© J A D Healey 2014
Left Old Ship at about 1.30 p.m. by taxi to garage where car was parked. Except for a backing incident at Horsham, drove to Oxford without incident. Stopped to see Brasenose and New Colleges and on to Weston Manor where there were roses in our room.
Poured most of the day; via Rugby, Leicester, Ollerton, Selby to Ripon, where we soon found the Spa Hotel. Had a walk around while awaiting the registered letter and in the cathedral where a volunteer guide showed us the crypt etc.
A pleasant day, a fair amount of broken cloud about; left about 9.45 and reached Newcastle about 12 o'clock. On to North Shields where we found the Tyne Commissioners Quay; then into the town for sandwiches, last minute purchases etc. before back to the Leda to photograph the car being hoisted aboard.
Had a good, but standard meal on the boat, at a table with an entertaining stockbroker and his wife, from Hindhead. They were going on a Meteor cruise to Hindhead.
Breakfast we took from the cold sideboard, then packed and went on deck to watch the approach to Bergen.
At 10.50 we were anchored, went ashore and waited for CMA before driving to the Victoria Hotel. Fortunately Tim wanted to look up some pamphlets and discovered that we had left them in the cabin; most fortunately also, they had not been thrown away as waste paper.
It soon started to rain, so we went in a café for shrimp smorbrot and cream cakes and coffee, then we continued looking at shops and eventually decided to have a walk up to view the town. We walked up the same hillside as the funicular, but took the wrong turning near the top, which meant we went along by a lovely little lake and then down to the restaurant for tea and cream cakes, then down by funicular.
We changed and, as it was pouring with rain, took the car to find a gayer café. The 'Neptune' was very much a 'peoples café', so we made our way to the two curbside cafés, only to find they were bars; however, one led through to the restaurant of the Norge Hotel, where we had a lovely meal in pleasant surroundings, but found the Bordeaux wine rather sweet. Our friends of the dinner table on the Bergen had the same taste in restaurants and spoke to us afterwards.
The rain stopped in the night, but it was still a little misty early. We walked to the P.O. and sent a wire to the David Williams, and then filmed the fish market, before driving a little way up the hill to 'pan' Bergen. The bends required backing on the part of car – I hoped the roads on the route would be better engineered.
About 11 o'clock we left Bergen on road 20 and followed the railway route south to Nesttun then northeast near to Garmes and east to Trengereid where the railway went straight to Voss, while we had to go round by the Hardanger Fjord. The views were superb, but we were soon to find that it was no good trying to hurry on such roads; up over the hills and down to Adland and on to Tysse for provisions and then over uplands and down to Norheimsund on the Hardanger.
We stopped at Stendals Waterfall which we photographed and walked behind, and then along by the fjord, across the 750 ft long Fykesund Bridge, to a pleasant spot where we lunched, making a brew of tea. Our only complaint was that the sun was too hot! But we had no sooner gone on when it started to rain, and as far as the weather was concerned it was a thoroughly miserable afternoon.
We left the Hardanger at Eide, and on to Voss, where we surveyed the hotels and then on the new road to Vik. It was desolate country in the pouring rain, up a valley until there seemed no way out, and then we noticed that the road zigzagged it way up the end and so over the top and down to Vik. As we approached we started coming to little hamlets. We knew there was a stave church near, but we didn't visit it, hoping that we would see it in sunshine the next morning.
We found the Hopstock Hotel small but very clean, bright and comfortable, and had their last room. It was quite early and the weather had cleared, so we walked along a track in the Arnafjord direction, and then back for a meal. We helped ourselves to the hors d'oeuvres (the usual) and the hot course was brought round – all through the meal our cups were filled with tea!
It was overcast early, so we did not go out; had breakfast at about 8 o'clock and left before 9 o'clock and queued at Vagnes for the ferry to Hella. Then on in showery weather, past Søgnal Fjord again, which we followed to Skjolden and then up the lovely wooded valley to Turtagrö which was just an isolated hotel (no shops) and, being Sunday, we had been unable to get provisions. The hotel was very pleasant and ours was room 202, overlooking the mountains. We strolled up the short cuts to the road, and had a view of the valley towards our Bandet Hut. The evening meal was splendid, obviously they saved the cold sideboard for breakfast.
The hotel phoned to the village for supplies for us and we set out at 8.50 taking sleeping bags and some supplies to the hut. We were told that the lower hut was private and the upper one very cold and badly equipped, so we thought as we would have so much to carry up, we would do it by instalments. The route was very pleasant, with exciting new flowers and lovely patches of cranebill with the silver of the dwarf willow.
We came to the hut of the Rose Tudor Club (lovely) and we found a way of breaking in (remove a panel of glass, lift the latch and open the window), but it only led to a little bedroom, the door of which was locked! So we shouldered our packs and went on again, past the second lake, across snow patches and rocks to the glacier – so called, but quite uncrevassed. The snow seemed to go on for a long time and then steepened and we were on the col and then over the rocks to the tiny stone hut.
The col was very windy and the hut all that we had been told; it had none of the cosiness of small alpine huts, but it had a primus and paraffin and three bunks with springs, but no mattresses, and a few damp blankets.
We had a little to eat, left the large sack and set out with one axe and small sacks towards the Dyrhaugsryggen, which Tim insisted we could climb by a severe route! It took us some time to scramble by the east ridge to the foot of the south face. Tim was in nails and it was obviously vibrams rock, but he led with far more confidence than I would have done! I was expecting gabbro, but the look of rock and type of climbing were typical granite as far as I was concerned.
We joined the 'unsafe' ledge and Tim led easily up the first two chimneys, when I came to follow in vibrams, I found it needed much more thought than Tim's pace of leading in nails had led me to expect. Then up to the 'large crag' which we by-passed to its left, up a slightly awkward corner and onto a ledge which did not correspond to the description. Tim tried following the ledge to the end, but retreated, tried one overhang with the same result, but finally climbed a fierce, strenuous looking overhang. Then he realised we were further on in the description than we realised, and this was the high, overhanging crag, whose top affords good holds. Then, as we expected, it was easy to the summit and we continued scrambling along the Cullins like ridge, over the rest of the summits, an easy descent down a gentle snow slope to a cairn. We tried going down past it, but soon came to a precipice, so we worried our way down the hillside towards the lakes near the Tinde Club Hut and this was where Tim's nails came into their own.
The hut was in sunshine, and what an ideal place it seemed to be. We had seen from the windows how well it was furnished; we left the rope etc. near it and then ran down to the hotel, arriving soon after 8 o'clock and had a beer before making the effort to change. After our short rest our dinner went down well, but the three cups of coffee I had afterwards were not the best prelude to early sleep.
We had an 8 o'clock breakfast again and were off at 8.55, having put all our luggage in the car and loaded our sacks with the provisions which the hotel had procured for us. We also put in our lilos as the hotel told us that four other English had gone up to the hut.
We were at Bandet Hut in 3 hours 10 minutes and took up a pan of water and had a brew of tea with our lunch; at 1.15 we again set out for Store Skagastölstinde.
We set out for Hjörnet, following the cairned track. After ¼ hour along the obvious way, we came to a wide gully of steepish snow. The snow was marked and it all seemed to correspond to the rocks taken by the two English boys we had spoken to at Turtagö. The snow was obviously ridiculously easy, but it went down some way, and obviously if one does slip on snow and is without an axe ….. Also, we did not know if there was more snow higher up, so I'm afraid Tim went down and got the axes – the round trip only took him a quarter of an hour.
We continued up; the way was most indefinite, but it was cairned occasionally and then we came to a second snow patch, which also had steps across it, but they were fainter than on the first. Soon the cairns petered out, and we got on slabs, and it become more and more awkward. It wasn't so much the going up, as the thought of going down. The slabs would be more awkward, even if we could find the way. We thought of cairning it. We also began to think we had done what the guide book had warned us not to, that we had gone too far to the right, but after all, the cairns had led us right over!
Then we came to a rake crossing the face and I wondered whether it was the one leading to Hjornet but Tim said no, it was the one 450 ft lower down, so we followed it down to the left and near the cliffs came to the line of cairns leading up just where we ought to have expected the route! We followed the cairns up and sure enough they led to what we expected Hjornet to be like, and then we had to choose our summit route.
There were several easy routes with one severe pitch in them, but we decided that a 'diff' route might be of more continued interest. I was put in front to find it (the Via Sönvestveien), but I couldn't be bothered to find it, which was the large block? There was an obvious line of weakness leading up and to the right, showing signs of passage, and it seemed the mountaineering route.
We had roped at Hjornet and we moved up quickly until we came to a pitch on small holds, and soon after this I stopped below a chimney which looked difficult to enter, so we knew we were on Via Heftyes 'Renne. Tim took a belay and stood ready with a shoulder, but the holds worked out all right, for a straddle up until I could get a knee into the chimney. It was wet in patches and cold to the fingers, but that was the only difficulty before the top, where there was a howling gale blowing.
We got on the sheltered side of the summit block and ate our chocolate, I expect, then glanced down other ridges - the north (?) had a fair amount of snow on it and then we hurried down. I was glad of Tim's directions for the lower part of the chimney and then, on a short rope, we hurried down to Hjornet and then followed the cairns to the hut.
The route was most intricate, few signs of passage in places, but the cairns just worked out, and then we reached an obvious ledge, going along our upward track! To our horror, a little further along there was a large cairn, obviously the one we had followed on the upward journey, and the next cairn on the slab we had descended was out of sight! Tim destroyed the misleading cairns and built one or two on the slab, and then we continued our descent and realised that we were even below the first snow patch.
We arrived back at 8 o'clock and quickly brewed tea and then had the meat balls (sausage meat) fried, and followed it with the soaked and stewed raisins and apricots. Unfortunately, we had no sugar for the fruit.
It was not that we did not wake up in good time, but the wind had been howling around the hut all night, and the sky was so overcast that it seemed pointless to get up – obviously the storm would break very soon. Fortunately Tim has more determination than I have and at 7:30 a.m. lit the primus for tea and breakfast of fried bacon, followed by bread and butter and jam. By 9.30 we were ready and left the hut. It was so cold that I took my duvet with me in case I got cold on the climb, and Tim had a spare woolly with him.
Water stung our faces as we crossed the snow on the col, and I said hopefully that it was raining, hoping that we could return to the hut, before getting soaked, but Tim realised that it was only the wind whipping up the snow particles and continued down. We roped up on the glacier, although the crevasses were harmless enough, and then we made our way up the steep snow towards what we hoped was the beginning of the east wall of the store Midtmaradal.
Towards the top, I found the snow extremely steep – the 'experienced' snow climber was in front of course, but I found it such exhausting work I was glad I was on a very short rope so that it gave me frequent halts. I imagined that the snow towards the right was a little less steep, so went slightly in that direction and then went au cheval along the crest until I could reach rock at the foot of what I hoped was the 'wide gully to the left' where I thankfully handed over the lead to Tim, telling him that today was his turn!
Quite soon we began to realise that, although this was graded 'severe', the same as the other climbs we had done, it was very different. For one thing, it was practically all wet and very mossy, and we could put practically no trust in our vibrams. Quite early on, Tim found a dry slab which he climbed quickly, but when I came to follow, I realised that I would never have led it.
We had to pass to the left side of the second snow patch; the trouble was that there were three patches, and we started going up after the second, but then we had to traverse further left, and possibly the easiest route went to the left of the third. It was about here that Tim found his wall; he put a peg in a crack and brought me to the foot of it and then climbed it. It was perfectly vertical and he had to work out the route, but he made it very well, the little finger-holds just surfacing.
At the top he put in another peg to have a belay above the pitch for bringing me up, and then we heard an ominous sound, and snow arrived on my ledge all around me, but fortunately missed me. Tim had been able to take shelter above. I removed the peg and started up, and on the first slab I found it extremely strenuous on the fingers.
I reached the right finger-hold and then moved my left hand into the horizontal notch and found it covered in snow. I thought that Tim must have good circulation not to have complained of numbed hands, until I remembered that it had only just arrived. Several times I'm afraid I asked Tim to "hang on"; I had no illusions that I was climbing it on my own, for if Tim slackened the rope, with the amount of strength left in my numbed fingers, I found I was drifting backwards away from the rock.
I went to a belay to the left, while Tim removed the peg, and then he started up. We had nearly reached an obvious rake leading up and to the left, but the slabs up to it were very dicey in their slimy condition. The weather seemed brightening a little, so I hadn't that excuse for suggesting we turn back, besides I should have wanted to rappel practically the whole way.
Eventually we were on the rake (it was even cairned), it was such an obvious way!, but our difficulties were by no means over. It was just as slimy and there seemed even more loose rock than lower down. The whole way Tim had to test every belay with the utmost care. We were to go slantwise to the corner above Midtmaradal and then continue around overhanging rocks. We started along the gully and then came to a place where it was necessary to get round an overhanging rock (this must be the one the guide book mentioned). Tim started the traverse, and then tried to step up. I was praying that he'd go down, for if he did the rope would go over a large block and give him some protection, but he didn't like it and went up, where, if he had come off (and it looked desperate to me), the rope would have gone over a sharp-edged, huge, loose block.
Tim went up, sent down a number of loose stones and moss, and then said that he'd have to get in a peg – what a lovely sound it was, as it began to sing. With this protection Tim was able to get down, and after the horrors of the loose rock above, he made nothing of the traverse onto slimy rocks, which I found so awkward when it was my turn to follow.
From the next belay I was able to traverse and recover the crab, but the channel peg was too well knocked in to be recovered without half an hour's work, so it was left. We continued on, both of us secretly worrying about the time, but deciding that it must be quicker to continue than descend.
I should have wanted to rappel the whole way, it was all so treacherous. I visualised all our prussic slings being cut up. Ideas of retreat came particularly forcefully after Tim had done an extra hard pitch and it seemed hardly fair to suggest immediately that we retreated, and so we went on. Soon we came to places where we had to crawl along our gallery under overhangs, so obviously this was what the book had meant and then to our right was the plateau with the chimneys leading up.
We had to go up the westernmost chimney for 15 ft; they did not seem to me to be arranged in an east and west order, but we assumed we were to go up the last one, and from there, sure enough, a tunnel led to the right. Tim looked through to the ledge ('severe and airy, but good and safe belays'). His reaction was to leave his sack behind, and he made the first pitch, and told me to tie on both sacks which he hauled along. It started with a semi-hand traverse and finished as a stomach traverse; the position was superb, or would have been earlier on a dry day. We did not have much time for looking down and admiring the drop below and it was still very slimy, even if the rock was a little sounder. There was another hand traverse sort of move, for which Tim once more hauled the sacks and then it became wider and I thought that we'd be able to make better time, but soon after this we came to a snow patch and assumed that it was the end of the ledge.
The book said of this part, "The ledge ends below two snow slopes, towards the small glacier below the summit. Turn sharp right and follow broad ledges to top". We had been travelling right for the last few hundred feet, so how were we to turn sharp right? Also, were we sure we were at the end of the ledge, for traces of it continued. We were near the top of one of the snow patches and nothing fitted the description; did it mean go towards the summit glacier? The book didn't usually leave out verbs.
We decided that we'd have to worry our way upwards. I didn't like the look of the snow, it was very steep and much water was dripping from below. Possibly it wasn't stable, so Tim went up the slabs to the left; half way up he put in a peg for a runner, and then continued. I removed the peg and followed with difficulty and then went on. The snow turned to the right and I thought this might be where we were to turn sharp right, so I went up the rocks by the side of the snow until, near the top, I had to cross the very soft snow.
On the rocks above this I belayed and sat down and brought Tim up and suggested food. It must have been nearly 6 o'clock and we had not stopped since 9.30, so we shared a bar of chocolate and both said we weren't hungry, and Tim went on, taking the line of least resistance, mostly towards the left, where I maintained I could see traces of the summit glacier. He came to one place which he disliked intensely; when it came to my turn, I found that inches of moss etc. had been removed from the holds (mostly sideways pulls).
At the top of this pitch, we found more cairns; we were at the summit glacier and, sure enough, broad easy ledges led to the right, until we joined the ordinary route up. We soon left our sacks and made our way up at 7 p.m. to the sunny top (as soon as we reached the summit glacier, the sun had come out; we had everything at once). We had left the snow at 10.55 that morning, so we had taken 8 hours instead of the 3-5 hours of the book.
We were soon down to our packs and continuing along the ridge to Low Skar, on the lookout for the couloir on the Stöls Maradal side. I was expecting it to be on the other side, and was even afraid I had copied out Stöls Maradal incorrectly from the addendum, but Tim had more sense. We went some way down a broad couloir, but decided that it led nowhere and retreated, and eventually found the correct one.
It was a most surprising place, very exposed ledges, leading slantwise down, and then we came to a chimney where one had to swing out over an overhang. I could not feel the holds beneath, so I safeguarded myself with a sling, which I left behind. Needless to say, it went very easily once I had done this!. Then more traversing on vegetation and greasy rocks and up the gully to the ridge. We had bypassed Hall's Hammer all right, but we still had some way to go and the light was deteriorating. The way was easy and Tim led on, finding the best way very well, until I turned off to the left and decided that we should have to retreat.
I suggested that the ledge we were on was reasonably sheltered and, in the few moments we had stopped, we both seemed to come over very tired, so we decided to spend the night where we were. The ledge was about 4 ft broad, so we thought there was no need to belay ourselves, although the situation was very exposed. We padded the soft but damp ground with ropes (the only use we had for the spare one) and sat down for supper. We opened the tin of sardines and had it with the bread and butter crumbs, and finished off with dried fruit, saving the chocolate for later.
We had put on all our clothes; Tim had a spare woolly and I had insisted on bringing my duvet, simply because I had been wearing it in the bitterly cold hut. It was only 9.20 when we stopped, so I was afraid that the night would be very long, but not a bit of it, it really was most comfortable; in fact we decided that we weren't much colder on the mountain top than we had been in our sleeping bags in the dreadful hut. We rubbed each other occasionally, but we very rarely shivered and dozed occasionally until we decided to watch the dawn.
Most of the peaks were in mist, but it did not quite come down to us. It was a long twilight, but at 3.45 we had more food (cheese and bread and butter crumbs) and then packed and roped up. It took us some time to get going. We seemed a little dazed at first, but we made our way on the ridge by descending once more to the left, and then we were at the top of Low Skar.
We started down the rocks, but, to people in our state, they needed a little too much care, and we were glad when we reached the snow, but this was steep and with a bergschrund at the bottom, so I encouraged Tim to kick steps facing in, so that I could follow the same way. We belayed each other, but had about 50 ft of rope out. We gradually made our way to the 'schrund where there was a nice, firm bridge in the middle and we were able to glissade the last part (the snow was in excellent condition). We sat at the bottom and had our last bar of chocolate and more dried fruit, did up the rope and strolled up to the col – still bitterly cold, but how home-like the hut seemed, as we reached it at about 7 o'clock and we had three cups of tea before turning into our bags for two or three hours.
Tim cooked "brunch"; we finished up our meat balls and most of the bacon, had masses more tea and then washed up, packed and at about 2 o'clock started down. We didn't hurry, there was filing to be done, shoulders to be rested and flowers to be examined, and we reached Turtegrö at about 5 o'clock. We were given room 309 and it was soon in our usual shambles (there were clothes to be washed etc.).
At dinner, I was amazed to see Christine Barrett walk in with Rosalind and Gwen, and we had a chat with them over coffee. Tim also contacted the secretary of the D.A.T. – he couldn't get much further about the state of the Bandet Hut, but he got a suggestion of another Jotenheimer Hut to visit (but decided against it) and the address of a mountaineer in Romsdal.
We packed and paid our bill, wrote about a dozen postcards, then took a few photos before leaving at about 1 o'clock. We drove up the road, past the many little lakes and stopped at the Sognefjellhytta, where Tim enquired about terms, but decided that although the prices were reasonable, he'd rather camp than stay there.
We continued down the pass to Krossbö, where we both went in and were charmed with the place. It was cheaper than Turtegro and, although it was in some ways more primitive, it was more 'Old Norway' than Turtegro.
We were offered lunch, but refused it and asked for bread and 'gjetost' with which we drove down the road, past a stream, acquired water, brewed up in the car (it was too cold outside) and ate the provisions. Then back to our room to change and strolled up towards Krossbö, up to the rocks we christened 'the onion' (Tim climbed the latter but I said my finger tips were too sore) and the tent. We marvelled once more at the lichens and made balls of blood red snow, before returning for our meal at 6.30.
We had sandwiches put in our bedroom and at 6 o'clock put on the primus for tea, and sandwiches for breakfast. At 6.50 we set out, the day was by no means ideal, and the forecast was showery, but we thought we might as well set out in case it cleared.
Up over the moraines and then the glacier; when we saw a crevasse with nasty cornices we roped up, but were soon round to the south of Kalven, which we ascended in the mist; then we continued along what should have been an interesting ridge, but we found the lichens very treacherous for our vibrams and the rain occasionally beat into our faces.
After about half a mile, we reached the cliffs of Skeie, but the wind and rain were at their worst at this point; there was snow to the right, but we couldn't see very far, so thought we'd have to tackle the rocks ahead, although they looked very steep. We made short pitches, the first two were up steep diff. rocks and the third was a traverse over easier rocks to the right. After this I brought Tim up to below the crux and tried to traverse to the left. It went as far as the last move and there were rugosities for the feet, but all I could find for my hands were cracks quite filled with lichen. I believe there was no other difficulty, but it seemed to me to move with numbed hands over such slimy rocks was to take a chance, so I retreated.
We were getting colder and morale was deteriorating, but we tried another route from the top of the second pitch. We both looked at it, but both retreated; in my case I felt if I made this traverse to the left, there was still quite a difficult pitch above, steepening as it went.
We decided to go back the way we had come and soon the weather began to improve (we had set out too early!). If we had been an hour later we would have probably got up, and stood a good chance of getting quite a fair way round the horseshoe of peaks.
We descended more or less the way we had come, but descended the glacier. On the moraine, we waited hoping for photos, but it wasn't to be; we returned at about 4 o'clock for a brew of tea.
We packed, paid our bill, tried to photograph the interior, and left Krossbö; it was dull, so we were unable to photograph the Smörstabb-tinden. We descended past Bövertun, on to Lom; unfortunately the sun was not out so we did not bother to photograph the well placed stave church. Then on down by the lake, stopping half way to photograph a lovely group of old grass-roofed buildings (they wanted their hair cut, I felt). On to Vågåmo where we photographed the church (the wood was old, but the roof looked new). On to Otta where we joined the Oslo road to Andalsnes and Trondheim, but left the latter road at Dombas.
Through Lesja and on to Lesjaskog, where we hoped to find the old iron foundry mentioned in our literature. We asked two men who only spoke Norwegian, but were able to make our meaning clear and were sent back 7 miles to the previous village of Lesjawerk. Here we were told it was a ¼ hour walk from the road, and that there was not enough left to make it worth our while visiting, so we continued. A photograph of an isolated English-type water wheel was our only souvenir of this part.
Soon the road started to drop, and the river descended in a series of magnificent falls and we were in a gorge with rock walls, thousands of feet high, and Tim was pointing out the various peaks mentioned in the guide.
From the list of hotels, we had decided (by price) on the Park Tourist hotel and we booked in there, despite its Victorian appearance. Then we drove through the village and brewed up by the side of the loch and returned to eat soon after 7 o'clock.
We had asked the hotel to ring up Arne Randers Haan the previous night, but there had been no reply; however, as we appeared the next morning, we were told that he was on the phone and we had a short conversation. He said that he had hoped to do the Romsdalhorn with an A.C. member, a Mr. Binnie, but the weather was too bad; however, they were meeting again at 10 o'clock to reconsider the situation.
Breakfast was a great disappointment; only a boiled egg, besides jam, marmalade and coffee.
We made our way into Andalsnes, called in the greengrocer's shop and were shown into the basement – a tailoring establishment where Mr. Haan appeared from what seemed like a cupboard.
Soon he called out Mr. Binnie from the same cupboard and we rather decided against going out – it was simply that the mist was low, not that it was raining – yet! Then we followed Mr. Binnie to the Belle Vue and he gave us hints on route finding. He told us of Arne's path on the Trolltinden, and then of the final cairn, but it is necessary to go on 100 yards or so beyond it before ascending a gully. Arne's great joke!
Then we did a little shopping, drove past the Park Hotel, turned off into a lane and picnicked (outside) until the rain drove us in. Then we sat in the car and read, until we thought it time to go into Andalsnes for tea at the Belle Vue. We met Mr. Binnie again and talked before and after tea. Tea was amusing; we asked for tea and cake, when asked whether we'd like a cream cake we said yes (it didn't seem much to ask for), but we were kept waiting quite 20 minutes. When it came, we understood why, the cake consisted of a plate with a great mound of cream, certainly in time we did find a little cake and find it beneath the mound, but it took some searching for.
After supper we returned to Arne’s, and wormed our way into his flat, admiring his diplomas, badges and photographs on the way. Soon, Mr. Binnie just put his nose in to say that he would not be going out the next day, and then Captain Imrie and Lt. Clennells appeared, and we sat down and drank home made wine, and looked at photographs and a book on Greenland etc. Before long Captain Imrie and I discovered that we were both members of the A.C.G.
It rained all day; we packed, had another boiled egg breakfast and then left, shopped a little and then drove out for an inside picnic. Poor Tim was obviously feeling the effect of the cream the previous day and wasn't at all his usual cheerful self, while he had given me his detective book to read, and I spent all day on it.
Eventually we set out and drove up the superb road up the Isterdal (in some ways the mist enhanced the view), the waterfall appearing and the road seeming to go up for ever, but of course it meant no photographs. At Stegfoss the valley levelled out and two miles further on we were at the Trollstig Hotel, where we booked for one or two nights.
We entered the dining room where a Norwegian mountain troop course were eating, and found our two English friends (they were with the course), but we were shown outside when our food appeared.
We had quite a nice size bedroom, sufficient for quite a lot of our clutter, and a stove where we decided we could arrange our primus.
At 6 o'clock it was still cloudy, but at 6.30 it had cleared, so Tim, after his bad day on the Tuesday, got up and prepared breakfast. By this time the weather was lovely, but we weren't ready until about 7.50 when we drove down to Stegfoss, and started up for the Trolltinden.
For this we went towards the observation point, but cut up before we reached it, and traversed slightly up the hillside, on an almost non-existent path. After half an hour or so we reached more level ground and Tim pointed to the scree we had to ascend. When we reached it, it was quite large stuff and the boulders fairly stable, so it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared.
From the top we saw steps going round to the right on the snow, but we cut straight over, only to be stopped by a cliff, so we had to go back to the right, and cross the snow. It was perfectly harmless, so we left our axes and continued, crossing another patch of snow, and for the rest of the time crossing boulders and scree, the odd cairn marking the direction, but there was no sign of a path. We knew we had to go on and up to the foot of the crags and when the latter became more continuous, certainly we came to the path. I wonder how many hours Arne had put in to its construction? It was such a pleasing way, fairly level and we followed it to the deepest gash in the ridge – Brar Skar.
As per instructions we got flat on the ground before approaching the edge to throw stones down 1000 metres. After photographs, we continued on our way until we reached Ugla, which Tim decided had to be climbed, and I was to take a ciné film of it. I tied on, just in case, but had to stand well back.
Tim did remarkably well, climbing very rapidly, as though he had rehearsed it, but I made rather a mess of the film, stopping it when I expected him to hesitate, and usually he'd go straight on. Just before the top block, he put on a runner and before climbing it at the front, he thought he'd like me up, so I left the camera and joined him (how glad I was no-one had a camera trained on me!). Then we found that the route was up the back and we both mounted the top block (Tim would have liked to have photographed my face as I struggled over the mantelshelf), then I went down and finished the ascent by photographing Tim appearing over the top.
How Tim put me to shame the way he descended, I had spent about half an hour on the last "reverse mantelshelf", but Tim had no trouble.
It was a glorious, sunny day, but much too hot; I suppose after all my lazy days I couldn't seem to wake up. We crawled through a hole in the ridge and then following cairns traversing below the forest of pinnacles, until Tim decided he had reached the arête he was to ascend. I don't blame him, he certainly found it easy enough, but I was horrified; firstly the arête, which was good, firm rock, was completely covered with lichen. It seemed to me that it was only a jumble of loose blocks, probably only cemented together with lichen and where the drop below is several hundred feet. Tim realised I was only following very slowly, and suggested I traversed on the face to the left. I did so, and found the vegetation a little damp and was making such slow progress that Tim suggested a rope. I tried to sound a little reluctant, but the more I examined my situation, the more I thought it would be a good idea. At about the third throw, it reached me and I found the climbing so easy once I was tied on.
At the top we found we were on a pinnacle, a worthy one (Spörsmetstegnet), but not on our way, and it was obvious we should have to descend. By keeping to the arête (or was it through having the rope above me), I found it much easier and, after the first pitch down, we shortened the rope and Tim traversed into the gully. I started to follow (it was very easy), but the rope was a little tight, so I gave it "an angry little tug".
How well am I to remember that, for it dislodged a great disc of rock, about 1 ft across, which started to fall; unpleasant, but of course it would fall below Tim. It might have done, had it not struck the opposite wall and then it was making straight for Tim, who was stuck in the gully with no escape, and all he could do was put up his bare arm to protect his head. How reassuring was his shout (almost instantaneous with the arrival of the stone I thought), "I'm all right, I don't think I'm badly hurt, but my arm hurts".
I hurried down, he didn't look too good, but he refused to sit down, despite the raw meat patches on his arm, and we got out of the gully before getting out our food (apple and bread and honey) and then we continued round to the left and up a wide gully to the summit. Here we found one of Arne's shelters and a gipfel buch, in which we entered our names, and so down again.
We descended the gully, traversed along and came to the last large cairn. Arne's joke, the cairn which does not mark the gully to the top. I don't know why, but I was terribly slow descending the boulders – then along the snow, down the next lot of boulders, along the higher valley, and then down to Stegfoss.
On the way down, Tim found the path which had eluded us on the way up, but it came out at the same point just before the observation platform. We hadn't realised that the way had traversed some shales to the left, while we had traversed to the right. We reached Trollsteg at about 7:30 and said we'd be in to supper at 8 o'clock, which gave us time for a brew beforehand. Captain Imrie had given the message about the 8 o'clock supper, but we joined him for coffee afterwards and he said that we were supposed to be in by 7 o'clock for meals.
Another fine day, despite what I had called ominous clouds the previous day; we were up at 6 o'clock and out at about 7.10, drove to Stegfoss again, and started straight up the hillside towards Bispen (traces of the path in parts), up between slightly larger dwarf birch, and so to the foot of the mountain itself. I wondered about roping; it seemed my turn to be in front, but it seemed possible to zigzag to and fro, and avoid all difficulties. There was the odd cairn or so and all went well until I reached one corner where I insisted on having a rope.
I thought I had come to the foot of the part for which the 100 ft of rope was needed! After about 10 ft, the ridge straightened out and we moved up together - and I realised that I had trussed the 9 ft wall. Towards the top, there was one quite nice piece of arête, and then we strolled onto the summit, for a little to eat, before descending the ridge towards Konigen.
It was stony and very slow (for me); we had a lot of height to lose, but then we started up the ridge across the col, and then came to the mountain itself. I should imagine there are sporting possibilities up this side, but we weren't looking for them. Once more there was a forest of pinnacles; we made our way up the arêtes or gullies, rather to the left, finding the route (but not the technicalities) interesting, and so to the large plateau of the summit, complete with a partially finished shelter and a large cairn.
We signed our names next to the helicopter pilot who had landed the previous day, and then ate and filmed, before descending the western ridge (we hoped), to the knee and so down to Lake Bispevatin (of the incredible opaque blue), slowly along by the lake and over a shoulder, down to Stegvoss. Tim and I took different routes, and for once our times of arrival at the car weren't so very different. The flowers on the way down were the usual. It was only on the ridge up Bispen that we found the lovely, showy Saxifraga cotyledon. Otherwise we shall remember the day for the number of berries we realised must exist, and some of the leaves (a slightly thick bilberry I should have thought) had silky seeds instead of a berry.
We packed, descended to Andalsnes; no sun to photograph the road and fall, unfortunately. Shopped for food for three days and called on Arne for the key to the Tindeclub Hut and to ask if he would climb with us one day. He agreed to come on Sunday. Then out in the road he ran into a Swede he knew and the Swede agreed to come as well; Anne said that now we should be able to do the North route instead of the ordinary. We left with the arrangement that Tim would return at 8 o'clock on Sunday morning and collect them.
We drove on nearly to Hen and branched off on the Vengetinde road, along the valley and then fairly steeply up the hillside. At the last house there was the toll to pay. We handed over 3 kr. and the chain was lifted and then we went on through an open gate. Tim told me to watch it and sure enough it eventually closed – worked from the houses with a wire, pulleys and strings.
Then the road levelled out, and we could see the seters on the other side of the stream. We crossed the stream, began to wonder which was ours, when we recognised the ATC flag which was flying and we entered to be greeted by Ralph Hoebach and his friend, two pleasant youths.
At 8 or 9 o'clock Imrie and Clennell arrived and they also questioned the Norwegian boys about the Vengetinde West ridge and said they'd try it, weather permitting.
The weather was not very promising, but the English were up at 6 o'clock, and Tim and I were away by 7 o'clock. We had made a last minute decision to go to the Kvandal tinde; we thought that if we might do the western ridge on the Vengetinde, it was better to do a different peak altogether. The Kvandal west ridge was marked 'severe', and it was quite a slog to get to it, and then, if we wanted to traverse the mountain …. . Captain Imrie and Clennell didn't want to do the Vengetinde unless it was dry, so they also said they were for the Kvandal.
We set out up the Uverjadalen, past the lake and on up the path, looking out the route, as high as we could below the mist. We eventually decided to cut back, making height, just below little Vengetinde, to get onto the shoulder leading round to the Kvandal. The next part seemed rather fantastic across the odd patch of snow, but mostly on boulders, contouring until we came to the small glacier before the Kvandaltinde.
We started kicking or cutting steps; it was at a reasonable angle. Tim went in front with the axe, and I carried the piton hammer in case of emergency. We kept fairly high, went below one large crevasse, and above a smaller one, and were quite happy until we found the large crevasse bent round our way and had to be crossed. A little lower it looked as though there might be a bridge, so we roped up, and Tim crossed, while I sat in the snow grasping my peg hammer! Eventually Tim was safely across and taking in my rope as I followed; I found that it wasn't a frail bridge, but seemed to be a tongue of ice going right down.
Soon after this, we were on our ridge and a little scrambling led to the first cairn. Our two friends had overtaken us in the Venjedal, going very strongly, but we could see them, not so very far ahead on the ridge. I went up the next steeper bit and then noticed that the cairns led round on the right hand side, so I cut out the next part of the ridge. Soon we were approaching Torshammer and Tim insisted that it was climbed (I was already a little worried about the time). It was very wet, and covered with lichen. I expected it to be difficult, although we were to try the east side which was graded 'd'.
I went up an arête and then brought Tim up as the wall above looked steep, but it was a silly little pitch. The next part went very well; the holds were so incut. It crossed the east face and then I was up and through the hole to the west face. I would have gone on quite happily from there, but I was afraid the rope might snag, so I brought Tim up and then crossed the west face and up to the summit, or rather to the belay just below. From this stance I could see a head on the peak ahead. I shouted and had a reply, and concluded that it was the top of the Kvandaltinde, much closer than I'd dared hope.
Tim quickly joined me and as quickly descended again and I followed him to the hole (incredibly exposed I thought, with air all around and below as well) and then we were down and continuing the ridge. More traversing to the right and then a little more in the way of climbing on the ridge itself. We were in mist and stances on the south side were rather windy, but it was quite pleasant on the north side of the ridge. Then up a little, looking round for the best route and we were on the summit blocks, and putting our names in the book. It was 2 o'clock, an hour after the others and an hour after guidebook time, but we had put in the hammer.
We had no time to linger, but continued on along the east ridge, hoping that the way down the north ridge would be obvious. It looked incredibly steep in that direction. We had been bypassing difficulties on the south side, but then we came to a place where this did not look very possible, so we looked over to the north side and found a cairn and broken ground and, hoping that this was the start of the north ridge, we started down.
It was a fantastic route; mostly there were steep crags on either side, but an easy way wound to and fro, and, although there was no sign of a track, there was the very rare cairn, at the most strategic points. We were still in mist, but sometimes to right or left, we'd glimpse very broken glaciers, and couldn't believe that our ridge would take us between the two. Sometimes we'd walk on slabs, then at one point we followed down a rake – there were two cairns on it, and we couldn't understand why, as previously there had been no spare ones. The end of the rake was followed by a chimney and then Tim, as always miles in front, suggested roping up, but he still didn't like the descent of the next part, so we returned to the last cairn and realised that we should have turned off the rake at the second cairn.
We could still not believe the way led down for it was so convex in shape, but at about 4 o'clock, Tim saw two figures right below and realised that the others had got down. As Tim described this descent, you would look over to your right and see a sheer cliff and realise that the route couldn't go that way, so you went to the left until your route was cut off in that direction, so you had to look over to the right again. By this time you found that this had changed completely; there was a forest of new ridges which had grown up, and the way would wind down among them for the next few hundred feet.
At long, long last we were off this part and on the strip of scree between the glaciers, and only had to do the last part down to the glacier. I think we were only half way down, but we had no idea at the time. The way was so easy that we didn't bother with the cairns, started down the scree, and then down the slabs, which were at a very easy angle, but gradually the whole thing was steepening, and the route finding was becoming more involved, for the slabs were hold-less, and sometimes mossy.
The way became impossible to our left, so we had to go to the right. We traversed, had to cross a stream or two, and eventually found ourselves on the scree to the side. This was horrid for traversing, but soon we were able to have quite a quick run down, and crossed the stream again on a snow bridge. We continued down, crossing subsidiary streams and then coming to grass, I got quite a feeling when I came to the first real patch, complete with buttercups. On down and down, chasing Tim, who eventually stopped on a boulder, when he considered that we were down the mountain and only had the walk home in front of us. It was 6.30 and we had a meal, the first food since our bar of chocolate that morning.
It was obvious that the Kvandalen was filled with scrub, and everything would depend on finding a path; if there was nothing on our side, we should have to wade the stream and try the other side, which I felt was more likely (my feet were wet from one of the earlier stream crossings, so it didn't matter if I went in again). To our great joy we found signs of a path; at times it was difficult to follow, but Tim made good progress on it, until eventually it led to an open patch with stones. At the end of this patch, we searched both near the stream and away from it, but could find no continuation of the path; however, we started pushing our way through the bushes at the highest point, and made down in the direction of the stream, and soon found the path, which began to improve as we approached the bridge to Dale.
The light was deteriorating, but we hoped that we'd find our track continued on our side of the river. It was a long way round to cross the bridge and go by road. Sure enough the track continued, but was no longer a cart track, only a foot track; however, after a mile or so it widened out into a wood cutters track and we followed it down and down, for it was dark and we daren't cut up through the trees.
At long last we reached the river from the summer seters and our track continued down by it. I was undecided whether to follow it and hope it would lead into the usual road up, or to try to find the path marked on our side of the river. Fortunately, Tim was all for the path, so we went back a little way until we came to the last wood cutters road we had seen going up into the woods and we followed it, expecting it to peter out at any moment.
We went up and up quite steeply and after a while looked more like the little track marked on the map than the new woodcutters road, and then the angle eased and the trees became smaller until, miraculously, we could see a light in the distance, the summer seters, and we arrived back at about 9.45.
In many ways it was a lovely walk; it was not quite dark and the scents in the woods were delightful, but we were too anxious to enjoy to the full. We were afraid that the others might be anxious about us and then there was always the thought that Tim was to pick up Arne in Andalsnes at 8 o'clock the next morning.
The other English were up at 6 o'clock again, but we had another half hour or so and I finished the clearing up while Tim drove to Andalsnes that morning. Soon after 8 o'clock I set out to walk at my own pace to the lake. I am afraid my pace was particularly slow and I was caught up before I'd reached the end of the lake. Tim gave me the news; the photographer had turned up and so Arne wanted to do the South Wall instead of the North and the Swede had refused to come, but we were still included in the party! At the hut, the Norwegian boy (Ralph Hoebach) had been included in the party.
I was called back a few yards and we were filmed walking along by the lake (the approach to the Romsdalhorn).
Then I had to follow Arne's great pace further up the valley, but the next time he stopped I continued slowly. The others had a long halt at the shelter at the head of the valley, but I went up the screes, a shout from Arne putting me right when I left the track. Then up the scrambling zigzagging tracks and on until the others overtook me, at which point Arne removed his studded boots and put on dainty klettershuhe and we lost a little height before starting traversing up over slabs. This part was by no means easy, but there was no question of roping. Arne would stand below a move if he thought it necessary. Then into a gully which we started to ascend, until at about 11.30 Arne declared that it was the last water so we had better lunch there.
Then onto the top of the gully, to the foot of the South wall. It wasn't long certainly, but it looked absolutely vertical; I was appalled at the sight. I asked Arne about it and he said I might have to use the rope. The route did not seem altogether obvious; it certainly could not go up the arête, but it was so steep further in. I spent a long time looking at it, while Arne took the photographer all over the place taking ciné and still photographs.
Eventually it was time to move and we found that Ralph was to lead. I took one photo of him on the first move, his brilliant red rope over his blue pullover, and then Arne said I must go next, and I had to climb to the whirl of a couple of ciné cameras. The first move wasn't as bad as I'd expected, and then I was on a broad ledge and I belayed myself to a chock-stone, but Ralph did not seem to approve.
Ralph soon went up the next pitch, the length of pitches being determined by the rather short length of rope between him and me. While he was climbing, Tim joined me and then I went up an easier pitch. The next part consisted of a fairly awkward step to the right; I used a very long stride, but then found a good hold inside a crack. When it was Tim's turn, he announced that a flake was loose, and Arne removed it in his turn.
The climbing was quite slow, for the first three pitches had to be photographed and then Arne was playing around, hauling his sack up the first pitch. No-one minded the delays, and no-one bothered about belays; we were one long rope.
My next pitch was the hand-traverse. I went up until I came to a peg, when I looked at the next move I could understand why someone wanted a runner; it looked to me as though it was necessary to swing round on one flat hand-hold. I tried the position once and retreated, and then in trying it again, I found a good hand-hold about a foot higher, and it was quite easy after that.
The last two pitches consisted of moves up and to the right. I was afraid that the last wall of all might prove strenuous, but it had the same wonderful incut holds as the rest of the climb.
It had looked a sheer wall, but on closer investigation it seemed a jumble of blocks, some enormous, and practically all sound, even for the outward pulls they had to have on such a steep climb.
At the top of the last pitch of the wall, we unroped, although I wasn't sure that it was all over, but Arne once more stood handy for the more awkward moves of the scramble to the top of the Lillehorn. Down to the gap (Arne removed many loose blocks) and so up to the summit.
This certainly is Arne's peak; he had promised me a lake on top; it was only a little bath, which he had made deeper by cementing round the sides. Then there were his garden patches, which he had cleared of stones and which contained plants, but, as he lamented, none was in flower.
His armchair was amusing and when Arne found a bottle, instead of being annoyed, he pounced on it and put it beside the chair – an added comfort.
The view to Andalsnes of course was as startling as the view of the Lorn from the town. We arrived at 2.30 and spent an hour on the top, the signing of the book had to be filmed, and then a last pitch was taken. Ralph and I climbed over a little boulder! Then down, from the col the rappel rope was fixed from the part of the rifle which Arne had cemented to the rock. Then down the gully, not taking the first obvious traverse to our left, but taking the second one, then to and fro, Arne showed us the next belay point he was fixing, but we couldn't use it as it needs a second one to finish the wall, and so down to Arne's boots and then straight forward down to the shelter. I had the sense to go on and not stay behind with the fast ones, but for the last part, Ralph was in front and we were in one party, Ralph just going at a pace with which I could keep up. We even found real live Tittebear!
Back at the seter at 7 o'clock we found that the other British party wasn't back, so Arne said that he'd wait. At about 7:30 they arrived and packed and left in their truck ordered at 6 o'clock, and taking Arne and the photographer with them. Ralph joined us for supper and we had a good laugh over the day; we were astonished to find that he was as horrified as we had been at no belays!
It was a perfect morning; we thought we had organised our time badly that this was to be a non-climbing day. Firstly we washed ourselves and clothes, then we walked up to the lake where I filmed Tim taking a dip, then back in the terrible heat and down to Andalsnes for food and to take a few photos about the place. We wandered up the Rauna, but the river close to wasn't quite as fascinating as from afar.
Then back to the cottage before Ralph and the photographer arrived back from the west face of the Romsdalhorn. They both returned to Andalsnes and, having Honeymoon Cottage to ourselves, we found that the couch in the main room let down into a very comfortable bed.
We had set the alarm for 4.30 a.m. and were away by 5.15, up as far as the lake and then up the hillside. It was another perfect morning with the Trolltinden red in the morning light. We made our way up the very steep slopes to the north of the gully between Lule and Söne Vengetinden. We seemed to go up for thousands of feet and then we came to the slabs, also unending, but eventually made an easy traverse into the gully above the water course.
Tim was miles in front of me all the way, but kept waiting, and in the gully he seemed to shoot ahead. In places, we had to take great care of some loose stuff, but eventually even I reached the three cairns, which seemed to mark the traverse out. Certainly this was easy enough and we started up the ridge unroped, but soon I was glad to rope, but we still made fairly good progress. It had taken us 3 hours to reach the traverse. I should say it was about half a dozen rope lengths before we reached the enormous blocks which we assumed to represent the 5 ft block of the description and from where the difficulties began.
Tim had taken infinite trouble over route finding; we had hoped our English friends would give us information, but they came back obviously overawed by the climb and announced that it was very strenuous, as though that cut us out and said they'd had great difficulty with the route finding.
Tim had then tackled Ralph who said that the moves on the south face were, if anything, harder than those on the west ridge, and that it was not strenuous! He then gave Tim a pitch by pitch description, including a diagram, and on Monday Tim had observed the ridge through his binoculars and questioned Ralph further until I felt that after this, together with our early start, we couldn't fail.
Tim changed into rubbers and I said I'd start in vibrams; Tim led up to the 'roof' and tied onto the peg and brought me up as the next was the difficult pitch. I didn't enjoy the stance; the soles of my feet were quite tender, and there was too much weight on them on the small footholds. Tim traversed above the roof, which meant that he was to the right of both the pegs, the line which Ralph had recommended and which worked very well.
After the traverse, there was an easier section and then it steepened, and then left off. Tim recommended that I wore P.As., so I went up to a sitting place and changed, but this meant that he had to pull my sack up the difficult pitches, as I had both pairs of boots in it.
I found Tim at the foot of a slight gully and he went up it, turned left out of it and up another short gully and repeated this with yet another gully. On one pitch, Tim traversed to the right and then started up a steep wall, and was astonished to find a new peg in it. We agreed to claim it, but I suggested that Tim left it as a runner and I removed it later.
We were discussing how to pull up the sack with the runner on, when the crab detached itself from the peg and came down the rope to me (talk about little men!). Later we got more organised for sack pulling; Tim would untie and send down his end of rope. When I came to climb this pitch I found it one of the harder parts of the climb, to the foot of a wall where he put in a peg for a belay.
I joined him and put in a second peg to the right before Tim continued. He moved up a few feet and then made an awkward step to the left from where he was able to get a runner onto a peg. He was on a steep wall with a crack in it and moved up to a flake and put on a second runner on a peg behind the flake and then made short work of the next 6 ft to the cave.
When I joined him, I found this very exposed; there were none of the usual incut holds. There were only knobbles on the wall (I felt that Arsenic Slab at Crookrise had been good practice for it). It was in a super position and provided delightful climbing (at least with a rope above).
Next we crawled out of the cave to the left and expected it all to be over, but there was still some quite nice climbing. There was some easier ground and then the ridge levelled out; Tim bypassed a gendarme to its left and belayed at the foot of a steep looking pitch. When I came to follow, I was horrified at a step across which I was supposed to make. I did not consider the finger holds adequate for lowering myself onto the block across the 'abyss', so, after wasting much time, I sat down and, by stretching out my legs, I just managed to reach the other side.
We thought we had reached the 'hammer' we had heard so much about, and Tim was determined to try it. He went half way up, and I followed him; I found this part hard enough, and then Tim was soon up the rest. I thought it was going to be a very hard pitch, so I suppose I wasn't really 'psychologically right' for it. I started up to the left, more on the arête than Tim had been and so I could rest after the first pull up. I was in balance, but the move round the corner was awkward (no incut handholds) and I wasn't sure I should make it, and the rope was coming from my right. However, I got to the point when I was no longer resting, so I moved up onto the next footholds and then got my weight round the corner and grabbed the final handholds, and moved over the top (not very elegantly, I'm afraid).
We were on the plateau below the final summit; this looked steep, but I assured Tim it would level out when we got to it. I think it might have done to a certain extent, if we had kept to the left of the ridge, but Tim wasn't for making things easier, he tried to keep to the arête and eventually followed some cairns around to the right and found himself on a shelf below a wall which, in most places was more than vertical.
There was a peg at the bottom of the only place which looked climbable and then, as we looked up, we saw another, a new one, which seemed to have knocked out a chunk of rock. We were so certain that we had done the 'hammer' that it was some time before it dawned on us that this was probably it and the new peg was the one Imrie had admitted to putting in. Tim looked around to the left and hastily looked back again; I was all for retreating down and getting on the easier ground to the north, but not Tim. From the shelf he traversed over an awkward rib and on for 120 ft and I had to follow, very dubious whether the route would lead out, but it did. Another traverse back to the left and we were unroping and strolling to the summit to put our names in the book, eat and then to descend the easy north ridge. The ridge was all right, but the gully began to get tedious, except for the patches of snow, down which we ran, making good time.
At the bottom, Tim went on to have a dip in the lake, although it was in shadow before he reached it. I took my time, met some sheep, followed their track until I got into a stony gully, and then found that lower down, the bushes above rather blocked even this. Tim was nearly dressed, but I went on down and was soon overtaken by two fishermen. Tim descended in his rubbers, hence did not catch me up until the hut, at about 6.45.
No alarm was set, as this was to be quite a lazy day. We set out at 8.45, up the valley, past the lake with its superb reflections, and on to the little shelter. We studied the guide, but in the end went up the scree to the foot of the north ridge; this was far larger even than it looked. Mostly we were able to go up the bilberry streaks, but occasionally over stones, then over stones up to the gap before the steep north ridge, from where we tried to follow the guidebook directions. There were a few cairns, so we followed them, although they appeared to go right and not left as we'd expected from the book.
Eventually we traversed left and reached the gully and roped up. I went on up; it was easy enough, until I reached a peg and, as there was a sitting stance, I waited there. The next move was the slab, which I took to the left, and found another peg, on which I put a runner, as the next move was up a steep wall.
I hesitated at first, for the holds weren't what I'd hoped, but I hadn't felt high enough and it was an easy enough move once I had a jug. It was the last of the real climbing, hardly more than difficult. After that pitch there were two alternatives; I chose the wall on the left rather than the slab to the right, and the climbing and angle rather petered out, although there were several hundred more feet of height to be gained. It was fun to watch the shadow of the incredible Romsdalhorn and wonder how far up the steep north ridge we were.
On the top we took even more photographs, drank at the pool (which was shrinking rapidly), signed the book again, reclaimed the honey and chocolate we had left last time and started down. Once more we rappelled from the col. We remembered the way pretty well and then made a leisurely way back, arriving at about 6.30. We were astonished to find two Norwegian girls sitting outside the hut. They had come up for the evening; one was still on crutches from an ankle she had sprained on Vengetinde five weeks previously. One of them had returned for her flash apparatus, and she tried it out on the three of us.
At about 8 o'clock they started limping and laughing their way down the road to pick up their bicycles for the flat part.
We had a busy morning washing and spring cleaning the hut, but soon after 11 o'clock we were through and started down. It had been a glorious day at the seters with a sea of mist in the valley below, but when we started down we got into the mist, which seemed to hang over Andalsnes all day.
We made straight for Arne's to discuss future plans with him, but we learned that he was out. He had finished the East Wall of the Trolltinden late the previous night and had returned that morning to the foot of the climb to pick up his belongings. He was expected back at 12 o'clock, but we had to wait until about 1.50 before he arrived on his motorbike, with Ralph on the back.
They both looked unshaven and as though they had been through a very trying ordeal. We asked them about the climb, to which, almost, Ralph replied by asking about ours. Fancy, after their experience, remembering that we were hoping to do an ordinary thing like the west ridge of the Vengetinde.
They said that Ralph had to pack and catch a bus in 10 minutes time, so we decided to shop. We thought that Arne wouldn't be 'psychologically right' to take us on a climb in the next day or so, so we would move on to Øye. We had enquired from Arne's friend about the East Ridge of Korgen and the old eastern route on the Trolltinden and got the impression they were both long hard routes, so thought perhaps we wouldn't try them alone.
We returned for a final 'goodbye' to Ralph and went up to Arne's flat, although it seemed a shame to delay him when he must have been so tired. He recommended that we went to Øye and agreed with Tim's suggestion of climbs. Slogan from the fjord, and the southwest wall of Smörskredtinde. He talked a little about his climb, which seemed to have thoroughly overawed him. He said that Ralph had led up rope-length after rope length of continuous grades V and VI. When Arne came to follow he realised that he'd never have taken such risks.
We left for the drive to Valldal, up the lovely road by the Stegfoss Falls; we stopped at one point for photography, but the road was in shadow unfortunately. Up in brilliant sunshine past Trollstigheimer, and then the glorious run down to Valldal, five consecutive miles of free-wheeling, besides many shorter stretches.
At about 3.45 we arrived at the ferry and Tim confirmed that it left at 4.30, so we sat down and opened a sardine tin and had a belated lunch. It was a large ferry and we spent our time on board, drinking coffee and studying the flower book. At Hellesylt we drove away from the pier, hoping we were going in the right direction, for Øye was not mentioned on the signpost, but eventually we realised that Urke was our direction. Very soon we got into thick mist, which was a pity for it seemed to be very pleasant country we were passing through.
Over the pass and gently down through a hamlet, and then a little village, until we saw a large hotel on the right. This must be the Union at Øye and we stopped and asked for a double room. We were shown into no. 32, with its private bath and said that we didn't think that was necessary (how little we knew how we'd bless it), so Mr. Dahl said we could have it for the same price. We had washed that morning, so it seemed quite unnecessary to bath, and we came down to consult Mr. Dahl on our chosen guide.
He did not speak very much (we found later that his English wasn't very good), but he showed us the climbers' book and we began to read accounts of the half dozen or so ascents that there had been. Four hours up vertical grass and vegetation to begin with and then, according to a number of accounts, another 10 hours or so to the top. We soon lost our enthusiasm for it, realised that an essential would be to see the mountain first of all and find out where to start up through the scrub to find the vertical grass, so we decided on the Smörskredtinde for the next day. Tim was rather set on the southwest wall, but I secretly thought the west ridge would be good enough for us, when I found that the southwest wall was the climb of which Cyril Machin had given me such a thrilling account.
We arose at 6:30 for breakfast at 7 o'clock and set out at about 7:30. We drove to Skylstad, left the car, and walked down a track and over a delightful bridge (dry stone) across the river. It was still in thick mist, so we took a compass bearing; we knew that the beginning of the track to Patchells Hut was difficult to find, but soon we came across it and followed it up for about 1,500 ft. The map marked it zigzagging to and fro, but it seemed to us that it just went straight up in the steamy, hot jungle. On the lower part, before the wood, the cobwebs had been rather marvellous, their dewdrops shining in the hazy sun. Soon we were above the mist, but the views were very restricted by the vegetation above us. Obviously the jungle didn't last for ever, and at last we were above it, and on a pleasant path on flatter ground. This was very pleasant going I thought, but not for Tim; he was insistent that we must leave it and start going up to the lower part of the west ridge, which Mr. Dahl said we traversed on the north side.
Eventually we crossed the crest and could see across to our southwest face with its ridiculously vague description in the book (up a gully above a small snow patch); now how small is a small snow patch and does a small patch last into September? Were we really looking at the southwest face, or might it be round the next ridge? In my case it was marked an 8 hour climb, much too long for us. My only hope was that we could soon traverse back to the sensible west ridge.
We found a nice traversing line onto the face and quite soon at the bottom of an obvious gully we found a small snow patch (no, the snow further along was obviously a long patch!). This was it and we started up by the gully; the only trouble was that the book said 3 rope lengths up and it had a stony floor and there was no earthly need to rope! However, we weren't too far from the west ridge.
Eventually it began to look more interesting; there were chimneys to climb, and others to avoid by slabs; the type of rock seemed to improve and there were sufficient belays. Then we came out of our gully onto the main face (traverses left to the west ridge), but somehow the presence of the second man deterred the leader from actually making the traverse.
We traversed to the right and then saw an even smaller snow patch below a steep chimney, and Tim recognised this as the climb, and above it was a ferocious looking white slab. I traversed over just above the start of the chimney, brought Tim across, and started up until the chimney steepened considerably, when I thought I ought to have support, and after quite an interval I found a belay and brought Tim up.
The next chimney would have been just my type in Wales, but here it seemed too artificial to go up the hardest line and I lacked the enthusiasm to force it and retreated and Tim allowed me to traverse to easier ground to the left. We found quite an easy way up by going to and fro over the slabs, with a belay at the end of each pitch.
Then on the ground to the left of the white slab, the angle steepened considerably and the nature of the rock seemed quite changed. It was our old friend, the piled blocks, which miraculously were firm, but it was difficult to believe it, for I felt I was pioneering completely and, as the ground was so steep, there was a considerable outward pressure on each hold. At one point I was about 100 ft. directly above Tim; it was a terrible responsibility in case my foot found a loose hold and sent it down. These moves up brought me so close to the west ridge, but Tim assured me that I was on the correct route and must now traverse right and, sure enough, there was the beginning of a traversing line.
There was a horrid place with a group of loose blocks I had to traverse round, and belayed just above, and then the traverse continued. I went on doubtingly and then even I began to be thrilled with my position; a little shelf led along, but it was necessary to crawl and to round one block and I realised that I was overhanging several hundred feet, down over the white shelf. Then I noticed that plants were growing on the shelf, not grass - now was it a grass or a heather ledge Tim promised me? Perhaps he was right after all! Tim joined me and I suggested that we'd have to go back for the wall above seemed to overhang, and it was such an exposed position. I gradually got used to the look of the wall and, by the time Tim was settled, I was prepared to have a look at it – just to prove it wouldn't go, of course.
I looked round to the right – no go; and then I started up above Tim. It went so far and the quartz above looked as though it'd have handholds, but it would be a strenuous move in such an exposed position. I traversed right, tried to put on a runner, but that, like the route, was no good, so I traversed left, to exhaust all the other possibilities, before having a do or die attempt on the quartz.
The move left went quite easily and then I remembered Tim's description of this wall (18 ft up and 13 ft to the left) and when I saw there was one more easy pitch to the top I knew he was right and I know I enjoyed every minute of this wonderful climb! Poor Tim had to bring both sacks up the pitch, for I had left mine (to get rid of one excuse for a retreat before I started).
We arrived at the summit at 3.15 on this superb afternoon, ate and then started down. Tim tried one gully too far to the right, and we had to retreat before we found the broad easy gully, which led down to the snow, patches of which gave us easy going most of the way to the col between the Smörskredtinde and Littlehorn. At first there was no sign of a path, which was serious, as we hoped it would take us down through the birch, but eventually we found traces which were very difficult to follow. The way down through the jungle was even more difficult to follow. I began to wonder what defined a path; in places there were stones, kicked white, sometimes the grass was shorter; I suppose the bushes parted more easily, but there was nothing very definite about the way. Eventually we were down, and walking along the valley bottom, until a bridge took us across the stream and a short mile along the road brought us to the car, in which we arrived at Øye at about 7 o'clock.
We had done nothing about the Fjord route up Slogan, so we had a lazy day to look things out. It was another lovely day, but surely the weather could never break? We motored to Urke, but there was little to see; we took a few photographs and then had our usual picnic back by the roadside before returning and going on to Patchell's stone for a photograph of Smörskredtinde.
Then Tim changed into climbing clothes and said he'd find the way through the bush towards the Fjord route. I sat in the bedroom writing my diary until a couple of hours had gone by, when I went out to meet Tim. The afternoon was overcast, so I went without my camera - and missed the most superb evening light effects over the fjord.
I met Tim just as he was barging his way through the last of the bush and said that there was only 20 feet of that sort of going. He admitted that the grass was steep, and difficult to descend, and had been very thankful for his axe.
Quite a large party had landed at the pier and we gathered that there was to be a dance that night, but it didn’t disturb us as we went to bed early, with the alarm set for 4 o'clock.
We went downstairs and found both Mrs. Dahl and the waitress still up, although our breakfast had been left, together with a thermos of hot coffee. I ate far too much and then we went outside. I hadn't looked out and it was a shock to find that it was just starting to rain, but we seemed committed to going so far, so we made our way along to Lille Slogan and then up through the grass, before finding Tim's traverse through the bush. I don't know whether it was the early start, the too large breakfast, or the doubtful weather, but I seemed to be going slower than ever. Up and up vertical grass we seemed to move, with the odd bush to help and to break the monotony; I felt we must be nearly up, so it was a shock to discover that we weren't yet up to the cave.
There was one pitch where Tim gave me a rope down, and then one very exposed pitch which he led on a rope. When I came to follow, it wasn't so easy for a number of the grass handholds had been removed. Then up independently again until one point where Tim had lassoed a tree. I tied onto an end, besides using the rope. After this we traversed right, and 3½ hours after leaving the hotel we were in the gully, and another ½ hour brought us to the foot of the climb, where we had to make our big decision. Half way up the grass, something had been said about turning back, but it was at the foot of a particularly nasty section and it seemed too feeble to make the weather an excuse for turning back on something you were going to loath.
It was very overcast to the west and we had watched a rain-cloud envelop a peak across the loch and then it started to rain so our decision was made; the rock was already very slimy, it would be crazy to embark on such a climb (80 ft chimney, severe pitches etc., which took some parties 10 hours), so we continued up the gully. This was at an easy angle, but the higher we went, the more moss there seemed to be and the less our vibrams gripped. There were three short pitches involving a slight chimneying technique. On the first two I was able to avoid the water flowing down, but on the third, I had to put my back on a wet wall. Tim was able to bridge up and avoid it. After this soaking it was too much to expect my anorak to keep out the rain.
The other trouble was with snow; in places we were able to find through routes, but in others this very hard snow blocked the gully, and we had to crawl along the slabs to the sides. These were not at a high angle, but were wet and practically hold-less and covered with grit. Higher up, we found an easier line up to the left, so we went up hoping to traverse back higher into the gully. At first, this traverse proved harder than we'd anticipated (moss covered slabs and the moss completely unstable), but soon we were on easier ground and back in the left hand gully (looking up) for at the top the gully branched into two.
We followed this to the top, arriving in another rainstorm, but we found that it was sheltered over the other side of the ridge and we stopped for chocolate.
The west ridge (on which Tim had secret ambitions) looked most uninviting under these conditions (it was mid-day). It was very steep, with vegetation (probably loose), so we realised we should have to descend a gully to the north. The more we looked at the gully, the less we liked it; it was steep and full of stones and probably belay-less, so we traversed along the top to the other branch of the col, and found a gully there, just as steep, but this time the stones were moss covered and for some unknown reason it looked more inviting. We started down, either moving together or else one standing aside while the other one came down. We were losing height, but very slowly, and then the gully became snow filled. The snow looked steep and hard, so we looked over to the right into another steeper gully, with a lower snowline, but mostly fallen snow, when we got to it.
The way was steep, so once more I said "We'll rappel down". I had been hoping that this would save time, but I don't think it did. Tim would test each block, so thoroughly before putting a sling around, and then neither of us would really trust the rope, so we descended very, very slowly. The belays were hard to find and then Tim had to use the hammer to make them more incut.
The first rappel took us down to the green triangle and the second took us down a chimney it would have been just about impossible to re-climb in its slimy condition, and then a third one took us to the snow. Once more we avoided it to the right, rappelling from an inserted chock (we could have climbed down this pitch) and then we reached the snow and crawled underneath some out to the right and then down another way to the right, firstly rappelling from a huge block without a sling, and then from a doubtful block, until we were down to the snow. We walked to the right to avoid bergschrunds, and then started down the snow, Tim kicking steps and I belayed him with the peg hammer.
I'm not quite sure that Tim shouldn't have had the hammer. At first I was able to get it in haft first, and use it as a little axe, but soon the snow became much too icy and I could only get the pick in, which indicates the difficulty Tim must have had kicking the steps. It seemed fantastic that the snow should have been so hard in September. I suppose it was because it faced north it was so different from Smörskredtinde snow. We must have spent over an hour descending a few hundred feet of snow, and then we were down to start a really nasty descent over loose mossy blocks to the stream. I was an age; Tim must have got cold again waiting for me. We had a little to eat and then at 6.20 set off down to Urke, thinking the way would be easier and slightly shorter than the way via Patchells Hut.
The path was marked on the other side of the stream, but we found a little one on our side and seemed to be making good time down the valley. Then we entered the bush and our path, instead of descending, seemed to rise until eventually we could find no continuation of it. We scouted around, but eventually decided to return and at the edge of the scrub we 'found' a way down to join the main track. This ½ hour delay was infuriating as the daylight was fast going. The main track wasn't all we'd hoped; it was too stony to provide very fast going, and then we lost it; we followed a pipeline for a little way, but it was not a quick route, so we made a determined effort to rejoin the track – it didn't seem to be uphill, so we went down, and found it there, and soon turned the corner, and had about 1½ miles to Urke.
I was rather footsore when we at last reached the hamlet (at 9 p.m.), so when I saw a bunch of men under a lamp-post I asked if any spoke English and one replied yes, so I asked for an auto to Øye, and was told no, so I asked if we could telephone and we were sent up to a house on the left. The lady was some time getting through and when she did, Tim spoke to Mr. Dahl, who said he'd drive over to meet us. The price of the call was 1.95 kr!
Nice, kind Mr. Dahl, who had us back in his beautiful car, and then Mrs. Dahl, who said she'd dry our clothes for us, and she even helped me take off one of my filthy wet socks, which she promised to wash.
Then upstairs for a joint bath in the despised bathroom (we've never been so filthy before), and then at 10 o'clock down for a lovely meal, served so willingly by the waitress who had been about at 4 a.m.
I could hardly keep awake over coffee and was soon in bed, fast asleep.
Nörsledalseter for
Arentzbù
Bödalseter
Fyell Flora Gjaerevoll
Salin Glauca
Petula Nana, Dwarf Birch
Gerastrum alumnia
Aconitum septentrionale
Rubus chamaemorus
Alchenulla glomerulans
Epilobum elsinifolium
Loiselearia procumbens
Phyllodoce coerulea (heather bells)
Trientalis europea (anemone)
Datria alpina
Pedecularis oederi
Erigeron cumflora
Graphalina norvegica