Easter Week, 1980

There was a certain feeling of adventure Tuesday as we unloaded the equipment from the car, the skis and backpacks. (The Easter week generally starts on Wednesday because Maunday Thursday and Good Friday are legal holidays as is Monday, Second Easterday). Jon Claus, Claus’ son, had driven us up the mountain to a point where the snow blocked the road going east across the Vidda, the starting off point of the trip. I had to laugh at how quickly Jon Claus jumped back into the car and drove off, as if to say: "-you’re on your own in this snowstorm at the beginning of your trip". We were among several others preparing for the same trip, apparently. I was too intent on getting ready to ask questions. Had to show my brothers I was prepared... It was about 11 o’clock.

The 301b backpack and the narrow cross-country skis were a new experience. But I could not very well let the younger brothers think it would be a problem. Claus had said it was going to be a short first day trip. This was also to be Charles’ first trip "over Vidda". Claus is four years younger than I, Charles, twelve years younger. Cross-country skiing is their winter pastime.

The three-hour trip was uneventful except for my getting used to the backpack, for the first time in over 40 years. But I had never gone downhill on this type narrow ski with only toe bindings and backpack; turning with this type toe binding is limited to either a "snow-plow" type turn or a stepping turn. There were a few close calls on the three-hour trip as I lagged a little behind the others. The two eyed me critically; I hoped this was out of concern. Claus is jovial, like me, quick to see the lighter side, everything in due time type. Charles more to the taciturn; eyeing my backpack critically... I was taller than either of them by about 3-4 inches. Charles tended to be impatient with my sometime difficulty with my "my mother’s tongue", Claus would take it in stride; Claus and wife had two children, Charles and his wife Assa had a schnauzer.

The cottage or cabin, "Bjoreidsdals Hytta", (-hytta=cabin), was privately owned and my first experience at this type camping. But Claus was an old hand at this, (twice), so things were handled relatively easy. Perhaps it is worth while to mention now that over 40 years had passed since the first thought of going over Vidda on skis had been on my mind. At that time only the bigger boys, or men, would attempt these trips at Easter in the snow.

There were no marked trails that time. Several men had been lost, to be found again as the snow had melted later in the summer; (don’t recall women taking the trip). Even on this short trip, with a ‘small’ snowstorm, I surmised there likely was someone who knew the trip route before the trails were marked regularly. I had been living in the U.S. since 1945. We talked about these aspects as we lingered over the coffee after supper. Charles allowed my skiing was passable, with a smile. Claus’ skis were more of the touring type ski with cable bindings.

First Day;

Coming outside the next morning one noticed two sleds with huge water barrels apparently brought in during the late evening; or, I had been too tired to notice them the evening before. At other areas one fetched water by the pail from a well or a hole in a frozen lake, even melting snow as already noted. Claus advised us to line up for breakfast, and to order sandwiches and tea for the trip, leaving the Thermoses.

Once outside after breakfast the activity of getting ready reminded one of the beehive expression. Claus waxed his skis, mine were the ‘waxless’ type and Charles thought he was OK. But it was also exhilarating to see mostly young women, men, even a few children repacking backpacks, waxing skis, exchanging good-byes, taking off in different directions. Claus stated the Vidda trip at Easter is a must, -a tradition.

On this first full day of the trip, even if it was a nice sunny day and a promise from Claus of only about a five and a half hour trip, the first 1-o-n-g climb made me wonder what in the world I could have been thinking flying about 4000, miles for! Claus had started off ahead with Charles to the rear, "sort of to watch you", he said with a smile. But it was not long before the two of them were out in front. The cabin was probably at about 3000 ft and the topography then rose to about 5000ft before the trek tended downward again towards the next cabin.

They would wait for me during the climb as they rested for a few minutes. When I finally reached them, baiting me, they would hint it was really time to press on again as I hung over the ski poles gasping for breath. But I soon found a way around their sassiness toward their older brother; (maybe he was soft after having been so long over in the BIG U.S. of A). I carried the camera on my chest, secured by the breast strap for the backpack. In order to take a picture it became necessary to unload the backpack. They accepted that I should want to take a lot of pictures to take back to America and only balked if I also looked for a different lens, in order to consume some more time. But I managed to take five rolls in the four and half days, as much for rest as for scenery! (I should like to add, though, that the ploy was unnecessary after the first two days!)

I had skied a lot in the United States before coming back to Norway, but that was all downhill on slalom skis with booths and bindings that held the feet firmly to the skis. ‘Downhilling’ this second day towards the next cabin, Sandhaug, (sand-hill), became a matter how well one could just plain snowplow, with the backpack. After about two hours of this, legs burning, the view of the Sandhaug cabin seemed like a haven indeed. Checking in we were advised that there might be more room about an hour further on, at the Bessaa cabin. (Never found out what the name meant, it was named after a small river). But Claus said we would stay here noting later the cabin there was of a lesser grade’. I sprung for beer as soon as we were settled, my first day on ‘The Vidda’!. Charles allowed I had earned it, even if I paid. Everyone seemed to gather for the weather report after supper, warning about a snowstorm for our section of the mountain during the night.

The ‘adventure’ early next morning of a howling snowstorm, in the middle of miles of nothing but snow, was tempered trying to find an almost see-through outdoor privy; I was glad being an early riser. Packing for the day’s leg of the trip, which was also to be the longest, I intimated that perhaps we ought to bide our time till the storm abated. Claus indicated we were on a schedule, sort of, adding that we were prepared to camp out should that be necessary. In fact, I had brought along a large plastic packing bag, for IBM five-foot high machines, big enough for all three to snuggle into and keep both us and sleeping bags dry. But the possible reality now seemed far less glamorous. "Hope he knows what he’s doing", was on my mind...

Second Day;

-into the teeth of the storm.

The beginning of the trek was almost foreboding as Claus set out on the wrong path. As we crossed a narrow bridge, almost made round-topped because of the drifting snow, Claus fortunately realized we had taken a wrong turn. Clambering back across the bridge and we were on our way. Charles noted I was smart having brought my downhill ski goggles and my down water repellent jacket, bubble jacket he called it. I was thinking more of "Stormy Weather".

Branches set 40 to 60 feet apart marked the trails. At times it became necessary for Claus to ski on ahead because he could not see the next marker. Other times it was necessary to sort of try to find the tracks from the day before by poking the ski pole tips through the new snow. It amazed me that we seemed to be taking it all in stride, as if it were old hat. The thought crossed my mind, too, that there was nothing else we could do but press on. And, remarkably, I was not tired and had no trouble keeping up. The other two did not balk as I unloaded the backpack trying to take pictures of the storm. Hey, I thought, they are not so tough after all and felt better. By lunchtime the storm was abating, "just as forecast", Claus now advised. We found lee behind a large wide boulder jutting up through the snow. Someone had cleared the snow away to make an inviting sit-down area. The sandwiches brought from Sandhaug couldn’t have tasted better any place and the hot tea hit the spot; more pictures. Feeling much better bantering between brothers quickly came to the fore, even as I had to answer a call of nature. The toilet paper was fished out of its place in the backpack side pocket and I headed for a boulder I thought just fortuitously handy. Another threesome was headed the other way just as I climbed out from behind the boulder to the general laughter of all as the toilet paper was taken by the wind and blown across the snow. I stopped short as I heard a couple of girls laughing, but all waved to show it was all in good fun. And it was funny!

Time was dragging on. Claus indicated a need to push on in order to reach the next cabin before dusk. The climb through the storm in the forenoon had worn us down. Claus seemed concerned and we pushed on through some flats, then downhill, indicating we ought to be getting near the cabin called "Littlos". The lights were already on as we glided down the last sloping terrain.

This was the largest and most comfortable cabin yet, two or three buildings built together over the years. It had recently been enlarged and the necessary materials were now freighted in by helicopter. I remembered prewar pictures when everything had to be taken in by pack horses and most cabins typically were necessarily limited to one or one and half room type buildings. I remembered, too, pictures about a Dane crossing in the summertime who complained about sleeping "wall to wall", stepping outside to stretch in the morning.

Claus had been able to call ahead before the trip and bid for a separate room, if available, (radio telephone, previous cabin). Soon we were washing down almost in luxury when compared to the two other nights, in our own room. Charles still complained that I had taken too many clothes with me, which also gave me the largest backpack. "One may think you are one of these mannequins changing underwear almost every time we stop; we are supposed to be roughing it", he said. It was as if he was concerned that his older brother labored unnecessarily with too large a backpack.

The elderly caretaker couple at this cabin complex, which it really was compared to the other cabins, had been here for many seasons. The season likely began just before Easter and lasted almost to the first snow in September. I brought greetings to them from John Andersen in Odda who was well known by the couple because of his many tours to this cabin in the summertime. John also had been like my mentor when I was in my teens. About 4-5 years my senior he had taken me under his tutelage during those years. We had formed a lasting friendship.

In the living room’, before supper, I ordered beer, again, to celebrate the trip through the snowstorm. As usual in gatherings, someone noticed my foreign accent. Now, too, perhaps it is worth while mentioning a condition that was to dog me for the rest of my life. Because I had left my native Norway at 20, after puberty with the intonation and inflection of my voice formed, I, of course, spoke English with a Norwegian accent. And after speaking nothing but English during more than 25 years I now spoke Norwegian with an American accent. To some Norwegians this seemed to be an annoyance, "…How could he forget his mother tongue?", since I also translated from English when speaking Norwegian with syntax fractured accordingly. I was satisfied, though, most of the time people understood. I readily laughed with them over my trouble with, defensively, "your" language.

The group in the cabin this night was just happy to join in my celebration. I had come across their mountain in the snowstorm and half way across this snow covered plateau on cross-country skis at 61 years of age. A couple of ladies in their thirties were especially interested in hearing about some of my exploits as a prisoner, or internee, experiences in Morocco, North Africa during the war. But after a while Claus suggested it was probably time to turn in. Sleep came easily.

The surrounding topography here at Littlos ‘os’ being the mouth of a river, is general to the latitude of this region. At about 60’ north, the same as the southern tip of Greenland and Anchorage Alaska, this valley with the lake is tree-less at about 3000ft altitude. Coming across, or over along this plateau, at about 5000ft on a sunny day on skis, the snow mesmerizingly extends to an omni-directional horizon with barely a black or gray rock jutting through the snow cover. This snow cover may amount to 25ft or more and provides run off through the spring and summer into numerous reservoirs to become the source of Norway’s "white coal", i.e. source of the 99% hydroelectric power in Norway. This power now is exported, for example, to Denmark via very high D.C. voltage by cable under the Skagerak Sea, some 80 miles.

Third Day;

Breakfast the next morning was taken leisurely-like because the trek this day was going to be an easy 5 hr trip. I bid good bye to the host couple. But as we came out to prepare our skis we found people complaining about unexpected icy conditions this time of the year, and that Claus had left the wax for this condition at home. The area soon became study in waxing principles. The younger guys were trying 14 out different types of ‘klisters’, applied with small blowtorches. The klister is a mix of different waxes with a tar base, and looks like tar. I recalled that the only wax available before I left Norway was a whitish paraffin wax block. We experimentally would add melted old 78 rpm gramophone records, a real mess!.

Claus decided we would do the best we could with the wax at hand and we finally got under-way across the almost mile long lake. Charles was in the worst fix on borrowed wooden skis. I soon discovered that my new waxless skis, so called because of cross serrations under the midsection, did just fine so long as I made my own tracks alongside the main tracks. The metal tips of the ski poles had chopped this area up. The other two were cussing the ice. I just kept a little to the rear lest they found out I enjoyed myself at their expense, a little "get you back", brothers.

After more than an hour across the long lake and about half way up a 4-500 foot rise Charles noted that I now could take pictures of the slope we came down last night in the waning daylight hours. (Was he perhaps tired?). I was surprised I was not the least tired, quietly satisfied to be able to keep up with the other two not having to rely on the stratagem of picture taking to get some rest. The sun soon took care of the wax problem as the icy condition disappeared.

It was a most beautiful day and the lunchtime, just about at the end of that day’s climb, was delightful. We spotted and listened to the now winter-white grouse foraging round the low growing shrub type branches jutting through the snow where the snow had blown off the flat bergs Even usually taciturn Charles became talkative and seemed to feel his older brother had been able to keep up. He was surprised at my agility running through the snow to get in the picture, assured me I beat the self-timer.

But, almost absentmindedly, he stated he thought that Assa, his wife, could have made the trip with us. My immediate reaction: "Oh, thanks", came before I could see whether Charles was serious or just pulling my leg, whether taking some offense was in order. Claus just chuckled at his brothers. (Describing an earlier event will reveal my perplexion when I first ran into this American expression, pulling someone’s leg. It was not a common expression in Norwegian).

The rest of the trip to "Hellevassbu" cabin was most enjoyable. Practice makes for at least getting along. My ski-legs’ by now were mastering the narrow cross-country skis with only toe bindings. (It must have been akin to "muscle memory" one should acquire in golf...) "Hellevassbu" (translates roughly to -bu, a smaller cabin, -helle, flat rocks and -vass, from water, i.e. by a lake). It was a self-help type cabin stocked with canned and dried food but with an attendant as overseer, though he had his young family with him. Claus probably would fill us in on this later, if necessary.

We stowed our gear temporarily. I had to go looking for the outhouse. Coming back to the main building the two others had taken off into some small valley areas. Following their tracks I soon found them just skiing to nowhere in particular. They proceeded to attempt some fancier skiing. Claus was showing off with his tour type skis with metal edges. He complained that at 200cm they were a little too long. My narrower cross country skis were 210cm, the extra length for a better glide as well as better tracking in deeper snow, as long as it was dry snow. After some time we found the tracks back to the cabin. There was to be an unexpected experience in store because of misunderstanding and crowding...

The evening meal was at hand. The food consisted of several types of canned items. The cans were stored in cabinets on the wall with the price of each item posted on a sheet of paper. It was an honor system with a locked box on the wall to leave the moneys for the items selected. There were also various types of canned, mostly American fruits, such as fruit salads, peaches, and pineapples. Claus was elected to be the cook because he had been through this before at this very cabin. Whatever the meal was, it had been a long day. We had, more or less, agreed to his selection and it tasted just fine.

Claus had talked to the caretaker about selection of sleeping space because we wished to stay together. A small room with the door removed had two lower and upper bunks along one wall.

It was already getting late and apparently the caretaker did not expect more people to come in that day. Claus understood that the three brothers could bunk down in a bunk each and we bunked down accordingly, I in an upper bunk.

Back Packs Out!

I was already fast asleep when the caretaker came in, ever so loud, threatening to throw us all out. Latecomers had complained that we were occupying too much room with our backpacks stowed under one of the lower bunks to keep them in from the weather. The caretaker shone his flashlight into my face. My bald head and English,: "what in the world is going on here, what do you want," made the caretaker back off, but not before he checked to see if there were other packs, etc. with me in the bunk. The backpacks were unceremoniously thrown outside. He realized he had made a mistake, as to me anyway. But Claus and Charles had to share A bunk in their sleeping bags.

Next morning I learned the reason the backpacks were thrown out, a rule, was that four individuals needed the space for the feet of their sleeping bags as they bunked down on the floor. The caretaker apparently lost his temper because he was called out from his quarters after settling down with his family. My English seemed to calm him down, as if he had to mind his ways with a foreigner in the house. He had made a commitment to Claus, space provided. But when all the other people came in late expecting to be taken care of, he apparently suffered some discomfiture having promised what he couldn’t keep.

Fourth Day;

The problem seemed to have been forgotten in the morning. The people were polite to the old man speaking broken Norwegian. As I came back in after breakfast a young woman was sitting in the other upper bunk in her underwear. She had been my neighbor so to speak; I stammered in English, "I am sorry, Miss". She just gave me a big smile indicating it was OK and I withdrew hastily. The good-byes with the caretaker were friendly. He seemed to appreciate that we took the time.

The topography had changed noticeably to a downward terrain and Claus was naming the different low mountain ranges in the distance. The skiing became mostly downhill, leisurely, gliding. It became nice and warm and we were able to shed some outer-clothes and just pile them on top of the backpack.

The trip became enjoyable; we agreed last night’s ‘to do’ really were hilarious.

Lunch was taken by a little lake with a small building. It was about a three and a half feet square and about 7 feet high. Claus said it was a snow measuring station; people would come in on snowmobiles and measure the snow depth so one could estimate the run-off for the reservoirs feeding the power stations. It was to be our last lunch on Vidda and we lingered, as if to savor the occasion.

The rest of the trip should be ‘duck soup’, (probably an unknown idiom), mostly down hill and across some flats. After some time Charles, concerned about the time we were to catch the bus back to Odda at a high mountain hotel, asked how much longer the trip would be. Claus pointed to some distant area saying it would be over there and took off. I turned to Charles and said, "oh he is full of shit", in English. Realizing Charles looking at me quizzically, annoyed at my English, I stated in Norwegian: "listen, can’t you hear the cars?" And sure enough we were so close to the main road, below, the road noise was within hearing range. Claus, of course, knew where we were all the time.

Another little distance and we were standing on top of a rather steep hill above the main road, on the other side of which the hotel and bus stop. We had talked about getting some beer at the hotel. Not being sure if the hotel served beer to transients, it was agreed I would order lunch and beer in English, perhaps this would do the trick. This was the Haukeliseter hotel; (hauk=hawk, li=grassy mountain side, seter=mountain pasture). Claus started off down the hill, traversing with stop and turn twice because of the steepness and deep snow and did just fine. Charles likewise made the trip in fine fashion.

I took off OK, "I’m as good as they are"... but, alas, it wasn’t to last. Halfway down, on a left track, the narrow skis sank down into the soft snow. Pitching forward with the knees now just below my skis, the backpack slid over my shoulders and just about buried me. Struggling free, after a seeming eternity wondering where my muscle memory had gone, my brothers were just watching, detached I thought. I was almost exhausted after the struggle to get back up. So I just hollered down: "Go ahead in and order the beer!" And a whole flock of people just roared at this American half way up the hill, full of snow, being concerned about beer, -in English.

Once in the restaurant there was no trouble getting what we desired. I carried the cash and the pretty waitresses in national, (and regional), costumes were ever so willing to serve us, corrected my Norwegian and willing to speak English. Soon it seemed that everyone in the restaurant became aware of the balding American who had just come across their Vidda on skis.

We stowed the gear in the bus compartments and boarded for the final trip back to Claus’ house. Just as the bus started rolling I turned to the brothers sitting behind me stating, in English: "I am the oldest and get the first chance at the bathroom and shower!". People turned around wondering what this American was talking about.

When I expressed interest in getting a couple of pictures the bus driver obligingly stopped the bus. Claus mentioned later that the bus driver told him that he recognized me, even being much younger; (Claus mentioned, sort of wryly, I was an "event"...). True to my word, as soon as we were back in the brother’s house I was heading for the bathroom and did not return until I had showered and prettied myself up in a change of clothes.

The welcoming party was going on as I came into the living room to good-natured applause and laughter over the fact that I couldn’t wait for the first, -well done, liskoal". (Skaal is actually a small, deep, bowl the Vikings supposedly drank their mead from). Claus, always standing on ceremony, came over to me placing his hand on my shoulder stating: -" there are not one of your old contemporaries who have accomplished that trip at any age, never mind at 61".

But Charles just couldn’t let that go by without mentioning to Assa, his wife, that he thought she too could have come along. I laughed with them and Charles had to hurry and state that he had no intention of demeaning his older brother’s effort and accomplishment. And it was a good time to be with my brothers and their families.