Geraint Anderson: Summer in Norway

During the summer of 2011, between finishing my masters and getting a job I set off for a 6 week expedition to Norway. The plan was simple; drive to Harwich and catch the ferry to Esbjerg. Drive through Denmark, Sweden and up through Norway until we reached the Sjoa river. In reality things were a little less straight forward and after getting lost we arrived in a different region at about three in the morning. It didn’t matter, we got a couple of warm-up days paddling the easier rivers of Hedmark

So, over the next month and a half the three of us aimlessly roamed across Norway paddling amazing white water, sleeping outside and cooking on a small Trangia. We sporadically met up with friends along the way, and paddled with random people we met on river. The days that really stand out in my mind are not always the obvious ones, like the night we slept in a car park in Bergen after a rare evening in the city, because we were too cheap to pay the 200kr camping charge, and waking up after our lie in to find the locals staring at these odd foreigners in their sleeping bags. Or sharing our “traditional British desert” of boiled chocolate pudding and a 10p sachet of ASDA custard with some people we met after they cooked us a filling and far more traditional sauerkraut variation. Or running a half marathon to get the car after finishing the surprisingly exciting canyon on the Driva, or emerging from a long and tiring days kayaking to find a group of German boaters on the bank who had made us a cup of tea laced with rum to take the cold away.

The infamous Money Drop

Of course there are also the obvious happy memories too. Running the Money Drop, named after the first decent where the sponsors of the Voss Extreme Week stumped up some cash for anyone who paddled the waterfall during the festival. The feeling of joy after reaching the end of the Myrkdalselvi after heavy rain had swelled the flows. A real highlight for me was completing the Gråura where the river chews its way through a 250m deep gorge, with three Germans I met the night before. We celebrated this one with a homemade sauna on the sandy beach in a clearing of the trees somewhere near the Ulvåa.

A rest day

We took a “rest day” to go climbing on the island of Ågotnes. I slept on top of the cliff that night, on a big granite rock surrounded by heathers, overlooking a deep blue lake and beyond that, the North Sea. In Norway at this time of year, it never really gets dark. There is a brief period of dusk where the sun dips behind the mountains tricking unsuspecting travellers into thinking it’s night, before cruelly emerging again to spite the tired. We lost track of time. Hours merge into days, into weeks. We slept when we were tired and kayaked when we were not. We ate when we were hungry and drank when we were thirsty. The necessities. The fishing was always good and even if my catches were small they tasted exceptional.

Room with a view!

Rhod, nailing the line.

Not all days were so idyllic. We spent a few days at what appeared to be a rubbish dump near a deserted army barracks which turned out to be a convenient base for some of the steep rivers nearby. On our last night there we woke to heavy rain, and the Brandsetelvi which was nothing more than a trickle the night before had swelled to a raging torrent. By the time the rain had stopped the river had risen about ten feet. We took another rest day here, a real one this time, and visited a swimming pool in Voss to soak our aching bodies, now tired from weeks of constant activity.

Andrews attempt at the first descent

At some point along the journey I met up with some friends from home and we set off in search of a first descent. As Andrew Coultherd , Chris Griffiths and myself spend four hours climbing into a deep gorge in the mist of an enormous waterfall we got a valuable lesson in perspective. The “easy” rapids Andrew had spied from the top of a mountain turned out to be miles of continuous white water, flowing over, under and through razor sharp rocks pummelling it’s long course through the gorge to eventually reach the fjord. As we approached the “small drops” they became lethal monstrosities with tonnes of water ploughing over the edge and boiling up thirty feet downstream in huge recirculating cauldrons of no escape. Lesson learned; small, or far away! After spending another couple of hours inspecting the gorge we couldn’t find any eddies above the drops and didn’t fancy our chances on the other rapids either so we had to abort. We did manage to paddle about 50 foot of river. Andrew did a little further, down to a shallow ledge where I was stood up to my knees to “catch” him. Sufficient pay back for a trip to Scotland where we paddled a fast rising Moy Burn, miles above the guidebook section, where I was stuck on the wrong side of the river blocked in by a super smooth rock slab angled at 70 degrees. I managed to escape by climbing up Andrew like a ladder, while he was lying flat on the rock with both hands holding on to the top of the slab. So, favour repaid, we started the four hour climb back out of the gorge. It was a long day for so little kayaking, but worth the adventure. You can’t always be lucky!

Nicki, punching through the hole

Equally, the good rivers weren’t all plain sailing either. We had our share of swims and these were usually memorable ones. My first was pretty tame. I snapped my paddles on the thirty footer on the Jordalselvi and failed to hand roll. My second was quite different. We arrived at the Rauma to find a good flow. The others weren’t so keen so I decided to go it alone, with Rhodri Anderson and Nicki Turton as bank support. At some point while I was walking the long path into the gorge, some other kayakers driving past noticed a car with a kayak unracked and came for a look. They carried my paddle to help me walk across the narrow ledge to the top of the first waterfall, then held my kayak for me to get in. Although I didn’t “style it”, my line saw me through and the huge cheer from the crowd that had now gathered was inspiring. The next waterfall was a different story. Keen to avoid the massive tow back of the Ulvåa river crashing down a rocky ramp from the left I pushed right too hard, and as the river swung left above the fall it pushed me dangerously close to the wall. Losing momentum I flopped pathetically over the lip, putting enough of a boof stroke in to keep my bow up (just) and pointing towards the river right eddy.

Moments from the beating of my life!

Despite landing in the right place, I had no speed and the column of water pushing down on my right edge caused me to resurface upside down. Even so, I thought I had made it. The turbulent water in the pool below felt like it was ripping me apart and I couldn’t get any purchase with the paddle to roll. In fact I couldn’t even reach the surface and time and time again my roll failed. I started getting worried about going over the next drop upside down. Then, I felt air on my hands and had my first good shot at a roll. Just as I pulled on my paddle I felt water drumming down on me and had the horrible moment of realisation that I wasn’t approaching the next drop. I wasn’t even fighting the boils downstream. I was right where I landed, in the hole under the waterfall. As I started pushing myself out of my kayak to swim for it the water felt calm, briefly, then the river ripped me from the seat tumbling me down. Everything dimmed to a dark green with the waterfall just a deep rumble far away. I brushed the riverbed with my toes and in a moment of foolishness I kicked off back to the surface. I was racing back to the air, towards a breath, towards colour, but before I reached it the lights went out and I was slammed flat on my back against the floor. The river picked me up and threw me again against the rock in the pitch black. As I curled up in a ball I bounced along the bottom, then started going up towards the surface again, this time with the rising column of water. Darkness turned back to a deep green and then I saw sunlight glimmering through the surface. I emerged far downstream on the right of the huge boil which kicked me towards the rocky bank where I sat a while in the shallow water catching my breath. The moment I pulled my deck the thought popped in to my head that I would never see my boat and paddle again. Luckily they were still where I had left them, getting beaten in the tow back of the falls. I have no idea how Rhod and Nicki got them out, but by the time I had the strength to get up, my boat and paddle were lying on the bank.

Fun times on the Valdølla

Dropping into the 5th Ulla waterfall.

6 weeks after leaving the UK we started the long journey home. I never miss the comfort of home until I’m so close to getting there. The last night in a tent was tough. Every part of me ached and I longed for a bed, an oven, a cold beer, and most of all, darkness after the constant light of a Scandinavian summer. I don’t think there are many feelings as rewarding as that journey home, knowing that we made it and tomorrow our survival won’t depend on maintaining complete mental focus and one hundred percent concentration.