Mountain Climbers
5 Heaved to the heavens soaring palisades walking in the clouds right hand of Odin
7 Explore their lofty kingdom Squishy slosh mountaintop swamp swamp on the roof of the world
Asgard at the
elysian sanctuary
The trailhead for our hike sits above the town of Aurland, a stone's throw down the road from Flåm. As our Toyota moseys through town Jill recognizes a landmark from her research,
"Oh! Marianne Bakery! I remember reading about this place, they are supposed to have amazing cinnamon rolls!"
In silent unison the entire car approves Jill's motion to adjourn for cinnamon rolls and Michael smoothly pulls into a parking space across the street from the bakery. 10 minutes later we are back on the road scarfing down a round of spiced pastries that exceed even Jill's prodigious expectations. Unlike the gooey, hyperglycemic blobs of masonry paste that we're accustomed to, the Kanelboller dispense with the goo and go all in on nutmeg, cardamon, allspice, and, of course, the namesake cinnamon.
The drive to the trailhead is up a one-lane switchback road overlooking Aurland. And when I say one-lane I mean ONE lane. Uphill and downhill traffic must manage the single lane in a game of mountainside chicken. We have found ourselves in the middle of a caravan of RVs and motorcycles, a desirable spot where we can simply go with the flow. Our fearless leader at the front is tasked with the delicate dance of negotiating oncoming traffic.
Half an hour and a dozen switchbacks later we find ourselves at the trailhead. As we unload the car we assess the weather to gauge our wardrobe selections. The sun is poking through mottled clouds, the temperature is hovering right in the gray area between shortsleeves and long. We're set to climb 2,000 vertical feet over the course of a mile and three-quarters. We will certainly work up a sweat on the hike but that will be countered by the cooler temperatures on the mountain. Will the sun stay out? Is it windy up there?
Sufficiently geared up, we hit the trail. The first half mile of the hike takes us up a mild grade to the top of a bluff overlooking the Sognefjord. If this was the extent of the hike I'd be thrilled. From even this lower station I'm afforded what is almost certainly the most stunning view I've ever seen in my life.
While soaking in the surroundings I feel the ominous presence of a dark slab of metamorphic rock looming over my right shoulder. I turn round and crane my neck, we couldn't possibly be going all the way up there???
1,500 feet into the cerulean Norwegian sky. If we were standing on the pavement on 5th Avenue the top of this mountain would look down of the tip of the Empire State Building. It looks an insurmountable task; a hopeless fight against the relentless tug of gravity.
Colossal palisades
Heaved to the heavens
Invite the bold
To explore their lofty kingdom
No adventure story is complete without a harrowing test of mettle - ours occurs halfway through the hike when the trail winnows down to a slender footpath perched atop a cliff hugging the left side of the craggy mass. At this point all conversation ceases while our expedition navigates the 50 yard tightrope maneuver, every ounce of concentration devoted to the precise placement of every step, grabbing hold to the edge of the cliff like Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo.
The final ascent tracks the moderate pitch of the mountain's shoulder. Patches of small, vibrant flowers line the path, explosions of yellows, reds, and pinks spackle the mottled green of the dewy moss. Small fields of snow luxuriate in shady alcoves, stubbornly clinging to their crystalline structure.
The plateaued summit of Mt Prest sinks beneath our hiking boots, waterlogged from the winter's snowpack.
A cairn stands erect at the Røyrgrind viewpoint, standing guard over the Aurlandsfjord. We snap a few photos at the monument before signing the logbook.
While gazing out over the glacially eroded sea inlet trough the weather starts to change. The scattered clouds begin a descattering maneuver, enveloping the view of the fjord behind the veil of a misty fog. Our lofty kingdom enveloped by a damp grey specter.
Thankfully our chagrin is short lived; as quickly as it came it's gone, sliced into ghostly ribbons of ethereal vapor. Its final memory wispy tendrils carried away by the terminal gasp of the North Atlantic jet stream.
From our vantage we spot a ship upon the fjord not much larger than a grain of rice. If not for its slender emerald tail of churned seawater its movements would be imperceptible to the naked eye.
Cruisin'
The morning after our mountaineering escapades Jill has procured passage on a sightseeing cruise through the fjords. Unfortunately so too have hordes of visitors aboard the MV Brittania, a cruise ship that snuck into port overnight much to our chagrin.
According to the Brittania's website their passengers-to-space-ratio is 33. It does not specify units. I'm unsure if this is good. Is PTSR a selling point among cruise ships? Climb aboard the luxurious USS Dysentery with an industry leading 25 passengers-to-space-ratio! USS Dysentery. Escape the smell.
Bright and early we hop aboard the Future of the Fjords, the first all-electric carbon fiber vessel in the world. With two 600 horsepower engines powered by an 1800 kWh battery pack the Future can cruise at a breezy 16 knots for 40 nautical miles on a single charge. To put that into a little perspective, making some rough assumptions on average car gas tank size and EV battery pack capacity that's roughly equivalent to 1000 gallons of gasoline.
As we're standing on the deck navigating the roiling sea of humanity belched upon Flåm by the Brittania
Her 4000 passengers have the permanent residents of Flåm outnumbered 10 to 1. Much to their chagrin one would presume.
Brittania
After our cruise we have a few hours to kill before our 6:30 PM reservation on the Flåm Railway. Jill found a reasonable hike within walking distance so we strap on our hikin' boots and set off southbound from town. We stroll along the Nedre Brekkevegan river bestride bucolic farms flanked by towering tree-covered cliffs.
A mile south of town we veer right through a cut in the vegetation onto a well-trod path ascending yet another of Norway's innumerable mountains. The length of the trail is littered with the heaving breaths of ambitious decisions made by cruise-ship passengers whose collective fitness level skews towards couch potato. The unrelenting mid-summer sun intensifies the collective distress; I pop my tarp.
Trains Are So Cool, Part Deux
The 12-mile Flåm Railway has been described as "the most beautiful train journey in the world". Starting at Flåm, the railway winds 2,841 vertical feet up the Halling Valley to the cozy town of Myrdal.
As the electric beast begins its skyward journey we quickly realize that we picked the wrong side of the train. Not to say this side is bad, it's just all the best bits are out the windows across the aisle where two surly septuagenarian women haughtily occupy one third of the inventory of a 6-seat alcove.
The train slithers its way up the gorge, clinging to the jagged canyon walls like a sure-footed Norwegian coastal goat.
Halfway through the journey the ferric goat rumbles to a stop, whereupon the conductor announces over the intercom that we will be stopping at the
Above the waterfall things Switchbacks The only indication that you're not on a Disney ride is the swiftness with which the wooden support beams whiz by the train window.
This guy's review is awesome, he has a few other hilarious reviews https://www.google.com/maps/contrib/116430857683765208067/reviews/@52.1515859,-53.0357885,21515326m/data=!3m2!1e3!4b1!4m3!8m2!3m1!1e1?hl=en&entry=ttu&g_ep=EgoyMDI0MTIxMS4wIKXMDSoASAFQAw%3D%3D
Trains are so cool because you can talk about the steepness of a hill like "18 in 1" and say things like "rolling stock".