DATE: 15 May 2023
LOCATION: Frafjord, Norway
If you haven’t, read the first part of the morning here.
The bus chugged up the steep mountains, climbing its way to Frafjord, a small town on the edge of the natural reserve. The three of us were frustrated and out of options; we had traveled to the middle of nowhere just to find out that the hike we were going to do was impossible. We asked the driver if she knew of any other hikes in the area and she told us that she would call her husband, “a man of the mountains,” in her own words. We waited in apprehension as the phone rang. No answer.
“That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll drive you back to our house. He’ll be home a little after me and he can talk to you about the mountains.”
It was such a surprising offer that it took us a few seconds to respond, “That would be amazing!!”
We drove through the village and craned our necks out the window to take in the beauty. Stunning does not even begin to describe the landscape. As we neared the end of the town of Frafjord, we turned and crossed the bridge to arrive at the last farm before the wall of mountains. This was their house. Just like a fairy tale.
She parked the bus next to their barn and told us to wait out front until her husband came home. We played with the two happiest black labs I’ve ever seen while we waited and marveled at the hospitality we were receiving. The entire trip we had been helped out in innumerable ways and it seemed like the trend was going to continue in the quiet town of Frafjord.
Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Mr. Haaland (no relation) rolled through the gates in a school bus of his own. If he was surprised to see three random Americans with backpacks playing with his farm dogs in his front yard, he didn’t show it. He greeted us with a smile and after explaining our situation to him, he graciously invited us to his house to talk it over in front of a map. Bewildered at his level of hospitality, we nervously followed him into his warm house, where his family had lived and farmed for generations. In the dining room, he pulled out detailed maps of the mountain ranges and told us about all the passes that were inaccessible due to the late snowpack. “Full winter,” he called it, detailing the dangerous conditions on the slope of the mountains. This was not good news for three college roommates with no map, a three season tent, and no snow equipment.
It was clear that this Mr. Haaland knew these mountains like the back of his hand. We decided that we would listen and follow “to a T” anything that he recommended. His father came into the room, with the longest eyebrows in Norway, and started discussing in loud Norwegian with his son. The two “mountain men” went back and forth, pointing at different places on the map and gesturing wildly, while we waited in silence and amazement at the turn of events we had experienced in the last few hours. Just three hours before, we were being shaken awake by a Norwegian farmer on the side of the highway. Now we were in a stranger’s house receiving a lesson in map reading. Such are the beauties of budget traveling.
When the younger Mr. Haaland told us he had figured out a route we could take, and we listened attentively. It was the route, he explained, that he would take to spend time with his now-wife’s (the one who had picked us up) family when they were courting. Yes, he literally climbed mountains to spend time with his in-laws. That’s commitment. He told us that if we took a specific route, through Forsand Valley, we would avoid the snow for the most part. He warned us about possible snow on the last section, but assured us that we could arrive into Flørli (the only point of exit) safely. He instructed us to download a Norwegian hiking app that worked offline so that we would not get lost and gave us a side hike that we could walk to in just twenty minutes from his house: the mythical Månafossen.
As he wished us luck and we left the house, we couldn’t believe what had just happened. What would have happened if we hadn’t met these people? If she had driven past us without picking us up? In all my travels, this will always be one of my favorite stories. It sums up perfectly the hospitality we experienced throughout the entire trip, the uniqueness of adventurous budget traveling, and how one decision or moment can shape the outcome of events.
Our chain of memorable events appearing out of thin air did not stop. Halfway down the path that led to the Månafossen waterfall, we encountered three or four lambs that had escaped their enclosure and couldn’t find a way to get back. They were jumping full-force into the metal fence, getting their horns stuck in the small holes, and squealing in fear when they realized their plight. We watched this scene with horror; trying in vain to coax them back into the small gap in the fence, but they were too scared to accept the help.
Finally, we decided to try and catch them and throw them back over the fence. Luckily, I grew up with chickens and I figured that catching goats couldn’t be so different. We spread out and cornered the lambs one at a time, softly grabbing them by the fur and gently tossing them over the fence. After several minutes of chasing them up steep inclines and using different strategies, we caught the last one and lobbed it back into its pen. The farmer was nowhere to be found, and we jokingly figured that was payment for the hospitality of the Haaland’s.
At the end of the valley, we pulled ourselves up the steep chains that snaked their way up the rock face until the waterfall appeared over the final outcropping. Mythical was an apt description. We were completely alone, and the 92 meters (301 feet) of water pouring into the deep pool seemed to glow in the morning light. Our oatmeal and open-faced bell peppers with tuna (the brainchild of Jonas that became a morning tradition) tasted better than usual given the day’s events and the view.
With full stomachs, bottles filled with the divine Norwegian water, we were ready to follow the footsteps of Mr. Haaland on his way to impress his girlfriend’s parents. A holy pilgrimage if there was one. The valley opened up before us like a painting; countless waterfalls tumbling over the steep cliff walls to collect together in streams that crisscrossed the flocks of sheep that grazed contentedly. We strode across two bridges and found the beginning of the trail, an unremarkable gate that we would not have found without knowing where to look. With a final handful of my dwindling trail mix, we started the ascent into Frafjordheiane.
Read more about my travels in Norway and around the world here.
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