Backpacking through Dovre and Rondane

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I feel defeated, overwhelmed by pain, and surrounded by fog in every direction, there is no end in sight. Part of me hopes not to see the cabin because I fear the relief will make me give up right then and there. “500 meters away.” he says as my ankles and knees sear with pain under the pressure of my backpack and my own negligence to wear compression braces. Still no cabin in sight, just never ending fog. But wait… the clouds are shifting. I see a soft blue sky begin to peek through far in the distance. In the blink of an eye, I see the Norwegian flag waving in front of a cabin in a majestic valley with a lake deep at the base. The hope that I thought would cripple me gives me the last jolt of energy I need to make it to Bjørnhøllia. And that was just day 1…

Traveling back one week in time, let’s take a look at where I was. It had been a particularly difficult summer. I had planned to hike several times a week, with longer hikes and training on the weekend in preparation for this expedition. We were planning to hike around 80 km over the course of five days through the Rondane and Dovre mountain range; in a famous mountain range located some kilometers south of Trondheim. As with most plans, this one came with plenty of complications. First, I had been very sick for most of the summer. I had been plagued with migraines, insomnia, and scarcely hiked more than a couple kilometers when I had energy. Then just as I was on the mend, I got extremely sick after one of my coworkers came back from an international holiday, and I was once again too sick to train. The last factor was that an extreme storm hit Europe and much of Norway the week prior to and during our hiking trip. This meant that transportation was affected and numerous bridges throughout the country had flooded or broken.

Day 1 — Rondvassbu

Despite these setbacks, the first few days of our trip went fairly well. The train we planned to take to Otta was canceled because a major bridge had collapsed, so we needed to drive and ended up staying in the town one day extra. This meant that the first day of our actual hiking was relatively easy and we had more time to explore the surrounding area at our first location. We took a short bus ride to the starting trail leading to a cabin called Rondvassbu. Despite it being the middle of August, I had to put on several layers of jackets and a hat. Entering the open tundra landscape, a hazy veil of fog greeted us and obscured our view of the surrounding mountain range. The weather was misty and cool, but not unpleasant. It felt like a crisp autumn day. After a gentle walk for a few kilometers, we rounded a corner and saw in the valley below us a cluster of red cabins sitting at the base of a lake.

We spent an hour, enjoying some coffee, snacks, and reading in the warm living room before deciding to take a short hike around the opposite side of the lake. At first, the weather was still a bit chilly and cloudy, but over the course of the next few hours it would brighten up, and hazy beams of sunlight illuminated the mountain sides. Wandering off the path at one point, we came upon a rather interesting discovery. I had noticed a faded trail that led up a small river into what appeared to be a large cavern. Although muffled, I thought I heard the sounds of a waterfall somewhere deep inside, so I scrambled over a few wet stones to explore the rocky terrain. I’m very glad I did because I soon discovered a tall waterfall crashing against dark stones. Well, the view from the base of the waterfall was impressive. The view from above was breathtaking. One could see, not only the waterfall descending into the earth, but the flat plane of the Rondvatnet lake stretching far into the distance, as sharp peaks flanked it on either side. To this day, I believe it is one of the most impressive views I have seen, and it reminded me of a beautiful dream I had once.

For the sake of transparency, although fairly tranquil in the mountainsides surrounding the cabin, Rondvassbu was packed with hikers from all over the world. Thankfully our cabin and room were both in one of the ancillary buildings and away from its common room because people can get quite socially loud at big cabin destinations like this one.

Days 2-3 — Bjørnhollia

The first real day of hiking was a cold and wet experience. The terrain wasn’t particularly difficult, but one had to be extra careful walking on the rocks and navigating through muddy streams that had spilled off of their original trails. There was a steady mist in the air that forced us to wear our ponchos and waterproof gear almost the whole day. I realized my gloves were not the most water resistant so my fingers froze for most of the hike I wasn’t able to take many pictures from the day, but even if I had it would have been difficult to capture the better parts of the gloomy and misty mood of the place. We meandered through the base of the valley and passed around a dozen different lakes, each with their own personality and shape.

Deceived by the overall ease of the trail, I had not worn my knee braces, or used my walking poles; a mistake I would not repeat the rest of the journey. The last few kilometers were agonizing. The trail head ascended up into the mountains and the paths grew more rocky, making it difficult to fall into a rhythmic pace. Instead, I had to vigilantly look for a safe place to step while navigating between small protruding rocks, jutting up from the ground and slippery puddles pooling in between.

I like to think that I have a strong and determined psyche, but that’s the wonderful thing about hiking in the mountains; it humbles you. I was so exhausted, in pain, and feeling hopeless during the last few kilometers of our trek — and this was only the first real day of hiking! The fog was thick, the path unclear, and I felt that if I saw the cabin, I would give up right then in there. Even as my partner announced that we were only 500 m away from the cabin I still couldn’t see anything. Moments later though, it suddenly appeared as the fog was pulled away like thin curtains revealing the beautiful view through window. Thankfully, the site gave me a small boost of energy rather than the defeat I had expected. It had been a grueling, nine hour hike over 13k, but curling up in a chair by the fireplace overlooking a lush valley and lake below gave my weary heart and body the respite it needed.

We had originally planned to continue hiking the following day, but due to the unpredictable weather, and the storm ravaging the country, we decided to stay at Bjørnhollia and continue the following day, which was forecasted to have sunshine. We spent the day lounging around the living room with a few other guests, exchanging stories, and passing the time with good books and warm blankets. The weather turned out to be better than expected, but my body thanked me for the extra day of rest. I highly recommend this cabin’s accommodations. They had comfortable and quiet rooms, two beautiful living rooms (one older, one modern), diverse food options, and attentive owners.

Days 4-5 — Dørålseter

The next day was expected to be the longest and most difficult leg of our journey all the way over to Dørålseter, and it certainly was. Instead of the anticipated 19 km hike over the course of nine hours, we instead endured a 25 km hike over 12 hours. And let it be noted that when I say “hike” the majority of that entails scrambling over landslides and large boulders, as well as wading through deep rivers. That itself was a challenge alone, but I had the misfortune of taking a horrible fall on my tailbone within the first 20 minutes of the hike.

Besides the pain, distance, and difficult terrain, I thoroughly enjoyed this portion of the expedition and wouldn’t have changed a minute of it (ok, well, maybe just the fall). We had excellent weather for most of the day —plenty of sunshine, a cool breeze, and a string of exceptional vistas to enjoy. The trick that helped me endure this long day of hiking was to militantly hike for 60 minutes and then stop for at least 10. All the credit and thanks goes to my partner for teaching me that. It was a life-saving strategy for stamina. We continued this cycle until lunchtime when we had a longer 30-minute break.

The landscape changed significantly from area to area. Sometimes we would be in large open hilltops, other times in sparse forests, then enter vast rocky landslide field, or gorges carved down deep by the river. Towards the end, when my endurance was waning the most and the sun setting fast, we descended deep into a valley. The trail followed along the river, and we entered a thick grove of birch trees. The river had flooded and spilled into the underbrush and the softly trickling sounds of water babbling in the grass mixed with the lush abundance of mushrooms, vegetation, and freshly fallen gold leaves made the area pulse with magic. It had such a special aura as twilight fell over us in the grove and gave me just enough motivation to push through the final ascent to Dørålseter.

We eventually saw the warm glowing lights of Dørålseter on the hilltop on the other side of the valley, but it was deceptively further away than it looked. It took us almost another hour more to finally reach the door. We had called the cabin owner the previous day to let him know that we might arrive late, and thankfully they were still able to prepare us an incredible, warm dinner when we arrived. I can’t imagine another moment in my life when I have been so grateful and so incredibly exhausted to receive food.

We spent the next day relaxing at the cabin and recovering for the days to come. I think I scarcely left the warm living room and simply read books by the fireplace. There were only a few other hikers staying at the cabin, making it a peaceful and uninterrupted day. At dinner, we enjoyed a conversation with an older gentleman who was hiking in the area and had arrived at the cabin that evening. We exchanged stories by the fireplace, while enjoying drinks before bed.

Day 6 — Grimsdalshytta

At breakfast the next morning, we chatted with some new hikers who had arrived last night. They came from the direction we were headed this day and warned us that the main bridge crossing over a large river wouldn’t be possible. The river had overflowed and moved around the bridge to flood the surrounding valley. They had managed to wade through it, but it had been up to one of the hiker’s hips, and he was much taller than me. My partner and I spent the remainder of breakfast trying to figure out backup trails to take to get to the next cabin, Grimsdalshytta. There were no easy options, and we had to reluctantly call the cabin to ask for a pickup ride at a location in between. We would still be able to hike for a portion of the journey.

The beginning of the day didn’t start great. Within the first hour, I was already struggling with pain and fatigue, having not been able to build up the strength or stamina I needed throughout the summer. The sky was gloomy and cloudy, but thankfully the rainfall was sparse and we were on a hard dirt road for a while. About 2 hours in, a van stopped and the lady asked us if we wanted a ride up the road. It felt like even more cheating, but I was so grateful for the relief, so we accepted the ride up several kilometers to where a trailhead would take us to our next pickup point. It ended up saving us hours of time hiking and ultimately we got to the next cabin by midday, leading to a full half day of extra rest.

Between the trail that the lady dropped us off and the pickup point for the next ride, we passed through a lovely forest thriving with mushrooms, lichen, and moss. Compared to the expansive views we had seen the previous days, my world suddenly felt smaller in the emerald embrace of the forest. All around us thick layers of moss and lichen grew under the trees and mushrooms the size of pancakes sat in visible paths all throughout the forest floor. In some sections, the bright white moss was so dense it looked like piles of snow from a distance. This is my always favorite time of year to be in a forest. The biodiversity is explosive and it feels like each plant and fungi is giving one last burst of effort to grow before autumn finally exhales upon the land.

After crossing a quirky looking wood and stone bridge, we ended up walking by some cows grazing in the forest beside us. We had occasionally been able to see some farmhouses off in the distance every now and then, but it still surprises me to see cows and sheep in the mountains grazing. What a delightful contrast to the feedlots found elsewhere in the world…

While being driven to the next cabin by the host, we passed a familiar sight. Off in the distance lay the imposing dark peaks we had seen on a previous visit to this cabin last year. While driving home I had pointed out the beautiful mountains in the distance and told my partner I wanted to climb those some day. Well, mission complete. That was the mountain range we had just conqured on the trip so far. The rest of the day remained uneventful and relaxing. I would certainly need it for what was in store on our final stretch.

Day 7 — Dovre

Our final day of hiking can be summed up in one word — wet. It rained the entire day we were hiking in various levels of intensity. We knew that it would be raining and we were aware that another bridge was now inaccessible, and we had to change our route a bit. Even still, it was a very challenging day. Unlike the previous hikes, we weren’t able to have conversations easily or stop to take photos because the wind and rain were so strong. We bundled up tightly in all of our rain gear and focused intently on covering as much distance as possible during each hour. Some of my fondest hiking memories always involve the most miserable moments. For example, there were several times when we stopped for a quick snack and took modest shelter by a lone cluster of boulders as the rain and wind tore all around us. We didn’t speak much and savored the smallest amount of respite from the storm with a primal intensity.

Around halfway through our hike, we passed a friendly older couple making the same journey as us. We met them at a large river, which appeared to be impossible to cross as we scouted up and down the river banks. It took us at least 15 minutes to find some shallower areas in the rushing water that looked potentially safe. Even still, we all ended up submerging our boots in water and lending hands to each other for stability over the slippery rocks. With some relieved chuckles and smiles, we took turns passing and proceeding each other along the path forward. Around one hour later, we met again at yet another tumultuous river, and repeated the nervous investigation for a safe crossing.

Hours later, after the incidents at the rivers, we finally passed over into the Dovre mountain range, but we still had several kilometers to go until we reached our car. That being said, my heart felt lighter having accomplished the distance to that point. The rain had let up a bit, so we could finally have friendly conversation again to keep our spirits up. As we headed down the mountain side, I noticed an abundance of mushrooms growing everywhere I looked. Many of them were species I knew to be edible. My partner and I spontaneously decided to collect a bag full to cook and dry later. There were so many mushrooms I wish we could have come back to properly harvest them another time. Still, I think spontaneously harvesting 5 kg of mushrooms after an 80 km hike is a fine accomplishment.

Reflecting on My Hike

None of this may be news to the experienced hiker, but for someone like me, I am still learning about what truly matters in life and how little one needs to survive in it. When you’re out in a mountain range for a week with minimal provisions and equipment, you quickly learn which tools are most important for your survival. You learn to prioritize taking care of yourself because one misstep could injure you or cost you your life. The daily troubles of work tasks and business relationships melt away when you are faced with your own physical and mental limitations in an unforgiving environment.

I also learned how much my mental health is impacted by the digital information I consume on a daily basis. We had limited to no Internet and cell phone service for a week, and I found myself so much calmer, refreshed, and focused. I think that was something I lost during my Millennial transformation into adolescence and the boom of the Internet age where everyone is always globally connected. That kind of interconnectivity isn’t healthy for a single human to consume on such a regular basis.

Additionally, for those who are sensitive to human relationships, the scale of trauma happening throughout the world takes a significant emotional toll. When hiking through the mountains, I was only concerned with my immediate surroundings, the weather, and fostering small relationships with the cabin owners and other hikers who informed each other of changes in the trails and environment. This really put into perspective what should matter to each of us — our local communities and environment.