Finding my Way
How getting lost in the mountains of Norway helped me discover myself
Huffington Post recently declared Trolltunga in Norway as The Scariest Instagram Spot On Earth, and my host parents thought that while we were on vacation in Norway I should hike there alone. Great idea. Send the girl, who has hiked maybe two times in her life, on a 10 hour hike in the mountains of Norway ALONE. But I became an au pair so that I would experience new things so I reluctantly agreed that I would go on the hike.
My host Dad drove me to the start of the trail that led to Trolltunga. And with the parting words “You’ll thank me when you reach the top” he drove off. I set the GPS watch that he had given me to wear, and began to make the 22km hike.
It was a beautiful April morning. The sun was shining, the air was a kind of fresh I had never experienced before. I felt amazing. There was no clear trail, just red T’s painted on rocks every 100 feet or so confirming that you were heading in the right direction. So I stumbled up and over boulders and moss covered rocks until I came to a point in the trail that went under an old railroad track. I saw a couple people that were hiking just ahead of me stray off the trail and begin to climb on the railroad tracks that went up the mountain at what seemed to be insanely close to a 90 degree angle. Not yet understanding why they would take the railroad tracks up I continued on the trail.
After hiking for only about 45 minutes snow begins to build on the trail. The red trail markers became harder and harder to see. Soon they disappear beneath the blanket of snow all together. There is a trail of feet prints in the snow that I begin to trust. Snow now creeping well past my ankles.
Now I am forced to pat down each step before I truly commit to my next move forward. A few missteps end me buried up to my knees. Fighting each and every step but still determined to continue. And then I come to a fork in the path. I find myself in the middle of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s The Road Not Taken poem. Just pick one.
Eeny meeny miny moe. I head right. I trudge through the snow for another 20 minutes or so. Then as if the feet prints were replaying the history of the people they belonged to I could see them pacing in circles and then turning around. And so I turned around and followed the ghost of the hikers before me.
Well, lets try left now.
The snow seems to be getting deeper and deeper. Carefully stepping in the exact steps as the previous hikers. Scooping snow out of the tongue of my boots after each step. And then the feet prints that I had so trusted to guide me just vanish. And now I am completely alone. No trail to follow. My next step is no longer mapped out for me. But I cannot stop now.
Exhausted and frustrated. I scream some profanities into the woods that are not listening.
I only knew one thing about this trail. It was suppose to be only about 1 km hike up and then I would reach a plateau that had a small village. I look at my GPS watch. I have now hiked about 3km. Presumably in the wrong direction. If I just continue up maybe I can get high enough that I will see the village.
And so I begin to make my own trail.
Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail —Ralph Waldo Emerson
Eventually I see the very top of a cabin. My salvation.
I claw my way through the snow and reach the cabin, only to realize it is the only one as far as I can see. And it appears that no one is home. My frustration builds with every step as I pass the lone cabin. But I continue.
Finally I can see a tall flag pole in the distance. This has to be the village. Every step reveals another roof top. Soon I can hear dogs barking, and children screeching in laughter.
I make eye contact with a group of children in the middle of a snow ball fight. I can only imagine what they thought of me as they stopped to watch me struggle out of the wilderness in snow that is now well past my knees.
I pass a young Norwegian couple to whom I simply say “Trolltunga?”
The man looks at me confused, takes another drag of his cigarette and replies “Impossible”. The lady adds “Even in skis, not possible now.” She gestures towards a mountain top covered in snow that I can only assume is the way to Trolltunga.
This is as far as I am going to get.
I see a group of men looking at the Trolltunga km marker, and ask them if they are headed to Trolltunga as well. I struggle through a conversation full of broken English with these Polish men. “You try it alone? You are ambitious.”
You know what? I am ambitious. I tried to do this alone, and even though I cannot make it to Trolltunga I should be proud.
I decide to eat the lunch I packed on the side of the mountain, and enjoy the beauty that surrounded me.
As I sit and enjoy my lunch I watch as people start to climb down the incredibly steep abandoned railroad tracks. Since I was definitely not going down the way I came up I realize that today I will also be conquering my fear of heights. After snapping a few pictures, I begin to descend down the rickety old railroad tracks. My legs start to shake and so I start to count aloud in Danish, and then Spanish. Anything to keep my mind off the fact that one slip could result in me falling to my death.
Finally I reach the end of the tracks. I call my host Dad and tell him about the snow and that I am done with my hike.
As I sit to wait for him to pick me back up I realize something. While I was lost I didn’t even think twice or hesitate or have a moment to freak out. Sure I got frustrated, but I saw what I had to do and I did it. It’s so crazy being alone because you don’t have the opportunity to doubt yourself or seek the approval or assurance of others. You have to find that in yourself.
