Tomorrow, we leave for Oslo. After visiting family for a few days, we intend to cycle south and west towards Barcelona. Major sections and stops will likely be:
Below is a diagrammatic Google Map of our proposed route. We are currently unable to add this to the side bar as a widget, but will insert a link to access it. We’ll try to update the map as we go.
Chris would like to attend the opening of the new Creative Arts building at Canterbury University in England on October 30th, and has a tentative plan to visit old university friends. In late October from wherever we find ourselves, we’ll travel by train back to the Channel with our bikes hanging on hooks. Research shows this as feasible, as long as we start in France. It doesn’t work in Spain. However, Barcelona – should we have made it there – is only a two day ride from the French border. From England, we’ll travel back to Oslo by boat-train-boat: Harwich-Hook of Holland-Copenhagen-Oslo. We like trains and boats, and we have time.
2019/03/27-04/08: Skiing hut to hut, 230 km For us, this year’s ski trip in Norway followed three weeks in Oslo, where we helped look after our Norwegian grandchild. We were joined by three friends who date back to my McGill Outing Club days four decades ago. The five of us have enough shared history of adventures together that we knew we could travel comfortably as a group with similar skills and a common approach to risk management.
Suzanne and Toivo arrived from Alberta, with all their luggage in tow; Karen, arriving from the Yukon, was not so lucky. When she was switched to different flights, her luggage – including skis – failed to follow her. It still hadn’t arrived when we took the train to Lillehammer and the start our ski trip, but we were assured that it would be delivered to our hostel.
The daily delivery of luggage to Lillehammer happens in the evenings, so when Karen’s missing goods failed to arrive on our first night we were disappointed, but we quickly agreed to stay another night. The next day, the other four skied while I lay in bed nursing the flu. Karen borrowed some ski boots and used my skis, poles, and outer clothing. To our great relief, her gear arrived late that evening. She quickly organized herself into skiing mode, and deposited her duffel bag of non-ski gear for safekeeping at the hostel. We cannot begin to thank Ger, the manager of HI Lillehammer Stasjonen Hotel, enough for his helpfulness and can do attitude.
The next morning, we were off. The hostel is in an excellent logistical position, with train platforms to one side and bus station to the other. We took a bus to Pellestova, and set off on skis to Djupslia, a self-service DNT (Norwegian Trekking Association) cabin. We shared the hut with an Australian couple who have grandchildren in Trondheim, and like us were discovering the possibilities of the DNT hut system. Vetåbua, our next hut, was a busy place with an international mélange of small groups as well as a large organized tour. From here, we adjusted our route to make sure we had an electrical outlet available every third night to recharge a medical device. The following night not only did we have an electrical outlet, but also a pleasant meal and a cozy cabin at Måsaplassen. At Gråhøgdbu we met four French skiers, Carene, Nathalie, Patrik, and Pascal, and we continued to get to know them as we followed roughly the same route for the next few days.
Gråhøgdbu
From Gråhøgdbu to Eldåbu, we got a taste of the howling wind and blowing snow that the fjells can produce. During pre-trip discussions of gear, Toivo had questioned the need for goggles, and we’d insisted they were essential. This was the day he said he really understood why.
Arriving at Rondvassbu; the snow is getting thin.
From Rondvassbu to Dorålseter
Two days later, we were at Rondvassbu, a well-appointed full-service cabin that Chris and I had been to before. The next night at Dorålseter the pantry stock was very limited, so we were especially happy to arrive the following day at full-service Grimsdalhytta. My old body was not doing well, as I was still fighting the flu. Ski conditions were, according to the French group, the worst they’d seen in 20 years. The snow was disappearing earlier than usual, and at lower elevations on this trip we became expert in finding our way to the next patch of snow as we carried our skis across reindeer moss or rocks. The snow that remained often had breakable crust.
Reindeer Moss
Wolverine tracks
After a rest day needed more by me than the others, we merged with the French foursome and set out to Hjerkinn as a group of nine. We took the summer route which followed a narrow ravine at first, then started up one of the steep valley sides toward the open fjell above. Chris traversed upward using skins, taking off his skis to kick steps only once he had reached a steep convex section. He missed his footing and tumbled down the slope, losing his grip on one of his skis which flew quite a bit further down, landing in some grey birch. It was gallantly retrieved by Nathalie. Merci! The moral of the story that Chris and I have drawn from this adventure, which could well have ended far less happily, is that it is safer to take off your skis and switch to step-kicking before the slope becomes steep and exposed. Sensible Suzanne had wisely done this.
Pique-nique avec nos amis français.
Once on top of the fjell, the view was glorious. On the descent toward Hjerkinn, we met a large DNT group coming the other way. We had coffee in the village before taking our leave of our French companions. Arild, a fellow skier from our 2016 Jotunheimen and Skarvheimen trip, arrived with his ski partner about 45 minutes later. They’d left Grimsdalhytta right behind us, but had followed the staked winter route. On reflection, the minor advantage in travel time that our route had given us was not worth the extra risk of the climb out of the steep-sided gully.
We skied a few kilometres further to picturesque Hjerkinn train station, took the train a short distance to Kongsvold station, and walked to the historic Kongsvold Hotel. There we enjoyed an elegant four course dinner featuring reindeer, muskox, and trout. This was the extravagance of our journey.
The next morning, we were joined by three more ski companions, also part of our historic McGill Outing Club network, who arrived at Kongsvold station from Trondheim. The eight of us skied into Reinheim DNT hut in Dovrefjell National Park. Muskoxen were introduced here in 1932, using animals from Banks Island in Canada’s Arctic Archipelago, in what is now Nunavut. This herd was eliminated by hunting during World War 2. A second introduction took place in 1947 using animals from Greenland.
Muskox droppings
The reunion of old ski companions was very special, but neither Chris nor I was feeling well. The others made a partial ascent of Snøhetta the following day, and Suzanne, Toivo, and Karen spent another night at Reinheim. Chris and I skied gently out to Kongsvold and caught the train homeward. On our way, we noticed plenty of muskox droppings. I would love to have seen one of the huge beasts themselves. I think we may have good reason to return to Dovrefjell and perhaps climb Snøhetta as well.
In both 2014 and 2016 we did coastal sea kayaking trips with German friends Carsten and Jackie. As West Coast hosts, we were happy when dolphins, seals, sea lions, and array of sea birds appeared as if on cue during our 2014 trip to the Broken Group . Returning to the kayak rental base at Sechart on our final day, we’d watched a mother bear and her cubs graze. The calmness of that scene may have helped diminish Jackie’s fear of bears.
Two years later, Jackie and Carsten returned, and we spent a week paddling together in Desolation Sound. We didn’t see the same variety of wildlife, but endless sightings of whiskered harbour seals basking languidly on rocks taught us the meaning of the German word niedlich! – cute. It must be the dark eyes and the whiskers that are irresistible.
In 2018, we set our sights on the Broughton Archipelago,
across Johnstone Strait from Telegraph Cove. This was to be a little more
challenging than previous trips. We took detailed route advice from a former
colleague of Chris’s, an experienced paddler who knows the area well. We purchased
a handheld marine radio and acquired our operator’s licenses. I took a course
to review my paddling skills, getting my Paddle Canada Level 1 certificate to satisfy
the kayak rental company’s demands. Chris would have joined me, but was occupied
with grandparental babysitting duties in the Yukon.
We were nervous about paddling across the strait, which can be busy with large fast moving commercial vessels, so we’d arranged that the kayak rental company would ferry us across the strait to our starting point. As we crossed Blackfish Sound, there was a large group of killer whales, and several whale watching boats were quietly gathered. Our skiff captain cut the motor, and we drifted quietly as we watched them breach and dive. A large whale swam toward our boat, gathering speed, diving to swim under us. Another spy-hopped close by, to get a good look around.
Spyhopping orca
First campsite
We packed the kayaks and set off from Echo Bay to our first
campsite, where a friendly sport fisherman gave us freshly caught salmon fillets
which made a special first camp meal. We reached Crib Island two paddling days later,
and it was from this base that we did a day’s paddle out into Queen Charlotte
Sound to view sea lion colonies we were told lay just off Eden Island. We got good views of sea lion rookeries from close
enough to hear the animals bellow and to smell them, and we were followed by a
curious group of youngsters who would craned their necks above the water to examine
us.
Sea lion rookery
As we turned to paddle gently back to our campsite, there
was a gentle swell from the strait, and wisps of mist surrounded us. Over my
right shoulder, I heard a massive exhalation. I turned to see a cloud of steam
rising close to me from the blowhole of a humpback whale. The area of its back which
broke the surface gave a suggestion of the size of animal gliding beside us, quietly
sinking below the surface. We were not expecting this. It was a powerful
moment.
Before this, we’d only seen humpbacks at a distance from an Alaskan ferry. This one was so close that we could see the barnacles on its skin. Humpbacks are about twice the length and four times the weight of an orca, and seeing one from a small human-powered craft was moving. On our final night at Owl Island, we heard a humpback sing as it passed our camp. Only males vocalize, probably to attract females.
Kayaking between islands
Thank you Jackie and Carsten for the companionship, and for the
impetus to explore our local surroundings.
We began our prairie bike trip by taking the train from Vancouver to Jasper, and wrapped up our ride by taking the train from Sioux Lookout back to Vancouver. The journey to Jasper took about 24 hours, and we travelled in inexpensive coach seats. Even having reached our golden years, we can manage sitting up for a night. The return journey included three nights, however, so we sprang for comfortable upper berths with meals included.
Via Rail’s passenger service runs on the Canadian National track through Sioux Lookout. We felt we were doing well when our train – scheduled to arrive at midnight – arrived at 2:00 a.m.. Via’s passenger trains have lower priority than freight trains on the single track, and the trans-continental train is often hours or even days late. After waiting in the near-deserted station with four other passengers, we wheeled our bikes to the baggage car – pedals removed – and handed them to careful attendants. Panniers in hand, we slipped into our berths in a hushed and dark sleeper car and in the morning we emerged as the “new” passengers. Most other passengers had been aboard since Toronto. The amenities and our fellow travellers made for a sociable and relaxing journey home.
As we neared the end of our journey, we were treated to views of the Fraser Canyon in morning light. We’ve taken the train from Vancouver to Jasper twice previously, but both times we passed through the Fraser Canyon in the dark. This time, it felt as if our home province was giving us a warm embrace as we returned.
At Central Station in Vancouver, we reassembled into cycling mode and began to ride home. Our loaded bikes must have stood out as as we rode along the Arbutus Greenway. A commuter cyclist slowed to chat, and asked the natural question of where we’d been.
When we told him, he reacted to our reply with “Aren’t the prairies boring?”
2018/06/16: In Kenora As we gave the old bones a recovery day, we strolled around Kenora in search of an SD card reader. In the queue for the Safeway checkout, we chanced to meet the only Warmshowers host in Kenora, and regretted not having searched Warmshowers as we approached the town. We are active Warmshowers hosts when at home in Vancouver, but we find it hard to use the system when we travel, since we find planning our arrival time with any accuracy is tricky.
2018/06/17: Vermilion Bay 97 km Although we disagree with the cliché that “the Prairies are boring” – usually used by the incurious who’ve never travelled across them at a human pace – we began to find that riding across Canadian shield country could be a bit monotonous. Does all that forest spoil the view? A black bear foraging at the roadside added a bit of excitement, and we ate our lunch in a spot carefully chosen for having enough air movement to keep mosquitoes away.
Canadian Shield
2018/06/18: Ojibway Provincial Park 125 km Our Vermilion Bay motel included breakfast, and we chatted with a burly Minnesotan who was about to fly in to a fishing camp, as he does every summer. Signage along the road gives an indication of just how many fishing camps there are.
As we approached Dryden, forest gave way to grazing land, and we stopped at a shop that advertised “wool”. Here I purchased the wherewithal to keep my fingers busy on the long train journey from Sioux Lookout back to Vancouver. In contrast to cold rain that had had us fully bundled up between Jasper and Edmonton, the weather was getting uncomfortably hot, so I draped a wet bandana under my helmet to protect my neck and ears from the sun’s blaze. Did you know that horse flies can keep up with a sweaty cyclist travelling at 25-35 kmh?
In Dryden, we ate our lunch outside Safeway as we eavesdropped on local lads who were graduating from high school and who would attend Lakehead University in Thunder Bay next year. We fortified ourselves with iced coffee before pedalling on. Leaving the Trans-Canada, we turned north on highway 72 toward Sioux Lookout, and stopped to camp at Ojibway Provincial Park.
2018/06/09: Sioux Lookout 34 km We knew we had a short day ahead; we had a leisurely breakfast and sat on the dock to finish our tea.
Morning tea at Ojibway Provincial Park
We entered Sioux Lookout and treated ourselves to lunch and cappuccinos at a cafe, before pedalling to meet family.
