In my last post, I predicted two things: that my first Norwegian backpacking experience would be incredibly beautiful, and that it would involve public transit-related misadventures. On both counts, I was correct.

Here was the original plan: Wake up at 7:15. Get on Bybanen (light rail) at 7:45. Arrive at bus station at 8:10. Get on bus at 8:25. Get off bus in Øystese 10:30ish. Begin hiking.

There are six items in that schedule, but I only successfully completed two of them. The first was the easiest: I successfully awoke at 7:15. When I went to board my train at 7:44am, however, I was informed by the little time-until-your-train-thingie that I had 36 minutes until my train. Apparently, it seems, trains run less frequently before 8am on Saturday morning.

If I waited for my train, I would certainly miss my bus, and then I would have to wait hours for the next one. That would be really shitty, so I started walking from my dorm into town, which (in my estimation at the time) was slightly less shitty. Since I’d only taken the train into town, I didn’t really know how far it was or how to get there (except along the train tracks), but I estimated that I might just make my bus if I hustled.

I set off at a brisk walk. It was a lovely morning, and I was feeling quite good, although since I hurt my knee this summer, I was a little worried that this unexpected addition to my hike would aggravate it. I passed the next stop along the line, then the next, and then the one after that. The minutes until my bus, however, were diminishing rapidly, and I began to worry that I would miss my bus. I walked a little faster.

By the way, Norway is a very healthy and outdoorsy place, but it is not normal to see someone walking briskly down the street with a full backpacking pack and hardcore Asolo boots at 8am on a Saturday. I was beginning to breath heavily, and sweat was pouring down my face. I looked like someone training for the special powerwalking battalion of the Marines.

My sense that I was not integrating well into my host culture was only to increase, however. I had just passed the Kronstad train station, and I was becoming increasingly certain that I would not make my bus. I needed a miracle, and suddenly behind me I heard the unmistakable sound of a train bell ringing. I looked back and saw a train beginning to leave the station. The next station, Brann Stadium, was very close – I could see it down the hill, probably not more than 300 yards ahead

I did not praise my lucky stars, nor did I ponder where this train had come from. There was no time – I could not, and I did not hesitate. It’s been said that the Grises are men of action, and I’m proud to say I lived up to my ancestry. Instantly I broke into a full sprint, or as near to a full sprint as one gets when you’re wearing full backpacking gear. But, warmed up from my 20 minute powerwalk, I was moving well. I thought maybe, just maybe, I could make the train. I thought there was a chance.

As it turns out, there wasn’t. I was close, but the train driver (though he had seen me running with steely determination in my eyes) mercilessly pulled away from the station just as I ran on to the platform. I was crushed, emotionally, but also in the sense that I couldn’t breathe. I would certainly miss my bus now. My knees were probably shot, and I would probably get stuck on the mountain plateau in the dark, doomed to wander its somewhat chilly expanses until I fell off a cliff or died of exposure. I sat down to wait for the next train.

Eventually I caught it, and arrived at the bus station to find that my bus hadn’t yet left – it was running 30 minutes late. Oh the games fate plays with our lives.

It was a lovely bus ride, and except for one small snafu when I didn’t realize I had to transfer busses (how the hell was I supposed to know that was what the Norwegian-speaking bus driver was saying?) I arrived in Øystese. Øystese (pronouned ieuustehsAh or something like that) is a charming little town on the Hardangerfjord, which one of the bigger and more dramatic ones. I was to hike from there to Fritjadalen (which is 3.6 miles and about 1000 feet of elevation), where I would find the trailhead, and from the trailhead to Breidablik Cabin, a bit more than 6 miles away and another 2000 feet up. Here’s a couple pictures of what I did (sorry that Google Earth’s imagery of the area is so cloudy):

It was a magical hike, so overwhelming in its stark beauty that it’s hard to convey. How can I describe the incredible sense of vastness found on an empty mountain plateau? How can I communicate the tinkling sound that a patch of ice makes, or how delicious a blueberry is when you’ve hiked 8 miles to find it? Or how quickly it gets cold on a clear night in the mountains, or how completely silent it is when everyone around the fire stops talking? I think it’s better to let the pictures show my hike, so here they are, in the order that I took them: