Lofoten: Day 1

Lofoten is an archipelago in Norway, sitting just above the Arctic Circle. The Long Crossing traverses the islands, a loose grouping of trails, rough paths and roads. Given my recent shin splints, I’m only hiking a dramatic section across Moskenesøya island over five days, leaving a final day to climb Reinebringen, a “legendary peak” according to my 100 Hikes of a Lifetime challenge.

Despite Moskenesøya being only 25 miles long and six miles wide, the Long Crossing does not extend to the wilder southern tip, where my favourite author, Robert Macfarlane, completed a perilous winter crossing of the mountains to explore the Bonze Age cave paintings in Kollhellaren — Hole of Hell.

I’m slightly apprehensive for several reasons. I’ve chosen, as usual, the end of the short summer season to avoid the crowds. This brings a greater risk of bad weather, evidenced by the storm hitting the islands for two days before my arrival, causing the ferry to be cancelled. The wet and windy weather will make the difficult terrain more dangerous and there are sections I’ll have to abandon if the weather does not break.

Will my leg hold up? It’s only been a month since I abandoned my last trip to Scotland, and a few miles from home to the local shops is not quite the same as scrambling across mountainsides carrying a full pack. There’s only one way to find out.

Previous day

I’m flying from Gatwick to Oslo, transferring to an internal flight to Bodø, where I’ll catch a ferry to Lofoten. This is my first trip to Norway and, descending into Oslo, there are great swathes of trees in every direction. I’m already excited.

After an anxious Brexit-delayed transfer through the long non-EU passport control queue, some of us are expedited through to the connecting flight and a stunning sunset.

It’s almost 11 pm when I step outside Bodø airport. Within a few minutes of walking through quiet tree-lined residential streets, a light rain begins to fall, as I reach the commercial centre.

A silent playground waits for a new day. Something tells me I’d best get used to taking photos in the rain.

Smarthotel Bodø overlooks the harbour. My room is like a matchbox, but all I need and I’m only sleeping for a few hours. I’ve made a schoolboy error and forgotten to pack a travel adapter. I have a battery pack, but it’s not great to start hiking with my phone at only 40%. The ferry leaves before the shops open and I’d not planned a road walk — buses being rather infrequent — to any villages on Moskenesøya that might sell one. Oh well, minimal use of phone then apart from weather checking, photos and navigation. Reminds me of the Arctic Circle Trail.

Today

The ferry departs at 6 am, so I sleep during the three-hour crossing.

The tannoy announces Moskenesøya, waking me to an impressive range of gneiss peaks, wreathed in clouds. The highest summit on the island, Hermannsdalstinden, is only 3,376 ft, but the mountains are surrounded by sea and fjords, emphasising their height.

My priority is gas, as I can’t imagine anything more miserable than eating cold meals in this weather. I’ve done my research, heading south along the main road, aiming for a store in the next village, Sørvågen. The rain continues to fall. I’m surrounded by water.

The Joker convenience store has plenty of gas and I load up on rolls, pastries, smoked meat and cheese to defer freeze-dried meals as long as possible. I grab a can of beer to celebrate my first pitch, as my pack is not too heavy.

The bus north is not due for a couple of hours, so I sit on a bench outside the store, sheltered from the rain under the eaves and tuck into the pastries, watched closely by a bedraggled hooded crow. A bold fellow, he gradually sidles between my feet, picking up the crumbs, although I draw the line when he hops up onto the bench next to me.

The bus drops me off at Fredvang Kryss on the far north of the island. It’s liberating to step down, the travel logistics complete. I’m self-sufficient now. Once I cross the bridges to the west coast, I either complete the two-day hike to the first small ferry dock at Kirkefjord or I must retrace my steps to the main road — another adventure begins.

The bridges offer moody views all round.

Reaching the far side, Volandstind towers over the bus stop where I started. The hike to the top is classed as easy, so either I should start to worry or the trail must run round the back.

My destination is the popular Kvalvika Beach, which lies off the path to the peak of Ryten. The boggy trail is busy with day hikers descending out of the rain.

Cresting a plateau, boardwalk sections run above the bog. They are neither wire-coated nor ridged, so the mud and water await an unfortunate hiker, kitted out in white.

Arriving at the fork in the path, I decide to press on up the mountain first. Turning a corner, the full weight of the wind catches me, driving the rain against my waterproofs. I’ve already read about some slippery sections nearer the top, and the view is terrible given the mist, so I turn back. It’s an easy decision.

Returning to the junction, I take the path down to the beach, which looks rather different from the golden sand and turquoise water in a hundred Instagram shots. The descent is difficult, with steep sloping duckboards, thankfully ridged, followed by a scramble over wet rocks. This walk is also classed as easy. Perhaps in dry weather but not now. I’m beginning to think Norwegians have a different classification system to ours.

A sign warns not to drink the water from the stream. I have a new water bottle from Water-to-Go, recommended by a fellow long-distance hiker. Rather than having to squeeze my water through a filter before drinking it, I simply fill this bottle and drink immediately, as it has a built-in filter that removes both viruses and bacteria. My old filter only dealt with bacteria. You don’t want to be wild camping out here with a stomach bug.

Reaching the beach, the wind races in from the sea, and there’s not much shelter, so I pitch up on the grass, well away from possible areas of flooding. My tiny tent is dwarfed by the ancient mountains.

Once I’m pitched and my gear stored away, I explore the beach. A tiny hobbit hut lies buried in the rocks, built out of driftwood by two young Norwegian men who lived here for nine months a few years ago — tempting.

There is one other tent, well-pitched behind large boulders. This busiest of beaches is unusually deserted. It’s awe-inspiring, despite the weather.

Two hikers appear from the next bay south, which was one of my options for tomorrow. They advise against it, being difficult with chains and wet rocks. The man fell, showing his wounds. I already have a healthy respect for this landscape and consider alternative options — one day at a time.

Two more tents appear. Everyone hunkers down against the elements.

My boots and socks are soaked, and my waterproofs failed to stop the next layer from becoming damp, but I suspect that is due to sweat rather than rain penetration. Regardless, everything is wet, so it’s a relief to put on dry clothes and settle down in my warm sleeping bag, listening to the rain on the tarp, enjoying fresh rolls and provisions, washed down with that cold beer. I’d prefer to have a flap open to watch the foaming sea, but the rain is blowing hard. What a wild, unforgiving, exhilarating place this is.

Date of walk: Wednesday 28 August 2024.

Walk distance: 7 miles.