Geiranger and Glaciers
On the way down
In the summer, a group of friends and I decided to take a road trip down to Geirangerfjord to see one of the most popular locations in all of Norway. Along the way south, we discovered several beautiful locations.
Our trip started out driving in the early evening with colors bursting in the sky. These felt all the more spectacular while winding through the countryside and smaller fjords like Kvernesfjorden. We were headed to visit some friends near Kristiansund for the night and decided to make a slight detour over to the Atlantic Ocean Road, an 8.3 km highway that runs along an archipelago in the Møre og Romsdal county. The road lies at sea level and has several bridges, such as the famous curved Storseisundet Bridge. It’s a special feeling to drive so low to the water on either side of the road, especially when the waves are crashing on the fragmented rocks jutting up from the ocean floor. Thankfully, the weather was decent, albeit a little windy, and we walked along a metal walkway that curved around an adjacent hillside by the bridge.
One of the main attractions we wanted to see the next day was Trollstigen, a famous, tight-winding road in the mountains with an impressive view from the top. Alas, this was summer in Norway, and we instead were met with a dense fog and packed conga line of tourist vehicles all slowly climbing up the road. We didn’t bother to stop at the top to see if the fog would pass, the likelihood was so slim. Instead, we continued over the mountains and into the valley on the other side and ended up finding a charming café called Gudbrandsjvet Café to stop at and stretch our legs. It was raining pretty heavily, but there was a captivating walkway over the Valldøla River that was irresistible to see, so we spent a bit of time admiring the vibrant, icy blue water as it pounded against the rocky walls.
Geirangerfjord
Geirangerfjord is one of the most famous UNESCO World Heritage sites in Norway. If you have ever Googled "Norway" or "fjords", a picture of Geirangerfjord has almost certainly appeared. It is a highly trafficked tourist destination for cruise ships and camper vans, and it's pretty obvious why. By the time we arrived in Geirangerfjord, the fog was still dense, and the rain continued at a steady but not unruly rate. We began our descent into the fjord behind an endless stream of cars and campers, but decided to pull over at a scenic location before we got to the bottom. We snatched up the last available free spot in what could barely be called a parking lot on the side of the road and carefully splashed our way across the puddle-pocked road over to the outlook.
I stared down at the wide-mouthed river, the fog engulfing the mountaintops and the waterfalls shifting in the breeze like a chiffon skirt. I wanted to soak it all in, the imperfection of the moment, the moody weather, and the dramatic size of the mountains. But I couldn't. Every few moments, there was another couple or family crowding close by to quickly snap a selfie and then rush back to their cars for shelter from the rain. It made me sad that they didn't want to enjoy this more. I felt that if so many of us were invading this incredible space, shouldn't we appreciate it for at least a few moments longer?
I ended up moodily trudging off into the forest nearby while my friends enjoyed the view. There was an inconspicuous trail that led to somewhere and I didn't really care whereas long as I could enjoy the nature more. I didn't get a better view of the fjord, but I enjoyed splashing through muddy puddles and smiling at small waterfalls filtering through bright green moss. Eventually I found another spot with a similar view of the fjord and took a few moments to enjoy the special moment alone. Then I sheepishly took one photo…
Feeling refreshed, I sloshed back through the mud to my friends and continued down to our campsite. The weather was still unrelenting with precipitation, and we had to set up our tents in moderate darkness, with the rain and mud making everything a bit challenging. But we lucked out by snagging a great spot next to a roaring waterfall that instantly lulled me to sleep that night.
The following morning was a bright breath of fresh air. The skies were blue and the sun illuminated the clouds in a soft, warm glow. The rain had stopped, leaving the world smelled crisp and fresh. We decided on a trail to climb and headed out in the late morning after enjoying the fjord-side view with warm coffee and croissants.
One of the best parts of summer in Norway is the abundance of flowers and berries. While walking to the trailhead, we passed fragrant wildflowers and raspberries bushes. You can be sure I stopped to smell and eat both frequently throughout our hour-long walk to the trailhead. My favorite was passing through some fields of dusty pink Valerian flowers (Valeriana officinalis) that delicately perfumed the air.
The trail was a bit difficult due to large swaths of the trail washed out in bogs and mudslides from the rain. The rocks were deceptively slick, I really had to take my time. Even then, I still managed to fall pretty badly at the end of the trail. The views were amazing and well-worth the effort though. At one overlook, we saw a rainbow stretching between the trees.
At the peak of the hill, we rested in a small field with beautiful wildflowers. The yellow ones caught my eye due to their interesting shape, and I asked my friends if they knew what it was called. It turns out it was St. John’s Wort (Hypericum perforatum), which is used as a panacea and antidepressant in traditional medicine. I thought it was a neat discovery for if I’m ever in need of survival herbs one day.
After returning from the hike, we spent a few minutes puttering about the water’s edge. We had to pass through a densely packed field of camper vans to get to the shore. My pent-up feelings dragged over me like the water that lapped against the seaweed-drapped rocks. I stood as far out into the water as I could so that no part of my vision would be able to see the tourist-packed world behind me. I wanted to just quietly marvel at this area. I wanted to appreciate it for all its majesty. I wanted to remember the flecks of water that seemed to sparkle and float up the waterfalls with the breeze, watch the thin spotlight of the sun illuminate a farm high up on the cliffside, hear the crunching of shells beneath my boots as they ground against the dark stones, and breathe in the vast space between the towering mountains that cupped the slowly shifting water.
The irritation of tourist behavior ate at me, and I wasn't sure what to do with the feelings invading this special moment. I was so frustrated that people weren't enjoying the nature, while at the same time feeling like I was doing the same thing they were. How different was I really? I didn't want to be a part of that and felt like giving up on taking photos, social media, and everything just so I could do justice to the environment's sacrifice at hosting us there.
I eventually resigned myself to the acceptance that as much as I would like to change societal behaviors and wish that everyone could slow down enough to truly honor the beauty of the world, that is not possible. Instead, I can only control my own actions and hope to be an example for others. I vowed from then on to double down on my efforts to be present in moments in nature with all of my senses. Coincidentally, I had no idea I was being photographed at this moment of internal lamentation, but here's what brooding in Geirangerfjord apparently looks like.
Spiterstulen
After leaving the famous Geirangerfjord we made a few sightseeing stops before arriving at our next destination at a cabin called Spiterstulen. One special spot I wanted to highlight is the Giants’ Cauldrons located along the Otta river. The information sign read:
“Giants’ cauldrons is the name of spherical or semi-spherical depressions in firm rock. They are made by the rotating movement of water. At the bottom of the cauldron one often finds quite a few nicely rounded rocks and pebbles. These are called grinding stones, and it is their rotation in the water that, given considerable time, create the giants’ cauldrons. One usually find them in waterfalls and rapids like here at Dønfossen. In the strongest rapids, ocvered by water, there are some large giants’ cauldrons several meters deep. These are hidden by water almost all year round except the one found here.”
We arrived several hours later at Spiterstulen, thankfully with far fewer visitors here. We decided to stay in rooms at the cabin instead of camping to enjoy some creature comforts and home-cooked meals. It was a little pricey, but well worth the cost. There were still a few hours before dinner, so I decided to plop down in the grass and lazily take some photos of the nearby scenery while my friends went for a short hike. It wasn't warm out and slightly drizzling, but I just wanted to be out in the fresh air with space to breathe. While zooming in on my camera lens, something suddenly walked in front of my camera and startled me because I hadn't heard a sound. I jerked away from my camera to meet the face of a giant cow! Three enormous cows were silently walking right around me and had paused to see what I was up to.
The interesting thing about farms in Norway is that many farms are truly "free-range". This means cows and sheep wander pretty much anywhere they want through the mountains, hillsides, across roads, and even through cabin sites like this. It was really sweet to see them casually plodding along the open mountainside, munching on grass, (startling hikers), and eventually huddling down on a faraway hillside to rest.
My curiosity took hold of me and I ended up following the cows down a gently rolling path through the valley. Still fresh from my recent ruminations at Geigranger, I resisted the urge to take photos of every beautiful second, but it wasn't easy. The sun taunted me with its spotlights on the mountaintops, unique silver patterns shimmering in the sandbanks, and the iconic glacial blue color of the river. So I caved a little and took a few photos, but made sure to savor each moment before doing so. My mind continued to wander in the expansive landscape, the stalwart peaks on either side beckoned me to go on an internal reckoning that eventually prompted me to sit down on a small log bench and simply think. It's disappointing how little we allow ourselves to just sit, observe, and think. That's where all the magic comes from.
Svellnosbrean
The main reason we came to this area was to hike to an easily-accessible glacier called Svellnosbrean. It took about an hour and a half to reach the glacier, and we had fantastic views of the valley that I had wandered in the day before. The skies kept alternating between rolling waves of threatening rain clouds and beams of sunshine from bright blue skies. Thankfully, the weather stayed mild throughout the whole hike.
The final ascent to the glacier was quite steep and essentially consisted of a loose landslide of rocks and boulders just waiting to roll down and give you a crushing hug. The slow climb up made the view all the more spectacular when we crested the top. Wow… There is nothing like seeing your first glacier.
For being in a relatively popular hiking area, the terrain at the top felt like landing on another planet. The stones were dark and lifeless, the glacier tall and imposing. I felt dwarfed and in awe as I timidly crept closer across the barren landscape. The shadows of the crevices were a rich turquoise from the silicates in the rocks, which were also mirrored in the melted pool at the glacier's feet. The water dripped from the ice like a ticking clock, ominously counting down the time. Yet even in this desolate landscape, I was delighted to see signs of life. Hiding in between the crevices of the dark, slick rocks hid tiny arctic flowers and patches of bright green moss. I believe the pink flower is an Alpine Catchfly (Viscaria alpina), but I’m unsure what the white and yellow flower is. It’s incredible to see plants enduring in such adverse conditions.
We treaded cautiously around the area, keeping within earshot and in sight of one another, since glaciers are known to suddenly collapse as they melt in the summer months. I tempted fate and inched close enough to touch the ice before scampering away. Good thing too… While heading back to the adjacent hillside, I heard a deeply unsettling crraaaaccckkkk. I whipped my head around with wild eyes and whispered to one friend, "Did you hear that?!" He slowly nodded and we carefully but hastily moved back to the other hill. Thankfully, that was all we heard. We didn't dare test our luck further and headed back down the mountain.
