Phase 6: The Race - Turtagro to Kinsarvik & Home
My next target was Turtagrø. This is a hotel in the Jotunheim, a massif and national park in the north of central Norway. It wasn’t the hotel that was the aim so much as the courses and infrastructure the owners had built up around it . I had been looking forward to visiting here for more than six months, but found information about Turtagrø limited in amount back in the UK.
Diary: Route 55 got serious just after leaving the Jotunheim Fellstue, when a small sign announced ‘Alt. 1434m moh.’ that is altitude 1,434 metres above sea level. Quite simply this is the highest road pass in northern Europe, and due to its latitude probably the most severe in the whole of Europe. A slow, meandering ascent but now a rapid hair-raising semi-Trollstigen descent to Turtagrø. This a mountain hotel in the best tradition of Norwegian historic stunning locations, at 1,000 moh….sort of a Pen-y-Gwryd. But the old hotel burnt down last year and I write this in Room 206 of the New Turtagrø. Abisko’s room was nice – this is better, and that’s saying something. However Abisko is a youth hostel and still gets my vote and the best-ever-anywhere. But as a mountain hotel this is the business"
The hotel’s annexe some 150 metres away was not affected by the fire, and provides a contrast – an historical almost sensory time warp to the space age New Turtagrø. The family Drægni, present owners and instructors are fourth generation Turtagrø owners and chatting to various members I detected a passion for creating quality - from the library to the restaurant, from the rooms to the courses. I enjoyed just being there.
I couldn’t get a forecast on the radio or from the hotel staff (ah! they’re not that good then!) so I wandered up to a low knoll for ten minutes to check out upper atmosphere wind direction in relation to the lower, plus cloud type. Tomorrow, I reckoned, would not be a good day.
It wasn’t. My forecast was correct. I breakfasted with a guy I’d met at last evening’s restaurant meal (and what a meal that was!). Meeting Marten was another expedition ‘coincidence’. He turned out to be the Senior Adviser and Coach to the Norwegian Olympic Cross Country Ski Team. We had a lot of stories to swap – and I a lot of questions to ask so we planned a semi-formal meet over tonight’s meal. With sleet splattering against the pine restaurants’ triple-glazed mountain view I planned my day. I had booked an interview with Oddbjorn Dahl, the Senior Instructor and family member who was in overall charge. But he wouldn’t be around until this evening after I’d eaten with Marten. I’d kitted up in winter gear and packed a day-sac with crampons and spare sleeping bag, planning to walk and climb into one of the corries above Krossbu at the head of Breisterdalen. Marten was going back down to the hut where his Olympic Team were staying to coach them and I no doubt would catch a glimpse of him and his Setter dog racing across the snow. Up here it was 90% snow cover despite being the end of May.
If working here in the Jotunheim you’d have to take it seriously – 275 summits above 2000 metres. It was not technically winter but snow cover was wide-spread. The problem that I encountered everywhere was that the ice was so rotten. As has been said before in this tome, the ice was too loose for crampons, and too wet and crumbling for walking. To compensate I boulder hopped and walked on the ‘dry’ areas – these in fact were saturated by snow-melt but were passable. The weather was closing in big time so after walking and being buffeted by katabatics and gloomed over by some serious CuNb I shot off in the Land Rover to Jostedalen with a promise of better walking.
However the main route – still Route 55 – turned out to be single track over a tortuous 15 kms along the edge of Lustrafjorden with a vertical cliff wall to my right and blind bends with a high degree of sinuosity. And it was raining – harder and harder as the journey progressed. At one point Winston merely crawled along the road – being right hand drive I didn’t even have the luxury of being out on the left of the vehicle – and I had no passenger – and it was raining so hard I couldn’t see.
When I arrived in the Nigardsbreen area it was dramatic and gorge-like with swift torrents of white water – and that was just the rain – the river was rough too! The torrential rain was so hard I thought the aluminium roof of the Land Rover would be dented; the white water mist and spray of vertical sheets then slammed into the side of the vehicle. It was just as well the roof and windscreen did not leak. (Only if you are a ‘friend of Solihull’s finest’ will you know the dubious pleasure of the average Land Rover’s on-board plumbing. Mercifully, Winston was a dry Landie; its predecessor, one ‘Magnus’ a glorious 110 CSW in Russet and Limestone shipped water by the pint. I have to admit that as a family we first found this out exploring the Highlands and Islands out on Ardnamurchan.)
Visibility dropped in this gorge to 150 m. It’s always difficult when the weather clamps down on a ‘rest’ day like this. You really want to get out and climb but when thwarted you feel cheated and let down – big frustration time – a waste of time. Then you get it in perspective….all that it is, is a meeting of bad weather and your rest day – there is no master evil plan to scupper your climb, no troll around every corner to spoil your one and only chance to get up here. Anyway trolls only work at night.
If anyone had been up here with me today they’d know I’d made every attempt to get out on a climb. It was no good getting all bitter and twisted over it – not worth the emotional energy. I could console myself that firstly no-one else in their right mind would be climbing today in monsoon conditions in Jostedals and second my weather forecast had been right.
On arriving back in Turtagrø I had no chance to lament the loss of my climbing day. Gary had sent me a text message saying that a 10 yr. old boy had drowned on a school trip in Glenridding. The BBC wanted a live phone link tomorrow to ask my opinion and comments on the circumstances of the tragedy.
Flattering though it may sound, making a statement live, on air, to the BBC on an accident about which you’ve virtually no information, is a difficult and potentially dangerous thing to do. I needed intelligence and fast. I just happened to be in a very remote location for central Norway with little access to phones or an internet café! Over a coffee in reception I mentioned the predicament to Oddbjorn’s wife, who immediately offered the full services of the hotel’s office – email, internet, and phone – accepting no payment. She was, she said, only too pleased be part of the solution.
Gary gave me the full story – as much as he knew it – and the contact details the BBC needed me to follow. The strategy and logistics of the latter would tax me to the full.
Apparently one Max Palmer, a 10 yr. old lad had accompanied his mother, a TA on an outdoor pursuits visit to Glenridding in Patterdale. On the final day they had a few hours spare before the coach met them at lunch hour. So the leaders took the party on an unplanned walk up the valley of Glenridding. As the flood plain disappeared they forded the beck, flowing quite fast but not deep. Max Palmer was washed away with his mother jumping in to try to save him. Patterdale MRT were on-exercise just down-stream but although reaching the boy relatively quickly could not revive him. The mother was saved.
I felt so detached from this sitting in the tine office in the hotel, a thousand metres up in the Jotunheim, and 2000 miles from London.
The BBC would no doubt want me to comment on the standard of leadership, a difficult task this far removed in all senses, from the event. Not only was that going to be difficult but we were going to do the interview from Nils’ in Kinsarvik, some 140 miles away. An early start beckoned for the following morning, as that distance in this country would take me well over five hours. In the UK?....the distance from Leigh on Sea to Cromer would take way less than three hours. But then between Turtagrø and Kinsarvik were Norway’s – and Europe’s – longest fjords, and ferries, the world’s longest tunnel, northern Europe’s highest road pass, and here we still had snow, with six 1 in 2 serpentines. However all that was tomorrow. I still had to meet Marten Tomter and Oddbjorn Dahl.
Oddbjorn was, like all the other senior instructors I met on this expedition, a switched on character, fully conversant with mountain and management. We sat over a cappuccino, in the new library at the far end of the lounge – pine, pine, and more pine, with just a few hundred books in cases designed for thousands – all that could be rescued from the 8,000 or so in January 2001’ s fire which totally destroyed Norway’s oldest and most prestigious mountain hotel. For the fourth time on this Scandinavian expedition I was offered the chance to work full time at instructing. Oddbjorn was most kind in helping with the research – filling in a number of gaps in my overall understanding of the provision for mountaineering at youth and adult, company and individual levels.
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I knew it would be a race to Kinsarvik. I left Turtagrø at 06.50 hrs. after the previous evening’s good interviews with Marten and Oddbjorn – more paperwork to process; picking up my pre-packed breakfast and drinks from the chiller in the hotel’s lobby, courtesy of chef, I quietly slipped through the 10 cms. solid pine and steel door out to Winston to load up. I’d done my PETROL check the night before.
I silently free-wheeled down the slope of the car park and fired up the diesel as I hit the single track tarmac. Mentally checking I’d packed everything I needed in the passenger footwell and cubby-box, and front seat – all, of course, securely bungee’d down – money, ferry documents, food / snacks/ water, films, camera[s] – at the ready, currency, and first aid kits. So far this exped. had been mercifully free of personal accidents.
It took me 6 hrs. 10 mins. to get to Kinsarvik, and I missed the live radio link- up with the BBC. I averaged just 23 mph throughout the route; there’s a lesson for anyone who comes after me and wants to explore Norway using the same criteria as the UK. The ferry system ham-strung me to the point where I had a two-hour wait to get across Hardangerfjord – within site of ‘home’. Frantic phone-calls via the mobile phone at £3.50 / NKr 42 per min. to and from Gary who was himself phoning back and forth to the BBC and text messages when I couldn’t get a signal informed me that fall–back time had been arranged whereby the Beeb would phone Nils direct on the hour every hour until they got me – and we’d record and interview rather than do it live. The final time was 2pm.
I have to say that driving off the ferry onto the quay at Kinsarvik was a major, major event for me…..very emotional and enormously satisfying.
I had completed the circuit.
5,200 miles in Scandinavia, plus over 300 miles in the UK. I was ‘home’ really, and the welcome that awaited me 300 metres away at Hardangertun Leirskule was about to be overwhelming. The last time I’d driven the few hundred metres along the tarmac through the village I’d been a relative rookie driving in Norway – now I’d just completed what probably no-one else had ever done, a solo, overland, circumnavigation of most of Scandinavia, and all of Norway. My mind was swimming – I couldn’t take it in. But Nils’ place was rushing up and I had to turn left down into the concourse in front of the Resepjon. Oh!
Nils was warm, welcoming, and enthusiastic about the expedition, wanting to hear all the details and apologising for having a full ‘skole’ – there were no cabins. 138 Norwegian pupils from nine schools were everywhere, which was good to see, as on my forays up to Hardanger with my Teams, we’d never seen the place bursting at the seams.
I used the spare room in Dag’s flat, a desk in his office, free food, and beer on tap, free use of all the comms. and space to sort the kit. This arrangement was even better than a cabin. I even had satellite and cable TV and a typically ostentatious sound system. Dag was instructing during the day so it was time for reflection, catch-up, and collating, as well as packing for the final push back down through Haukeligrend and Setesdalen, into Kristiansand – and of course taking time this evening to conduct the final interview with Nils and Dag.
They brought meals for the three of us up from the Centre’s kitchens below the flat, plus beers, and we spent four hours ‘on-interview’. Despite having worked here for a couple of seasons I learnt aspects of the outdoor education set-up in Norway, at least in this part of Norway, that were new to me. In addition to my queries and investigations, Nils and Dag picked my brains as to how I thought they might extend the Hardangertun Centre – courses and activities, hardware and instructing techniques. For a good hour that evening I came up with a plan to formalise survival skills into their programme, and suggested perhaps the use of a video to introduce the themes to the clients. Gary and I would produce the video.
All that remained for me to do in preparation for the trek south tomorrow was the attempt at my mobile-three-dimensional-jigsaw in the back of the Land Rover, that is stripping the vehicle of all its contents and packing it all back plus the kit I’d left behind way back in April when I’d found I’d brought too much. One thing about being here at HLS – amongst all its other superb qualities – is that it has acres of tarmac, so I could spread out my 220 kgs. of kit if I wanted.
This then was the beginning of the end. I was packing to go home.
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Having said my goodbyes the night before, I fired up the diesel and slipped the clutch at 07.30 the following morning, quietly exiting Hardangertun, turning right onto the main drag through the deserted Kinsarvik village. I was back on Route 13 going south for the last time.
Everything had gone without a hitch. No radio this morning. I just wanted the vast amount of experiences to wash over me and just soak up the last few – and the window open to let the air rush through. Gary sends a text saying “Well done, we’re all proud of you”. I was totally relaxed and at ease – as I have been throughout the whole journey. A text arrived from Ruth – she’s off to Frejus, ‘flying the flag for the Team’ and sends her best wishes.
With rain pouring down I slowed my speed. No hurry here. I was not due in Kristiansand until 18.00 hrs. I serpentined my way up into the mountain wilderness around Haukeligrend in north-west Telemark, loving every second of the driving challenge – no traffic, low mist and the hum of the Goodyear General Grabbers on tarmac, singing when we reached about 65 kph.
And then a sharp breaking to a dead stop.
I grabbed my med. kit and shot out of the Land Rover leaving all my lights and hazards on.
There before me was a 48 tonne juggernaut on its side, engine running and lights flickering on and off. There was a wreck truck just drawing up, its driver getting to the emergency engine stop as I clambered up into the huge cab. The lorry’s driver seemed relatively ok though dazed and trapped at the bottom of the side-on vertical cab area. I gingerly ‘climbed’ down to check him out – response and ABC - the usual; another lorry arrived and then another; the driver had used his mobile phone to summon help; all I could do was talk to him before the Norge First Hjelp Corps arrived; he had a few cuts and probably more bruises but nothing more as far I could see, although the windows below his left arm had shattered.
Once the professionals had arrived we handed over to them and I beetled back to Winston whereupon we serpentined a bit more and stopped to get an almost bird’s-eye view of the accident. One thing I can say with certainty about this - and every (especially) other overland expedition - you never know what's going to happen next....
[As this expedition is one of coincidences, I think it interesting to relate another remarkable one: One evening in June 1979 I was being driven north to Newcastle, on my way to Norway for 6 months, to stay overnight with my friend and mentor Peter Bradley. My driver Frank Foster and I were just entering Trumpington on the southern outskirts of Cambridge when we came across a huge 45 tonne articulated juggernaut crashed onto its side – we were first on the scene and then, too, I clambered down into the cab, giving first aid to the driver and his young son…..]
Up above Haukeligrend, down through the long 100 miles of Setesdalen, Evje, and finally to Kristiansand, in crystal clear, warm summer sunshine. I had time to visit Vanessa and Klas, again to thank them, time to amble around the beautiful old streets of central Kristiansand, dodging showers, and eating – and drinking – al fresco, in what was a bit of a season-shock for me. Summer had been here for a while but I’d not caught up with it until just 80 ks. back up the valley. I was not used to this heat! Sørlandet beckoned with all its rocks, gorges, and beaches.
But for me I had one final journey, that of the trek up to Stavanger – about 3½ hours away along a coastal route that would not look out of place in Snowdonia. After farewells to Vanessa and Klas I boarded Winston for the last time in Norway – packed to the ceiling now and feeling like part of my anatomy ‘we’ enjoyed our last few hours of this epic. I let my mind wander back over the 5,500 miles I’d just driven. It doesn’t get much better than this.( Of course I still had the A1 in England to contend with – suffocating and dangerous; but…hey! small beer!!! )
On June 3rd I clocked up just under the 6,000 miles and drove along the
And what a welcome home it was – all the family were there with surprises and tears – ‘Welcome Home Dad’ posters on doors and windows, hugs, kisses and not a dry eye in the house; Beth wouldn’t let me go. I’d been looking forward to this moment since I left here in April….and my dog Rigsby, who now wouldn’t leave my side lest I not return for another three months and another 5,717 miles.
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The 'new' Turtagrø built after a disastrous fire in 2001 in which all the library and manuscripts documenting Norwegian mountaineering history were lost. It opened in May 2002; I was one of the very first guests.
The Turtagro annex - which escaped from the fire - shows the orginal designs and traditional architecture some of which which the main building also had.
It was a privilege to be at Turtagrø with its history - and perhaps no better time for international mountaineers to come together to support the Draegni family in their time of loss over the old building and all that it contained. The original hotel site dated from 1888 to house British as well as Norwegian climbers. Ole Berge built his own hotel next to the original also in 1888 with his brother Ivar, with the latter emigrating to the USA in 1910. Ole bought the house - the house that today is the 'Swiss Villa'. The site really beacme a sort of 'conscience' of Norway's outdoor identity at a time it was going through the lead up to independence. In the 1920's Ole's oldest daughter Kari took over the hotel that became known just as 'Turtagrø' and is now synonymous with all that is Norwegian mountain life - perhaps in a similar way to our own Plas-y-Brenin. She ran the place throughout World War 2 - how astonishing the history of that period alone must be; she died in 1952. Kari's nephew Johannes Draegni took over the hotel - new facilities and utilities were added to bring it into the 20th Century! This included upgrading the technical services on offer; Johannes went to Switzerland to learn more about Alpine style mountaincraft, and thus the Turtagrø climbing school opened in 1962. In 1997 the whole commercial aspect of the business was overhauled again by Ole Draegni, including one of the finest mountaineering history libraries in Europe; however the collection and the main bilding were lost in a distastrous fire in 2001. Ole was lost in the Thailand & Indonesian Tsunami of Dec. 2005
East of Turtagro
Classic Jotunheim country; the trekking' was interesting here (!) Out for a day from Turtagro
Very murky conditions (hence poor picture) up here en route eat out of Turtagro - when I got below the snow line the rain was torrential enough to drown out the sound of the radio.
The Race: ...the highest road pass in northern Europe (in Europe as a whole?) at 1,434 metres above sea level...and it's almost June. Let no-one say this was an easy journey.
The Race: Everything was slowing me down en route to Kinsarvik: landslide
The Race: "Let me board !!!"....."Ah! Sorry sir, det er mer enn jobben min er verdt å la deg på fergen i dette øyeblikk." said the jobsworth (left). The ferry was in but there's nobody home (on the bridge)....waiting, waiting....all part of the 6hrs 10mins.
The Race: and the last ferry - at last - docking at Kinsarvik on the epic run from Turtagro: 142 miles in just over 6 hrs (!!)
Home : Hardangertun in Kinsarvik
Kit Sort
The famous Cabin 11 at Hardangertun where the exped really began all those months earlier. No blue plaque but a lot of hard work here before the 'off' ... now all behind me and ready for a new 'off' tomorrow morning just after dawn.
Lars Tomasson lies at the bottom of the cab with cuts and bruises after I administered first aid - being first-on-scene - until the ambulance appeared. In pouring rain the lorry had come round the corner and aquaplaned...lucky for him the juggernaut didn't roll all the way into the valley - just a metre away.
END
