Ice Cold

Date: Saturday 16th June, 2007

Not much on this route had been left to chance. Most options had been explored and considered over the years when we were thinking about the adventure. Repeatedly there were exhortations to ‘do the Kystriksveien’ and so today we would make a start on Highway 17. We had decided to do the loop from Bodø back to Mo I Rana. Today we would do 100 kilometres to get to our hut. We had decided to keep the day short to allow us time to get to the Svartisen glacier. We were up at 06:45 and headed off … in the rain again! Highway 17 is very twisty so making any speed in wet conditions was not on. However it turned out to be showers so we escaped the worst. After a while though Bs back started to give him trouble. This could be a showstopper if it got worse so he pulled in to the first available shop to get water and take tablets. These seemed to do the trick but it was a reminder of the potential difficulties. From here the directions to the hut were clear. Go through the tunnel: then you will come across the tourist office. From there go down the little road to the blue house where you will get the key.




We arrived at our hut at mid day and it was really good. The bunks gave us an opportunity to use our miniature travelling towels and silk sheet bags: big changes since we had cotton liners and terry towels for An Oige hostels. The hut was in an ideal location about 100 yards from the ferry across the lake. We got the 13:10 hrs ferry to the Svartisen Glacier and walked about 2 km from there to the tourist facility where we got an excellent meal. We aimed to walk the rest of the distance - about a kilometre or so - to the glacier after lunch. Unfortunately it started to rain then and that put the cap on it as far as B was concerned: he decided to get the ferry back to the hut. It was a sensible decision especially given the risk to his back from any slip. For a change I took the less wise option and decided to press on into the rain regardless.

I had a bit of luck when it stopped raining as I walked along the track. I passed a group of visitors who were also making their way towards the glacier, albeit slowly. Then the track ran out and I was at the foot of a rocky mountain with a view of the glacier that was not appreciably better than we had had over lunch. I was really disappointed and wondered if I moved quickly could I make the boat B had gone for? Then I spotted linked bars in the rock face that seemed to indicate a route. I decided to give it a go. The bars ran out quickly but then I could see white marks in the rock that seemed to continue the route. I climbed on. Gingerly. Then one of the white marks turned out to be the rock itself and when I looked around I was in a precarious spot from where I retraced my steps with difficulty: its seemed easier going uphill! I paused to reflect that this was against all the rules. Out on a mountain, in poor weather conditions, with no food or drink, and nobody knowing when I was due back. Then I though of Bro S (as opposed to PS) and decided to climb on. Maybe the stake ahead is the route. That led me along a crevice to a cliff face where if I leaned out I could see the leading edge of the glacier and the water falling to the lake below. A good view. Not a great view, as Eamonn would say. Probably not worth all the hassle.

I picked my way back. Turning a corner I came across the group I had passed earlier. The picture on the left shows them making their way up. They were being lead by the man who had served us lunch. They expressed surprise at seeing me out on the mountain alone. I asked about getting close to the glacier. Could you touch the ice I was asked in return. ‘No’, I admitted. ‘Follow me: I’ll get you on the ice’ said the guide. I did. And he did. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. The colour, the shapes, the sounds and the light were magnificent. The thing was alive: creaking and dripping as it moved imperceptibly along, allowing light into crevices and caverns beneath its surface. Just don’t go beneath the overhangs in case it calves. Fair enough. The photos, I hope, speak for themselves. If not you’ll just have to go yourself! I gave the guide a tip to reflect the value of the experience and he gave me a lift back to the boat.

The Shape

Calving

Overhangs

Blue Caverns

Back at the cabin B ventured forth in search of groceries for tea and breakfast. Not easy. After a 80 kilometre round trip during which he would have run out of petrol but for the kindness of a stranger (B: As you may recall from Jerpoint, Christopher can be hard to recognise) he returned with the provisions. We ate well, the old hostelling skills making a nostalgic return.

We checked our route for tomorrow. Sunday. Ferry times were few and far between so it has to be planned carefully. So far Highway 17 had lived up to its billing.