Storestølen to Geiterygghytta, 23 km.

Storestølen is actually within reach of a mobile phone network so I called home this morning. Meanwhile, the group continued discussions about the state of the lake ice. Finally we got an official verdict from local experts: the shortest way straight across the lake was not safe. We were to be transported by a minibus to the dam at the east end of the Strandavatnet and start skiing from there instead.

At the dam we were met by freshly prepared ski tracks which took us around half the lake, in a couple of hours of fast and easy skiing in beautiful sunshine.

After reaching the western end of the lake, we headed up in between the mountains. Looking at the map, this stretch of the route seemed to be mostly flat but somehow there were surprising amounts of uphill skiing for such a flat place… It was heavy going. My “uphill muscles” did not feel tired today but simply just weak.

The sun disappeared and the wind picked up just as we left the lake. We had a brief first lunch standing in the wind, but didn’t want to stop for long in the cold. (Brief, standing lunches, huddling in the wind, is turning into a definite pattern for this week.) Later we passed a wind shelter where we had a second, less hurried lunch. It’s a good thing we had the shelter – normally hot drinks would keep us warm but the supposedly hot saft from the hotel in Storestølen was disappointingly weak and barely lukewarm. That hotel is a place to avoid in the future if possible.

Later in the afternoon the sun returned just in time to give us stunning views of a wide snowy lake and then billowing, wind-blown hills of ice. The photos can’t do them any justice. This is the kind of moment that I’m here for, and it’s easily worth an entire day of uphill slog!

By this time I was getting quite tired, though. We had an easy start in the morning but it didn’t quite compensate for the long day – at 23 km this was our longest day yet. After the sunny photo opportunities, we still had some long and tiring icy hillsides to traverse, and the wind in our faces, too. When we finally came around one last hill and had the hut flag within sight, there was still another big, wide curve ahead of us! By the time we got to the hut it was past 5 o’clock and I was knackered.

The hot chocolates and hot showers at Geiterygghytta were very welcome. And soon after, the lovely, entertaining hosts served us a fantastic dinner: a rich, creamy vegetable soup, followed by a barley “risotto” and then an apple and blackberry crumble – all of it rich and bursting with flavour. The other meals during this trip weren’t exactly bad, but they were nothing compared to this. I wish I could personally have thanked the chef. (I tried, but was told he was having his dinner, so I couldn’t.) Geiterygghytta was by far my favourite hut on this trip.

Iungdalshytta to Storestølen, 18 km.

After two full days of skiing, my legs were tired from the very first steps today. But whatever doesn’t kill me etc etc, and by tomorrow my body will be more used to this, so it’s going to feel easier again.

We went back some distance across the same lake as yesterday afternoon. The lake offered pretty decent skiing, not too icy at all.

After the lake came a long, long ascent on an icy crust. At least four times during that ascent I thought that maybe I should have put on skins… but each time I thought that I was nearly at the top (and this time, surely, I was nearly at the top, right?) so there wasn’t much point now. And the slope was always just manageable without skins – the crust had some structure to it, and was never too steep. So I made it to the top.

On the other side of the hill we went down an equally long icy descent into a river valley, also just manageable. And then another long and featureless ascent out of the valley again.

Most of us fall now and again when going downhill, but it’s become a point of pride for me to try and avoid falling. It’s not necessarily the steep slopes that make me lose my balance – it’s the uneven ones that spring surprises all the time. When ice suddenly becomes snow which acts as a brake, or snow suddenly becomes ice and your skis shoot ahead, leaving your body behind.

With a few days of practice under my belt I’m getting better at differentiating snow from ice even from some distance, even though both at first glance look smooth and white. Soft snow has a slightly different colour than crusty, icy snow – sort of yellowish, while an icy crust has more of a blueish tint.

Today, however, we had horrible, weak, flat light throughout the day, which made it nearly impossible to see what was what. Skiing downhill became a matter of trust and hope and luck: trusting the map’s promise that the slope wouldn’t be steep, and hoping that there wouldn’t be any major surprises in the murk, and then just mentally crossing your fingers and going for it.

The photo above is from our lunch break. There was no cover to be had anywhere today, and with no sun to warm us we just made brief snack stops occasionally. Packs off, but skis on. A rucksack placed between the skis makes a decent seat.

The day ended with an incredibly frustrating descent. The twigs that Norwegian ski trails are marked with just disappeared a few kilometers from the hut. We were nearly there – but had no idea how to get all the way there. We were on a steep hill with thick wet snow, impossible to ski in, so we had to sidestep down. Sweaty, getting stuck in the thick snow, falling over, snow everywhere including on the inside of my glasses. Bleh. For the last bit we made our way semi-randomly through forest, mostly walking rather than skiing. When we finally hit a road, it was actually a relief, although I’d generally much rather ski on my skis than carry them.

And then all of a sudden we found civilization with white, freshly ironed bed sheets and a tiled bathroom. Pleasant, but the sudden change of comfort level was disorienting.

(Storestølen offered a buffet dinner that was sized for about a tenth of the size of the crowd. Everything kept running out all the time.)

Dinnertime discussions circled around the state of the ice on the lake below the hotel. Our planned route would take us across the lake ice tomorrow, but according to current reports, the ice isn’t strong enough, so some kind of plan B will be needed.

Day 2: Bjordalsbu to Iungdalshytta, 17 km.

I started the day by putting my scout camp kitchen experience to great use, cooking porridge for 14 people. Seemed like basics to me, but the porridge got a lot of praise. No lumps! Perfect consistency!

The weather forecast promised strong wind in the afternoon so we had an early start, off at 7:30 already. The day started with thick fog – we had no idea what was around us. Mountains, maybe? Then the sun came out and the fog disappeared, and we had beautiful views the rest of the day.

The terrain was gently undulating. Up a bit, down a bit, flattish for a while, up again, down again. After yesterday’s full day of uphill skiing, this was very pleasant. And with mostly nice snow everywhere, too!

Downhill skiing on back country skis is a bit challenging and generally not very elegant, unless you’re a pro. Today’s slopes were nice and gentle, so it was all fun. On the gentlest ones I just plant my feet wider than usual and ski straight down. When the slope gets slightly steeper I switch to the snow plow, either straight down or turning. It gets tricky when the snow is uneven – sometimes soft, sometimes icy. Turning on ice with stiff, narrow back country skis is bloody hard so you have to aim for the snowy patches and time your turns right. It took a while for our whole large group to get down the slopes, which gave us lots of leisurely snack breaks.

We finished the day’s skiing with a lake crossing, passing a bunch of houses that are probably a fishing village in the summer but felt bizarre in their abandonment in winter. And then another 2 km to the hotel, during which I somehow suddenly ran out of energy and didn’t think of anything but getting to the end.

The hut was more like a hotel, serving hot soup and hot chocolate and all kinds of luxuries. We spent a long lazy afternoon there. I do see the benefits but I still like the old school self-service huts much better. A lazy afternoon can be restful and pleasant, but carrying water and cooking dinner together is more of a bonding experience.

Note to self: Iungdalshytta serves mediocre food; the broccoli soup tasted like old socks. And Norwegian rømmegrøt is weirdly gluey.

Day 1: Breistolen to Bjordalsbu, 13 km.

A minibus taxi took from Hemsedal to Breistolen. (Packed like sardines, with rucksacks on our laps and barely enough space to not hit our noses against them). From Breistolen we skied to Bjordalsbu. 13 km, all of which was uphill.

Decent snow, and lots of it in the gully that we passed through in the beginning of the tour – even with skis we sunk in knee-deep in places. There was a strong wind (13 m/s according to the weather report) blowing from our right, bringing snow flurries and stinging our faces. At times I found it hard to breathe through my mouth because the cold wind made my teeth feel like ice. Due to the wind we only had a very short lunch break by a large rock that almost provided some shelter to all of us. Also due to the weather I barely took any photos today. Plus I was sort of busy finding my skiing legs again, after a year-long break.


The Bjordalsbu hut is an unmanned hut, operating on an honesty system. Members of the DNT can request a key to get access, and then you just take care of yourself. One of our first steps in taking care of ourselves at this hut was to shovel away snow from the entrance to the loo hut, which was more or less buried.

This was the first hut I’ve stayed at that had no source of water. The self-service huts along the Kungsleden have all had a lake or a stream at least, where you can fetch water with a bucket. Here we brought in snow that had to be melted on a stove. A bucketful of snow becomes barely any water at all, so we were always going out to get more.

I say “we” but it was mostly the guys in the group fetching snow. They tend to like to do all the carrying and such, and seem to feel uncomfortable when the women try to do that.

Instead I made myself useful by helping prepare lunch for us tomorrow. Lunch on a Norwegian ski tour is always sandwiches. In a manned hut you normally pay a sum for the right to make your lunch sandwiches from the breakfast buffet. Here – shock! – there won’t be any buffet, so we counted out 6 packages of Wasa crispbread and 42 wedges of spreadable cheese (at 6 NOK each). Spreading the cheese went quickly; the most time-consuming step was peeling open those little foil-wrapped cheese wedges.

On the train to Oslo, for a week-long ski tour.

Since this is the fourth one, I guess I can now call this my annual ski tour.

It’s a long train ride and SJ is still stuck in the previous century and doesn’t even provide wi-fi on the train. I came prepared, though, so I’m crocheting a dishcloth.

In Oslo I will meet up with the rest of the Warthog group and then we’ll all take the bus to Hemsedal, where our tour will start tomorrow.

Eric was away travelling for work on his actual birthday, so we had a small celebration today. He cares as much about birthdays as I do, which is very little indeed. But we did have cake of sorts, and flowers and a candle.

Adrian has been walking around with a big hole in the knee of his favourite trousers. And “favourite” in this case means “he won’t wear any others until these start to smell”.

I asked if I could mend the hole. That’s not a given – he likes the holes in the toes of his socks, where his big toe can peek out.

He said yes, and asked for something green.

This is the state of our garden right now. A giant ditch cuts right through the front of it, from the street to the house. It does not just cut through the garden – it also cuts right through the retaining wall that we only just got done, and the newly planted hedge behind it…

We were just going to renovate the kitchen this year. But the mess of water pipes and water meter in the cupboard under the sink was seriously hindering that project, so the conclusion was that we needed to move the incoming water supply connection from the kitchen to the basement. It was only in the kitchen for historical reasons – if a builder tried to put it there today, it would never get approved. Plus the incoming water supply pipe is many decades old, made of galvanized steel, and probably not in a very good shape.

So in came the builder and the diggers and the plumber, and they measured and they planned and they consulted and discussed. And they dug, until the garden looked like a giant mess. As a small consolation, at least they didn’t have to dig up the paving between the stairs, or my planting in front of the house. I do hope the cherry tree survives this – quite a number of its branches and roots had to be cut.

Did I mention that the water pipe was old? And probably not in very good shape?

In fact it was in such a bad shape that all the digging and poking around it was enough to break it. I wasn’t here to see it happen; it must have been spectacular with water everywhere. By the time I got home, the water had been shut off and a temporary replacement pipe was in place. But only authorized Stockholm Vatten personnel are allowed to touch the valves of the municipal water supply, whether for turning it off or on, so we still didn’t have any water… (There are substantial fines for breaking that rule, so our diggers and plumbers didn’t even consider doing it themselves.) We had pizza for dinner – the kids were happy about that – and I made a visit to the neighbours to fill up some plastic cans so we could wash our hands and brush our teeth at least.

Finally late at night a Stockholm Vatten van turned up and we got our water back.

It was a long day.

Adrian is turning into as much of a gamer as Ingrid. Fortnite is his favourite. He’s just spent 150 kr of his savings to buy a funny skin for his character. Go figure.

Several of his classmates also play, and now they agree on a time when they all come online to play together. That often leads to a lot of shouting. They all just have to say their thing at the same time, and one raises his voice to get through the noise, and then the next boy raises his a bit more, and soon they’re all yelling. I remember Ingrid and her friends doing the same at her age, shouting so loudly that it was seriously uncomfortable for me, even though she was upstairs and I was downstairs and we had a closed door between us.

We don’t iron much. The things that do get ironed in this household are dress trousers, hankies, and kitchen towels. Also linen tablecloths, but that only happens after major holidays when we have festive meals with guests.

I especially do not iron much – mostly Eric takes care of it. But he is away in Canada for a week, and I have a runny nose, and I am all out of clean hankies.

Eric usually combines ironing with watching a movie. I prefer books to movies, and reading + ironing is a somewhat difficult combination. I tried doing it his way but watching a movie, or even a documentary, on my own is not much fun.