Memurubu - Gjendesheim via Besseggen

When my alarm rang at 05.30, I was tempted to skip Besseggen altogether. How about a pretty lakeside stroll instead? Always the lazybones. I peeked through the curtains and saw pure blue sky and morning sunshine glistening on the snowy peaks above Gjende. No way I wasn’t going into that! I snuck my stuff clumsily out of the room, popped in my contacts, almost forgot my trekking poles, and munched on an energy bar as I left Memurubu for my massive uphill climb.

Slow and steady is key. I’d die of exhaustion if I tried rushing to heave myself up the mountain. Instead, I took even, steady steps – determined to keep the same pace without stopping until I reached the top. I thought back to Billy Goat teaching us how to walk s-l-o-w-l-y up the Evolution Crest on the JMT. What a valuable lesson that had been! I reached yesterday’s intersection after only 40 minutes, and saw a sign advising to turn around if you’d spent more than two hours. Hah! Eat my dust!

Besseggen is a massive roller coaster of a ridge. The highest point is 1743, and I started from the far side. I reached the first flat stretch, and the sunrise smashed into my face. It overexposed the view like crazy, and I lost the well-worn trail constantly, but still blazed along in a frenzy of excitement.

I felt like a million adrenaline-fuelled dollars. Sun in my face, lonely mountains all around. Suddenly I was White Blaze back on the JMT, memories of passes and Whitney, Clif bars and crunchy morning snow flashed through my mind. Reliving those glory days of wild terrain and long stretches in the crux of a thru-hikers dream. Climbing Besseggen felt like it belonged up there among those greatest experiences. People complain of having to walk in line here for hours, but I could have been the only human in the world.

The sun scorched my face as I followed the trail up and down, bracing and heaving with my beloved trekking poles. Kilometres seemingly flashed by as I passed a crystal-clear lake and began the big climb up Besseggen’s north shoulder. A woman at Memurubu had warned me that my trekking poles would be more of a liability than aid, but my usage of four legs rested on thousands of kilometres of experience. I trust my boots and my poles completely and wedged them securely into tiny nooks and crevasses until the gradient increased sharply.

Trekking poles now dangling from my wrists, I crimped the rocky holds between my hands and felt grateful for all the indoor climbing I’d done this year. The weight of my pack pulled me back, but I could lean forward to gain just enough momentum to not plummet into Gjende 500m below. Dang, this was pretty lofty for a DNT-trail… At that very moment I saw that I was not, in fact, on the trail. It twisted up on my lower left – still steep – but nothing like the craggy rockface I was climbing. Ops…

I’d expected a fake summit as I crawled over the edge - and was not mistaken. After about a dozen of them, however, I was ready to gobble my victorious chocolate slab. A few hikers had camped in flat spots, and all confirmed I was the first hiker of the day. Coming around a turn, I could already see Gjendesheim sparkle white far below to the south. At last the terrain flattened out a bit, and crags turned into small rocks. A giant cairn up ahead indicated sweet glory: I was at the summit! 360 degree views of Gjende glistening in the sunshine, white peaks of western Jotunheimen shot into the sky behind me, snowy Glittertind just visible to my left, and lo and behold: in the far distance - almost invisible in the blue daze - I could see the faint outlines of Muen back at Venabu. My colleagues would be going down to the pasture that very moment. I missed my job already, but standing triumphantly on top of Besseggen, the lyrics of a beloved song went through my head.

There can be nothing better than this

Victory chocolate and “vestlandslefse” enter the stage. Lefse is a Norwegian sweet treat reminiscent of a pancake smeared with butter, sugar and cinnamon, folded into squares of soft floury goodness. I unbraided my hair and sat munching happily in the sunshine for a good while, savouring my last beautiful day in the wilderness. This time tomorrow, I’d be boarding a plane to Spain for a mandatory beach holiday. But it is here I belong. In my shockingly pink hiking shorts, boot-clad feet, sunburned forehead, sitting on a rock on a mountain by myself.

Solitude is a curious thing. I’d lain awake many nights this summer, feeling loneliness envelop me until I would cry silently in bed. There is a fine balance between the feeling of freedom and feeling lost. Throughout my wild trekking adventures, I’d always had some sort of anchor to rely on somewhere in the world. Someone waiting, missing me. Sitting on top of Besseggen was the perhaps the first time where I felt safe and centred in the world despite being completely detached from everyone. Maybe I can be my own anchor, the centre of my own universe. I always hike alone. Maybe now I can also be alone.

I climbed down Besseggen like a kid at a funfair. I goddamn ran down that mountain. The sun beat down mercilessly at the sweaty hikers I met crawling upwards in increasing numbers. Flowers and bushes started to reappear as the moonscape became lusher. I gave a bright “HEYHEY!” to everyone as I lunged forward, using my trekking poles to swing over rocks like a monkey. Most people just stared at me racing downhill without bothering to greet me back, while my smug smile just got bigger and bigger. I felt like a Duracell rabbit on ecstasy, the epitome of great shape and a happy head.

Gjendesheim got closer and closer until I was retracing my steps on the stone staircase from day 1. By the time my boots hit the hot tarmac next to the ferry station, I ran. Ran to the end of the road, onto the stone beach, ripped off my clothes and threw myself into Gjende. Holy shit! The cold water hit me like a clamp on the lungs, I gasped for air and felt my feet grow painfully numb in an instant (Gjende’s water is around 5 degrees). But all the sweat and dirt was instantly gone, and I could sit on the beach for a blissful half hour before my parking expired. Looking out over Gjende and Besseggen, I felt so happy and accomplished the way one always does at the end of a trail. A 7-8 hour hike completed in 4 hours! My corner of the lake was quiet, and I could enjoy the silence and my last packet of dried mango before putting on my yucky clothes and walking back down the road. And I felt no shame walking out of the tiny store with an ice cream, a third waffle and two iced teas - knowing that four small cinnamon buns lay warm and waiting in the passenger seat of my car.