Galdhøppigen

Spitestolen – Galhøpiggen – Gjendebu

Audiobook of the Day: Amundsen

Podcast of the day: Bone Valley

I miss: Dry feet

Going up was surprisingly easy. Zoe and I started hiking at 7:45 to beat the crowd that was just about to have breakfast in the hut next to us. I could see the moon hanging just behind the mountains—it was ridiculously beautiful. We set a pace, overtaking everyone. For a second, we thought we’d reached the peak… until we looked up and realized the real summit was 200 meters higher. Classic.

The weather was perfect. The mood was perfect. The higher we got, the more I felt why I was doing this. Views that make your jaw ache. We had a clear view, and in the blistering sun, Glittertind looked a bit too easy for what it had felt like yesterday in the fog and cold. We laughed about it—if we’d had yesterday’s experience on Glittertind here on this mountain, things could’ve gone sideways fast. Galhøpiggen is way more technical; the glacier starts right next to the trail. One wrong step, and you’re on ice where you definitely don’t want to be. With bad visibility, I would not want to be here.

Zoe, by chance, ran into six people she knew from studying in Bergen. Small world. They happened to be doing the same hike. When we finally got to the peak, it felt glorious and it felt like we could literally see all of Norway. At the top, there’s this tiny hut where you can get hot chocolate. Of course. Makes sense to have a hut on the highest peak and serve hot chocolate. The dude running it sleeps up there. I wasn’t complaining—my water was almost gone, and I was hungry, so we drank and had snicksnacks.

Coming down was a blast. We glissaded wherever we could to speed up the process. Back at Spitestulen, we both inhaled a panini. Could have inhaled three more. It had taken us six hours in total, but maybe 45 minutes of that was spent at the peak drinking chocolate.

Next up: Zoe’s heading to Leirvassbu; me? I thought it would just be a campsite somewhere between Spitestulen and Gjendebu. I’d studied the map and knew it might be tricky—half of the trip would end on the high plateau. You know that moment when you look at your watch, it’s 4 p.m., and you think, “Too early to stop, too late to chill”? That.

I checked out a few campsites on the way up, but none felt right. Clouds rolled in, drizzle started, everything looked a little sad, and I just didn’t feel like sleeping in that cloud-hung valley by myself, knowing the next morning would probably look the same. So I pushed on. Would I have the energy to make it over the plateau? Probably—but I’d only get a good campsite on the other side.

On the way up, I ran into a couple coming down. They were exhausted and looked at me wide-eyed like I was insane. “You really wanna start the plateau now?” They’d been going for three hours from the last opportunity to camp they said. By then, it was 5 p.m. I paused. Questioned myself. But I knew I was faster, so I just went for it. One hour later, I’d conquered the plateau. Not going to lie, it was hard. Big rocks everywhere. Had to jump from one to the next. Of course, it also rained the entire time. The universe wasn’t letting me off easy.

So there I was. I had made it to the other side, and I was surrounded by perfectly flat little campsites with big views. I had gotten 8 km out of my next destination. The ferry to Gjendesheim would leave at 8:35. I was contemplating. Either get closer so I could camp and make it there easily in the morning—or stop and take the ferry in the afternoon. Knowing the weather would stay bad, I felt like pushing on. So I did. And once I had made it 4 km out, I started to look for campsites—but literally everywhere flat had a cow pat, so I kept going even if I didn’t want to. Better to move than set your tent on a kuhfladen. In the end, I just went all the way.

In the last 2 km I had stopped once and tried to set up my tent next to a river, only to learn I was trying to pitch it on a huge rock. Obviously, my tent stakes didn’t go into the ground far enough, so I grumbled and gave up, angrily hiking until the very end at Gjendebu.

I had hiked 35 km, climbed about 2,100 m in elevation, and been on the move for 13 hours—minus the panini break.

The freeze-dried dinner I had in my tent was one of the best meals of my life. Not even exaggerating. My god, it was delicious. Needless to say, I slept like a baby that night.

Morning came. I packed up, grabbed a mediocre breakfast, and lounged in the cozy Gjendebu living room until it was time to catch the ferry I had been so desperate to make.

And then… Gjendesheim. The bus I wanted to take was sold out. Next one leaving at 2:00 p.m. I was so bummed. But whatever. I made the best of it—sat, wrote this little blog post, and soaked it all in. And I had a glass of wine.