the trails were groomed in much the same manner as the trails we were used to following around Oslo. However, in the mountains the preparation refers not to mechanical grooming but to the routes actually being marked with birch branches, they being placed at regular intervals to show the path of the trail.

The windswept birch branches marking the trail.

     So, although we knew which way we were going, we were breaking our own trail through fresh snow which highlighted our second shortcoming. On the back of being misled over the type of trail, we were advised that we would require nothing more elaborate than our everyday “skinny” cross country skis and boots rather than steel edged, wider, "mountain skis" and sturdy boots. BIG mistake! Not deterred by these setbacks we persevered and tried to take them in our stride as lessons learned for next time. It was hard going though and I was extremely grateful for several last minute purchases I made. Firstly, prior to leaving Oslo I noticed that Hanne's ski poles, borrowed from her mother, had large snow "baskets" at the bottom typical of mountain equipment, whereas my XC poles had the minimal "cups" for use on prepared trails. Although told I wouldn't need them, I decided I too wanted big baskets, for no other reason at that time than my desire to at least LOOK the part! Outside the railway station in Oslo was a shopping centre housing a sport shop so, with little time to spare, we raced up the centres stairs only to find it closed! There were staff members inside the store though, stocking shelves and arranging displays like automatons prior to the day's trading. Only one thing for it then, I knocked on the glass doors as politely as I possibly could. Now, it IS possible to knock politely and, with the added benefit of glass doors allowing me to appear both respectful AND needy at the same time, a member of staff soon came to speak to me. After explaining that our imminent train departure didn't allow us to wait for their official opening time and assuring her that I would definitely be making a purchase, she allowed us in and helped me select appropriate poles with BIG baskets, so I was a happy bunny. The other purchase we were both grateful of were gaiters. Again, expecting groomed trails, gaiters were way down the list, but thankfully they WERE on the list because, as we forged our way through deep snow, our lower legs were continuously sinking to mid-calf.

     Although I am the least experienced on skis, as we weren't so much skiing as shuffling forwards I insisted on leading and breaking a trail through the deep snow, being the biggest and strongest. It really was a matter of stamina rather than any skill in the conditions we found ourselves in. When faced with such tasks, I am able to "zone out" to some extent and just hunker up and keep going like a bull in a china shop. I was very conscious of how Hanne was coping though. Normally, when in Norway, in most situations I sit back happy that she takes the lead. It's her country, her language, her culture and I have total faith that she knows best. My uphill journey to become competent at XC skiing has been as a result of my desire to one day be as good as her, in fact I aspire to be more like her in many ways, but that's another story. This day, however, was about brute strength and dogged determination. Now Hanne, by anyone's standards, is tiny. So to see her doggedly battling on in these conditions, carrying a rucksack weighing just slightly less than she herself, left me feeling nothing but love and pride for that inner strength of hers and only left me more determined in my efforts. 

An indication of the conditions to be found on the Hardangervidda
"Where did we leave the hytte?".

   
     And so it was that when caught our fist view of Finse across the great expanse of a frozen lake, we were overwhelmed with absolute elation that we had reached our goal. It was probably the most relaxed skiing of the day from then on as we could actually see how far we had to go and knew we would ultimately be safe. That probably sounds rather more melodramatic than it was, but suffice to say we were relieved.

     And so it was that two tired but happy individuals arrived at Finse. We pretty much collapsed in the front foyer before removing hats, gloves, skis, boots, packs etc. and going to book our room. As DNT premises go Finsehytta is one of their largest and even boasts its own “microbrewery”, though there is nothing remotely “micro” about the cost of the beer! It is a staffed lodge with a bar/shop that sells a selection of “must have” items as well as a variety of ski waxes and outdoor equipment. As in all the hytte, the staff are friendly and the atmosphere is conducive to amiable conversation and new friendships. The accommodation costs vary are on a sliding scale depending on whether you opt for a dormitory, 4 bed or 2 bed room. Dinner is served at set times in a large dining room at several long tables and the host, with Germanic precision, informs you at which table to sit. You are then given very strict instructions, en mass, as to when and where you should collect your food, this being carried out table by table. The only item left missing from this speech was the warning that anyone breaching the instructions would be shot! Needless to say, the mealtime ran with timepiece precision and absolute obedience. As for the food, it would have been more than acceptable if the various courses had been simple but sufficient. That description, however, would be a grave injustice to our hosts as the food was both plentiful and delicious.

     Finse itself is an ideal start/finish point for a trip in the mountains. Access is by rail or ski only and it is possible to hire skis and boots from the nearby hotel, Finse 1222, as well as snow shoes. The hotel itself is worth a visit if only for its historical reference in respect of the building and running of the railway. Additionally, it was at Finse that Captain Robert Falcon Scott trained with his men before their ill-fated journey to the South Pole. Outside the hotel is an obelisk dedicated to the five men, Scott, Wilson, Bowers, Oates and Evans. This memorial also brings home the fact that the Hardangervidda can be an extremely inhospitable area, being that polar explorers visit the plateau to train for such remote parts of the planet as the North and South poles. Amundsen too spent much time on the Hardangervidda and there is even a race held there every year called the "Amundsen Expedition". From Finse it is possible to plan several circuitous routes, via various other hytte, allowing you to end your trip back at Finse before returning rented equipment and catching your return train. Additionally, Finse boasts a small downhill slope with lift and a large frozen lake to hone your skills on before setting off on your trip. The nearby ice cap, Hardangerjøkulen, also makes a nice round day trip from Finse.

     The following morning, after again checking on weather conditions and who else was travelling in the same direction, we set off for our next destination, Krækkja.  Breakfast had been another delight with a buffet to suit all tastes and needs and, as with all staffed “hytte”, you can make yourself a pack lunch at breakfast from the buffet for which you pay a small amount, and for another small fee you can have your flask filled. Again, the day proved a challenging journey due to weather, but we were safe in the knowledge that we had taken advice from the locals, we knew others were ahead of and behind us, and that we had discovered an efficient “jungle telegraph” system being operated between the various “hytte”. As a result of this, the host at each establishment had a very good idea how many people were travelling toward them and from which neighbouring “hytte”, providing a very comforting safety blanket.

     Although the day started with weather pretty much as we had encountered the day before, the skies began to clear and we saw the occasional sunlight. It was during this leg of the trip that I learned a VERY important lesson, one I hope I will never forget. HYDRATION! I am not normally a person who requires a great deal of fluids when exercising and so have probably been a little flipant about taking sufficient fluids on board whilst skiing. But here are some facts; We don't actually feel thirsty when the air is cold. Cold weather causes more loss of body fluids due to respiratory fluid loss. Our bodies work harder in the cold under the weight of extra clothing. Cross country skiing is extremely labour intensive causing even more fluid loss. Studies have shown that due to certain physiological quirks in cold weather, the normal means the body uses to make us feel thirsty just don't work the same way. So in a nutshell, cross country skiing in cold, dry conditions saps our bodies fluids at a much higher than normal rate and our body kids itself into thinking all is okay. So when dehydration hits, it can hit like a bomb going off. Our sole source of hydration was a 500ml bottle of water each. Due to the amount of falls we had experienced owing to deep snow and incorrect equipment, we had both lost those bottles which were kept in pockets at the side of our packs without realising the loss. My dehydration hit like the proverbial bomb about a third of the way up a VERY steep uphill section. To this day I can't remember exactly what happened other than I "lost it". I have half memories of wanting to sit down and give up because the slope was just too steep, of screaming at Hanne to leave me and go on alone and even throwing a ski pole at her to scare her off. All classic symptoms of dehydration; sluggishness, fatigue, confusion and even slight delirium. Thankfully, Hanne didn't leave me and quickly realised what the problem was. With her encouragement I wolfed down the little hot chocolate we had left in our flask and then sucked greedily on handfuls of snow. Now, common belief says the last thing you should do when dehydrated is eat snow but that is not entirely correct. True, it is far better to heat the snow first, but hypothermia was not an issue for me, far from it, I was as hot as a furnace after my uphill labouring. The most important factor for me was re-hydration, and if that meant eating snow, so be it. It DID work and I slowly regained my senses. Ever since that day I have never ventured into the mountains, summer or winter, without a minimum 2L hydration bladder safely concealed in the relevant inner pouch of my rucksack

The welcome site of Krækkja.

     We subsequently arrived at Krækkja without further mishap to find another cosy, staffed DNT hytte. The food was once more plentiful and tasty and was gratefully washed down with a cold beer, (I had been saving for some time before the trip so was able to afford one beer per night!). The only down side to Krækkja was that, once again, the toilets were housed in a separate building. This wasn't a big problem in itself if it wasn't for the howling gale and freezing temperatures, and it didn't take much imagination to work out why so many people were retiring to bed with large empty beer glasses!

     By the following morning the wind was still quite strong, but it was blowing in our direction of travel and we had agreed to spend this day with a German couple we had met the night before. We had also discussed the intended path with our host who assured us it was safe to travel. On the basis of “safety in numbers”, we set off for with our new found friends to our last venue, Tuva. As it happened, this particular day was an absolute dream as we were quite literally blown along on our skis without having to put any effort into technique at all. Although very windy the skies were blue and we seemed to drift along in a knee deep layer of blowing snow so it appeared we were wading through a white liquid. Because of the ease of travel, we were able to relax a little and soak up the many breathtaking vistas that were laid out before us and that, after all, was what we were there for. Although a harsh and dangerous wilderness, completely void of trees due to the height, it is nevertheless quite beautiful, even mesmerising, and it was easy to understand the draw of similar such landscapes at the poles to those explorers of old.  It also dawned on me how much more proficient I was becoming on skis due to the complete immersion in this way of travel over the preceding few days. I had undergone a transformation from the “Bambi on ice” style to a much more confident and relaxed approach and even found myself, on the occasions we were being blown along by the wind, producing my camera and filming the progress of my companions without falling.

     We arrived at Tuva Turisthytte to be welcomed by the cosiest lodge so far. Tuva is privately owned by Aileen and Peter who embrace guests as members of an extended family. Because it is smaller than some of the other “hytte” it really feels like you are being welcomed into somebodies home. The ambiance of the place is resplendent with the ever present smell of freshly cooked waffles, and what waffles they were. We had been told by other guests that we HAD to try the waffles, and so we did. On being served the waffles by Aileen, I made the mistake of asking her whether she had any jam and crème fraiche to go with it and the look I received was easily equal to the stony stare of Medusa herself! Suitably chastised, I bit into the bare waffle and………… BANG! WOW! I had just taken my first bite of what are unquestionably the best waffles in the world. I soon found out that the recipe for the said waffles is a closely guarded family secret and, although I pestered Aileen constantly during our brief stay, I was not to get a copy, even on pain of death should I divulge it to anyone else! In fact, now the search for Bin Laden is over, I think the CIA would make a far better contribution to world peace by attempting to secure the recipe, they really are THAT good. Tuva celebrates its centenary in 2015 and I fully intend returning that year in the hope Aileen may relax security during the celebrations!

Tuva Turisthytte.

     The following morning we awoke to what was pretty much a whiteout. Our aim on this last day was to reach Ustaoset to catch the train back to Oslo, having prepaid the ticket to reduce costs. Unfortunately, having chosen the cheaper ticket option as opposed to the more costly way of paying on the day, it meant that if we missed the train we would lose our money and have to pay for another ticket. After breakfast, however, it was apparent that the weather was still too bad to set off, so we decided to wait a while and see what happened. Some time later we felt the wind had died down sufficiently so left the cabin with our German friends. After only 500 metres though, and not being able to see from one birch branch to the next, we realised to continue would be folly so returned to the hytte. Several hours later, with no let-up in the weather conditions and seeing our predicament, our hosts very kindly offered to run us over the mountain on their snow scooter to get us through the worst of the weather. That trip in itself was quite an adventure and we will never forget the kindness shown by Peter that day. I’m sure he himself regretted setting off a few times as we had to keep digging the machine out of large snow drifts. All was well though when we suddenly emerged into bright sunshine and a dead calm once we were in the lea of the mountain. We donned our skis for the last time and waved goodbye to Peter before descending to Ustaoset and catching the train back to Oslo.

And so we finished our trip. We had gained some fantastic memories, good and bad, but by far mostly good. We had made new friends, gained experience and learned a lot of lessons. My skiing had improved by leaps and bounds and Hanne realised that you don’t need all the mod cons of modern travel to have a wonderful holiday. We had also discovered, and fallen in love with, the beauty of the Hardangervidda and surrounding mountains. Would we do it again? Yes, most definitely, in fact I already have, but that is another story.