Hike route -Maria
In my wanderlust experience, I have never had to go to any extreme places, and near death experiences do not naturally lure me. I always calculate what I can handle as I like my feet firmly on the ground. But as I found out from climbing Bessegen, my attitude shaken, I was to stand on a sandy ground – except that the ground was a piece of solid rock, and occasionally the protruding glaciers would remind me the deathly stare that hangs around the mountains—and the icy cold lakes beneath would stare at me – with but a calm dare. I perfected the habit of looking ahead – to the next step, and only looking around, when I had my feet solid and my attitude unshaken. This would be a first.
While starting out, I was upbeat and fresh –I wore my braids held loosely at the back, and started to wear my gear. I tried a couple of hiking boots to find a perfect fit – a good decision because the day hike that takes about six hours was to turn into a nine and half hour trekk! The layering of clothes, a good idea, and I had borrowed an entire hiking gear from senior colleagues in Oslo – and the plan was to have more than little. I could always peel off the layers I didn’t need – as I was soon to learn during the early phases of the climb.
We set out after a sumptuous (God, I hate to use this word) breakfast, and knowing my limitations, I stashed my 4 slice bread sandwich in a colleagues backpack, and a bottle of water with another. I am not only an inexperienced climber, but in any previous attempt to hike or walk inclined distances, it seems I only have just enough strength to carry myself at some point. So I seek additional strength for what I need from anyone who has more inbuilt endurance! Nice trick, works for me, but woefully a burden to anyone who hikes with me. Maria, my hikeangel would later discover this.
The morning is fresh – and radiant faces as we put the bags in the car. I remind myself to recite the magic line that “it is all in the mind” – and other miracle statements like “it defeats you in the mind and soul before it crashes your body”…self-assured quotes. I stretch and sit in the car and focus. At this point I feel no apprehension, no ambition, and no control. Nothing. Then when we hit the road to Beito, on a speedy narrow highway, and seeing them in the distance – the rocky mountains—sitting still as from days in the yore – unmoved, it occurs to me that all I need it to push my limits—that’s what I came for. I may not like the shape or form it will turn me into, but – let me get to the finish line.
See those random quotes that sound powerful, like never give up…blah blah…usually an abhorrer of self-help books, it is ironic that I found myself thinking about these deterministic statements, and if the words in them had power, it would work on me. So am here to test my limits, to crawl if I must—but I must climb and come out alive. Otherwise I would have chosen an easy stroll, like walking around a deserted village path, lined by random species of trees and the beautiful plant called ‘yesterday today and tomorrow’ that would be ordinary to an onlooker, until I learn that it changes its form every day. Yesterday it was purple and white flowered and tomorrow it might dazzle in orange and turquoise. This wonder of nature with its calming effect rejuvenates the weary spirit—and my village walk gets a spring in the step. So am here to explore the wonder of the outdoors discovery and exploration, except that my adventure is to explore the quietly sitting beauty of the mountainous nature, and savour the wonder within this natural ecosystem that sits almost undisturbed. There is huge rocks cracked by the rivers that have passed through them, a testament to the power and persistent of the currents over time, but that has not robbed this beautiful ecosystem the ability to heal itself over again. And to a non-curious onlooker it sits as though in an undisturbed state, it has always been the same.
We arrive, and by then I have taken a multitude of pictures – and then I see the most beautiful river. And it occurs to me that it is not the first beautiful river I have seen in Norway, but I focus on this one – mostly because it is at Gjendersheim –the thrust of its clean waters not meaning much to me at the time, due to my focus on the surrounding mountains. I look around, and except for me and a few colleagues – everyone else maybe on a return hike. Today we might be 1000 to 1500 persons on the mountain trail, and by God I would not be the one person to faint and be evacuated – that person – is not me.
We had had good planning and our tour guide and colleague Åsne (the star below to the right) – that shout out from the boat captain was on point Åsne – had a prior booking, which saved us more than an hour’s wait!
Our starting point for the hike is at Gjendesheim, which is at the east end of Gjende lake. It is popular for hikers to take a ferry boat to Memurubu and hike back to Gjendesheim over Besseggen. This is our chosen path, although you can start the hike at Gjendesheim, terminating at Memurubu and take the ferry boat back.
The weather for the day is almost perfect – sunny and bright, but windy and cold. Numbing cold. I am tempted to dip my finger in the waters of the lake but I can’t get myself to pull off the hand gloves. You know the way you may look at the sea and determine it as warm, a quick glance at Gjende lake and my mind is convinced that a dip in its waters would turn me into a piece of ice.
Photo credit-Maria
We check into a ferry boat. Åsne spent part of her childhood here, and is such known even to the boat captain since she was a toddler. She not only got a shout out from the captain but he also informed the passengers that should anyone get lost or need assistance in the mountains—then she is the go to person. Turns out that one child took that very seriously (as should), and on spotting Åsne in the mountains, suggested to the mother that they could consult Åsne!
Then it is warm again in the boat and am I shed off the neck warmer – and all the time my neck is tilted—watching this solid mountain, carving its form along Lake Gjendersen – its silhouette a bold intimidating figure. My eyes squint in a form to size it, and I cannot tell whether this would conquer me or not. I am sure though, that this is not Mt. Longonot. I resign myself to the day and the mysteries this mountain would unravel.
Our destination is to Memurubu. I don’t know what degrees it is weatherwise, but seeing as my best weather reflections are not in degrees but–how cold or how hot – I know it is cold, very cold. It doesn’t matter whether it is 6 or 7 degrees, what I know is that my palms are a pale shade and there is no way am sticking them out of the gloves. It is colder than a witch’s tits!
30 minutes we arrive in Memurubu, an old tourist hut in Norway, at the end or start of Besseggen hiking trail. According to Wikipedia, Memurubu is an old mountain dating back 1872 but has had tourists just as long. It is worth noting that most tourists approach the hike from Memurubu and walk down to Gjendesheim. As I mentioned in part one, Besseggen ridge is Norway’s most popular mountain walk – and as a colleague would later point out – this should perhaps be referred to as a “Climb” and not a “Walk”. A walk evokes an attitude of ease, or something that is done leisurely not requiring much effort—akin to a walk in the park. Hiking Bessegen is not a walk in the park. The fact that it is situated at the entrance of a park – Jutunheimen National Park –notwithstanding.
We set off a steep climb. The first hour or more was an incline that would level off at the top. Although the weather was perfect by normal standards—not foggy or misty or even raining for that would make it slippery and a mess to walk about—it was windy and cold. Then it was blowing hot and cold. So I would have the need to shed off all the layering of clothing I had done for a reprieve, except that minutes later I would want it all back on.
Photo credit-Fred Pelser
And the wind was to give me this permanent grin as I bared my teeth to resist it. It is not the blowing windy, that goes up in a swirl. It is the kind that kisses your cheek, and gives you a gentle but painful slap on your temples before it penetrates deep into your soul through the eyes. And then they are watery. A salty watery. And this mystery was to continue with the agony it brought me, step by step slowing me down. This is nothing like I had experienced before. As I started to struggle uphill – I shifted the blame to my being non sporty to atttitude and windy conditions that my body was struggling to acclamatize to. The moment I lifted my gaze to look at my colleagues—was mostly to search their eyes to see any record of despair on my behalf. I would stop to take a rest after every 30metres.
With full knowledge of what was ahead, someone suggested that it was best that I be walked back to the ferry boat and back to Gjendesheim or the cabin. I was dizzy, light headed dizzy. And although I understood their perfect concerns, I could hear my spirit laugh out loud. I am an amateur into this, and I also know when to give up. However, this was when to continue. I could almost hear my father’s voice miles away, for he taught me to swear by non-defeat! This was it—I will get to the top of the first steep trail and then determine what to do next. If I die in this mountain—my father would be unimpressed, but then have you heard of Junko Tabei—the Japanese mountain climber who in May 1975 became the first woman to climb Mt. Everest? Tabei had a goal to climb the highest mountain in every country and although pretty useless to compare my struggle to her prowess – she did this when it was not very common for women in Japan to indulge outdoor wonders. I love this famous quote of her “There was never a question in my mind that I wanted to climb that mountain, no matter what other people said.”
Her determination and the staying attitude is what I had. Perhaps armed with this, I would be ok. Allowing the group to continue, Maria and I walked at my pace. And I think this was what made it possible. Some sugar water, and walking under no pressure. Before we knew it, we were at the flatted top of the ridge. Voila!
We continued to walk on the easy trail, with numerous stops to enjoy the incredible views of wild mountains and protruding glaciers. I didn’t intend to do a classic walk, and I did not have the mind for it—that would be something — a reserve for Norwegians, or that guy who ran across the ridge in an hour! Hats off Mahn! It took me a crawl of almost 10 hours, but with numerous stops—I could only beat a tortoise with a limp or the fastest snail—what this accorded me was enough meditation, soul search (now I sound very spiritual), and enough time to look around, literary a whole day to gaze at the beauty of the mountains, marvel at the calm of the waters in the lakes below — let my face feel the kiss of the windy air, and sink my feet on the solid rock of the ridge beneath my feet – a step at a time.
Look around and there is this gorgeous small lake below. Except for the wind, I would have loved to sit here for hours and read a book. Perhaps Harper Lee’s, Go set a watchman that I bought recently. Or sit here and write and then fall asleep on these rocks by the lake and then repeat. And watch the sun set and then listen to the sound that the mountains make when they sleep. Do you know the voices of the mountains? Perhaps they echo the agonies that the hikers have borne during the day or the frail steps on the stone plates on the trail accentuated with the triumphant attitude of the hiker who reaches the summit of the ridge and then releases them out at night. Whatever that is, I would like to hear it.
Maria would give me a target climb or stroll after which we would have an energy bar or two sips of water – and that reward was something to look forward to. It seemed that the toughest climb was the first part but then we got to Besseggen Ridge. A narrow strip about wide, with a blue lake Bessvatnet and the green lake Gjende sitting on its sides. Meticulously walking, as it would be a disaster to risk an injury here. There was human traffic – both ways—as different hikers chose either route – so there would be someone descending and another ascending. There would also be hikers with their pets – poor little pets, some rather too bulky to be carried when their tired steps could not carry their weight anymore. We saw one tiny shivering dog and for the love of me—I would not understand why I would carry my dog up to the mountains and have the tiny thing shivering helplessly. I may not know for how long the faster team had waited for us—didn’t have the strength to ask, but it was great to be reunited in the mountains albeit for a short time.
Reaching the end of self
When we got to the ‘last difficult part’, it was nothing close to what I had anticipated. They had said that if I managed the first steep trail, this climb would be manageable. Mountains have an extraordinary ability to make you small. Very small. You arrive at this part, just after tackling a challenging descent on a narrow ridge- and before you can savour the mastery of your steps—you meet the biggest mountain –bigger than anything you have ever seen at a close range. Then you stop feeling small and became small. Insignificant. Inconsequential. I now know that if the gods wanted to kill humanity, they just need to take them to the mountains and for others to places of many waters.
This was both, a huge piece of rocky mountain, and waters of the lake on both sides to swallow your poor body if your feet stumble and fall.
I wanted to cry so bad. Warm torrent of tears. I knew I could not go back, and that was the problem. But I also knew the rocky monster erected in front of me was insurmountable. I wanted to die, rather than climb. I cried, with my head bowed when I took that first step on the rocky mountain—inward tears to my soul, and each drop from my eye to my soul was warm and comforting to my crushed soul—And latching onto the body of this rock like a lizard, I tried to gather some little strength to lift my foot to the next step—and the next—and the next. This is whereupon I became a mountain goat.
Photo credit-Gordon Thaysen
I shall not for the longest time forget the sense of accomplishment when I scaled that rocky monster. And reaching the summit, added at tiny stone to the rocky pile on my left, and then sat down to have a chocolate. It is funny that whilst I would feel accomplished, there was also despair, and a sense of helplessness. I felt terrible and was afraid it showed all over me. A hiker sitted a few metres away, on hearing my small lament about my misery suggested that she has a wonder remedy for misery. Why not! I got another energy bar—from a stranger and I will swear by heaven it worked. Maybe because she said she made it herself—although didn’t look homemade, I believed her and I believeed it worked magic. See, after a few bites into this bar…I was unstoppable. I walked on and on. And the rocky surface, ridden with some rusty yellow little plant almost the level of earth—a reindeer’s delicacy—felt like the surface of the moon, or Mars. From descriptions of what I follow on space exploration, this is the closest I convinced myself would be the surface of the moon. And my accomplished attitude, and the the weight of my body supported against my walking stick, as I lifted my boots and crashed my feet on those mountain rocks, it felt like I was walking on the moon—on top of the world!
And soon it was time to descend—and was getting tired, with a cloud behind us suggesting that it might rain but I knew it would not, although I did not say as much. Group one was already at Gjendesheim, and best resolve was they were to head out to the cabin and make dinner! So we trudged on—occasionally shoving myself aside to make way for a faster person. It must have been around 7pm, when we met a lone hiker, with his gear latched on, hiking as we neared our descent at Gjendesheim. This is one of the strange ones. He must have had a camping equipment for he had quite a load on his back. But why! I would not for the life of me attempt a hike at this hour, but again I will never know the thrill of trying out of ordinary extremes. He could also have been a loner or a lover of solitude, whatever his reason was doesn’t matter—and may not look strange to another person.
At the finishing line -Photo by Maria
Reindeers
mountain goat
Bonus pictures: Reindeers spotted on our ride back from Gjendesheim to the cabin!
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WRITEthinking 