Borderlands - A Scandinavian Return (Part 2)

Some trips make you realize why you do this. That  combination of superlative landscape and weather that just caresses you. Memories of previous days of wind and rain or the assault of biting insects melt away. There's a flow to the journey and this was one such occasion.

I'm glad to say that since publishing Part 1 of my summary of this early autumn walk in the Borderlands I've had the go ahead to 'pen' a feature for TGO which will appear sometime in 2017. What I like about writing for a magazine is the pressure to step up in terms of writing but also the opportunity to explore themes. All to be a packaged in about 2, 500 words and subject to the expert eye of an editor.

​My blog though is a little more personal. A scapbook really where I have a chance to develop some thoughts, some sketching for a wider article or perhaps test a notion or two.

And the blog gives an opportunity for celebration and this walk certainly deserves it. Ten glorious days in Granslandet and in weather which was impeccable.  I had no doubt of that as I awoke on another bright Monday morning and dropped down off the heights of Tandsjovalen with the goal of reaching the STF hut at Storrodtjarnstugan. 

Until I leave Storrodstjarnstugan my route essentially mirrors my Grona Bandet. The point of this walk though was to explore in greater depth Rogen and its Norwegian counterpart Femundsmarka. I had a couple of options to cross into Femund. Perhaps the easiest option would have been to follow the trail network from Storrodstjarnstugan and follow it it Norway. This would have taken me away from Rogen itself for this trip and I wasn't sure that I was ready to leave.

From my vantage points above Lake Rogen I spied a cross country route on the southern shores of Rogen. The fells looks clear and with enough gaps in the forestry. I'm confident that I can make quick passage and hit the Norwegian trail network without too much fuss.

In reality things are much more difficult. The area is covered in moraine and I take almost three days to cover a relatively short space of around 30 km. That said though the forest scape is astonishing. Mosses carpet the forest floors and pines of all shapes, ages and sizes provide an enchanting places to sweat and toil.

I also see no other human life for almost four days. I leave the STF hut at Storrodstjarn after a pleasant chat with the hut warden (and buying some more gas) and see no one else for some four days until a young dutch man and myself meet in Femund.

I can't pretend that this section of the walk was easy, but it was certainly remarkable in itself.

A deep forest of ancient pines, studded with the work of ancient glaciers and fringed by huge lakes on other side.

The walking days are hard but two memorable camps, not least on just above the shores of Lake Rogen. A hard days walk, a bracing dip and then ten hours sleep.

And its utterly tranquil. Nothing more than the sound of water lapping on rock and wind in pine. A true pause in life.

The Norwegian border lies at the eastern end of Rogen. I'm to leave Sweden by climbing high, scanning for two border cairns which are marked as near the summit of a low fell.

My eye catches sight of the familiar cairns. Like their scores of counterparts I've met on this borderline which cuts hundreds of miles through this wilderness they stand in splendid isolation, marking the boundary between the two kingdoms.

I've crossed like this between the two dozens of times but there's still a slight thrill. A subversion really of what a border should feel like. A notion of a place where control is exerted by fences and guards and administration required.

Here, the suggestion of a frontier only. This border space marked further by a line cut through the miles of forestry on other side but there's little at present to discern the two nations.

I feel more definitely in Norway when I tumble off the hill and onto the Norwegian trail network. The familiar red trail blazes a welcome sight.

I've left Rogen behind and I'm now in Femund. The first of Femund's famous bua or bothies lies not too far from my meeting of the trail. This ancient forest is dotted with open huts, testament to old forestry operations and a national spirit which sees the preservation and openness of wilderness shelters as an imperative.

Despite the regular trail blazes a lapse in concentration. After a while I realise I'm off the marked trail and on one of the irregular paths which dot the forests. I need my compass to correct my direction and after a small struggle I head up onto open fell. Before me the bulk of Storsvuka, capped in mist.

Perhaps the worst weather of the trip as I erect the tent in light rain. But I'm fed and snug by the time darkness falls, no hardship here.

As I pack up the next morning the monochrome of the sky seems to only enhance the blaze of autumn colour. A slight forest of birch, dotting the hill side and leaves swirling in the breeze. A melancholic sight but achingly beautiful.

Today I'm heading to the DNT hut at Rovallen. It's self service so with my trusty key I will be able to access the warmth and comfort of the Norwegian hut system. Importantly too is the ability to eat and restock a little from the honesty cupboard.

After an hour of setting off I see a figure amble towards me. My first meeting in three days. He's not seen anyone else for two and we remark upon the tranquilty of these mountains. What a place!

 But despite the solitude apparently I'm walking on the cross Europe E1! From Nordcapp to southern Italy it ranges. My journey is far more modest today and by 5 pm I'm unlocking Rovallen.

The hut is quiet and clean. I get the fire going and in half an hour its deliciously warm too. The cupboard is well stocked and I settle on pasta and reindeer meatballs for my evening meal. I eat incredibly well ...

As I leave Rovallen the following morning I've a sense of the ending of this walk. I'm heading to Ljosnavollen today but the need to hit Roros and make my connecting flight to Oslo in around 48 hours begins to press heavy.

It's another morning of forest and the added complication of mires.

But by lunchtime I'm in the orbit of Skedbro and a stunning landscape of rocks and pines emerges.

And head the loft heights of the giant of the Borderlands, Storvigelen. I climbed this beast 13 years ago and one of its tarns, Bolagen, has provided a memorable camp.

There are a few bua around here. One catches my attention but I see a figure moving around it. It's Saturday and there are folk around now.

In any event camp is a joy that night, up with the stove and I enjoy the warmth of my fire as darkness descends. It's good though to know there are accommodation options in this national park. I explore one such hut the following day. A former forestry camp the Norwegian State Forestry Company keep this one in great condition.

Too soon I find myself pitching camp for the last time this trip. The weather's cooler than a week ago but it's been remarkably dry. I hit Roros as intended some ten days after starting out and before too long I'm back in Southern England.

A remarkable trip in a special place and one which I'll reflect upon further in time. Granslandet or the 'Borderlands' is a unique place and one I would urge any one passionate about northern wilderness to visit.