Ski and Paddle Norway 2009

Distance 29km | Time 6.5hrs | Ascent 0m | Descent 0m

There were again many showers on the tent after I woke early after a good long sleep. I waited for a pause and then packed up. It was completely windstill, which was a blessing for paddling but a nightmare for midges in this damp forested glade. I was eventually on the water for 0900.

Initially I paddled past the ferry terminal to get out of this ferry route and then set my sights on the distant island of Mosteroy and the Fjoloy lighthouse at its western tip. The crossing was relatively easy and much quieter than I anticipated with very little ship traffic. It remained calm but there was the occasional heavy shower. After two hours I reached the lighthouse and had an early lunch.

I had planned to continue all the way to the beaches to the west of Sandnes and camp and then ring Tom Amundsen for a beer and chat. It was still some 25-30 km so I set off quickly for the final crossing to Stavanger which was the 5-6 km wide Byfjord to Tungenes Fyr lighthouse. There was a lot more shipping here coming and going out of Stavanger harbour.

About half way across I thought I heard the phone. It was a missed call by the time I got to it. It was Tom Amundsen. He suggested I paddle another 10 km to Kvernevik and there I could stay in his brother’s empty house. That sounded great. I was looking forward to meeting Tom who was usually 10 to 20 days ahead of me down the coast and we had frequent contact on the phone.

I past Tungenes Fyr and was in a world of my own after passing some porpoises when I suddenly noticed the bow of a kayak beside me. I had to do a double take and right enough there was a kayak there. Initially I thought it was Tom but it was Richard. Naturally we got chatting.

Richard was a work colleague in the fire department and kayaking buddy of Toms who just by chance was returning from his cabin to the very bay where I was heading and Tom’s brother Oyvind lived. It is not unusual in Norway to have extraordinary coincidences especially in the social world where someone’s cousin could be married to the neighbour of someone you meet in a DNT cabin. Norway is a small world socially but this was an extraordinary coincidence. It was good to have someone to talk to.

Richard was in a beautiful wooden kayak he had made himself after the design of a famous Swedish kayak designer. He had spent about 250 hours building the boat and had made his own Greenland paddle. He was fast and I had to increase my tempo a lot to keep up with him- yet he was relaxed. Just then his phone went. It was Tom looking out for me and recognized Richards’s hat through his binoculars.

We rounded Vistnes headland and then paddled across the bay to Kvernevik. We chatted continually. As we approached the land he pointed out a few things like the memorial to the Alexander Kielland platform which was Norway’s large offshore tragedy some 25 years ago.

When we reached the rocks near Kvernevik bay I saw someone standing on the knoll slowly waving a Norwegian flag. Then I saw Tom by the water. We chatted briefly and then paddled the 200 metres into the Kvernevik bay. What a reception I got from the Amundsens.

The three men had all been reading the blog and welcomed me very warmly. There was lots of hand shaking and banter and then all hands grabbed my boat and we carried it fully loaded up to Oyvinds’ house some 200 metres away. Many hands made light work.

I felt quite humbled by their greeting. Mr Amundsen well into his 70’s had a warm personality and still had a playful glint in his eyes. He had 5 children and Tom, who had just finished the Norwegian coast was one, and Oyvind, who house we were at was another. My Amundsen had been one of the early North Sea saturation divers. To leave a dive bell at 200 metres depth in the dark and fumble over the sea bed to a pipeline and start welding a segment on it must have taken a lot of courage in those pioneering days 30 years ago. He must have inherited that from his great great uncle.

I had a shower while Oyvind shopped for me and then chatted briefly with Tom before he had to go. The weather forecast for tomorrow was bad and if I stayed it would give Tom and myself the chance to chat about our trips. Oyvind also had to return to his family in their cabin nearby but made sure I felt completely at home before he went. His very bright, polite son Lasse let me sleep in his bedroom.

It was one of the most comfortable evenings this year. I wrote some of the blog, made a meal from the food Oyvind kindly bought, washed some cloths and relaxed in front of the TV. The weather forecast did indeed look grim for tomorrow.

It was an OK paddling day across Boknafjord to Stavanger but a great and memorable arrival.

Distance 41km | Time 7.5hrs | Ascent 0m | Descent 0m

It was quite a windy night down by the shore with frequent heavy rain showers. Each time I was about to get up another shower would come through and pelt the tent. It probably sounded worse than it was on the taut nylon. I eventually got up at 1030. It was blowing a good force five but straight out of the north as forecast. I would have a strong wind in my back all day.

I set off at 1200 and immediately was pushed down the north end of Karmsund with waves breaking over the cockpit. Soon I got to a more sheltered part of the sound and the waves got smaller as the fetch was less. Karmsund is the 300-400 metre wide sound which separates the maritime town of Haugesund from its more industrial half on Karmoy island across the water.

Initially I went down Karmsund itself for the northern part of Haugesund town but then discovered I was to the west of a line of islands in the sound and to the east was another narrower sound, a canal through the town. This formed an artery through the middle of the city and I took it.

I was blown through the centre of quite a charming city. Old herring wharfs had been tastefully converted and there was quite a collection of traditional wooden boats. There was also a metropolitan feel with plenty of glass, metal and concrete buildings. Many ritzy cabin cruisers and sleek modern yachts were moored along this canal. People drinking Chablis in expensive cloths on their boats waved and made friendly comments as I passed. Market stalls lined the main street. There was a jazz festival on for a few days. They called it ‘SildJazz’ or ‘Herring Jazz’.

Haugesund ended with more waterside apartments and a large bridge over Karmsund to the more industrial Karmoy island. I was blown under the bridge and then entered another basin with more industry on the Karmoy island side. There were also 11 large ships moored here. Most seemed container ships sleeping out the recession and waiting for Europe’s hunger for Chinese consumables to reawaken.

I did not have to wait long until I reached an escape route from Karmsund. On the east side was a peninsula with a medium sized island off the end of it called Fosen, and separating this island from the peninsula was Roksund. I turned into it and entered another world.

Between the spruce forests on each side of Roksund sound was a quiet, sunny, strip of water. It was a sanctuary and on each side it was lined with older wooden cabins and boathouses all set in mature colourful gardens. There were about 30 swans in one of the wider sections. There was activity here also but more of the small, artisanal, boatyard type, rather than the huge multinational concerns along Karmsund.

At the east end of the 2 km long Roksund I entered Forresfjord. The wind was back and by now it was a force six. I got bundled down the fjord and hardly had time to take photos. I was doing nearly 8 km per hour. I kept closer to shore as the waves were smaller here. If the waves get to big the kayak slows considerably. It cannot catch and surf these fast moving waves which pass under it. It therefore tends to wallow a bit sliding down the back of one wave and accelerating down the face of the next for a second or two. If the waves are small however a strong following wind pushes me along well.

I made good time down Forresfjord towards the green, pastoral Bokn islands ahead going round the east of Hovringoy and then south through a cluster of rocky islets, which were very rugged and angular.

I was going to cut over to Vestre Bokn from here but suddenly there was about 4 ships and the express ferry in the Boknsund between the two main islands so I kept to the east and went to Austre Bokn island instead. Once I reached it I paddled down under the bridge with the waves suddenly rising to nearly 2 metres under the bridge due to the flooding tide. It made for a very choppy sea where I could not let go of the paddle at all for support strokes.

As soon as I was under the busy bridge the sea calmed down and I could cross the sound to the west side and continue down to the south of Vestre Bokn island. I understood why the bridge was so busy now because this was the main road to Stavanger from the north. All the vehicles were also heading to the south of Vestre Bokn where two large ferries crossed Boknafjord constantly.

As I paddled to the southern tip of the island I passed an islet with about 30 herons resting on it. Birds seem very wary of my yellow slow moving kayak, and the heron especially. They were all airborne while I was still 200 metres away. Yet they won’t bat an eyelid when a speedboat goes past.

I passed a couple of campsites but continued south past the breakwater for the busy ferry terminal where I hoped to camp. However round the breakwater was just a bleak wave ravaged shoreline of bare rock. There was nowhere to camp here and I had run out of island.

I did not want to cross the 10 km Boknafjord in this force five wind. While it looked benign here with the spray just lifting of the wavelets I knew on the other side the waves would be big. This was a problem in itself but more importantly the ships and express ferry would just not see me among the breaking waves. I had no option to return to the herons. It was a good 3 km back into the wind. It took almost an hour and I was irritated by my lack of foresight and this wasted effort.

As I approached the herons I noticed a bridge and inlet which I had missed before. I paddled into it and a large basin opened up. On one side were tasteless modern cabins with flat roofs but on the other was an old farm with fields of grass and juniper forest and a muddy beach. It was ideal.

I landed and found a campsite beside a juniper. I then noticed some sheep and a very old man tending them. He must have been nearly 90 and walked with difficulty yet he had overalls on. I approached him and asked him a question. He switched his hearing aid on and said off course I could camp. He then herded his sheep down the grassy track to an older barn. I felt a lot of admiration for him, this old man who should have been in a nursing home but refused to give up.

I had the tent up in the evening sun with a good breeze to keep the midges at bay. By the time I was in my clammy damp sleeping bag it was 2130 and I could not be bothered to write. Instead I had a very early night and was asleep while the sun was just setting.

It had been an OK day. The wind had really helped and had also made some interesting moments. Roksund was perhaps the highlight and backtracking against the wind in a bad mood was the low.

Distance 30 km | Time 7.5hrs | Ascent 0m | Descent 0m

The forecast said it would be calm in the morning and then the wind would gradually pick up in the morning to a force 5 and this would increase up a force seven in the late afternoon and continue much of tomorrow. Therefore when I reluctantly woke at 0630 I really had to get up and get going at once. The next stretch contained Sletta a 15-18 section of relatively exposed coastline. I had to pass it before reaching Haugesund.

I took down the tent with one hand while the other smeared midges over my face, packed the kayak and was away by 0800 eating the breakfast biscuits as I paddled. It was completely wind still. The weather though was mixed. There was the odd shower but just across the 6 km Bomlofjord the island of Bomlo was almost invisible under a continual heavy downpour.

I made good time initially past the radio masts at Tjernagel and on to the islands in the bay by the hamlet of Buavag. I did not stop as the wind was increasing as forecast predicted and this made me paddle with extra vigour. I soon reached the very sleepy hamlet of Lyngholmen. This hamlet was well protected by a series of wooded islands and its old boatsheds were well maintained.

After I left the small islands protecting Lyngholmen I was into Sletta. In a good westerly wind the Atlantic swell comes right in and breaks on these shores. There were just a few small islands and skerries to take some of the force out of it before it reached the coastline. This was no Osthavet, Nordkinn or Stad though and there were plenty of escape routes if one should be caught out. Still it was probably not the coastline to attempt in a force five upwards. It was a force three when I started out.

In no time I reached the Ryvarden Fyr lighthouse. The keeper’s house was the usual white building with the rounded slates on the roof and the lighthouse itself seemed to be a wooden clad tower. It was an important lighthouse as it marked the entrance to Hardangerfjord and the inner shipping lane to Bergen.

I made a few phone calls from here as the support team of Hartmut and Oyvind were keen to know when I would finish so they could organize both their holidays and my homecoming. I will reach Oslo on Saturday September 5 at 1600 hrs. That gives me about 24 days to do the remaining 700 km which should be about right. I also arranged to forward the spraydeck, now arrived in Bergen, to Sandsnes where Platou also have a shop. Platou Sports had very kindly agreed to be an address to receive this from England and were going out of their way to be helpful, especially Stian.

As I carried on south down the coast I could see that this place did get some impressive weather. The rocky coastline was bare for many tens of metres where the swells had lashed it and prevented any vegetation growing and there were cairns on all the headlands. It was still a force three for me however so it was easy.

Eventually as I approached the northern end of Haugesund sound the small swell disappeared completely. I paddled into a bay at the very north of the town. There was a tall monument here to Harald Harfagre the first king of Norway who united the kingdom and created 12 sub kingdoms under him about 1000 years ago. He was from this region. There was a hidden gravel beach here near two boatsheds and I landed the kayak there.

I went through a field up to the camp site. They had no huts available and wanted 300 kroner to pitch a tent as it was the annual Haugesund Jazz festival. I decided to camp at the gravel beach by the kayak and boatsheds and in the field with sheep. But the very nice young team at the campsite let me use the showers and a small room to write at and charge batteries for a nominal fee.

I went for a small wander to the shop to get dinner and then returned to the campsite to write. Unfortunately the room was the TV room also and the Norway versus Scotland football match was on. There was only one Norwegian in the room but he cheered and clapped so much I had to tell him to shut up. He must have thought I was just pissed off because Scotland got hammered, but the needless noise distracted me. I eventually finished at 2300 and returned in the dark to the tent down by the shore.

It was a good day but not a classic at all. Sletta was not that interesting but Ryvarden Fyr lighthouse was dramatic. It was quite a short day which I probably needed.

Distance 58km | Time 11.5hrs | Ascent 0m | Descent 0m

Late last night I got a text message from a journalist in the local paper and we arranged an interview at 0730. When the time came I was still asleep and she had to phone me from outside the tent. We went up to her nearby office where a couple of coffees helped. We chatted for a good hour while she took notes and looked at my webpage.

After that we returned to the tent in the drizzle and she took some photos while I started packing. It took a while in this weather but eventually I was ready to go at 1030. The drizzle was intermittent but there was a good wind. It seemed to be a northerly which was what I wanted.

I set off round the north of Rostoy and then turned south. The wind was indeed behind me and it was a good force 5. The tide was against me but the wind completely overrode this and I was doing a good 7 km per hour down the west side of the peninsula towards Selbjorn Bridge.

By the time I got to the bridge there was quite a swell behind me and I managed to surf a few waves. It was quite wet though and water was pouring into the cockpit through the inferior ‘seals’ spraydeck. At the bridge itself this swell met the flowing tide and caused the swell to rise steeply and break. I kept to the side to avoid it.

Just after the bridge on the west side was the village of Bekkjarvik. It was a small delightful harbour with a mix of old warehouses and traditional boats and exclusive sailing boats and a nice looking but expensive hotel. It looked a mix of traditional local and yachting fraternity. I ate lunch in the kayak here before going back into the northerly wind.

The wind had eased a bit which was good as I set my sights on Fornno island across the 5-6 km wide Selbjornsfjord. It was an easy crossing and it was only towards the last km that the waves started to break over the back of the kayak slewing it from side to side.

I thought it best to head further west now passing Teloy and Ivarsoy until I got to the top of Alforo island. This was a perfect route as I threaded through outcrops of grey rock islets with calm channels in between. I slowed down again as I explored the region. There were some old homesteads here with very little green land to cultivate. Long ago fishing must have been the only livelihood here. Now many of these homesteads were leisure homes and there were many newer cabins in addition. It was a delightful and idyllic paddle.

By the time I reached Agasoster I had crossed right over to the large island of Bomlo. I was now back in the more open water and still had the north wind behind me. In addition now the tide was with me. I was starting to move quite quickly again at 7 km per hour. I soon had the bit between my teeth and sat up and started to paddle strongly. I was flying along.

I took just a couple of hours to blast down past the town of Rubbestadneset and further down Stokksund. On my west was Bomlo and on my right was the large island of Stord. Stord was both an agricultural and industrial island with an airport. However the west side of it looked pretty grey and barren. By the airport Stokksund sound narrowed and although the wind had died away the tide and my vigorous paddling kept the good tempo.

Before long I was approaching a series of three bridges which connected Bomlo to Stord. Many barrels of oil must have paid for these bridges as two were massive suspension bridges. When the oil runs out I hope there is enough money to maintain this vast infrastructure of tunnels and bridges which Norway has wisely built to keep the small island communities viable and stem the urban drift.

Just after the most westerly bridge on the south side was the village of Royksund. Long ago the villagers here built a canal connecting Stokksund to Boroyfjord so they could take the fishing boats through here without having to go into the more exposed Bomlofjord.

I thought about taking it but then decided to continue under the middle bridge and round the east side of the small Spyssoy island. From there I could cross over to the east tip of the Moster peninsula. The tide was just turning now and I was getting tired so my speed was back to 5 km per hour. It was however turning into a beautiful still evening.

As I reached the eastern tip of Moster I could look up Bomlofjord which then changed its name to Hardangerfjord. Hardangerfjord is perhaps together with Sognefjord the most significant of Norwegian fjords. It features heavily in a lot of Norwegian art and literature, In summertime it is the epitomy of a fjord with green farms along the water’s edge with cherry blossom on the many orchards here.

There were two cruise ships coming out of this fjord when I crossed due south to the wooded peninsula of Slettene. The sun was going down now and the whole forest here was lit up in an orange glow together with the farms of Oklandsnes. It was approaching 2130 now and the shore looked rocky and devoid of campspots for a while ahead. So I decided to head along the shore and camp as soon as possible.

I had to go a while before the coast went into a bay with some islands. I followed the coast round and the farms of Oklandsnes gave was to boatsheds and newer exclusive cabins. Tucked away in the far corner was a gravel beach some flat grass and many conifers. It was perfect but probably a midge nightmare on this still night.

I had the tent up and was in before they noticed the carbon dioxide I was producing and could home in. I did not bother to even turn the laptop on or have supper. After admiring the sunset I crashed out around 2230.

It had been a great day. Very good paddling with the large following sea initially and then through the archipelago of islands north of Stokksund. I had also managed a respectable distance despite the 1030 start.

Distance 25km | Time 6hrs | Ascent 0m | Descent 0m

I slept surprisingly long. Everything in the tent smelt of smoke and I had a sore throat from sitting downwind of the fire occasionally last night. It was 0830 when I eventually got up. Ann Grete and Gabriel were already up. We ate breakfast on a rock together.

After breakfast I asked Gabriel if he wanted to paddle about the bay in the kayak while I packed everything. He was widely enthusiastic. He was not yet 8 but once I had pushed him off with the most basic lesson he grasped it quite quickly. It was an extremely safe bay so I and Ann Grete just let him get on with it. After half an hour I was ready to pack and he came in. Already he was asking Ann Grete if he could get a kayak.

I set off at 1100. It was a good paddling day. Overcast and dry with just a slight wind against me. However I felt lethargic despite the two previous short days of just 20 km each. For the first time I was getting a bit fed up and bored. There was too much paddling in safe water now, the scenery was predictable, putting the tent up and down was getting tedious and the writing was a chore.

I was longing for more of a challenge. I could of course get it by heading 20 km west and going down the outside of the skerries on the Atlantics fringe but this would slow me down. There are 2 more exposed bits coming up soon at Sletta and Jaeren in a week or so and I am looking forward to them.

I crossed Raunefjord to the small island of Leroy where there was a salmon farm. I seem to be passing about 4-5 large salmon farms a day at the moment. I would guess that there are well over 1000 in Norway all together each with an average of 6 large cages. As I reached the narrow section between Leroy island and Sund town a fantastic sight came round the corner and the tedium was relieved. It was the Statsraad Lehmkuhl.

The Statsraad Lehmkuhl was a Tall Ship. It was registered in Bergen. It was a huge 3 masted, steel hulled sailing boat which must have been nearly 100 metres long with the massive bowsprit. I counted rigging for 15 massive large canvas sails. In full sail this would have been a formidable and graceful sight. Even with all the sail down it was quite breathtaking and special. There were a lot of people on board and I guess that it was a training ship which specialized in taking teenagers on sailing voyages where everyone was expected to work.

After she passed I carried on to the south end of the peninsula which was the south end of the island of Sotra. Here I had a 5-6 km crossing over the Korsfjord to the small island of Skorpo, which was the most northernmost island in Austevoll council. This council was essentially an archipelago of over 1000 islands and was renowned as a beautiful area.

I paddled round Skorpo and then entered a fascinating area of small islets and channels. The islets were covered in pines, rowans now red in berry, and aspen. It was so still that not even the aspen leaves were quivering and flickering. I paddled slowly now and weaved and explored as I went. There were a few cabins here and there.

There was someone painting the jetty at one of the cabins. He was the typically friendly, capable and modest older Norwegian one cannot but like and admire. I asked him if there was a shop at Austevoll just to hear it confirmed. No he said it closed last year but there is one at Storebo. We started chatting. As usual he asked the question ‘are you on a long tour’ and I said ‘quite long’. Then as usual he said ‘where did you start’ and I said ‘Kirkenes’. This always produced an expression of astonishment. We chatted more and then I left for the shop in Storebo some 6 km away.

After a couple of km he reappeared in his boat. His wife had sent him to see if I wanted a coffee or beer or even stay overnight in a guest cabin he had. He was embarrassed he had not offered earlier. It was a very nice gesture but it would have meant doubling back some 2 km. I thanked him but said it was a long way to Oslo and I could not really dally. We said our goodbyes again.

It was a long 6 km to Storebo with the wind against me. I got there around 1700 and met a couple of people there from the local kayak club. They had an impressive shed in the small boat harbour. I chatted with them as I beached the kayak and then went up to the shop. I bought food for the next 5-6 days.

When I returned to the kayak it was 1800. I thought is it really worth going on or shall I just camp here in this small quiet marina where there were some picnic tables. There was enough of a breeze to hold the midges at bay if I wrote outside, so I opted to stay.

Within an hour I had the tent up on some wooden decking and I was established and writing. A few people showed up soon afterwards. I was the local kayak club for an evening tour. Naturally we got chatting. They seemed a very enthusiastic and proficient bunch with a range of kayaks. Most were British and none had a rudder. I looked around there large council funded shed which had some 20 kayaks in it.

Once they had disappeared for the evenings paddle I took the opportunity to write and the rain kindly kept at bay. When they returned I had pretty much finished writing and chatted with many of them. They even gave me a free club tea shirt and one had a shot in my boat. The club was called Havstril Padleklubb Austevoll.

It had been a trying day where I started feeling quite bored and a bit low but as the day went on I felt better and better.