Trekking + sectionhiking around northern Folgefonna, Norway
Posted: Sat Oct 16, 2021 12:17 pm
There's several ways to start a writing report that really grabs people's attention. Having the word "completion" in the title helps, but if that is outside both reach and truth, normally humor helps. A witty remark to start the writing. I will not venture into that territory for the obvious reason that I lack any sense of humor. The same goes for something philosophical, either of own making or by quote. To either come up with something myself or to quote someone wise, would require having some wisdom or knowledge myself and is therefore another no-go. Almost dying is another winner, but somewhat dramatical, although not much besides the truth. And perfect, balanced HQ photography is ofcourse the last "best practise".
I, and therefore you as well, will just have to do with: "I can't believe it's been over two years I've written my last walkreport! Damn you coronavirus!"
March 2020 saw my March-ferry-ticket to Scotland changed into a ticket for September that same year (the pandemic will be over by then), that in it's turn saw itself changed into a ticket for March 2021 (the pandemic will be over by then), which again saw itself changed into a deposit that I hoped to be able to use in September 2021 (the pandemic will be over by then).
When in September the Dutch government prolonged the negative traveladvise for the UK, I knew I'd have to re-orientate away from Scotland, look at other horizons, and a ferryticket for Norway was bought.
On previous travels to and through Norway, I'd always been fascinated with the roadviews you get from the Folgefonna glacier, while driving the E134 towards Odda. I never got around though to climbing the surrounding mountains and taking a closer look as this fascinating glacier, so this would be the opportunity and a plan was made. I'd be trekking and/or sectionhiking the central-northern tip of this glacier. The glacier is divided in three parts, that together form over 200 km2 of ice with an estimated maximum depth of 500 meters. Although it is the most southern glacier of Norway, it is still the third in size. And the fascinating thing about is is the fact that it formed áfter the last ice-age.
It's me, and wih my planning skills ofcourse things go wrong. Mondaynight at 00:15 my ferry would leave northern Denmark. But mondaynight 00:15 is ofcourse the start of the monday, not the night that is at the end of the monday. So when during the night I was phoned by a number from Denmark, I realised my mistake, got out of bed and swore and cursed while rebooking and paying a ticket for tuesdaynight 00:15. One day later on paper, but still according to my original plan
The E 134 is a great road to drive along (once you're away from the bigger cities), but the going is slow as there's always a lot of roadwork and tunnelmaintenance to be done. The google-route estimate of 5 hours driving was a not-so realistic one, so 2 hours later than planned, I had arrived in Odda, found out my approachroute was cut off, mentally accepted that the new approachroute would be the touristic route into the Buarbreen valley, parked my car, arranged my bag, locked the car, realised I forgot my sunglasses, returned to the car, discovered I had left one door wide open, shut that door, locked the car again and walked into Buardalen, Without sunglasses.
Deep into this beautiful valley there's a Sti, a marked footpath (the quality of the paths and of their waymarking differs enormously b.t.w) up to Reinanuten, a 1297 m summit overlooking some of the eastern parts of the glacier. After having climbed some 200 or 300 meters, darkness was starting to fall and I looked for, and found a place to pitch my tent for my first night in Folgefonna National Park.
Not finding any suitable campingspot, I retreat my steps and head down to sleep on a campsite. The next day I take the car from the campsite to bring me to the other side of the glacier, by diving into Folgefonna tunnel, an 11 kilometer long and dark cave, that takes me to Sundall. From Sundall I head up to reach Fonnabu, a mountainhut at 1450 m at the edge of the glacier.
The weatherreports had predicted temperatures of about 1 Celcius, mild rainfall and winds of about 20 to 30 km/h.The night and the weather, how come they always team up by the way, had other plans though. As soon as I went to bed, after my lovely freezedried dahlsoup and fried rice with cashew, it started snowing a lot. It took less than half an hour for my tent to gather up to 5 cm of snow on it's three-season roof, and up to 10 centimeters along it's sides. Call it a hunch, but although I doublepegged al corners and guylines, and coverd the pegs under heavy rocks, I was not feeling confident at all. The wind had really picked up and the snowing intensified.
I wasn't panicking, but I very hastily stuffed all my belonings in my backpack, and carried my tent, sleeping mats and sleeping bag under my arm, into the darkness of the night, towards the Breidablik mountainhut. Already the ground was covered in slippery snow, a true ankletwister if you can't see the rocks. The doors were open and I was grateful for that. I hardly slept that night, as the wind was blowing a hoolie around the hut. The constantly updating weatherreports were indicating gusts of just under 80 km/h on the summit of the glacier. And although I was happy with the shelter I had found, I was quite worried for the descent of tomorrow (it was sure I wasn't going to reach the higher hut of Fonnabu, as the weather was predicted to worsen for the coming days).
Having informed family and friends of situation and position, I did fall asleep for a few hours, hunted by weird but non-mountainrelated dreams. The next day II left the hut just before sunrise, as the world was white and covered in clouds anyway. White-outs before true daylight are not any darker than white-outs in true daylight. And waiting another half hour for "the sun to come out" would have been a waste of precious time with predicted worsening conditions, fog, and feelslike temperatures dropping to minus 10.
So I am sorry, there's no romantic pictures of a cabine covered in snow, a nice white world and a good photographic base for this year's Christmascards. There's only my memory of a streneous, frightening, slippery, confusing, hardgoing descent on treacherous terrain. The snowy picture below was made 300 altimeters below from where I started, and therefore less white and more friendly. It does indicate a bit though how difficult the navigation was. All cairns had been covered in snow and where therefor hardly visible, all red spraypaint T's (the indication for Sti) where fully invisible.
Well, that's it for now. Be safe everyone, be thoughtful of others, and hopefully see you in Scotland again.
I, and therefore you as well, will just have to do with: "I can't believe it's been over two years I've written my last walkreport! Damn you coronavirus!"
March 2020 saw my March-ferry-ticket to Scotland changed into a ticket for September that same year (the pandemic will be over by then), that in it's turn saw itself changed into a ticket for March 2021 (the pandemic will be over by then), which again saw itself changed into a deposit that I hoped to be able to use in September 2021 (the pandemic will be over by then).
When in September the Dutch government prolonged the negative traveladvise for the UK, I knew I'd have to re-orientate away from Scotland, look at other horizons, and a ferryticket for Norway was bought.
On previous travels to and through Norway, I'd always been fascinated with the roadviews you get from the Folgefonna glacier, while driving the E134 towards Odda. I never got around though to climbing the surrounding mountains and taking a closer look as this fascinating glacier, so this would be the opportunity and a plan was made. I'd be trekking and/or sectionhiking the central-northern tip of this glacier. The glacier is divided in three parts, that together form over 200 km2 of ice with an estimated maximum depth of 500 meters. Although it is the most southern glacier of Norway, it is still the third in size. And the fascinating thing about is is the fact that it formed áfter the last ice-age.
It's me, and wih my planning skills ofcourse things go wrong. Mondaynight at 00:15 my ferry would leave northern Denmark. But mondaynight 00:15 is ofcourse the start of the monday, not the night that is at the end of the monday. So when during the night I was phoned by a number from Denmark, I realised my mistake, got out of bed and swore and cursed while rebooking and paying a ticket for tuesdaynight 00:15. One day later on paper, but still according to my original plan
The E 134 is a great road to drive along (once you're away from the bigger cities), but the going is slow as there's always a lot of roadwork and tunnelmaintenance to be done. The google-route estimate of 5 hours driving was a not-so realistic one, so 2 hours later than planned, I had arrived in Odda, found out my approachroute was cut off, mentally accepted that the new approachroute would be the touristic route into the Buarbreen valley, parked my car, arranged my bag, locked the car, realised I forgot my sunglasses, returned to the car, discovered I had left one door wide open, shut that door, locked the car again and walked into Buardalen, Without sunglasses.
Deep into this beautiful valley there's a Sti, a marked footpath (the quality of the paths and of their waymarking differs enormously b.t.w) up to Reinanuten, a 1297 m summit overlooking some of the eastern parts of the glacier. After having climbed some 200 or 300 meters, darkness was starting to fall and I looked for, and found a place to pitch my tent for my first night in Folgefonna National Park.
Not finding any suitable campingspot, I retreat my steps and head down to sleep on a campsite. The next day I take the car from the campsite to bring me to the other side of the glacier, by diving into Folgefonna tunnel, an 11 kilometer long and dark cave, that takes me to Sundall. From Sundall I head up to reach Fonnabu, a mountainhut at 1450 m at the edge of the glacier.
The weatherreports had predicted temperatures of about 1 Celcius, mild rainfall and winds of about 20 to 30 km/h.The night and the weather, how come they always team up by the way, had other plans though. As soon as I went to bed, after my lovely freezedried dahlsoup and fried rice with cashew, it started snowing a lot. It took less than half an hour for my tent to gather up to 5 cm of snow on it's three-season roof, and up to 10 centimeters along it's sides. Call it a hunch, but although I doublepegged al corners and guylines, and coverd the pegs under heavy rocks, I was not feeling confident at all. The wind had really picked up and the snowing intensified.
I wasn't panicking, but I very hastily stuffed all my belonings in my backpack, and carried my tent, sleeping mats and sleeping bag under my arm, into the darkness of the night, towards the Breidablik mountainhut. Already the ground was covered in slippery snow, a true ankletwister if you can't see the rocks. The doors were open and I was grateful for that. I hardly slept that night, as the wind was blowing a hoolie around the hut. The constantly updating weatherreports were indicating gusts of just under 80 km/h on the summit of the glacier. And although I was happy with the shelter I had found, I was quite worried for the descent of tomorrow (it was sure I wasn't going to reach the higher hut of Fonnabu, as the weather was predicted to worsen for the coming days).
Having informed family and friends of situation and position, I did fall asleep for a few hours, hunted by weird but non-mountainrelated dreams. The next day II left the hut just before sunrise, as the world was white and covered in clouds anyway. White-outs before true daylight are not any darker than white-outs in true daylight. And waiting another half hour for "the sun to come out" would have been a waste of precious time with predicted worsening conditions, fog, and feelslike temperatures dropping to minus 10.
So I am sorry, there's no romantic pictures of a cabine covered in snow, a nice white world and a good photographic base for this year's Christmascards. There's only my memory of a streneous, frightening, slippery, confusing, hardgoing descent on treacherous terrain. The snowy picture below was made 300 altimeters below from where I started, and therefore less white and more friendly. It does indicate a bit though how difficult the navigation was. All cairns had been covered in snow and where therefor hardly visible, all red spraypaint T's (the indication for Sti) where fully invisible.
Well, that's it for now. Be safe everyone, be thoughtful of others, and hopefully see you in Scotland again.