Backpacking, Norwegian-style, in Jotunheimen, the "Home of the Giants"
(August 27-31, 1998)

My last hurrah for the summer of 1998 was a visit to Scandinavia; or, more particularly, to Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park. The Scandinavian peninsula had always interested me—looking at a map of the area, for example, one can’t help but be intrigued by its northerly location, its rugged coastline, and its Swiss-cheese-like topography. Finland’s lakes are begging to be kayaked, and Sweden also looked interesting, but my superficial research suggested that the logistics of spending time in Finland may take a while to work out and that Sweden’s high peaks are too far north and relatively inaccessible. On the other hand, Norway, with its easy accessibility from London, its widespread use of English, and the Norwegian’s reputed love of the outdoors tipped the balance in Norway’s favor. So I decided to check out Jotunheimen, reputedly as well-loved by the Norwegians as Yosemite is by Americans and Lake District by the English.

Day 1: From Beitostolen to Gjendesheim (1 mile and hitch-hike)

The earliest flight I could get from London arrived too late for me to catch the only bus that would go the entire 350 kilometers from Oslo to Gjendesheim ("YEN-de-shaim"), my gateway to Jotunheimen. The bus I took only went as far as Beitostolen, 20 miles away. So, from the end of the line at Beitostolen I strapped my trusty Gregory, hoisted it over my shoulder and started walking towards Gjendesheim. It's been more than a year since I've carried a full pack and it took a while to get used to the weight again. The bus trip took over 4 hours; it was already 5:30 in the afternoon, and I decided that, if darkness overtook me, I would spend the night at either of the two intermediate lodges 6 and 11 miles up the road. I stuck my thumb out absentmindedly—I had no idea if hitch-hiking is ever practiced in Norway.

I’ve only been walking 10 minutes or so when a black Volkswagen pulled up alongside me and the driver offered to give me a lift. "Just throw your pack in the back, on top of my bike," he said in his excellent English (Norwegian and English share a common Germanic linguistic origin, although English had strayed much farther away from German that Norwegian had). Jan was in the midst of a driving holiday—in a Kerouac-like odyssey to nowhere in particular and where the destination changes on a whim. "I’m going to Gjendesheim," I said, "but can go as near to it as you can take me." "Sure, get in," he replied, although I was certain he had no idea where Gjendesheim was. He'd been driving by himself for over a week, and it was obvious he relished the company, someone to just shoot the breeze with. He’s into mountain biking—and he looked the part: bitchin’ shades, rock-music on the radio, easy-going attitude (with nostalgic glee, he told me of the time he was sent home from Amsterdam for being too rowdy). We talked about various subjects--the rigorous training necessary if one were to be a competitive cyclist, the strong Scandinavian influence in the American Midwest (one of Jan’s grandfathers lives in Minnesota—ja!), whether the USA is fit to be the world police, etc. He drove me all the way to Gjendesheim ("why not, I was a taxi driver once, you know!"), took my picture ("so I can remember what you look like when I visit you in the winter"), drove off, came back ("you left your water bottle"), then off again. Thus I first experienced Norwegian friendliness and hospitality.

(Above: Sunset at Gjende Lake, from Gjendesheim)

Being active walkers in the summer and avid skiers in the spring, the Norwegians have created an extensive network of mountain lodges; many are run by DNT (Den Norske Turistforening), aka the Norwegian Mountain Touring Association. The lodges are within a reasonable day’s walk from each other, thereby allowing hikers and skiers to roam without being loaded down with food, tent, stove, sleeping bag, etc. The fully staffed lodges offer hot showers, a drying room for clothes, clean beds, hearty dinner, breakfast, and packed lunch (they’ve even got a Thermos-filling service, where Thermoses left the night before are filled with hot coffee, tea or water, ready to be picked up first thing the next morning). I was assigned a bed in a bunked room with about a dozen other visitors.

Day 2: 15 miles, 6,300 feet

The itinerary for my first full day at Jotunheimen was an ambitious one, covering 15 hilly miles from Gjendesheim, westwards over the Besseggen Ridge along the north shore of Lake Gjende, and then down towards Memurubu before turning north in a valley, skirting the western shore of Russvatnet lake, up and over the col of Hestlaegerho, then finally down to Glitterheim, where I planned to spend the night at another DNT lodge situated at the foot of 8,000-foot Glittertind.

I finished breakfast and headed out. From the Gjendesheim lodge, the trail climbed abruptly and steadily for over 2,500 feet, before steadying along the ridge towards the summit of Veslefjellet at about 5,500 feet. Perhaps because of its northerly location, almost all of Jotunheimen appeared to be barren and treeless, and on this section of the hike, lime-green lichen clinging to rocks was about the sum total of plant life that I saw. The first hour of the climb presented so-so views of distant dark-brown peaks to the east and similarly nondescript scenery to the south. The only other party I’ve seen on this section of the trail stopped within 2 miles of the trailhead, and as far as I can see, I was the only one on the trail. I was surprised by this because the lodge at Gjendesheim was rather crowded. As I approached the high point of the trail, the wind picked up and I felt chiiled, so I stopped and put on my gloves and hat.

(Above: Along Besseggen Ridge, looking west)

The lack of trees, the wind, the lichen, and my being along gave the place an almost overwhelming sense of desolation. But a bit further out a started meeting other hikers going the other way. I found out later that many Norwegians go to Jotunheimen just to hike the Besseggen Ridge, apparently the most famous walk in all of Norway. Unfortunately, most hikers do it the "express" way: they take the boat from Gjendesheim to Memurubu, hike the Besseggen Ridge, spend the night at Gjendesheim, and then drive back home. This phenomenon greatly explained why there was no one going the same direction I was.

(Below: Looking down Bessegen Ridge, Lake Gjende
to the left, Bessvatnet to the right.)

The hike (or more appropriately, the scramble) down Besseggen Ridge was a lot of fun, although it may be a bit unnerving for those afraid of heights. Coming from east to west, one has to scramble down the steep rocky ridge—the ridge narrows to a couple of meters in a few places, and, in the direction I was going, I couldn’t help but stare down the 1200-foot dropoff to Lake Gjende to my left. The heavy pack on my back shifted my center of gravity, and this slowed my progress considerably. In places rocks were polished smooth from wear, and footing was a problem in places. Still, the brilliant emerald color of glacially fed Gjende was tremendous to behold, and the high, white peaks further west looked inviting. Apparently, Gjende is included in UNESCO’s list of most important lakes in the world (as is Bygdin, just south of Gjende).

Besseggen’s other claim to fame was a scene in Henrik Ibsen’s play Peer Gynt. In the play, Peer claims to have stalked a reindeer buck, got astride the animal, and then rode the reindeer bounding wildly down the Gjendin ridge. Peer described his "experience" thus:

Have you seen
That Gjendin ridge? It cuts along
With an edge like a scythe for miles and miles.
You’re able to look from that height of snows
And scars and glaciers sheer down
The precipice to the glassy lakes
Sixteen hundred feet below
On either side.—We tore along
The ridge together through the wind…

I ate lunch when I got to the bottom of Besseggen. After lunch I started going up again, on another boulder-strewn ridge, where I lost sight of Gjende. To the right, across the valley below, are 7,000-foot peaks gleaming with blindingly white snow and deep-looking glaciers.

(Above: Lunch at Bessvatnet, following a steep descent from Besseggen)

(Above: Bandet Ridge, just after Besseggen)

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Henrik Ibsen (1828-1906) is Norway’s most famous contribution to the literary world (although, like many writers, he was on a self-imposed exile from his native country for much of his life, spending considerable time in Italy). His plays, a staple of the modern stage, dealt, for example, with follies of human nature (Peer Gynt), the tragic consequences of trying to subjugate and mold human beings for self-gratification (Hedda Gabler), and the suffocating nature of some personal relationships (A Doll’s House). (Back)

Last Updated: September 13, 1998