To the Fjords!
Sogenfjorden, Aurlandsfjord, Nærøyfjord, Oh my!
Just outside Oslo, civilization disappears. In most countries I am familiar with, you go from city to suburb to farmland to wilderness (and in all too many places, the wild spaces have been squeezed out altogether). But leaving Norway’s capital for the western fjords, Teresa and I were in forest before we knew it. A little later on we passed some lakes with cottages on them and a few farms here and there. But the sparseness of settlement was a vivid reminder that Norway is a nation of 5.5 million people in a vast northern landscape of 125,000 square miles (324,000 square km).
We drove west towards Bergen, Norway’s second city. Because we have the luxury of time (our trip will last 77 days), our plan was to stop halfway at Flåm for five days. Flåm is a tiny village of a few hundred people at the southernmost finger tip of Norway’s longest fjord, Sogenfjorden. Why Flåm? Teresa said it was recommended by several guidebooks as the most scenic fjord.
Okay, so, pine forests, pretty lakes, hills tending towards mountain humps as we headed west. All very nice, all very similar to roads I’ve been on in my native Canada. Then, without warning, we went into a tunnel that seemed never-ending. It went on five kilometres, ten, fifteen, twenty! It was, in fact 24.5 kilometres long. Only later did we realize this was the famous Lærdal Tunnel, the longest damn tunnel in the world.
The tunnel finally spit us out into the light at the village of Aurland, near Flåm, right on the edge of the fjord. After so long in the dark our heads nearly exploded with the spectacular view. The fjord stretched out before us in full sunlight. Massive cliffs towered nine hundred meters around us, plunging almost vertically into deep blue waters. That’s right, 900 meters! More than 2,700 feet. (if you think I’m exaggerating, check here). Even in mid-June the mountains above the cliffs were still white with snow. We felt dizzy and disoriented just looking out across the water at so much verticality.
“So that’s why you chose this place to stay,” I said to Teresa, panting to catch my breath. She smiled quietly to herself.
Next morning we were up early for a ferry ride from Flåm north along the fjord, which, Teresa informed me casually, happens to be a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The world’s leading cultural-scientific body agrees this is the most crazy-ass-awesome fjord in the world. The ferry was an uber-cool all electric, hydro-powered ferry, one of several next-gen emission-free ferries that plied the waters of Sogenfjorden. No roaring motors, no diesel fumes, we fairly glided along the fjord.
The ferry runs north up the Aurlandsfjord finger of Sogenfjorden, then does a U turn south, down the adjoining finger, Nærøyfjord. This fjord is long, narrow, and rimmed by some of the highest cliffs in Norway. They not only rise up 900 meters, below the water the rock walls plunge as much as 1.3 kilometers straight down. We wondered why we did not see any sailboats anchored along the way. Answer: the water is simply too deep for any anchor to find bottom.
Most captivating about Nærøyfjord was the myriad waterfalls cascading down its sides. White ribbons and braids leapt from the clifftops, some with such force you could see underneath them. They crashed down on the rocks below, creating dramatic plumes of spray. In any national park in the world, any single one of these falls would be a major attraction. Here there were falls wherever you turned your head. There was just so much water…where did it all come from?
I got a second close look at Nærøyfjord a few days later, when I signed on for a half-day kayaking tour that started in the town of Gudvangen, at the end of the fjord. Here, the cliffs seem to circle the town like the walls of a vast natural cathedral. The waterfalls streaming down all sides look as if they are descending from the heavens. This might account for the Norse meaning of Gudvangen: “The Place of the Gods.”
There was a viking settlement here more than a thousand years ago. But of course there’s little left behind, as most viking materials were made of wood, wool and leather. That makes it hard to tell whether or not Gudvangen was a place of ceremony and ritual, except for the name. Nevertheless, some enterprising Norwegian took the opportunity to build a modern-day viking village here, complete with in-costume residents and tour guides. Since I arrived early for my paddle, I bought a ticket and joined the viking tour. Our host demonstrated several techniques with axes, swords and shields. He explained that a good sword took over a year to make and cost six horses.
The guide spent just as much time describing textile-making. Viking sails were made of wool, and it took 2000 fleeces to make a single sail. So, sheep were vital to the viking way of life. Wool was also woven and dyed for garments, and the most expensive color was blue. The blue was extracted from the wod plant, and then fixed with ammonia so the color would not fade. Where did vikings find ammonia? They had a plentiful supply at hand: at drinking parties, everyone would piss in a pot, which they would then set aside to ferment for two weeks, after which the freshly dyed blue wool would be soaked in it — and then rinsed very thoroughly, our guide assured us.
It was time to kayak, so I could not stick around the village to try my hand at ax throwing. I was soon in a wetsuit, paddling up Nærøyfjord with six other kayakers. Kayaking has been my source of connection with the wilderness for the past fifteen years. I owned two boats back in Bethesda, and used to go out on a wild stretch of the Potomac River a couple of times a week. Since departing for Europe seven months ago, I’ve not had one chance to paddle, until now.
I was pretty much blissed out the whole ride. Entranced by the waterfalls, the vibrant greenness of the lower slopes, the crest of snow on the mountains above, I thought of the vikings who lived in these waters, and named this spot the Place of the Gods. I suppose that was their way of declaring the fjord a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
I had interesting conversations with my fellow paddlers. The five other tourists were on a jam-packed day trip from Bergen: Early morning train ride to Myrdal, the highest mountain station in Norway. Zipline over a gorge to a mountainbike rental stand. 12 km pedal down a harrowing, winding dirt road to Flåm. Speedboat tour of the fjords, ending in Gudvangen. Then a half day of kayaking before taking a shuttle back to Bergen. That, apparently, is how most tourists see the fjords — all in one day.
Maui, our 21-year-old Māori New Zealander kayking guide was cool, devilishly handsome, and completely relaxed. This was his first summer guiding in Norway. He said he hated the cold, and left home to avoid the New Zealand winter. Ruefully, he told me he did not realize he would be spending every weekend guiding kayakers along the fjord, making camp, and then next morning trekking up a winding twelve-mile trail to the snowfields at the top of the cliffs!
At the end of the four-hour kayaking trip, our group celebrated with a swim. “It doesn’t count as a swim in a fjord unless your head goes under twice.” Maui hollered at us from the beach; he had no intention of going in himself. The water was frigid.
I double dipped, the briefest of baptisms, took a few strokes, then scrambled back to Gudvangen’s rocky shore, blessed.
