Henley Beach for Ice-Cream

Park Run (walk), cafes, swimming, sausages.

Onkaparinga Gorge, Somerton, Grange

Bakery, Family, Friends, Reading.

Yes, it was another perfect long weekend of hiking and beach walks, catch ups and coffee, back roads and BBQs...

...Partially ruined by Big Box Hardware and home ownership.

At least the front lawn looks less weedy now.

The last time I walked the Onkeeta track was in spring 2016. It was sunny and hot and we took Nash on the loop who quickly took to the ponds and puddles. She ran out of energy before the end and I had to leave her with Ness and go to get the car and collect them.

Puddle is still there 9 years later. I think I saw a dog hair floating in it.

Today I walked the track again with Dad in a lot of drizzle and he made it all the way around without tiring or getting swampy. Then we went to Clarendon for lunch where I hadn't been since 2010 for the gap between a wedding and a reception. Then I drove dad back to his house past my old primary school.

Not a lot changes other than the people.

Well I was not sorry to see the end of July. For winter, it's the worst month. June can be colder but there's still some novelty to it. July just feels like you should be asleep, in a sun patch on the rug whenever that happens (if Nash has left enough room). Or tucked away in bed when it's raining or windy. But even then my feet and fingers are like icicles, and the rest of my joints are clammy.

My employer must also feel the same about July, because they gave everyone today off to celebrate it. This was good timing for me, because the weather was perfect for a walk outside and I also saw bees pollinating some flowers earlier in the morning. So I met up with Dadism and we walked 14 kilometres through the hills and also passing by the Palo Alto garage in which I built bradism in back in 2005. Then we went to the pub. After spending a lot of July not sleeping and instead working, it was a much appreciated day to see lots of birds in some fresh air, walk up hills, and enjoy baked treats.

A morning walk in Eggum to reach a nice old hydro plan where I ate another apple and nuts.

Before I finished packing for Norway (i.e the night we left) I had a list of journal entry titles which I thought I would hit along the way. A lot of them were puns. One title was this one.

In January, days after purchasing flights for an outdoor adventuring trip on the other side of the globe, my left ankle pain flared up so badly I could barely walk. I had been having occasional bouts of ankle pain for some reason, but despite making it painful to walk and squat they'd never persisted more than a day. Now, as the days passed and the pain didn't, I was faced with another chronic inflammation issue to go with the back pain, the wrist pain, the shoulder issues, the hamstring origin tendinopathy, and the ITB impingement all of which have marred my adult life.

The flights were not refundable, so back then I knew I was going to write this entry with one of two subjects. 1) How my stupid body ruined a great holiday. Or, 2) How I told my body to go fuck itself to overcome the pain and walk around the fjords and mountains and cities and archipelagos of one of the most scenic countries that glaciers have ever given us.

So, as with every other injury, I started rehab, and physiotherapy, and lifestyle changes. And every day, often multiple times a day, I did the stretching and the strengthening and the mobility exercises. And I pushed my joint and backed off and pushed and backed off again. I paid for MRIs and strain-counterstrain physiotherapy and I took drugs and I lay down when the pain was too much and I got back up again after I was ready.

By the time I landed in Oslo, my mobility in the joint was good, the pain was manageable, I knew which shoes to wear. We walked 30,000 steps on the first day. It didn't feel perfect, but my ankle didn't stop me. We drove to Aurland and we walked around Flåm and then in Kinsarvik we hiked up a rocky, slippery path that followed a waterfall. Every stroll or hike I was waiting for the pain to return, for the flare up. There were occasional twinges, but the swelling and instability of that day back in January never came back to me. I traversed over rocky terrain, up Sherpa steps and along trails carpeted with criss-crossing tree roots and soft with mud. I climbed mountains, and descended them.

Back in Adelaide, the weekend before we flew out, I was still having issues. We did Lofty and I remember spending the first stretch of that walk dictating in my head the discomfort I was experiencing and how I would soon describe it to my physio. And I remember thinking that I might spend the whole time in Norway doing the same thing, so I decided not to any more and just breathe. It still hurt, but it helped.

In our final week in Norway we spent five nights in Lofoten which included walks on sandy beaches, rocky hills and sodden tracks. It was a majestic place with amazing sights and walks. My ankle was behaving very well.

The weather forecast for our last night was for clear skies and sunshine from the afternoon into the next morning. There was a final walk - Reinebringen - that I knew I couldn't leave without attempting. A mountain which loomed over the town of Reine and the little islands and peninsulas which made up this extraordinary village of Norwegian architecture and stunning nature. The midnight sun. Over 2000 rough, uneven steps that rose up 450 metres in less than 1.2km of walking. I wanted to do this walk and prove that I was capable of overcoming yet another injury. Or I was going to die trying.

I drove to Reine under nice sunshine and arrived around 10pm. The village was picturesque and the light was perfect.

Vareid

Stop at Skreda

Vikten beach

Reine

More Reine.

I found the start of the walk and immediately started climbing. Almost immediately my ankle started to send signals of displeasure. Nothing different to other walks, but a bit more persistent. I carried on. When you're trying to get up 2,000 steps as quickly as possible it doesn't leave much energy to think with. I activated my glutes. I pushed through my foot. I tried to keep my hips working evenly. Ironically, it was actually my right ankle that was giving me the most pain. Something about the combination of my hiking boots and the pedals in a BZ4X seem to have given me an RSI that I'm hoping goes away once I'm back in a right hand drive car and country.

The moment on the ascent that I started getting concerned about the fog.

A few layers of clothing later, I reached the end of the stairs and the start of a muddy track that continued up to the summit. I wasn't actually sure I had reached the top because at the same time a thick fog had enveloped the mountain. I had reached my fucking goal and the reward of the view was hidden from me. It was 11:30pm.

A small crowd was with me at the top of the mountain, and no one seemed keen to immediately return down the stairs if there was a chance the fog would lift. So I waited in the crook of a rock to see what would happen. Occasionally the fog would lighten, then darken again. You could see the tendrils of it skimming the surface of the peak. I started a round of Balatro on my phone, which was good because not only is that game good for pissing away time with a fire-hose, but it can be played with heated gloves on.

After a while I heard excited gasps from nearby strangers. Looking down, far below, the line of the road could be made out through the fog. It was shit, but it brought hope. We all persisted. And then, the fog began to lift. Not like a curtain, but like a dance. A swirl here, a window there. The horizon of jagged peaks visible, but not the town. Slices of ocean and buildings, then the veil would lift up again. It teased us all over and over giving glimpses of everything but never the entirety. What we could see was beautiful. The still water, the tiny buildings, the mountains. The colours, so amazing. I took a lot of photos. My fingers were so cold I thought my camera had broken because I couldn't press the shutter down fast enough.

I did not actually get a clear photo from the top, but the experience was ethereal.

Eventually I had to descend. My ankle had survived the up, but there was still 2000 steps down to go and that was after an hour of cooling down to the extreme definition of literally. In fact my whole body was shaking and it took a lot of steps until I warmed up again.

I made it to the bottom. I'd made it through. It was about half past midnight. The sun was up, somewhere behind the mountains over Reine. The colours were vivid. The air was cool and crisp. My heartrate was pretty high. I'd had an anticlimax and I'd powered through. If I had to describe how I felt in one word, I couldn't. I felt like "Take that, you stupid fucking body. Whatever you give me I will fight. I won't win everytime. I still can't sit on most couches. But I will not give up. Not when there is experiences in the world like light spectrums from nearby stars to glow on intricate geography and calm waters. Fuck you, me. Fuck you and your stupid fucking body. I am a brain. I am bradism. One day you will finally get me, but you will not get me easily."

Reine on the way back to the car.

I drove back to Eggum from Reine between 1 and 2:45 AM. At sea level, there was no fog. The colours on the mountains and in the sky were unreal. I never want to forget that drive home. Windows down, tunes, every twist and turn bringing new sights. The hues in the valley. The silhouettes across the waters. The texture of a mountain that loomed up and up over the road. The mist lifting off the lakes and mulch piles as the temperature dropped to 5°. Occasionally, being blinded by the sun. I did not feel tired. I felt victorious. I had told my body to go fuck itself.

Kåkernbrua

View of Ramberg just after Flakstadbruene.

On the Eggumsveien towards Eggum.

Eggum Beach, 3:15 AM.

Edit: The next day my ankle was pretty sore.

It was still sodden in Trondheim this morning. We couldn't even sit down to eat cereal and yoghurt by the festung to watch the sunrise. The sogginess of the place followed me most of the drive north and east to Holm. Literally, as my shoes and socks were soaked. It rained in Steinkjer where we filled up with more coffee. And it rained as we drove over the bridge into Grong. As I plugged in the charger, the rain started to clear.

Some mist in the trees worth stopping for north-east of Trondheim.

Another day of adventures for the Koppen

We walked down to the river and visited Grong's Coop to buy lunch ingredients. The rain still abated as we enjoyed a delicious lunch of tuna, tomato, lettuce and hummus stuffed into a horn in a foresty rest stop called Hessienget.

The hole in my bread roll was a sign of things to come.

My lunch was so huge that I knew I had to press pause on it in order to catch the ferry from Holm to reach our destination of Brønnøysund. Starting the car and checking the map, it was evident that it was a lot tighter than I'd thought. And unlike other ferries, this one only ran every hour. I'd been extremely time efficient with ferries up until this point - even for the ones where a delay meant waiting ten minutes for the next one. I cursed myself for putting that record in jeopardy, and cursed some more as we hit a convoy of white RVs and motor homes crusing under the speed limit almost instantly after leaving the rest stop.

Well, it took some driving, but both the BZ4X and my also-clearly-late-for-the-ferry companion ahead of me managed to fast forward our way through the Helgelandskysten scenic route. Along the way I caught glimpses of fjords, mountains, trees, rocks, pristine nature under nice, afternoon light diffusing through clouds that weren't actively raining. If today had been day one of the trip I think I would have stopped multiple times for various waterfalls. As it turned out, it was just amazing scenery for the race to the ferry.

After all that, we made it to the ferry terminal with minutes to spare before the ferry arrived to unload and then load. We joined the queue of cars, watched the boat unload, and then anticlimactically watched it finish re-loading and run out of room many cars ahead of our position in line. With a toot of its horn it set off, and all the remaining queue pulled over to the first lane to wait the hour for the next one.

Well, this was a good chance to stretch the legs, finally throw my wet socks in a bin, eat the rest of my sandwich, and watch the ferry cross the waters and then back to us. We made it into the next intake, and then drove the remainder of the way to Brønnøysund which appeared to be this part of Norway's equivalent of Victor Harbor, and the same amount of action as to be expected still a week before summer.

The sun was now out. We checked into the hotel, then left for some $40 beef burgers wearing dry socks. The sun was now brighter than it had been for days, and this was uplifting for me because it was time to drive to Torghatten - the main reason we'd come past this way.

Torghatten is a mountain with a hole through it. And I knew you could climb up it into the hole and that while it was steep to get up, it was only a couple of kilometres round trip. The experience ended up exceeding my expectations. After a lovely drive over another cool bridge, and past a few more robot lawn mowers, we parked in the shade of the mountain and climbed up the steps and into the cavernous hole.

The view from both sides of the hole.

The warm, evening light welcomed us, shinining into the hole from the other side and into my soul. It was an incredible place. Looking west was like staring at some video game map. Views in every direction. Even looking back up at the hole.

After climbing down the other side we turned back and did it again. It was such a good mountain I felt the need to walk up it from two directions.

My mood was much sunnier after that.

This morning we climbed to the summit of Meraftafjellet, east of Ålesund. We have done a lot of hiking this trip so far and a lot of inclines but this hike felt like the first time we'd actually climbed a mountain. Just a thin trail to follow through bogs, over boulders, up rocks and between trees. A good challenge, and with amazing views at the top despite the typical Norweigan blue skies and bright sunshine.

After lunch, we walked into the Ålesund old town for the second consecutive day and again we got rained on by the water.

I wanted to like Ålesund a lot more than I did while here. Its colourful, art-deco downtown along the canal gave me Venice vibes but all we got were tourists from cruise ships, kitschy shops, and scaffolding. You know, like Venice. But I didn't feel a vibe. It has everything you'd want in a town. Good panoramas from a nearby mountain or two. Cool buildings. Seaside and mountain views. Nice houses with some awesome backyard trees visible from the road. But something seems missing.

I reflected on this, as I ducked out to the Kiwi Mini Pris for some dessert strawberries, and grey clouds rolled over me again. If I lived in Ålesund, in one of these apartments lining Borgundvegen, what would my life be like and would I enjoy it. (Technically according to my Lyca mobile agreement I do live in Ålesund off Borgundvegen...)

Which of the green spaces would I walk Nash and what pub would I come second at trivia at with friends?

Norway as an advanced society has really rammed home that all humans are the same and they just want to eat hot, salty food and scroll their phones and take the same photos and get home safely. There are lots of great places to live in the world, but the best ones are where your friends, family and dog are at. That's the vibe I've gotten here today. I never got that vibe in Venice. I could have stayed there forever...

And really, is it Ålesund's fault that it stands in a climate not suited for drinking an Aperol Spritz with a slice of orange at any time of the day ? A little bit, I guess, because the city did burn to the ground in 1904 and they rebuilt it where it stood instead of moving it to the Mediterranean. I did enjoy my walks up the various hills, especially after dinner in the low light of evening. It's a city at the centre of an archipelago. If you treat the wide expanse of glacier sheathed waterways all around that reflect the still standing mountains from which the glaciers came, and think of those as canals instead of the lone Ålesundet, you can appreciate its natural beauty. And I did enjoy a beer while wearing just a t-shirt and pants under the heater, behind the double-glazed windows that looked out over the mountains.

Each of these photos was taken in Geiranger, at descending altitudes. A phenomenal geography that I was privileged to spend the past two evenings at.

Norway waterfall fatigue is a real thing. They are everywhere, the equivalent of dead kangaroos on Australian road trips. Even the kitchen tap of every place we've stayed has gushed rapidly by default. But you do see some occasional epic ones which make you pause.

Dalsnibba is the mountain where we stood in the snow, which then melts in spring to create the torrents which carve through rocks to create rivers, which gravity pulls over ledges until eventually the water reaches the fjord, carved by glaciers millions of years ago. Standing on the prow of the ferry that took us and the car from Geiranger to Hellesylt was an incredible experience, an hour of being a tiny human in a canyon of rock. Like the water, we had found our way through meanderings and cascadings to this point.

Yes - it's a FJORD

Yesterday's drive slash controlled descent through the winter wonderland of snow haunted me as a missed opportunity for more pulling over the car to take photos of Norway. So, after some very cold hikes in the morning up the top of the Ørnevegen's switchbacks, we used the afternoon to backtrack up the mountain. This time with a bit more electricity in the battery. Which was good. I'm developing an appreciation for the heated steering wheel feature after I initially dismissed it back in Oslo as unnecessary.

One of the most important lessons I've learnt as Photography-Brad is that the absolute best time to take photos of a place is the first time you see it. Novelty fades really quickly in a new locations as your mind adjusts to the terrain and architecture and light and it's not until you get back to Adelaide and look at photos you took that you realise how different things really were and how you could have just pointed your camera anywhere and taken additional memorable photos. Another important lesson I've learnt is that just because an environment is novel doesn't mean it will translate well to a flat, digital photograph.

So we drove up the snow and fortunately the weather was similar to our previous drive, with plenty of atmospheric mist, but also just enough sunlight to diffuse the clouds and spread light in the different places. It was a tranquil place. Beautiful. The photos don't do it justice.

After the drive yesterday, it was nice just to take our time up in the snow - and then back into the cold car with the steering wheel warming my fingers through the gloves.