'Tactics, Team, & Tenacity' ... 10,000 kms Overland

In my green planning book I’d written out a day-by-date list as a sort of count-down to departure from Kristiansand on 9th June. Thus I could attempt to allocate blocks of time to specific schools and outdoor centres. This of course was all theoretical. My plans had been thrown like seeds to the wind so far and had been superceded on the basis of experience by day-to-day, usually hour-to-hour, planning – that is simply, when in a district, phone there and then for an interview – and take it from there.

Unless my timing was bordering on the perfect and my efforts to seek out my contacts increased even more, I’d miss quality information, and probably quality people. The detail of my new plan – routes, contacts, etc., would be put together wherever I landed up at the end of this day’s drive.

That place was Hoting, and very pleasant too. I drove through looking for a cabin site I’d seen advertised in a brochure collected with my fuel receipt from an up-country service station. Like everything else the cabins were closed for winter (it’s May!). The service station opposite the site was the organisation responsible during the ‘closed’ season and I eventually got a basic but comfortable cabin.

Fishing from a hired boat on a day of leaden skies, near the Sarek National Park border

Site of one of the hundreds of rest-stops, lunch-stops, and 'explores' that I did over the three months; this on the Swedish-Norwegian border.

Stromsund: the first decent sized town for over a thousand miles; banks were open, fuel was cheap - and available, supermarkets 'til 24' and the weather was warm. Was summer finally arriving? Good to be here despite the folkehogskole being closed; I sat on a bench and watched the world go by for over an hour! 

 Heading towards the Rondane on a misty morning; there really are mountains in the distance !

I drove out of Östersund still in crisp air and bright sunlight to explore Jämtland. I was not disappointed. From one of the most pleasant towns I have ever been to in my entire life, and a hotel that was perfect in every way, into this scenery that took my breath away….well….I’ll be back.

But first actually getting out of the town was ‘fun’; I was so unused to driving in built up areas I couldn’t find my way out of the southern quarter of Östersund. I knew where I wanted to go – and knew pretty much where I was on the map; I asked a guy in a tyre centre and he mumbled and pointed to the way I knew I should go but landed back where I’d started 20 minutes ago. Eventually – and I’m sure reading this you’ll not believe it, but it’s true – I navigated out of the town’s limits ignoring the ‘logic’ of the road signs – went south using the sun as a guide. As my diary entry for the day says “…the old ways are the best!” Give me wilderness any day. For those of you with a map, I was spending a day on and off road SSW and SW of Östersund. Jämtland appeared to be an enchanted region. I was smitten. One of the most beautiful palces I found in the whole of Scandinavia, I drove through on a minor road heading for the Norwegian border – this was Klövsö.  As the estate agents say “…..location, location, location. Here on  hill, a circumference of mountains, at the head of a lake with a manicured nucleated village. There are no words to describe it. And in any case words wouldn’t and couldn’t do justice to it. And if that wasn’t enough I hit the village of Vemdalen, again similar qualities to Klövsö with mountains circling in greens and browns and the sun shining – this always makes a difference.

It was whilst driving through Vemdalen that I had another example – as if I needed one, though this was the best ever – of what I’d termed the ‘Scandinavian Stare’. Everywhere I went in the Land Rover people looked at me – perhaps it was because that the Land Rover is the definitive expedition vehicle, or because it cuts a dash with its Union Jack logos front and back – or maybe because its so rare up here…..whatever, as I entered the village from the north east there were dozens of motorcycles, big, chrome, lovingly cared for, and powerful, all parked up to my left. I could see in the distance a café with a large number of bikers – black leather leg wear, white T-shirts, with their club logos on the back, their molls hanging on their arms, jackets and helmets strewn everywhere….everyone lounging, sitting back on the roadside and at café tables. One biker saw me coming – and I saw him – then he must have said something pretty significant because to a man, everyone stopped what they were doing – drinking, talking, snogging, fiddling with bikes – and stared at me as I motored past – the stare following me in my slipstream until I was a good hundred metres further along the road. Crazy, but kind of nice. I half expected a posse to catch me up and find out more about Winston and me.

My journey down/up Routes 45 and  84 continued to provide all the images expected of this one of the most Norwegian of Swedish regions – it was once part of its neighbour, the border between the two being a spine of mountain. Its was in the mountains that I found an off-road track cutting off a large corner off the main route. It was just a forestry track – and fun to drive. I had no idea whether I was supposed to be on this yellow-sandstone track, but in the event I saw no-one and as far as I know, no-one saw me. With the deep blue of the lake Lossnen to my right, clear blue sky, and deep green of the spruce through which the route went, all contrasted with the sand colour of the track. This was Härjedalen, Jämtland’s twin region. This was apparently bear country and although I stopped a few times to savour the deafening silence – almost rushing in my ears, I was conscious of silent prowlings – my outdoor senses kicking in here. At a steady 4-10 mph I low-geared my way through the foothills of the Kjolen Mountains. Quite simply the perfect Swedish ‘day-out’.

Just beyond Ostersund I came to Klovsjo. My diary reads "...it appeared to be an enchanted region. I was smitten. One of the most beautiful places I found in the whole of Scandinavia; I drove through on a minor road heading for the Norwegian border - this was Klovsjo. 'Location, location, location' as the estate agents say - here on a hill a circumference of mountains, at the head of a lake with a manicured nucleated village. There are no words to describe it. Words wouldn't do justice to it......." 

Ice climbing outside Klovsjo. The village is a major ski centre in winter. 

I have to admit I was looking forward to getting back to Norway I had no particular reason for this feeling other than that I felt – and always do feel – very much as though it’s home, although my benevolence was stretched to the limit in Røros where I was treated poorly, roughly, and ignorantly.

Now the breadth of Scandinavia - to the Norwegian Coast...

At Røros I clocked up 3,928 miles. In my (woefully under-equipped) cabin I reasoned that I am at a hinge-point in the expedition, with a new and final phase about to start: Sweden and Finland behind me – new opportunities looming in the country I know – and love best – which is open to all-comers now as ‘summer has arrived’. My research is more dependent on Norwegian data than from any other country – at the moment – I think; the other countries material can follow on by email at a later date. The Norwegian Education Offices have been helpful and none more so than More øg Romdal’s Live Marie Opstad. She set up a batch of seven or eight options should I be in the right place at the right time and it was one or some of these that I was going to exploit in the coming days.

As for Røros, I was out of the place at dawn the next morning ‘shaking the dust from my feet’ and shaking my head also at the treatment I received. The video diary really shows the frustration.

Diary: “…feeling really at home in Norway, no fazes, no panic, no fears. Thinking one day or more ahead though is beginning to tire me. The research does need to go up  gear – although I feel I have tried hard. “The environment became more extreme, back to what we (that is Winston and I) know best – the trees disappeared, signs exclaiming ‘Beware Musk Oxen’, rock everywhere – snow – water – and zero traffic. And then lens dropped out of my specs.”

[Couldn’t at the time find my spare pair to look for the grub-screw of the stricken pair, somewhere on the floor. So there I was on the Dovrefjell on my knees reaching into the Land Rover hunting for a 0·5 mm screw. No comment.]

“Repair job undertaken. Picked up the E6. Dombås was pretentious – everyone walking around in outdoor kit in this small town looking the part – that is looking as if all they do is walk around towns looking the part – and never actually do anything. Arrived in Åndalsnes around noon-ish” my diary says, having driven 177 miles. This was to be a major ‘base’ and I needed some decent accommodation. The local vandreheim was nice but cramped – I was to be here for two or three days so I opted for the Grand Bellevue Hotel on the hill overlooking the town. The journey to Åndalsnes, along Romsdalen north west into the district was dramatic even by Norwegian standards. The Rauma valley was more of a gorge that the road threaded through – waterfalls, beautiful and many, sheer and vertical rock walls with tiny farm buildings perched on equally tiny alluvial fans – and a continuous roar from rapids. They were not the only first impressions.

My journey had taken me over mountains for many days and I come from the tundra for days before that; I had in fact been at altitude and above the Arctic Circle for almost three weeks. I was simply not prepared for what happened when the electric window hummed down. It was an explosion of smells of vegetation – pollen, grass, deciduous trees and no doubt many other floral chemicals. It smelt so powerful I closed my window, and repeated the action five minutes later – again it exploded into the vehicle. Wow. I had to stop to get more!

The grass in the meadow was lush and so green, the many smells flooded over me not least of which was cow parsley. Who’d ever think that this was welcome, fascinating, and overpowering?! It was – with dandelion and lavender. I’d spent so long inland, and north, and at altitude, that this was my first opportunity to experience spring. If you live – and stay – in one place, the seasons change around you quite imperceptibly for most of the time, but hitting spring head-on was a sensory experience no theme park could ever create. A privileged time.

Åndalsnes is not big. It’s location however is big and its transport role likewise, but I was left wondering why it is little more than village sized. Some may disagree with my assessment as there’s a large industrial park on the Ålesund road, but in ‘sentrum’ a quad block with no more than six shops on each side makes a five minute amble quite a shock. However I had all the services I needed here, and time to set up a couple of high quality interviews and/or work placements. I had just driven the breadth of Scandinavia over  to here on the west coast from the Finland-Russian border, having also on this trip driven the complete north-south length of Norway too.

One of my first tasks was to chat to someone in the bank here about my the treatment I received from the bank in Røros. The Under-Manager couldn’t have been more helpful, but she was surprised nevertheless at both the reception in Røros, and my desire to follow this up. I wrote to the Bank Ombudsman. Hopefully those working in Norway, and tourists, backpackers, and travellers will not be ripped off by Røros Bank in the way they tried, but failed, with me.

My second task resulted in a shock. It was the result of a phone call to DFDS checking to confirm the time of my departure from Kristiansand on 8th June. Their answer? “There will be no ferries sailing out of Norway (with DFDS) until 15th June at the earliest”!! Shock horror. What had transpired was that due to the ferry I had been outbound on – ‘The Princess of Scandinavia’ – having caught fire in the middle of the North Sea a couple of weeks ago, DFDS had taken all their ships out of circulation. [Apparently Sea Kings, scrambled out of Boulmer, had been controlled by a Nimrod in a much-rehearsed rescue. One of those training exercises was taking place actually on my outward journey – hence my view of the Nimrod way back on the 15th April.]

Two Hurtigruten in dock at Andalsnes 

It's not usual (as you'll know if you've been longsuffering enough to read this far) for me to put a photo of one of my - rare - hotel-stay locations; but this was quite a surprise. No hot meals upon arrival - 23rd May so not in the 'winter' season now; quite a high cost and an accompanying advice note to visit the local pizza house on the first floor on the south side....Not what you'd expect from the biggest (and best?) hotel in town - and for miles around...... 

  Andalsnes Ungdomsskole...the new building

 Students from Andalsnes High School kayaking in Isfjord

 The [in]famous Trollstigen....which I would imagine is ok to drive if there's a co-driver to watch your offside....not so much fun on your own. With a Dutch vehicle coming up-gradient towards you towing a caravan. With a hopelessly underpowered car.....an 'interesting' day. Needless to say Winston came into his own.

I had heard of Oppdal as being one of the major centre of outdoor activities in Norway for many years, and in most places, when interviewing or working with practitioners, the name ‘Opplev Oppdal’ would come up. I dovetailed in a visit to this town but was mindful of what little time I had left, as I’d heard from DFDS as I was about to leave Åndalsnes that they’d managed to find Winston and I a place on a Fjordline ferry out of Stavanger a week from today – three days earlier than I’d expected, and over 800 miles south of my present location. The permutations and logistics were some of the most time-consuming activities of the whole expedition, and as time was now even more compressed I had to drive constantly and quick enough to arrive in Stavanger, but not too quick so as to have time on my hands that I could have used interviewing outdoor activities providers – but equally not so slow as to miss what appeared to be the only slot on a ferry out of a Norwegian port bound for the UK for another fortnight. I still had/wanted to make an important visit to Turtagrø.

I’m sure I was only one step ahead of the local Troll Hit Team in each place I stopped. Again Oppdal this time – Tourist Information was closed, despite it now being the ‘tourist season’. I wandered and wondered around the town looking in every cul-de-sac, alleyway, and mall for Opplev’s office, but despite having LP’s page 208 open in front of me – no use. It was only when I booked into Oppdal’s best hotel that, with no troll influence, I found out from the delightfully accommodating receptionist, Opplev are located just 200 metres away. They’d changed their address. Now isn’t that a surprise?!

After walking over to ‘Opplev Oppdal AS’ I met the boss, one Stein Erik Gaustad, and booked tomorrow morning to work with him and drive up into the Wilderness Village they have created northwest of the town. I spent the remainder of my late afternoon and evening catching up on sleep, a long bath, a massive meal in the hotel’s very pleasant restaurant, and a good film on the tv. For the first time for weeks I luxuriated in ½ bottle of red wine, and three beers. Really pushing the boat out here.

Mixed in with all this of course was the ever-present  need to keep a comprehensive diary, plan my route for the following day, maintain the vehicle, collect/buy resources for the research: brochures, books, web-sites etc. and get locals talking about their knowledge of outdoor recreation. ‘Human Intelligence’ was always more useful than an article in a book, and I became quite adept at chatting up those I met. Writing everything up at the end of the day – every one of which was very tiring as each task had to be done by me alone including of course all the driving  - robbed me of early nights to ‘recharge my batteries’ but it all had to be done. I was quite simply responsible for my own actions more than in any other course of daily life. It was to this end that after breakfast the next morning I did a complete 'PETROL' check on the vehicle and packed the load area carefully. This was in the railway station car park, for ‘Quality Hotel Oppdal’ was the railway hotel – and you walk straight out of the hotel’s reception onto the platform – nothing like a UK situation. On this morning I had, unbeknown to me at first, an audience.

Winston’s front bumper touched the low platform. A train was due.

Two guys in a black Audi Quattro estate were off to Winston’s left between me and the lone building that was the hotel, all surrounded by dense coniferous woodland – and my vehicle check, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, was being watched meticulously by these guys. I was on the alert. They kept staring. This was a new sinister version of the Scandinavian Stare. I sorted out my ‘deliberate action’ should things turn nasty. One reason that Defenders are so rare in Norway is that no-one can afford them. The Russians send car-jackers into Scandinavia with professional gangs to spirit high value vehicles across the border via the hundreds of small mountain tracks. This wasn't looking good.

I fired up the diesel, and gently let off the handbrake to allow Winston to roll back a little. The Audi was parked nose facing me and could cut off my exit unless I rammed him at speed. The Land Rover’s engine ticked over. I carried on checking the vehicle.

Doors were opened. Both guys got out and made a bee-line for me, coming to halt about five metres away still staring at my vehicle. Looking like a déjà vu scene from my run-ins with the Romanian Interior Ministry back in 1975 (or a scene from 'Running Blind') I decided to confront these two leather coated figures whilst remote locking the wagon.

‘Goddag. Jeg heter Barry fra London. Hva heter do?” I said.

They replied in perfect English to my less than perfect Norwegian. They were Land Rover enthusiasts and were full of questions, and had been admiring Winston for the duration of their wait for the train. Stand down.

Breathing an audible sigh of relief, I re-opened the wagon and told them how impressed I was with the new Td5. They had never seen one, but both had owned Defenders before, and one an early Range Rover. Each was impressed by this example of Solihull’s finest engineering, even more so when I told them about the journey;  I could have sold it there and then for more than it had cost in the UK. We said goodbye as the rust-red train, right on time, glided alongside the platform. Eager as they were for more information about the new Td5 series I gave them one of my WCMT business cards. It left me thinking for the nth time on this trip why Land Rover plc don’t push their products more in Norway.

Stein Erik Gaustad was the boss of the outdoor activities company. To get to  him in his office I had to  push  my  way  through  a  dozen  tanned,  bleach-haired,  paddle groupies –  male  and  female, lounging  around  outside  the  company’s  door. Driving  up  to them  in  my  Dark Green Expedition Machine – a serious  set of wheels – I parked next to their rusting utility truck plastered with stickers. No  competition. Then  there  was  me….I got out….cropped  hair,  more  tanned  then  they   were, shades,  and  wearing  my  assault  vest  which  I  wore  everyday –  and  was  eyed  suspiciously. I suppose being 6’5” must count  for  something.  No competition.  Little did  they know that, in part, it was they as freelance instructors – that I’d come to investigate.

Stein Erik was a good bloke – very helpful, honest, and genuinely interested. We threw ideas around all morning, me firing  questions  and setting  up some collaborative projects. I was invited up to the company’s Wilderness Camp but what  with Stein Erik’s slipped disk – he shouldn’t have even been here - and my 150 miles  slow  journey to Turtagrø,  we decided  it would wait  until  another day. Nice offer though. This  was  the   commercial  cutting  edge  of  Norwegian  outdoor activities  – popular, professional,  developing,  and  so  well  known  that  it  was  only  one  of two or three providers that appears to be known throughout the country.

The end was about to begin.

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