Hello Sunshine!

During breakfast, in the 70s Bond-villian-lare of a hotel, I discover the reason for the difficulties I had at the end of yesterday. The track had not been marked as the hotel was not sure if it could be open for business during the winter months as the hotel was still housing refugees up until a few months ago... Kinda puts my grumblings into perspective :-/

I am in no rush to leave the magnificent views overlooking Lake Hornsjø, but once I do, the skies turns blue as the blank canvas of white awaits my tracks...

With the sun high in the sky, it is not long before I meet a fellow skier - despite taking the route less travelled. The old gent and his bouncy, happy, chocolate labrador had been snowed in their cabin for the last three days and were now taking advantage of the sunshine to escape.

The floodgates appear to have opened as I pass a tsunami of skiers heading for Hornsjø during the first hour. After this tho, the trail goes quiet until I join the prepared tracks at Reina. With the true wilderness now over, I launch down the løypa and along the narrow spit of land separating the grand lakes of Reinsvatnet and Mellsjøen.

With its pristine pistes, fantastic views and gently undulating terrain, it is clear to see why this place has become a World famous cross-country skiing area.

On the outskirts of Nordseter, I rejoin the Trolls Trail to make the final push to Sjusjøen. Nothing too strenuous for the final day, this wonderful trail provides stunning views down to Lake Mjøsa and beyond.

Shortly before the centre of Sjusjøen, the Trolls Trail seems to just disappear and so I join the Birkebeineren Løypa to begin the grand finale of the trip. I follow this 15km ribbon of white all the way down to the Olympic Ski Stadium in Lillehammer. An excellent downhill to finish off the trip. Whilst I may not enter the stadium in the same style or panache as an Olympic athlete; I am just as grateful for making it here.

Sting in the Tale

I find it amazing that the best of days can so easily turn into the worst of days in one brief moment.

6am: It is an early morning start in the cabin as I have a long journey ahead of me. Outside the cabin I find roughly 10cm of fresh snow. With my skis on, I set off to lay the first (and possibly only) tracks of the day.

I head steadily south through the now familiar birch woodlands, past hibernating hamlets and frozen farmsteads; all of these abandoned for the winter months. Whilst the weather makes the journey testing, following the Trolls Trail is a sheer delight and it is with a heavy heart that at Langmyråsen, I leave the Trolls Trail to head to my accommodation in Hornjø. It is here that the problems begin...

Crossing the open mountainside to Lieden is tough as the sticky snow steals my glide. These two kilometres are hard work and easily the toughest of the trip. Things improve after Lieden, but then the trail just disappears. I am not able to find where I am on the featureless slope and in near whiteout conditions, so I simply descend to the road and follow that to Hornsjø. It is a difficult ending to a long and ultimately enjoyable day.

My overnight stay in Hornsjø Høyfjellshotell. Originally built in the 1870s, this place has been everything from a mountain farm to posting inn and from boarding house to hotel. For a period in the 1970s, Hornsjø Høyfjellshotell was the biggest in the country. Tonight, still with a 1970s feel to the place, I can enjoy the calm atmosphere and get myself ready for another adventures day.

Breaking Trail

The cold wind slaps me in the face like an old girlfriend this morning as I first venture outside my snug cabin. Breakfast is served a short walk away in the local cafe. I feel a little out of place, filling my face for the day ahead whilst old dears daintily digest each morsel. That said, it does not stop me :) With my boots filled, it is time to cross the road and continue the journey south.

The icy prepared løypa soon lead back to the freshly covered Trolls Trail. I am the first person of the day to lay tracks across the virgin snow. At some points I glide effortlessly and other times it is like wading through treacle as the sticky snow slows my progress. Even the few tumbles caused by the transition between these two states cannot spoil my enjoyment of this great route through the open birch forest.

With just 4km to the cosy little DNT hut at Vetåbua, the winds pick up and the sleet begins to fall. It is time for me to get indoors.

I ski along, with my head down, hoping that the bad weather of the past few days would work to my advantage for tonight. Lady luck shines on me as I am only sharing the hut with two lovely French engineers: Sébastien and Gwendoline.

The DNY huts are brilliant! They are stocked with food and logs for the fire. I love spending time in remote cabins like this. This hut is not staffed, so my time is spent collecting water, keeping the fire going and preparing dinner. All of these jobs are good fun and complete the mountain experience. So after my feast of smoked salmon on potato cakes for starters; Cashew Nasi for mains (thanks to Jan, Pia and Tom) and a huge slab of Melkesjokolade for dessert, I stoke the fire one last time and head to bed as I have a long day tomorrow.

Following the Canes

I wake from my daylight-saving-time-deprived slumber to the sound of the windows being rattled by the howling wind. Not the most promising sign for the journey ahead. The worst is confirmed when I read the weather forecast... Severe weather warnings for the mountains, I am not going into the mountains today tho, I am just popping into the next valley ;-)

After what has become a morning routine, I retrace the last part of the route from yesterday to rejoin the Trolls Trail. On this cloud covered morning, the scenery is monochromatic. It is as if the strong winds have blown away all the colour.

I find the Trolls Trail without any hassle and continue to travel through the open high mountain terrain. The cold wind stings what little skin I have exposed to the elements and the visibility is poor. I struggle to navigate in the near whiteout conditions, but thankfully there are canes to guide the way.

I am granted a short break from the elements as I ski through a serene birch wood. It is almost long enough to forget how harsh the conditions are, but I am reminded all too soon as I begin the exposed pull up towards the plateau above Oksendalen.

On top of the plateau, the canes that have been my lifeline for today disappear without rhyme or reason. Out come the compass and map once more to see if my skills are up to the job.

Pleasingly, and somewhat fortunately, they are!! After approximately 2km in near whiteout conditions, I happen upon a signpost that confirms I am on the correct path. Moments later the canes reappear as I work my way over the final ridge line and down into the next valley.

As I descend out of the mist, I enter a winter wonderland of untracked fresh snow. I weave my way through the pine forest to spend a night at the Friisvegen Turistsenter. This is the strangest place that I have stayed at so far, but good Norwegian cooking is on offer, so I am a happy bunny :)

Testing Times

There is a cold bite to the air as I lock up the hotel and hide the key. With my mind preoccupied with the challenge of most of today being off-track, I took a tumble skiing down the nursery slope as I set off to rejoin the løypa... How embarrassing!?

I leave the beautifully groomed løypa at Nestra and begin the climb onto the plateau. I wind my way, on a narrow icy track, through the trees. Popping out above the tree line, I stop to take in the stunning views into Frydalen. Shortly later I reach the sheet of ice that is covering the plateau.

The going here is tough as every two or three strides, I lose grip and slide backwards. The icy crosswind is also not helping matters and occasionally causes me to lose balance. There is a real wild feeling to the route today as I work my way across the mountainside past the DNT hut at Eldabu. The route then alters course and headlong into the icy winds.

For a brief moment, the wind dies down and the sun begins to shine. I take advantage of the respite to pause and take in this beautiful place. In the distance, I see two kite skiers dancing across the plateau. The winds begin to pick up and so my head drops to battle onwards and upwards.

Eventually, I reach the tracks coming from Venabu and snake my way between the small hills to my overnight in the quaint fjellhotel.

The route today has really tested me, so I eat, prep for tomorrow and get an early night ZZzZzz...

A Good Friday

Henrik Ibsen described the landscape that now make up the Rondane National Park as a “palace piled upon palace”. To be honest, I will need to take his word for this, as the visibility this morning is poor. I put on my skis on right beside the fjellstue. As I am adjusting my bindings, the first fat snowflakes begin to fall. I stand up, ready to depart, when suddenly a piste-basher appears. There is now a perfectly smooth white carpet to follow into the mist.

After the initial climb out of Høvringen, the terrain gently undulates. Soon I reach the end of the prepared løypa and head into more mountainous terrain. Despite the poor visibility and the more isolated location, there are still quite a few people out on the fjells. I later learn that the Easter weekend is traditionally the time when families in Norway head into the mountains.

The Smuksjøseter Fjellstue appears from between two peaks as I continue to slip and slide my way along the valley floor. Moments later a noise catches my attention. At first, I thought was a helicopter, but then what looks like a converted 2CV ploughs past me towing roughly twenty skiers behind it. As I stand there, bewildered, a second vehicle with more skiers shoots past me.

Given the number of new arrivals, I ski past the lodge and continue to wind my way across the mountain plateau. When I reach the tiny Peer Gynt-hytta, I take a short break. Gradually more and more folk appear out of the mist until the place is overcrowded. When the blue sky finally puts in an appearance, I take this as my cue to leave and start the silky descent to Mysuseter. The blue skies finally overpower the thick grey clouds, I take a look back to se the rounded peaks, deep corries and steep cliffs of the Rondane National Park.

Skiing through the tiny settlement of Mysuseter is a sheer delight. The route follows a babbling brook that has recently been awaken from its frozen slumber. I dodge between Silver Birch on my way down to Fujusjoen. Here, I ski along the edge of the frozen lake trying to find a safe place to cross to Rondablikk.

I am exhausted by the time I arrive in Rondablikk and horrified to see that my accommodation is a building site! Norwegian hospitality being what it is, I should not have worried. The owner has delayed her holiday to greet my arrival (as their only guest of Winter 2016). I am given solo use of a cabin that sleeps more than twenty and has a fully stocked fridge!

Norwegian Words

The doors shut and the train slowly pulls out of the station. Through the window, the sights I have spent the last few days exploring whizz by as if my memory is on fast forward. As Lillehammer fades into the distance, my attention turns to the starting point of the epic journey along the Trolls Trail.

The train ploughs northwards along the valley floor. There is evidence that the sun is beginning to breathe life back into the frozen landscape. Time passes by quickly as I chat to the friendly locals and I am soon leaving the train in Otta.

Set deep in the Gudbrandsdalen, Otta occupies a strategic position at the confluence of the Otta and Lågen Rivers. Being the gateway to the Rondane National Park, Otta is the quintessential feeder town for the Norwegian wilderness: there is not much here in town and what little there is has already closed for Easter.

With nobody to ask and no information about the local bus, I simply trust the Internet research that I had completed days earlier. I retire to the waiting room to sit out the three and a half hour stopover. I am not the most patient person, so it is fortunate that the waiting room provides some much needed entertainment…

I enter the room to find one guy lying across several seats trying his best to get some sleep. Moments after my arrival, a rotund Norwegian lady enters the room. She barks, presumably Norwegian, words at me and my reply is simple: “English?” She huffs loudly to clearly show her lack of approval, and then wanders over to the sleeping guy. She then proceeds to talk at him for the next three hours!

In between there are several cameo roles. The highlights are: a Belgian couple who read the summer bus timetable instead of the winter one, resulting in an eye-watering £230 taxi ride and an English girl and her Canadian friend who somehow ski off the wrong side of the mountain – it will now take them two days to get back to their car!

Suddenly, as if there was a signal that only Norwegians can hear, people start to appear and, within the space of ten minutes, the place is again empty and I am on a bus heading to Høvringen.

The bus snakes its way up the steep cliffs that hold the Rondane National Park in place. At 1000 metres above sea level, the steep cliffs give way to the snow covered upland plateau. The old mountain village of Høvringen is the western gateway to the Rondane National Park and has several mountain lodges. Høvringen Fjellstue is one of the oldest and will provide me with food and lodgings for the night.