Are you English?

Day Three: Rauhellern to Mårbu

After such a warm and cosy night in the cabin, I felt ready for another day on the skis. It begins with me retracing part of the route from yesterday to a crossroads of routes. Upon arrival, I check that the signpost is orientated correctly... I have made this mistake before! The post points in the correct direction for Rauhellern and Heinseter, so off I set.

I keep a good pace as I climb onto a plateau. Crossing this frozen desert is a wild and windy experience. It is a bleak expanse where little exists but snow and ice. Off in the distance, I can see the cloud filled valley that holds my destination, so I get my head down and ski hard.

Before I descend into the valley, I take a short break to eat, wax my skis and check the map... Something is not right here!

Moments later a Norwegian Father and Son team greet me:

"Are you English?"

 "Errr... Yes" I reply.

"Ah! We have heard about the English man with the wrong skis!!" replies the Son with a triumphant tone in his voice.

I am not too please that my fifteen minutes of fame is being wasted with such trivialities, but I fake a smile and strike up a conversation with my fellow travellers. The outcome of the discussion confirms that we are heading to different destinations, on different routes and all three of us have no idea where we are! The Son consults his iPhone. This suggests a fourth possibility which is quickly dismissed by all three of us.

A heated discussion ensues between the Father and Son in Norwegian, as I stare into my map then around, searching for an answer. The discussion ends and the Son informs me that he knows where we are... Bugger! He is right. They are on the right path and I am eight kilometres off course.

As is so often the way among big mountains, complacency is a poor companion. I thought my brief check of the signpost was sufficient. It was not and now I have two possibilities:

1. Go back to the start and find the correct valley.
2. Bodge a route together that leaves the recommended tracks.

The Father and Son team leave me to consider my options. As they depart, the Son wishes me a safe trip and reminds me that "navigation in Norway can be tricky".

I consider the first option for a nanosecond and then busy myself planning a new route...

Once again, I took the strain of my rucksack. As my ski skins gripped the crystalline surface the heavy sled lurched into motion. My lungs heaved in the cold raw air. I continue along the trail until I am round Lake Skrykken.

Deciding where to cross the frozen lake is difficult. I stick to the shore for as long as possible to cross the lake at the narrowest point. I pause for breathe before leaving the security and safety of the shore. I ski as quickly as I can with the frozen lake moaning and groaning beneath my skis. Approximately two-thirds of the way across, I meet a set of skidoo tracks which puts my mind at ease.

I enter Skjortedalen at the end of which stands Mårbu, my final destination for the day. Being the first person to ski through shin deep snow is not easy and makes my journey more arduous; my progress begins to slow. The sun is at eye level, just floating above the horizon. The wind has a bite to it. I need to get to this hut before the sun goes down...

As I creep up and over the shoulder of Kosadalsbrotet the hut comes into sight. One more hour should do it! I weave my way through the lumps and bumps, choosing the path of least resistance each time. Weary and aching I arrive at the hut. Once inside, I meet a guy who lives just down the road from me! What a small World we live in.

Trip by numbers...

Distance: 26.8km
Vertical: 944m