Rondane National Park

8/14/2019 Rondane National Park

1/51

Rondane National Park

July 2009

Dave Hanlon


2/51

Day 1: Amsterdam to Mysuseter andthe Walk In

Its 4:25AM on Friday morning. My alarm is set for 4:30 whichshould give me a half an hour to throw on clothes, pack thelast of my food, eat a bowl of cereal and intercept the taxidriver before he rings the doorbell. A fine plan but Benjaminwoke at three for a feed and Ive lain awake since. Another fiveminutes in bed is an attractive proposition but the rest of thehousehold have just found sleep so it seems wrong to wait forthe alarm. Reluctantly, I swing my feet to the floor and kill thealarm. Today I travel to Rondane for my first major backpackingtrip in ten months. Although the decision to go was made just

a few weeks earlier it seems like an age has passed.Preparation and planning has filled my spare time for weeks.As the realisation that the trip is about to start gradually burnsits way through the early morning fug, the fatigue peels away.

Today, it seems that four hours sleep is enough. Theexcitement of whats ahead powers me through the morningritual. Dressed I roll down stairs and am just stuffing the bag offrozen food into my rucksack when, out of the corner of myeye, I catch sight of a well set grey haired man approachingthe house. Its the taxi driver. Unusually hes ten minutes early.

I wave. He gets the message and walks back to the car withoutringing the doorbell. I shoulder my pack and walk out of thehouse. Unless theres enough time at Schiphol Ill be goingwithout breakfast today. As I climb into the car Jeffrey bids megood morning. So far so good. At least two of the group will beon time for the flight.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi fare paid, we walk through therevolving door into the departure hall. To our surprise Willem-Maarten is waiting by the check-in desk. He had said that hed

be taking the train but that, the NS schedule being what it is,he would be cutting it fine. Apparently Thim had SMSd in theearly hours, while en-route home from a concert, to say thatthe trains were delayed. Liesbeth had brought Willem-Maartenby car. After a few minutes, Thim sauntered up through thedeparture hall. Hed been catching up on his sleep in arrivalsdownstairs. Clearly I wasnt the only one who didnt get a goodnights sleep. Theo arrived and we were complete. Ample timeto check in and grab a coffee and a bight to eat on the way tothe gate.


3/51

The journey ran seamlessly. The flight to Oslo, the bus to Ottaand then the minibus up the steep valley side to Mysuseter allconnected conveniently and ran, more or less, on time. Onlythe Mysuster bus was slightly delayed. In the way of theserelaxed small community services ten minutes here or theredidnt seem to concern the driver. The run up from Oslo hadbeen long. The bus is not my preferred mode of transport andfive hours of bus is , for me, about four and a half hours toomuch. As long bus journeys go, however, this was bearable. Ihad a double seat to myself and there was a WC. The sceneryhelped. The most annoying thing was the break. For a moment,about twenty minutes outside of Otta, it looked like we wereahead of schedule but a half hour stop for refreshments soonput paid to any idea of hitting the trail earlier than planned.

Stepping out of the bus was a shock. Wed come a long waynorth but the temperature in the valley bottom was twentyeight degrees. The sun was burning hot. Last minute decisionsto pack a peaked cap and a light shirt with a collar seemed tobe good ones. Because wed flown we had been unable tobring fuel. Wed opted for a gas burner for this trip. Largely dueto the infallible availability of gas canisters. We took theopportunity during the pause to look for gas in a nearbyservice station. They had canisters alright, but only large ones.Preferring to carry two small cartridges, thus spreading the

weight over two rucksacks, we trusted that we would be ableto pick up fuel at the Mysuseter store. After all, in e-mailcorrespondence the store owners had clearly stated that theystocked a diverse supply of canisters.

As we drive into Mysuseter the sun is still shining brightly. Its3:30PM and Ive been on the move for eleven hours.Mysuseter, a small ski centre and gateway to the national park,is one of those small northern communities that looks out ofplace in summer. The paraphernalia of winter, snow scooters,

snow ploughs a ski tow and the like, look out of place in thegreen. Mysuseter, I think, would look much better under alayer of snow. The bus skids to a halt on the gravel road infront of the store. Were here at last! We jump down from thebus, retrieve our rucksacks, pay the driver and walk, in unison,the few steps to the store. Willem-Maarten and I go inside tobuy gas. It soon becomes clear that we have a problem. Themail had said we stock a diverse supply of canisters. What itshould have said was we posses an eclectic collection ofantique gas canisters only one of which has a screw

connector. We freeze for a moment while we take in thesituation and compute the consequences. I estimate, under


4/51

ideal conditions, that we need two 355g cartridges for the trip.Before me I see a single, Italian-made, rusted, 355gButane/Propane canister that looks like it may have alreadydone four laps of Rondane since its first sale in around 1965.

We have a problem. We have predominantly dried food. It cantbe eaten cold. Were heading into high alpine territory whereno wood can be found. Unless we radically change the routeand camp below the tree line (which basically means outside ofthe national park boundary) cooking on an open fire is out ofthe question. After a short discussion with the storekeeper,who offers to have a supply of canisters sent up from Otta withthe next bus, sixteen hours from now, were left to scrabblearound on the shelves looking for an alternative. The only

viable one available to us is to purchase a Trangia burner andstand and a liter of meths to supplement the gas canister. Weguess that if we use the meths to boil water for brews that thegas will stretch to preparing all of the planned main meals. Itsan unfortunate situation. The purchase, which includes a sovietengineered heavy gauge steel support for the brass methsburner, together with fuel brings, at a guess, an extra 1.5kg tothe party. Furthermore, there is no windshield. I have twoultralight meths stoves sitting in my garage at home which, ata tenth of the weight, would have been far better suited to the

job in hand. Still, beggars cant be choosers and this way weget to stick to the planned route without diversions to purchasefuel or collect wood.

In the meantime Its started raining heavily. Big globs of coolsummer rain fall through otherwise clear skies. I change out ofmy Coolmax shirt into a merino baselayer as planned andthrow a wind shirt over the top in an attempt to keep thingsreasonably dry. Thirty seconds later I find myself changingback into the shirt. Getting wet without overheating seems to

be a better policy than sweltering in a merino top.

The rain slackens off and after quickly consulting the map wehead out of the village along a dusty gravel road looking forthe DNT route to the Peer Gynt Hut. The original plan wouldhave taken us along the road to Rondvassbu but weve made alast minute decision to do the route in reverse. The weatherforecast is good for the first two days but is then set to turnwet. The original route would have put us on the hard,technical Veslesmeden to Storsmeden traverse in the wet.

Most likely in low cloud and poor visibility. This way, although it


5/51

means the first full day after the walk in will be a demandingone, at least well have fine weather for it.

I find myself walking ata good pace along theeasy surface through a

jumbled collection ofhouses and cabins. Onmost trips this is aperiod of uncertainty.What am I lettingmyself in for? Have Ipacked everything?Have I got the right kit

with me? Whats instore? Normally it takestime to adjust to thefeel of unfamiliarfootwear and theweight of a big pack.However, this time Ifall easily into arhythm. Perhaps Imright to be confident in

my preparation andkit? Perhaps the clear summer skies and warm air are lullingme into a false sense of security? Whatever it is, Rondane iscertainly welcoming us in with open arms and a warm smile.

Whatever the reality we make good time and soon pick upsigns for the Peer Gynt Hut. No need to navigate for a while atleast. A little further we are given our first glimpse of the hightops of the central massif and a little further still we cross abridge over a lively mountain stream and leave the road

behind us. It seems that in no time weve left civilizationbehind us. The steady stream of holiday homes petering out,we find ourselves on a well trodden path undulating alternatelyover knolls decorated with birch scrub and then throughshallow marshy valleys. A signed path leading up to the 1000mtop of Kasen provides a momentary temptation. Discretionbeing the better part of valour, we pass by without making anextra unplanned ascent. The coming days will provide enoughexcitement and demand enough effort. With every short climbwe emerge a little higher until after just a few kilometers we

break through the tree line. What lies ahead is then aspectacular open subalpine landscape. The lower slopes


6/51

decorated with stunted bushes. The higher slopes yellow andgreen with lichen and moss. Beyond lies the array of roundedhigh peaks from which the park takes its name. This is theRondane landscape Ive seen in a thousand photographs. Theforeground and the backdrop are unmistakable. The coloursare, however, more subdued than I remember. The stereotypelandscape photograph of Rondane is taken in the autumn whenthe birch and berry foliage burn with the deep red flame of theyear end. It will be a few weeks before the short northernsummer yields to autumn and Rondane puts on its party dressbut thats not a problem. We are being treated to a moresubtle but nevertheless breathtaking show. A dose of clear,early evening light is painting a different picture undersparkling blue skies and fluffy white clouds. The vegetation is

almost luminescent in this shallow light, providing a seeminglyartificial palette of greens and yellows to compliment the sky.My camera stays out of its bag and is seldom lowered from myeye.


7/51

This is turning out to be a fine walk-in. As the path levels offand veers towards the hut we strike off north east up theLjosae beck. With the north western slopes of Randen on ourright hand we climb the gentle slope. First across a deep carpetof bilberry scrub and dry moss. Later over boulder fields andpatches of old snow. From here the hooked ridge ofSmiukampen and the top of Ljosabelgen , familiar to me fromevenings spent pouring over the map, overlook our progress.As we cross the snow I wonder what well find higher up thehill. The thought is only fleeting though. Today we wont climb

much higher. The intention being to find a suitable bivouac at


8/51

around the 1400m contour. Well worry about the high groundand the ascent tomorrow.

As we climb the vegetation thins and rock takes its place. Goneis the thick mossy bed weve strode across for most of theevening. It becomes clear that comfortable campsites are fewand far between. The higher we go the fewer there will be. Wedecide to take a break and prepare this evenings meal beforemoving on to find a bed. We cross a small fast flowing streamand put down our bags. The mood is relaxed and we soak inthe long views of distant ranges to the west as a pan of soupheats on the stove. Its still light and the sun shines but a chillwind picks up and suddenly it feels ten degrees colder. Ivebeen walking in a short sleeved shirt but now I find myself

donning a fleece and shell. A reminder of where we are. Hotsoup fortified with pasta and sausage is a welcome, warmingmeal. A second course of rice pudding sets us up for the night.Fed and watered we wash the pots, pack up and move on.Meandering along just above the 1200m contour we find aseries of reentrants offering some shelter from the wind and asofter lie. Under different circumstances it seems these spotsmight be wet. Tonight they are dry and are highly likely to stayso. We spread out and each man seeks out a suitable space.Bivvy bags, sleeping bags and mats appear from each

rucksack.

Before long my bed is made. Im not fully out of the wind butas compensation I have a room with and endless view. Whatsmore, I hope that the wind will keep the bugs at bay. In anycase its not cold. It seems highly unlikely that the frostpromised by the Norwegian weather service will show up. Aftertaking a last stroll to the east, just far enough to sneak a viewof the Rondvasshogde and take a last photograph, I return tomy bivvy, and wriggle inside. Its now gone 11:00pm and its

still light. I lie looking at the view, feeling privileged and lucky.Privileged to be here in Norway, lucky because I'm here undersuch conditions that I can lie out without a shelter. Thats thebest sort of camp there is! I hang onto that thought until sleepfinds me.


9/51


10/51

Day 2: The Smiubelgin Massif

I awake to an angrybuzzing noise. Its light

and wind-still and notwhat youd call toastywarm. It takes a fewmoments to registerwhere I am. I finally placethe view and the pennydrops. More than onepenny in fact. Not only doI now know where I am butIve realised the angry

buzz is emanating from aswirling cloud ofmosquitoes above myface. I reach into my bivvybag, extract my head netfrom my blue roll-top (redstuffed with spare clothesfor a pillow, blue for kit Ineed to hand) and pull it

over my head tightening the neck cord. Im lying with my headoutside of the bivvy bag, and am wearing a down pullover butmy sleeping bag is pushed down around my waist as if it wherea half bag. I pull the sleeping bag up around my shoulders andclose up the bivvy bag leaving just my face exposed. As I wasfumbling around in the roll-top Id caught sight of my watch.Its 3:00AM.. Benjamin always wakes at 3:00AM. Im so farfrom home can it be that Benjamin still wakes me up? Or was itthe mosquitoes? Whatever, it occurs to me that we are notgoing to be short of daylight on this trip. Therell be no

spectacular sun sets but, on the upside, were not likely to getbenighted.

When I awake again the sky is a bright blue and the profile ofthe distant hills is softened by haze. Its 8:00AM. I think that foronce I may be the first up but as I roll to my right I see Willem-Maarten and Thim brewing up and eating breakfast. Jeffrey isbusy packing his sack. As always, Theo is yet to surface. I gofor my usual morning stroll, equipped, as ever, with my trustyorange trowel and find a place from which to admire the view

while I excercise. Who was it that said men cant multitask?Trowels, I find out, dont function too well at this elevation in


11/51

Rondane. A Pneumatic drill would be a better bet (if a littleheavy).

I join the others, enjoy a breakfast of Muesli premixed with full-fat milk powder and chocolate flakes, and follow it up with acup of strong tea. Theo appears and I then get on with thebusiness of packing. I have to think about it. As the days passa ritual will evolve and the process will become moreautomatic. Im usually doing it blindfold on the third morning.On these long weekends thats just in time for the walk out.Its clearly going to be another hot summers day. I decide,once again, to forgo the merino base layer and change into mycoolmax shirt. Now, crumpled and decidedly less fresh underthe arms than it was when I first pulled it on the morning

before. Still, I dont expect an invitation to any formaloccasions any time soon. The primary business of the morningis, after all, to climb the four hundred odd meters of screewhich looms over our bivouac. Even if my shirt wasnt alreadysweaty it certainly soon would be.

The groups attention turns to the North. To the southern slopesof the Smiubelgin Massif. After scanning the slope left and rightand chewing over numerous suggested lines we decide to walkstraight up the thing. Or at least straight up to the foot of

Vesleranden to get a better look. Willem-Maarten, Jef and Thimset off arrow straight. Theo and I drift west to fill up our waterbottles at the stream we crossed the evening before. As weapproach the stream we see a man in the distance. It looks likehes washing in the stream. Hes the first person weve seensince leaving Mysusteter the eveing before. Had he slept in theshelter next to the DNT path on the marked on the Turkart?We fill our water bottles and head after the group. Ive chosena one litre platypus even though the map suggests water maybe scarce higher up the slope. I just dont feel like lugging and

extra two kilos up the hill and, besides, I can get the one literplatty in and out of the side pockets of my rucksack withoutstopping to take it off my back. We cross the path, quite amodest affair, certainly not the mile wide erosion scar sotypical of the lakes and some of the more popular Munroascents, and make our way across Vesleranden.

As we approach the top an obvious line up Ljosabelgen opensup. We will indeed go straight up the thing, following a bluntridge running south-south-west from the pyramidal summit of

this wonderfully named top. The Big Blacksmith, Storsmeden,keeps his Bellows, Ljosabelgen and Brakdalsbelgen, on his left


12/51

hand and his Hammers, Sore and Austre Smedhamran, withineasy reach just to the North. His mate, The Little Blacksmith,Veslesmeden, sits to his right. I suppose, next to their day jobs,the whole group play rolls in some mythical tale or other. I lovethis about Norway. Theres a thin layer of Christian civilizationdusted over a deep and cavernous pagan history.

We continue up the slope. At around 1450m all forms ofvegetation have lost their grip on this land. Only poison-greenand iron-brown algae can earn a crust here and they coat therocks on these south facing slopes in abundance. Progress isslow. The terrain is very rough. Loose scree, fields of jumbledboulders and old snow in alternate bands. The snow is theworst, steep enough to require that we kick steps and hiding

whats beneath creating ankle twisting man traps. Its onesaving grace is that the run-off provides a cool drink. Mygolden rule for the day is to drink from every available watersource.

Both the terrainand frequentstops to take inthe view taketheir toll on thepace.Nevertheless we

climb steadilyand before longthe inclinesteepens and theridge begins totake form. Thegoal isntLjosabelgen itself.

The idea is to make the main ridge of the Smuibelgin groupand from there to begin the traverse North-West to

Storsemeden and beyond. This in itself sparks another routediscussion. Theo and Jef, preferring to save their energy, not to


13/51

mention their knees, for the 2000m tops later in the day lookfor an alternative. We agree after consulting the map, that atraverse of the slope around the Korkatbekkbotnen Corrieshould be straight forward and would spare them somesignificant climb. The group separates agreeing to meet up atthe col. Thim, Willem-Maarten and Myself, still feelinginvincible, proceed towards the minor summit. A little moresweat, several more snow fields, and some use of hands getsus to the top. And what a top. Ljosabelgen, at 1948m, isntaware of its diminutive stature. The top stands proud and thenorth face drops away precipitously for five hundred oddmeters into the bottom of the remote Berkilsbotn. Its rare,these days, that I get to stand on a top. Its even rarer that Iget to do so under clear skies. The valley below seems close

enough to touch. The three of us spend quite some minutes onthe top just taking it all in. Few words are exchanged.

Inevitably, attention turns eastwards to the main ridge and thetraverse, first to Steet and then on to Storsmeden. Thetraverse looked straight forward on the map. In the flesh, fromthis perspective, it looks gnarly. The ground drops off sharplyfrom the peak where we stand. So sharply that its hidden fromview. Unable to eyeball a line, well have to move down withcaution and take the option to retrace our steps if things get

too technical. Looking further afield, what we can see of theridge, mainly around the col, looks fine. Airy, but broad enoughand blunt. Of most concern it appears to be still holding somesnow. Best to stay shy of the northern edge with its precipitousdrop. The ridge sweeps up in a wide arc first over the littleround cap of Hoggbeitet then disappearing momentarily beforecontinuing more steeply to the foot of Steet. Its impossible togauge properly from here but the face of Steet looks like onebig mess of loose scree. The first two thirds of the two hundredor so meters from the col look rough but doable and then

comes a jumble of slabs that look more like a climb than ascramble. Its not clear how this bad step could be bypassedsince it seems to be flanked on one side by a very steep ,scree-filled gully and on the other by adrenaline producingexposure. I exclaim to the others that I dont think the climb toSteet is within our capabilities. They dont disagree. We startoff down. Uncertain about whats in store for us. If we cant getto the top of Steet then our whole route plan will be thrown onits head before lunch on the first full day. However, thoughts ofthe next peak soon get put to the back of my mind, my full

attention goes to my feet and where to put them next.


14/51

As I start to descend I tell myself that anything we encounteron the way down, if things dont work out, will be easier on theway back. Once I get over the edge the drop to the col looks alittle better. More of the slope comes into view. The route willtake us down a steep and quite sharp ridge, still intimidating,but the Rondane stone is a layer-cake of old sediments erodedand exposed into a natural staircase. With care, facing in whennecessary, and maintaining three points of contact whenpossible, I pick my way down. Thim and Willem-Maarten,Willem-Maarten especially, are quicker in descent than me. Isee them reach the snow field running down the last of theslope to the col and stride out confidently over its surface. I

know already that the snow will also slow me down. Once onthe snow, still quite steep, I find the rounded heels of my bootsdont bight as well as Id like. Note to self: make sure your nextpair have aggressive heals since, given your ineptitude indescent you need every advantage available. On the steepestpart of the slope I resort to side stepping and using the sharperedges of my soles. Am I being overcautious? In retrospect Imnot sure. This isnt ice but wet, coarse, old snow. If I fall Imunlikely to slip a significant distance, even on slopes as steepas this. But, and this is a big but, any kind of injury here could,

at best, put the kibosh on the whole trip and, at worst, were a


15/51

half days walk to the nearest help. I think on balance it paysto be cautious.Willem-Maarten and Thim are now at the col and for the firsttime since separating I see Jef and Theo too. As I rejoin thegroup another route discussion ensues. It seems thatconfidence has taken a knock. Theo and Jef point out their lineof traverse to the col, from where we stand an impressivelystraight line, seemingly without a meter of descent, is tracedthrough snow fields. From here, the slope looks uncomfortablysteep. Theo, assures me it didnt look any better standinghalfway up it. We are clearly not interpreting the map verywell.

Steet looks more intimidating than ever. There is no evidence

of use tracks which might otherwise give us a clue as to thebest line of ascent. We are either in a place rarely visited orSteet is not done from this side? It seems we have fewoptions, dropping down through the Krokatbekkbotn corrie andfollow the DNT route to Rondvassbu and onto the Rondhalsen,perhaps picking off Veslemeden seems to be the best. If wecould make the Bergdalstjonnen this evening it would at leastput us within shooting distance for the start of the plannedroute on day two. We decide nevertheless to stay high andcross the shoulder of Hoogbeitet thus getting another view of

the climb up to Steet before committing to an early decent.This latter turns out to be a good policy. Although we are moreor less resigned to giving up on the initial plan, as we crossHoogbeitet Steet starts to look more possible. Persepective iseverything. Im sure, on a more typical grey day, with morerestricted views, we wouldnt have had second thoughts. Weresolve to climb Steet and, since the col which follows is backinto guidebook territory, if we do so are confident that the restof the planned route should be within our grasp. The onlyproblem that remains is that we are making desperately bad

time having covered about 3.5km, less than a third of ourroute, by midday. That said, we still choose to stop for lunch.

The view of the Klarabotn corrie is worth savoring.

Jeffrey breaks the spell by setting off early, in his words, so hehas a fighting chance of not being the last man to the top. Theclimb to Steet turns out to be quite straightforward. Technicallyat least. We choose to avoid the bad step by passing slightly tothe North. Exposed, but not as bad as the view across the colhad suggested. Hairy moments arent, however, completely

avoided. On the steepest part of the scramble we find we havechosen a line though barely stable rock. When large rocks


16/51

wobble under your weight its one thing but when they slidelaterally as you reach for a hold thats something else entirely.

This, apparently, is the ground the internet guides arereferring to when they mention instability on other routes? Wechoose to move through as quickly as possible and are relievedas the gradient lessens and we top out on Steet. Were makingbetter time now. Compensating in some small way for themornings dawdle. As I approach the top I feel the first twingesof cramp in my thighs.


17/51


18/51

Steet, as it happens, isanother gem of a hill.Again, at 1996m, itsnot one of the popular2000m peaks andseems rarely visited.We have it to ourselveson a fine day. A daythats turning out to beone of my finestmountain days yet. Wepause for a fewminutes. Schedulesshouldnt get in the way of the reward. Whats the point in

making the investment if youre not going to enjoy the profit?

The others start down towards the Langholet col. This is thelast descent before well finally get the chance to tackle a oneof the 2000m tops in our sights. I drink a gulp of water whichIve been supplementing with snow and whatever melt water Ican find, and head down the hill. I descend cautiously as everbut this time my progress is hampered by cramps. Now moresevere than Id experienced a few minutes earlier. I arrive lastat the col once again and instead feeling positive about being

back on plan, worries about route choice are replaced withworries about my physical condition. What to do aboutcramps? Under such situations my sports master used to pressa salt tablet into your hand. Although Im sure thats no longerconsidered good practice I can feel a layer of salt crystals onmy face and my cap is traced with salty tidemarks. I reach intomy foodbag and extract a stock cube and an isostar tablet. Ichew on the stock cube and, whilst pulling the inevitable face,drop the isostar tablet into my platypus followed by more snowto replenish my now dwindling water supply. We then move on

towards Storsmeden.

The first part of the ascent is over snow once more. Higher upthe snow field becomes very steep but the others choose tokick steps as far as they can. I choose to bypass the snow in itsentirety, rock hopping along the edge of the snow field. I keeptaking little sips of the isostar flavoured melt water collectingin my platypus. Either this or the stock cube appears to havedone the trick and the cramps have stopped. I make slowerprogress than the others but ascent is what Im best at and I

know Ill catch up when theyre back on rock. As we climb, Irecall the description on Scandinavian mountains. There is a lot


19/51

of scrambling ahead but its bark is worse than its bight. In acouple of places its advised to drop south of the ridge to avoiddifficulties. The rest of the climb reads like the route guide.Sustained scrambling but once again on the now familiarRondane staircase. In a couple of places I find myself reallyclimbing. Just two or three linked moves, nothing serious, andwithout real exposure, but nevertheless, hands and feet onvertical rock. The rock here is of the stable variety at least.

Its seems that each of the tops we bag this day is the best sofar. Storsmeden has every bit the feel of a real mountain.Rondane is named for its rounded peaks. The stubby roots ofmountains which would have given the Himalaya a run for their

money. However, nobody seams to have told The BigBlacksmith. This peak is not without drama. Theres asubstantial summit cairn around the bottom of which, justenough summit is left free for the group to sit comfortably. Ihave a real feeling of exposure. The views are spectacular.However, in the future, Ill have to rely on my memory since onthis occasion I only take two photographs in the whole fifteenminute period at the summit. There is a reason for this. Im toopreoccupied with either getting into the shade of the cairn orgetting wrapped up against the cold. Strange. Ive spent all

day, apart from the lunch break, in a short sleaved shirt andnow Im suddenly unbearably cold whilst the sun is still beatingdown. I suspect that Im starting to feel the effects of too muchsun and that its exacerbated by taking in too little liquid. Iscan the map to get a feeling for the onward route but it takesme several minutes to orientate it with the ground. Alarm bellsring in my head. I m reaching my limit and need to get down,get rested and, most importantly get a lot of fluid inside me ina hurry.


20/51

The hundredth route discussion of the day ensues. The nextstage of the planned route would take us from Storsmeden toVeslesmeden across a sharp arte involving just shy of 200mof descent and reascent. We always knew that this was to bethe crux of the days route. The guides had clearly labeled thisas one of the most difficult ridges in Rondane. From the top ofStorsmeden it looked hard, however we were now getting usedto things looking hard. Worse, it looked like the ridge washolding a lot of snow. To compound the issue, by reversing theoverall route, we had elected to do this ridge the wrong way.

The three bad steps between Storsmeden and the col wouldhave to be down-climbed. With heavy packs. II find it hard to

gauge the feelings of the group. Im certain Willem-Maartenwould go for it. Hes by far the fastest and most confident overrough terrain. Although Im not sure, Thim probably would alsogo along with that decision. I guess Theo and Jef dont relishthe idea of all that descent and ascent regardless of thetechnicality.

Willem-Maarten, forever the alpinist, tables the option ofsleeping on it, settling in for a summit bivvy and tackling theroute with fresh legs in the morning. I come very quickly to my

own conclusion: that the only realistic option is to return theway we came. Doing so would mean the three day route plan


21/51

was just as scuppered as if wed turned back at Steet. But, onreturning to the Langholet col, we would open the possibility ofa circular route which avoids Rondvassbu until the last day.

This route, a long, lower level route linking the langholet,doralen, bergedalen and langluppdalen valleys, had been onthe table very early on. It had been dropped in favour of aroute taking in more high peaks. It would mean wed miss outon the traverse of the long ridge from Diggerronden toHogronden, a traverse Id long looked forward to, but, in return,it offers a day of change, something other than rock hoppingon high ridges, would take us through one of the remotestareas in Rondane and would suitably position us to do thetraverse of Rondslottet and Vinjeronden as planned on the lastfull day. It is a good compromise and the group goes along with

the idea. All that stands between us and a suitable startingpoint, a bivvy in the head of the Langholet valley, iss fourhundred meters of steep descent.

That descent passes uneventfully enough. At least for four ofthe group of five. On one of the longer scrambles offStorsmeden Jef kicks a rock loose and Theo, some way furtherdown the slope , stops it with his head. The incident, which Ihear rather than witness, passes with a laugh and a Joke, but Ilater see that Theo was a little shaken by it. It always seemed

to me that the moving in a relatively large group as we doincreased the risk of such things.

For me personally the most notable thing about the descent isthe effort it sucks out of me. Im glad to reach the col but therelief is short lived because I still have a little less than twohundred meters of descent northwards from the col to makethe valley floor. Whats more most of the decent is over snowwith no viable alternative. My favourite. Note to self: donthang around before buying those boots with aggressive heels.

The group strings out, Jef Thim and Theo make the valley floorin good time. I toke quite a bit longer, mostly side steppingdown, until low enough to glissade without risk of hitting anyrocks. I say glissade because it sounds more dignified thanslide down on my arse but the latter is, in fact, what I do.

Willem-Maarten hangs around high on the slope for someminutes. As we watch him from below we are certain hesgoing to launch himself into a long, fast slide, but to oursurprise, and my relief, he walks down to join us. I guess he

was waiting to see that everybody else got down okay. Perhaps


22/51

he was contemplating nipping back op to bag Veslesmedenafter all?

One thing the Langholet isnt short of is water. I have a long,cool and very enjoyable drink of it. We then, in the styleadopted for this trip, decide to prepare a meal where we areand move on to find a suitable bivvy on full stomachs. Its agood call. We use the ingredients Id packed in, partly freshfood, enjoying a stew with meatballs and beans, supplementedwith instant mash. Its good. The kind of good that you onlyseem to get after a hard day in the hills. As ever the worldseems like a much better place after a feed. Ive also packed ina dessert but we decide to save it for later in the evening andafter washing the pots move down the valley looking for a bed.

As it turns out thats a challenge in the Langholet. The valley isnot dissimilar to the Lairig Ghru. Its a jumbled mess ofboulders, mostly small ones, none, it seems, large enough orflat enough for a man to lie on. For a while it looks like we willhave to drop down a long way to find a suitable patch ofground. Perhaps as far as the Langholvatnet or beyond. But aswe pass down the valley I spy a bed of what look like an areaof fine shingle off to the left. Although it looks dry this ispresumably the bed of one of the dislocated lengths of stream

marked on the map. We decide to keep it in mind and proceeda little further to get a better view down the valley. We get ourview but it suggests nothing but more of the sameinterspersed with patches of wet green awaits us. A shinglebed starts to look more attractive and we make our way back.

What we find is incredible. It is indeed a fine shingle bank,clearly some times under water, but its now bone dry andmostly covered with a few centimeters of soft moss. The riskthat this area will flood this night seems remote. The risk,

however great, seems to be worth taking in payment for agood nights sleep.


23/51

We set up our bivvy bags. Again forgoing the tarps. Deciding tosave the dessert for the next night after all, we brew up usingthe meths stove. The thing is every bit as bad as wed

anticipated. Without the Trangia windshield, the Trangia burneris transformed from a thing of wonder to a remarkablyinefficient lump of brass. Even with the windshield from theStella Plus tightly wrapped around the pan it throws out adancing cloud of ineffective orange flames. It boils water okay,after a long wait, but it also incinerates everything withinreach. This includes Willem-Maartens plastic plate whichdoubles as a pot lid. Nevertheless, a hot brew before bed iswelcome and a little more gas has been spared.

The cold evening wind of the night before also blows along thelangholet. Here its colder and stronger, presumably due to theextra 300m of altitude and the funneling effect of the colbehind us. It still isnt cold enough to pose a problem though.Im comfortably warm in my down pullover and again use mysleeping bag as a half bag for the first half of the night. Thisnight the wind doesnt abate and the Mosquitoes stay at home.As I lie on my Neo-air, with my rucksack under my legs, bothsupplemented by a few centimeters of luscious moss, I start to

run through the events of the day but decide that the time for


24/51

analysis is later. I have the best nights sleep Ive had inmonths.


25/51

Rondane Day 3: Langholet toLangluppdalen

The wind didnt abate in the night as it had on the lower slopesof Randen. It had changed direction though. As we beddeddown a fresh wind had been blowing from the North. Early onin the night it changed its mind, blowing from the South, fromwhere we too had come, sharpening its edge over the snowfields wed picked our way through before funnelling throughthe saddle at the head of the Langholet. Wed arranged ourbags according to the wind. Feet into the wind so that it wouldskim over us and go on its way. Half awake in the early hours I

became aware that I was lying in a windsock. I pulled mysleeping bag up over my shoulders, zipped my bivvy bag halfshut over my head, stuck my face out of the opening andpulled the excess fabric in under my chin. I gratefully notedthat, either due to the wind or our altitude, there were nomosquitoes and slept further.

The wind still blew in the morning. I was glad of my downpullover. The days start was relaxed. Muesli, brew and packing.

Time to take in the majesty of my surroundings. Four of us

where up and about. Theo slept in and took breakfast in bed.My mood had changed. Id bivvied high in a spectacular corrie,

a truly wild place,and any negativityfrom the day beforehad washed away.

The change of planmeans that we havea very different day

ahead of us. Theintention is to followthe Langholet downinto the Doralen,find a suitabletraverse to theBergedalen andhead up to theBergdalstjonnen.Perhaps even

heading further into


26/51

the Langluppdalen. Including that last stretch would make for abig loop of fifteen kilometres or more. Wed exchanged climband descent for distance but I didnt expect the technicality ofthe day before. Wed be passing through rough country but forabout half of the distance on waymarked paths. For the otherhalf wed be following an old route, the use of which is nowdiscouraged, but which I expect, although less used, will stillbare the old route markings. Navigation should be a doddle,the incline, both rise and fall, gentle and although werepromised more of yesterdays weather today water should beplentiful. The outcome of the day is as certain as these thingscan be. However, the reasoning behind moving up into theLangluppdalen is to get into position for a crossing of the DNTroute over the big 2000m tops Rondslottet and Vinjeronden on

the last full day. However, the good weather is set to break inthe evening and our experience on Smuibelgin suggests thathigh up in Rondane could be a challenge in wet weather andlow visibility. In the mountains, there always seems to be abogey man lurking just around the corner.

We move off through the wide, boulder filled Langholet. I feelgood. Little by way of stiffness from the exertions of the daybefore and no sore spots or blisters. Hooray for light packs andboots! Hooray for the Neo-Air, widely spaced contours and

thick beds of dry moss! We can see about a kilometre or moredown the valley and its clear that well be on boulder for atleast that distance. Rock-hopping, however, is a much moreenjoyable sport when played on a flat field. As we movethrough the Langholet it occurs to me that weve beenextremely lucky, had we not caught site of that gravel bed inthe distance, had we not made the effort to backtrack andcheck it out, wed have had a long and difficult walk to thenext suitable pitch. I dont see another half decent pitch forquite some time.

It turns out to be a fascinating route. A day spent looking up atrather than over the edge of the frighteningly precipitous cliffsof the Smiubelgin and Sagtind group. First under the nearvertical Trolltinden wall then under Vassberget. Sore andNordre Smedhamran on the opposite side of the valley are ourconstant companions. There is plenty to catch the attentionand the long curving aspect of the North bound route meansthat the vista opens up slowly. Enticingly. First you get a littlemore of the Langholet, then a peek into the Doralan, then look

over your left shoulder and you get a little taste of theVerkilsdalen, the desolate head of which wed peered down


27/51

into over the edge of Ljosabelgen. Can it be that we are soclose to where we started? Bit by bit the Doralen valley opensup until, when the traverse of the western flank of NordreSmedhamran is complete, the path straightens out and the fullvista reveals itself. We can see right down valley, its floor ahotchpotch of glacial debris, its mouth a massive terminalmoraine.

All the way down the valley Ive been looking ahead for signsof reindeer. The use of the Langholet track, long a popular DNTRoute is discouraged because it runs through the heart ofReindeer country. Apparently this wild heart of Rondane ishome to one of the most important herds of non-domesticatedEuropean Reindeer that still roam in Scandinavia. Its said that

if these beasts get spooked that they will bolt, running forseveral kilometres before coming to a stop. To avoid risk to theanimals the DNT has closed the route. Instead of the thick readof the major routes the Turkart now shows a faint blackdashed line. Before travelling, whilst still mulling overalternatives, Id brushed up on my wilderness etiquette withmy Norwegian friend Randulf. Hed said that it was acceptableto go through the Langholet but that caution was warranted.

That we should be prepared to reroute to avoid the Reindeer ifnecessary. In the high-walled Langholet itself, avoiding the

reindeer would be difficult. Rerouting would entail turningback. Once out of the Langholet we would have more optionswith room to manoeuvre on the open ground at the foot ofNordre Smedhamran. Id like to see wild reindeer, but Idprefer to see them lower down the valley and at a distance.


28/51

Once out of the Langholet the going gets easier too. So easy infact that for the first time in a day and a half I can walk withoutlooking at my feet. The big boulder field gets left behind andwe find ourselves on a narrow but clear path running throughpatches of vegetation and short stretches of boulder in turn.

The path suggests that there is still some traffic through theLangholet. The way markings of the DNT, boulders markedwith a red T, are still clearly visible. The sun beats down stillbut the sun cream makes regular rounds and water is, asanticipated, in good supply with becks running at intervalsacross our path. We make good time, but also make time tostop and take in the scene. We even stop for an early lunch

and, luxury of luxuries, boil water for cuppa soups that Thimsupplements with a rookworst conjured out of his food bag.

We continue further loosing more height and the path parallelsthe bank of the Dorae through knee high dwarf birch. Thevalley bottom, which looks flat from on high, brings with itmore up and down than Id expected. We find ourselvesskirting the steeps banks of an impressive lateral moraine andon occasion the path runs over the top into lush green fields ofcotton grass. Once again we see some people in the distance.

Kayakers on the opposite bank of the Dorae? Seems unlikelythat the water is deep enough. Besides, on closer inspection, if


29/51

they are kayakers then theyve lost their boats. First signs of achange in the weather appear. The sun continues to shine butnow dark clouds jostle for position with the fluffy white onesweve grown accustomed to. This all makes for extraphotographic interest but, as we approach the Smedbekken, itstarts to rain. We give it a few minutes before donningwaterproofs but the rain gets heavier and, convinced itssetting in, finally give up and pull on jackets. The stream ismore than wed bargained for. The thing is wide and in full flowand theres no obvious crossing point or a bridge. The latter aclear disadvantage in choosing to follow a non-maintainedroute. After some searching up and down the bank it looks likewe are going to have to wade but then Willem-Maartenappears to have found suitable stepping stones. Too few to

cross comfortably but with a bound and a well placed leadingfoot it should be possible to cross. Wet rock requires faith infriction or Vibram or both. Willem-Maarten gets the honour oftrying first and crosses with dry feet. One by one we followwithout incident.

A scan of the map suggests that its a good time to leave thepath, cutting the corner over open ground to make for theBergedalen. Its warm, oppressively so wrapped in Paclite, and

as the rain subsides I dont hesitate in stripping back down tomy base layer. The others follow suit. What then follows is an


30/51

easy jaunt over gently sloping ground decorated with reindeermoss and bilberry bushes. The same landscape wedexperienced on the walk in. The landscape that gives Rondaneits autumnal reputation.

As we traverse the shallowslope, just south of west,Digerronden shows the way.From this perspective themountain appears as an

unfeasibly perfect pyramidof scree. Weathered roundwith flowing contours andsteep sides. All the drama ofits northern corrie hiddenfrom view. We had toyedwith the idea of bagging itwithout packs but 600m ofhead-on scree doesntappeal and an out and back

would leave a lot to dobefore evening. Equally thetraverse of the full ridge toHogronden is far beyondwhat we can realistically

achieve in the rest of the day, perhaps even in a full day,especially since the weather is looking uncertain. As we makethe path, and turn back on ourselves, heading South Westalong the Bergedalen, the idea gets killed without so much asa discussion. We find ourselves scooting along the winter route

which connects the Dorralseter hut with Rondvasbu andBjornhollia. Although not the main summer route its wellscarred. Bamboo canes placed to guide Nordic skiers lie by theside of the track. Right now its hard to imagine Rondane in awhiteout. Talk turns to that winter trip weve been promisingourselves for so long. Perhaps we should consider skiing fromhut to hut in Rondane?

We break for a snack. Its time to decide, once and for all,precisely what we are going to do today. From where we sit we

can just see the western end of the Langluppdalen. Its grey,cloud filled and uninviting. The alternatives on the table are to


31/51

make camp by the Bergdalstjonnen just a few kilometresfurther along the track, to proceed up into the Langluppdalenor to take the boat along the Rondvatnet to the Rondvassbuhut. Although Theo doesnt seem too perturbed by the lastoption its quickly ruled out. One night in a hut is an acceptableproposition but two is out of the question. Staying inBergedalen would leave more options for the morning: theboat and an out and back in the Rondslottet group, the highroute over Rondhalsen with a detour to bag Veslesmeden or,the original plan, a traverse of Rondslottet from the northalbeit with a longer walk in. The group seems uncertain again.Memories of the first day coupled with the view of the claghanging in the Langluppdalen casts doubt over the traverse ofRondslottet. We now know that the DNT paths are well marked

but how will it be crossing all those boulders in the wet? Howsevere are the scrambles that we will encounter,predominantly in descent.

Notwithstanding the uncertainty the only real choice is to carryon into the Langluppdalen. We gauge, on very recentexperience, that the traverse of Rondslottet to Ronsvassbu willtake us around nine hours if we start from the pass. The extrakilometres and climb from the Bergedalen might be stretchingthings just too far. To boot, the area around the standing water

of the Bergdalstjonnen is most likely mosquito heaven. On theother hand, after overnighting in the pass, and havingassessed the weather in the morning, we can always run awaywith tails between our legs. In the worst case we can still usethe boat. The group, now resembling a weak coalition, makesfor the Langluppdalen. Loose coalitions are something youhave to get used too when living in Holland.


32/51

The walk up through the Bergdalstjonnen and the climb thatfollows are actually very pleasant. As we close on theLangluppdalen the sky, now a patchwork of blue decoratedwith lightly laden cloud appear less foreboding. Rondslottetdoes its best to intimidate though. The shear vertical wall of itshuge northern face, black and streaked with snow filled gullies,dominates the view. The thought are we really going to goup that? streaks through my mind on more than one occasionbut I do my best to suppress it. A little way back I hadwondered if the valley walk under the Hogronden ridge wouldheighten my disappointment of not being up there butRondslottet steals the limelight.

The otherwise uneventful walk along the main path is spicedup by the crossing of the Galenbotn downfall. The cut is filledwith snow but the stream can be clearly heard running, at fullpelt, somewhere underneath. Great, a snow bridge! Willem-Marten is given the honour of going first yet again. Lucky boy.He follows old footprints to the otherside. Instinctively we crossone at a time. Im across second, the best policy where snowbridges are concerned I think, and sense a photo opportunity.

The rest cross without incident but the photos are still nice

enough.


33/51

As we move up the final kilometre towards the pass we stoponce again for a snack break. Its not been long since theprevious rest stop but tea time is approaching and reserves aregetting low. We lounge out of the wind in a small grassy hollow.A perfect place to bring through the night albeit a bit close tothe path. Flat, soft and sheltered. However, I insist that themore distance we put behind us now the less well have to doin the morning. After a while we move off, I sense somereluctance. A few steps further Theo calls for anotherdiscussion. Its clear that he doesnt relish the idea of all thehard ascent and descent associated with crossing Rondslottet.

The idea that we might have to do it in adverse weather willcertainly take all of the fun out of it. I reiterate that we aretaking the best option and that things arent set in stone.

Overnighting at the pass puts us in the best position to makethe call and backing down remains an option. Im not sureTheo is convinced but he moves off anyway. A little way alongthe track we are passed by a couple heading in the oppositedirection. These are the first people we have encounteredwithin speaking distance since leaving Mysuseter over fortyeight hours earlier. At least catching sight of the Norwegianlass is sure to have cheered Theo up.

Its been

another greatday. Differentbut still a greatday in the hillsand, althoughless adrenalinefilled and easierunderfoot , thetime to putdown my pack

is getting near.Im surprised infact by howmuch this routehas taken out of me. As we approach the top of the pass wefind ourselves back in a place of boulder and scant vegetation.

The pass summit is wide and flat and holding a surprisingamount of water. Rondane has been relatively dry up until thispoint but this place would give the great moss a run for itsmoney. Looking out over the plateau its clear that a good lie

will be hard to find. It looks best up against the northern sideand we head that way fanning out as we do. I meander from


34/51

green patch to green patch but they are unanimouslysaturated. Finally, after some minutes I see what appears to bea low stone wall. Ive seen these things several times in thelast days. Apparently wild campers are resorting to clearingstones and building walls to create level pitches with someshelter. Not exactly leave no trace camping but right nowIm not complaining. Next to the wall is a good, dry site which Imay otherwise have walked straight past. I wave and theothers join me.

The weather is closing in again. Low cloud drifts through thevalley and a bank of cloud hangs low in the valley to the east,backed up against the pass summit. If I could be bothered towalk half a kilometre further I might get a nice shot the cloud

inversion. I cant be bothered. For the first time in the trip webreak out the tarps. The curse that has followed me all my liferesurfaces. Apparently I cant take a shelter out of my rucksackwithout it starting to rain. At least I now feel at home. The pitchis small, just big enough to lie five, so theres no point inpitching the tarps separately. Instead we opt to pitch the bigtarp and tag the micro tarp onto its end, extending thecoverage. We need just to cover five torsos and the bivvy bagswill take care of the rest. Pegging out is hard, we are sitting on

a meagre layer

of green withthe nowfamiliarRondaneboulders justunder thesurface.Nevertheless,violenceovercomes all

obstacles, andall availableguys get used.Against myprinciples we

move stones placing them on the unconvincing Ti nails asextra security. My principles apparently dissolve rapidly whenfaced with the prospect of a rough night. The result is a weirdconstruction comprising two tarps and four walking poles. Ivebeen known to strike and re pitch my shelter several times

until satisfied. This evening I suppress the urge to put togethera more photogenic, drum-tight shelter. This thing will do. It will


35/51

serve its purpose and its not going anywhere in a hurry. Wequickly throw our sleeping bags into bivvy bags and get themunder the tarps.

The evening meal is prepared using the meths burner.Patience is required and whats left of the border of Willem-Maartens plate gets incinerated. In order to keep pot washingto a minimum we eat out of the big pan. Standing in a circle inrain shells, Jef holds the pan in the middle, and we take turnsto spoon Thims curry into our mouths. Freeze dried curry butspiced up with chilli and finished off with curry leaves andcoriander. Its good. We lick our spoons clean and follow thecurry up with yesterdays unused desert. Adventure Foods,

apple and apricot compote. Just add cold water and go. Greatstuff.

The pots get washed and while we drink a brew Jeffrey checksthe weather forecast on his blackberry. Things should clear upin the night but close in again in the afternoon. We agree thatwe should aim to be starting the descent at 2:00PM to get theworst out of the way before the weather turns. We do our sumsand decide we need to be underway by 8:00. We turn in and aswe try to find sleep are serenaded by rock falls high up on

Rondslottets sinister face. The mountain is doing its best toput me off but I resolve not to let it get its way.


36/51


37/51

Rondane Day 4: Langluppdalen toRondvassbu

I awake and peer out from under the tarp. To the East thevalley is clear and we still have a clear view of the North wall ofRondslottet. To the West hangs a bank of low cloud. The scenea mirror image of the previous evening. I get myself moving. Ithad stayed dry in the night and so had I. Just a littlecondensation on the outer shell of my bag. Nothing that tenminutes in the breeze wont solve. That is as long as thebreeze isnt carrying more wet with it.

The plan for the day is to cross Ronslottet and Vinjeronden,

perhaps also Storronden, before heading down to Rondvassbufor the last night. The last forecast before leaving Holland hadpromised great weather in the first days but a wet end to thetrip. It had seemed unlikely that we would be subjected tomore than one wet night so the idea of taking the minimum ofshelter and using a hut to ensure the last night was a dry onehad been tabled at the last minute. It had also been noted thatDNT huts served beer.

The early start wed promised ourselves is taking shape. Each

reeling off the now familiar routine and preparing for the off. Itlooks like weve made the right call and that conditions aregood enough to have a stab at the high traverse but as we getabout our business that wall of cloud in the Western end of thevalley drifts eerily towards us. I stand and watch as it slowlyfloats along, rulerstraight, until it swallowsus up. Although the mistis thick its thankfullyshort lived carrying

through as quickly as itarrived.

Breakfast consumed andgear packed only theadditional job of strikingthe tarps is left. Pegs arepulled, guys are neatlyskeined, rain is shakenoff and all is packed

away. Were on the move


38/51

by eight. A quick scan of the map had told us that anglingupwards on a line along the southern side of the valley wouldtake us directly to the DNT path and save us having to looseheight to find the intersection. But first comes a short boulderhop across the valley. Having chosen the wettest valley inRondane to overnight in, and then having decided to fill waterbottles from the moving water of the Langluppbekken on theother side of the valley before starting the climb, we aresurprised to find that water is hard to come by. The stream canbe heard but not seen. Making its way deep down under the

jumble of boulders. We have to back track some way beforewe were able to top up. Taking my lesson of day two on boardI fill my two litre platypus to the brim. An extra kilo for theclimb but Im a long way through my food and besides water

will certainly be scarce on top.

We reach the DNT path and turn right to address the first job ofthe day. Just shy of eight hundred meters straight up. Based onwhat Id read wed be on one continuous boulder field from topto bottom. I find my rhythm quickly. My rucksack carries muchbetter than on the first days when my load had been at itsheaviest. The hip belt is now doing the work and, my shouldersfree, I am better able to find my balance. Or perhaps, with allthe practice of the last days, Im just getting better at boulderhopping? The conditions definitely suit me better though. The


39/51

sun still shines strongly but now intermittently. Drifting cloudproviding periods of shadow and time to cool off. Its a hardclimb, but the view back into the valley provides entrainmentenough in the short pauses. The changing cloud patternsproviding extra interest and inviting me to look through thelens of my camera at every turn.

The upright stones embellished with a bright red letter T whichserve as way markers on the DNT paths provide targets foreach burst of effort and reassurance that we are heading in theright direction. Not that navigation on this stretch would behard without them. The contours say that up is always good.Down on the other hand is bad. Down to the right certain deathwithout a parachute, down to the left a good deal steeper than

youd take on without the need to feed an adrenaline addictionand really good insurance cover.


40/51

Navigation largely taken care of by the DNT, the forecast forrain in the afternoon brings with it an extra concern. We planto be at the second summit, Vinjeronden, before things getugly and to avoid having to do the worst of the scrambles inthe clag on wet rock. I keep checking my watch and gaugingour position as best as possible managing to get a good fix onour position as the path closes on the North wall, a gapinggully opening up, reflected as clear as day in the contour detailof the Turkart. Willem-Maartens altimeter is spot on. As near asdamn it 1960m. Just over 200m to go and clearly were nowcovering ground at a respectable rate. No longer off thebottom of Tranters scale.

Im better at up than down. I think that the group also climbsbetter than it descends. Before Id left for Rondane, Roger, ofNielsen-Brown-Outdoors fame, had recounted his traverse ofRondslottet. Hed done it in the opposite direction, taking eighthours for the full traverse, finding the climb enjoyable but thedescent into Langluppdalen over boulder tough. His words gothrough my head on more than one occasion and serve tomake me thankful that events had lead us to start out from theNorth. Thankful for the moment that is. Perhaps Rogers

enjoyable ascent would turn out to be gnarly in reverse?


41/51

The last two hundred odd meters pass quickly enough, just acouple of snow fields, complete with man traps, have to becrossed but prove crossable with care. Funny things summits.Sometimes they play hard to get. How often does it happenthat, just as you think youre on the final rise, you reach thetop of the incline only to find that the summit has run awayand is pulling tongues whilst singing na na na na na andleaving you with another stiff climb? Rondslottet it appears isof the other variety and just jumps out and says boo whenyoure looking the other way.

The summit ofRonslottet is awonderous place. At this,

the highest point inRondane, an otherwisewonderful stretch of wildcountry, is moreevidence of humanintervention than in therest of the park puttogether, the areasaround the hutsexcluded. After hours of

boulder were greeted bya relatively tidyarrangement; big cairn,sign posts and numerouswalled shelters, theinteriors of which areclear of boulders. Itstrikes me that it would

all make for a more than comfortable summit bivvy. It alsostrikes me that you can better get there early to bag some

space. Weve seen in total, in three days, and thirty somethingkilometres, around twelve people. Only two have been closeenough to exchange words. Its clear that a fair proportion ofthe humanity that drifts through this place converges on thefew square meters of this summit.

Its cold enough to require down jackets and woolly hats whenat rest. Wrapped up in extra layers we sit at the foot of thecairn and wait for a pan of water to boil. The view over theNorth wall, and in all other directions, being obscured by cloud

takes the attraction out of a circuit of the summit but a cup ofhot stock seems like a good compensation. Besides, theres


42/51

something strangely enjoyable about sitting on a coldmountaintop in the swirling mist. After three days of uncannilygood weather and long views I at last feel like Im in familiarterritory. Mountains, complete with real mountain weather.

Theres no mistaking where we are. Its a good opportunity forthe group photo and Willem-Maarten does the honours with theself timer.

As the water just starts off on a rolling boil the burner sputtersand weezes and the last gasp of gas burns blue and the flamedies. The antique canister has delivered two main meals and acouple of brews. I guess two such canisters would have got usround. Still, weve done the decent thing and cleaned up theold stock and whoever next comes through Mysuseter

expecting to find gas will find a well stocked shelf.

Three stock cubes go into the water, one chicken, one beef andone lamb, something to please everyone, and the salty liquidgoes down a treat. Even more so because Thim has conjuredup yet another rookworst. Its early but nevertheless I work myway through whats left of my rye bread and pate and trustthat what remains of my trail mix will see me over the nextsummit and down the other side. Its looking like Ive judgedthings just right. Ive got breakfast for the morning and a few

hundred grams of trail mix. Arguably a little more room forerror would have been warranted but I wont go hungry and Iwont be packing out much by way of unused food.

As we wallow in the afterglow of a hot drink on a cold mountainit starts to rain. Sleet to be precise. This isnt according to thecontract. It isnt supposedto rain until later in theafternoon when are safelyon our way back down to

earth. In unison we getabout stuffing down

jackets safely into packsand pulling on rain shells.

That horrible moment,the one when youvetaken off your warmlayers but have not yetgot up enough steam todrive off the cold, passes

quickly and before Irealise it were making


43/51

our way down the initially shallow slope. I guess this next bitcould require some careful navigation so I pull out a set of A5maps Id printed off for just such an occasion and string thelittle Ortlieb map case around my neck. My fear is that, in themist, well miss the right line of descent to the saddle thatstands between us and Vinjeronden. The contour detailssuggest that this is something you really dont want to do.Although I keep in touch with the map it turns out not to benecessary, the marker stones are spaced closely enough to bevisible under such conditions and, use tracks run across thestretches free of boulder. The route weavs back and forwardthrough a lunar landscape of snow and rock but we findourselves on the steep descent soon enough. Very steep infact. However, we are back on one those Rondane staircases

and although Rondane stone is indeed slippery when wet, withhands and feet the descent is doable, enjoyable even.

We have to drop just 200m to the saddle and I find myselflooking back up the ridge after what seems like just a fewminutes. Viewed from the bottom the ridge is intimidating,draped half in cloud, steep and long, a chaotic jumble of rock. Ithink back to that first glimpse of the western face of Steet onthe Smuibelgin ridge. How Id sucked in my breath andconcluded that there was no way up the thing. That I was

looking at the baddest of bad steps. Was it not for the fact thatthis traverse is waymarked and described in ScandinavianMountains I might have had the same feeling about this ridge.A mix of vantage point and prior knowledge makes all thedifference it seems. Not for the first time I make a promise touse guidebooks when planning. Sure, I like nothing better thanto spend an evening pouring over a map, interpreting thetopography and planning my own routes but it wouldnt hurt tolisten to what others whove been before me have to say. Itake a couple of photos of the ridge as the lads descend. They

look okay on the screen but I cant catch the full drama of thething, it somehow looks lower and broader than in real life, thewide angle end of my zoom foreshortening the feature. I guessit would be better to put some distance between myself andthe ridge and use some zoom but theres not enough room todo it.


44/51

A few strides further and theclimb back up the other sidestarts. More boulder, more steepbut only a couple of hundredmeters and then the top ofVinjeronden. Our fifth top but onlyour third above 2000m. We mighthave bagged twice as many ormore had the first day worked outdifferently. Still, as Ronald

Turnbull advocates, its a goodpolicy to save a few for later. Aswe make the top the weatherstarts to clear and we are treated

to long views once again.Veslesmeden, the one that gotaway, looks back with a rye smile.

Can we still be so close to where we started? Storronden, theone we might still do glowers at us from beyond the next col.

The col itself sandwiched impressively between the hangingRonhollet and the Storbotn corrie. The corrie, sketched in planview, just one step to the North but five hundred verticalmeters below. This is what I came for.

We languish a little on the top andthen, cautiously, make our wayover the edge. The slope, at firstinvisible over the convexity of theedge, reveals itself as we descendthe first few meters. This decentholds no surprises. Its all layedout in front of us. Just shy of300m, not as steep as the lastone, but still on boulder all the

way. I take my time, takingphotos of the group descendingahead of me, contemplatingStorronden and the climb wemight do to bag another 2000mtop. Part way down I strip backdown to my base layer. Ive been lazy and left it too late toremove layers and my base layer is wet and, despite the blueskies and warm sun, cold in the breeze. I pull on my windshirtand move along. I pass a couple on the way up. It seems to me

that theyve made a late start if they intend to get over


45/51

Rondslottet and further, but then I remember that it doesntreally get dark.


46/51

By now Im a long way behind the others. Willem-Maarten isalready approaching the flat of the saddle. Hes consistentlyand significantly faster than the rest of the group. Sure footedover rough ground and, although he estimates himself to beless fit than in previous years, I guess hes still much fitter thanthe rest. I wonder if he will ever get fed up of hanging aroundon saddles and summits waiting for us to catch up? Thenagain, if youre going to do some hanging around then why notdo it on a saddle or a summit? The next time I look heschatting to two people whove just reached the saddle out ofthe Rondhollet valley. At least hes got company.

A little way further and I pass Willem-Maartens newestacquaintances. A man and his young son heading up to the topon an out and back from Rondvassbu. Know that I have kids Irealise just how special this is. I assure them that Im the lastin the group and that theyll now have the mountain tothemselves.

I arrive at the col and the group doesnt miss the opportunityfor one last deep discussion about what to do next. I find

straight down into Rondhollet an attractive idea. I feel wevedone enough for today. We certainly will have done by the time


47/51

we make Rondvassbu another 500m below over who knowswhat sort of terrain. I voice the thought but as I hear the wordscome out of my mouth I already feel a pang of regret.Storronden is within reach, not without effort, but definitelywithin reach. At once I feel a mixture of conflicting emotion,the idea of going on and making a big day bigger appeals. Takeon the challenge! Be a man! However, my guess is, that theadditional 800m of descent, quite steep, over the broadwestern ridge will take all of the pleasure out of theachievement. It surprises me but the idea of arriving in thevalley, tiered but not broken for a change also holds andattraction. Then theres that beer we talked about. Why did wedo that? Who mentioned it first? That should be against therules! My minds made up. Probably. I think.

Willem-Maarten says he feels hes got another top in him andclearly wants to go for it. Thim is in two minds but I think hellgo for it given an excuse. Theo and Jef are ready to make theirway down. Perhaps they know themselves better than we do?Willem-Maartens comment gets those emotions all rollingaround in my gut again but now with an added twist of guiltadded for good measure. If I dont go then Im holding Willem-Maarten back. I fight down the emotion. Im for heading down.Probably. I think.

After a few minutes lazily taking in the view, Storrbotn no lessimpressive when seperated by just 200 vertical meters, andchewing on snacks we shoulder packs and move off.Downwards. Do I really want to do this? Every step down is anextra step back up and there comes a point when all that headwrestling becomes pointless. When youve added another fifty,hundred, hundred and fifty meters of back up it no longermakes sense to turn back. Storronden is duly put back in thevault for safe keeping. Descending the boulder filled slope into

the head of the lovely Rondhollet I can feel my thighs burningand I know Ive made the right choice, the sensible choice, buttheres still a tangible feeling of regret hovering in thebackground.


48/51

The Rondhollet is a beautiful valley and the steep descent fromthe col out of the way a pleasant walk. We make our way downthe valley at a leisurely pace, soaking up the surroundings,each, I think, coming to terms with the fact that the trip isdrawing to a close. I ask Willem-Maarten if hes disappointedwe didnt continue over Storronden. He seems okay about it. Itoccurs to us that our first bivvy would have been in this valleyhad we not have elected to do the trip in reverse and as wemove down the valley we comment on possible sites. A littleway down we find the site of all sites. An island, large, flat andgrassy, framed by a split in the Rondholbekken. Fresh runningwater and a soft bed with a great view. What more could youwant. We decide to take another short break and jump the nearbranch of the stream flopping out on the island. Do we reallywant to spend the night in a hut? We still have an unusedevening meal and enough meths to prepare it. If we get a

reasonably early start we can still catch the bus from thespranghaugen car park. The traditional discussion ensues.


49/51

What about mosquitoes, we must surely be deep in enemyterritory, just look at all the green. What about that beer? Its

just down there. Too far to fetch and bring back but still onlyjust a little way further. I surprise myself again.

On the way down the valley Ive been processing the idea thatthe trip is drawing to a close and Ive got used to the idea andwhilst this site is a corker I dont fancy sleeping in a buzzingcloud of angry mosquitoes. Besides, right now, theres nodiscernable difference in smell between my armpit and myboot and the opportunity to have a shower before returning tocivilisation would be welcome. God help the poor people whoshare my train carriage if I dont. The deal is done.


50/51


51/51

As we drop down the last stretch of the path to Rondvassbu wepass two Norwegian lads heading up. Theyve made an evenlater start than the others wed passed earlier. Presumablytheyd come straight from spranghaugen having caught theafternoon bus. They were sweating under their loads, stoopingforwards to counterbalance litres of gear in big, bombproof,Bergan packs. One of them has a fishing rod strapped to theoutside of his pack. An image of myself, twenty odd yearsearlier, when gear was too precious to leave at home and thewhole point of the exercise was succeeding inspite of the loadon my back. They stop for a chat. They intend to head upStorronden and later to continue over Rondslottet. I wonderwhat they mean by later but dont enquire.

Willem-Maarten returns the favour and asks if I wasdisappointed that we had decided not to bivvy. I reply that Imlooking foreward to a shower, a beer, a good meal and a nightin a bed and that, if anything, Im disappointed in myself forfinding all that such an attractive proposition.

As we make our way down the steep bank into the hut complexmy legs tell me that the game is over. All thats left of our tripis to sort through the gear and pack out what remains of ourloads as far as the Spranghaugen car park where we will catch

the bus and reverse the Journey to Holland. Spranghaugen isan easy stroll along the track from Rondvassbu and that willmake for a relaxed start to the following day. All thats left ofthis day is to enjoy what the hut has to offer. The shower isgreat, the meal better and the beer the best of all. I sleepalmost as well in the bed as I had done in the Langholet corrie.

Documents

Rondane National Park