Through the Mountains and the Moon
I am trudging through the dark and ancient forests of Norway. Thin rays of sunlight barely graze the velvet moss floor beneath my boots, and tufts of moss hang from the birch trees. My eyes race around, desperately trying to unravel the weave of textures created by the trees and shrubbery. After clawing my way up the rough terrain of a small cliffside, each step threatening to give way underneath my boots, a bright white and red pattern catches my eye. My heart leaps and I call out to my companions in triumph – I have found the marker!
And that, my dear friends, is “orienteering” in a nutshell. Orienteering is the sport of crossing unknown land with the aid of a map and compass. Originally derived from Swedish military training practice, the first civilian orienteering competition was held in Norway in 1897, when Norway was still a part of the Swedish union.
Orienteering is how I chose to spend the first day of May. First thing in the morning, I opened the curtains and saw…snow. It was a gentle snow, but I had planned to meet a friend in the mountains to try out this new sport, and thus, I was not pleased. Knowing how cold and tumultuous weather can become here, I glared out at the clouds while sipping my morning tea, hoping that the skies would change by the time I had to leave. The weather, being the rapidly changing spirit that it is, finally let up by the time I grabbed my bike and peddled over to my friend's house.
He lives a stone's throw away from the eastern mountains, so we began our journey right away. After living in the noisy city for the past half-year, the first few moments in the woods were eerily quiet except for the song thrush occasionally calling out to one another through the trees. As usual, the weather had changed her mind yet again and resumed snowing, however, this time it was a delicate and almost imperceptible sprinkle. The snowflakes were dainty and sparse, falling so slowly it looked like fairy dust twinkling for a magical moment before vanishing into the emerald moss.
We examined the map and chose to head upwards off the trail into the undergrowth, our footsteps were dampened into silence by the thick forest floor. Although we were supposed to be looking for the first marking post, I was mesmerized by all the sights before me. The vegetation was richly diverse, with numerous shades and shapes of green. This was sharply contrasted by wet, black boulders and birch trees that could hypnotize you with their white, blotted bark pattern when you passed a dense grove.
I was captivated by the myriad of moss textures, much to the lads' amusements every time I stopped to pet the softest looking patches. The moss ranged from soft carpet-like fibers to crunchy white barnacles, wispy beards, and tiny sprouts reminiscent of mushrooms. I could have easily spent hours just examining the ecology alone, but that wasn't our mission for the day, as I was playfully reminded. After a few good branch whacks to the face while stumbling over rocky terrain, we finally came upon our first marking post. One down, nine to go.
We completed the first half of the map in about 40 minutes and enjoyed a classic Norwegian hiking snack; Kvikk-lunsj. It's basically a Kit-Kat without the intense sugary taste. We were feeling pretty comfortable reading the map and navigating at that point, so we decided to try to find the remaining markers on the far side of the mountain. We wound up, down, and around, traversing through an ever-changing landscape at each turn, slogging through deep muddy scars and sliding down steep, vertical hillsides. I noticed several, small wooden constructs that looked like playgrounds, forts, and fire pits crudely made out of tree trunks and branches. I asked what those were, and he replied it was probably an outdoor kindergarten. I didn't quite understand what he meant at first, but he explained that it's common for kindergartens to take the children up into the nearby mountains to have classes and play outside. He mentioned they often spend at least 3 days of the week outside like this, if not more.
I began to understand why Norwegians feel so connected to being outdoors, and how little the ever-changing weather bothers them. It is a precious and easy gift to give to future generations – feeling so at home in nature. After about two and a half hours, we had triumphantly found all 10 orienteering markers. It was a satisfying adventure and interesting way to start off my spring.
To the Moon and Back
A few weeks after my first experience orienteering, we decided to go again. This time we were headed to the backside of the mountain. The morning was already bright and clear with the sun beaming high overhead even though it was barely 9 am. We rode along a street I had not been on before. As we crested over the steep hills near our neighborhood and descended into the valley below, a wave of freedom and freshness embraced me. We coasted into beautiful open green farm fields with bright rays of sunlight streaking across like a paintbrush trail.
It really is hard to describe the vibrancy of colors here, and my photos always seem to fail to capture the saturation I see in real life. The skies were bright blue, the fields a thriving rich green, and lemon-yellow dandelions lined the dark asphalt roads as we sped by bright red farmhouses. As the air rushed across my skin and whipped my hair behind me, I felt my soul soar above me like a kite.
It was a fairly busy weekend as we parked our bikes in the crowded parking lot. All that melted away after a short, steep hike up the first hill and a diversion into the undergrowth as we hunted for the first orienteering marker. The vegetation was becoming much thicker as spring was rapidly turning into summer, and we worked hard trekking through the wild forest.
The area we were hiking in is called Månen, or literally “the moon”. Shortly after reaching the peak of Månen we descended into a deep valley with uneven terrain and felled trees. We needed to continue across the valley to the adjacent hills for the next marker. As we made our way across, I saw a lake nestled at the base of the rolling hills off in the distance. It is hard to put into words or pictures the feeling of it all, it was such a humbling emotion. I felt small and insignificant walking across this open valley under a wide, blue sky. The hills rolled as far as the eye could see, and the lake out in the distance tempted me towards it like the allure of an oasis.
My yearnings to be out in nature could not be quelled, and the following week I went on a short solo trip to explore the mountains we had been orienteering in more. I was filled with excitement and a heavy backpack full of camera gear. As I typically do while hiking, I let my feel wander and take me in whichever direction they were called. I ascended some steep dirt trails and popped out unexpectedly by a beautiful lake. Being a Tuesday morning, there were only a few people lounging about in the grass sunbathing. I skirted my way around the shoreline and found a small bench to sit on and breathe in the serenity for a while (as well as scamper back and forth trying to take this self-portrait).
I continued up a few more hills, diverting my path any time I heard people nearby so that I could stay immersed in nature. Summer was in full force by this point, with every bit of life bursting with leaves, branches, and flowers all stretching up as high as they could to soak in the sun before it vanished for the year. I marveled at the biodiversity as I continued through the tunnels of foliage.
Soon after, my talent for aimlessly wandering would lead me to several incredible treasures of nature. I had been inadvertently trailing a lady walking her dog on the path, and I was eager to put some space between us. Unfortunately, she kept stopping at intervals that would put us closer together. While crossing a tiny bridge with a stream underneath it, I glanced up to my left to see the stream descending from the fantastically lush and mossy hillside, with sunbeams spotlighting parts of the water and patches of flowers.
Fairytale senses on high alert, I scrambled into the dense hillside to try to capture the scene in photos. I was alas not very successful, but had a glorious time dancing around the mosquito colony that was quite startled by my obsession with their wee waterfall.
After hopping back and forth across the tiny stream trying to capture the magical atmosphere, I figured it was time I move on and see what else I could find in the mountains. I reached the furthest side of the second lake and saw a small path leading up the hills into some unknown area.
Naturally, I headed off in that direction, and I am so glad I did. I reached the top of the small hill and discovered a crumbling stone bridge. I wondered what it had been used for as I carefully stepped around the large cracks and crumbling sides. There was another small flat wooden bridge on the trail at the far side of the stone bridge, which covered a little stream. I almost turned away and overlooked it, but a sparkle of light hit my eye as I was about to walk away. That's when I noticed a secret waterfall nestled deep up into the steep hillside.
I thought the first stream was a treat, but this tiny waterfall exceeded all my expectations! I stumbled up a steep hill that was heavy with moss and gnarled trees to get a proper look at it. The overall structure looked like a sacred spot where fairies would dance in the moonlight.
Unfortunately, the main camera lens I had expected to use was malfunctioning, so I was forced to use my zoom lens. It was such a challenge to set up my camera far enough away to capture the scene while also not falling down the steep slope, but I'm pretty happy with the result. After that wondrous moment, I was too jaded to be further enchanted by the rest of the area. It was also getting a bit hot, so I decided to head home. It was still a lovely hike the rest of the way home, and I think I will have to come here again to give the other side of the lake a proper evaluation. Who knows what other treasures may hide there.
