Frosty poetry on wooden skis

Transition of Norwegian winter Hardangerviddy to the 120th anniversary of the first crossing by Roald Amundsen and his brother.

I wake up in lava on a bench covered with reindeer skins. It's freezing beautifully, and even though yesterday's tea is pushing me lightly, I feel great. We're in the snow-covered Handargervidd. Before I can get rid of tea outside, Kozlík jokes with Ingeborg, who came to the lava to make a fire. When I follow them, he only realizes that he has not joked with me all this time, but with someone who does not understand a word. Good morning, Norwegian. I apologize for putting our heads here without permission. Haukeliekspressen fired us here at 4 am. That's cool guys, that's a matter of course. You planks here, is that yours? What do you want to do with them? Well, it's just 120 years since Amundsen and his brother set out for the first winter crossing of this inhospitable landscape, and that's where Nansen always liked to go back and in 1920 he wrote some of his books. We want to give up these two dreamers and the greats of the polar regions, who had an incredible will to pursue their dreams. And at the same time to get over time and become such a small Czech Amundsen or Nansen. Therefore, for 11 days we go all the whims of the weather and tricky trolls. On wooden ash skis and behind our back we will pull a handmade replica of a nansen sledge.

Wow, are you serious? That's amazing and crazy at the same time. You also have period clothes! Can I take a picture of you before I leave? Amundsen expedition starts here in a week, where it competes with much more modern equipment across the plateau. When they meet you, it will make them rhythm. He squeezes the trigger and wishes "god tur" with a smile from ear to ear. Harnessed in a sledge weighing nearly 100 kilograms, we overcome the most exposed sections of our expedition right from the edge. It is a shock treatment at the beginning and you can either absorb the shock or wrap it up. Nature with trolls are delighted to test and test whether I am worthy to look into the kingdom of the polar winter. Some troll tease dumped half of the load from the sled and we found out after a half-mile ride downhill. Then the weather is added. Fog that we have to tap the tips of the skis with the poles, if they are still there. Good thing that we met this lovely little girl in the morning, who showed that in the slope of the stoked hundred-kilometer sled, the two wizards like us would only stop by a double anchor. She laughed nicely as we pulled our heads out of the snow like ostriches after they missed danger. With the constant laughter fed by our appearance of the lost in time, we learn that it comes from Hellevasbu. That was basic information, as we later understood in the fog. As the right pioneers of ancient times, we did not own any GPS and were therefore dependent only on the compass, map and instinct. But it all goes more or less to the white grove when you are surrounded by white darkness, in which you do not shine light. The only thing left. Follow the left trace of our laughing Theresa as Thesaurus of Ariadne's thread. Our thread, however, played with us hiding in harder snow, in the hollows, where it was blown by snow and mainly in diffuse light, which hid us a hint of shadow. The worst were the steep slopes she had run almost straight, but we had to zigzag with the heavy sledge up. The sweat literally sprinkles into your eyes, which you can see almost without anything, the strap is overwhelming, so that you can not catch your breath, your colleague rolls in the snow after slipping on the ice plate and sled you slowly but surely pulling the seals millimeters back. I already have almost half of our cargo on my back to relieve the collapsing sledge and Kozlík, who curse his back and knee. I remembered all those tapping at the forehead, why am I going alone with someone who is far from healthy? But what, he fell for the same demon, if you want a pervert like me and after years we spend together in a carpenter, in the rocks and in the mountains, we are so well played that we can do it better than with some busy athlete. He may be a kind of walking medical encyclopedia of health problems, but it is a tough naughty that always knows what to do and never gets bored with it. Damn, the troll again! The compass is down. Not possible. After all, this is what the expedition brings to life, and not me? We do not like to divide ourselves in that impenetrable fog, and I follow my footsteps. It can't be more than a kilometer since I checked the azimuth in the saddle. I literally fly without a load on the slope, or at least it seems to me. Oh, here it is. Only the string was looking out of the snow, but we were saved. Where have you been so long? I'm completely stiff by the cold. I guess it really seemed to me that flight. A disgusting traverse in which the sledge is pulling us off the trail, and a pretty strong nipple started to blow. If you think the fog was blowing, forget it. That would be too simple. About a hundred times we are losing our thread, which allows us to move forward. We walk literally with the muzzle stuck to the ground and our eyes on the stalks. Every ten minutes we check the azimuth and try to determine the distance traveled. What a wonderful thing when we literally crash into a locked cottage that is drawn on the map and after two days we safely confirm my location. Quickly dig a hole for the tent, wind up the windbreak from the windward side, set up the tent, put things down, damn my feet freeze. And not only the legs, one must not stop and still work. After we have done everything we need, if possible in stock, we take off the damp leather boots that remember the First Republic. We already know that if we do not deliver and stretch as much as possible, we will not get into them in the morning without using a cooker. Finally we crawl all our clothes into a sleeping bag to warm up a little, and another cooking ritual begins. Gather snow in the foyer, boil water for tea in one mess and for food in another. Slice dried meat, frozen onions, add instant porridge, a little lard and most importantly do not throw food into the sleeping bag and ignite the tent! Finally, we fall asleep with satisfaction and exhaustion as early as 7 am.

We slept so well that we did not even notice how the blizzard had completely covered the hall with all the things, including our shoes, during the night. Again, we had to harm some rolled up troll, which is enjoyed in trouble! Getting up today is for a stronger nature. Get rid of the snow in your shoes as much as possible and stuff our warm feet instead of snow. Leather hardened like stone, literally breaking into them. In particular, we must not bind them hard until they become a little warm and soft. Your feet are experiencing an ice age during packing, we have to get off fast while we still feel the icicles. It's here, Mr. Nansen, the circumstances give us a taste of the crumb of your daily bread, just like your march through the frozen wasteland of the frozen Arctic. We cross a system of frozen lakes, visibility is absolute zero. We only suspect that we are on a vast, plain white plain covered with fog. The sleigh descends deep into the fresh snow, but our shimmering bodies move step by step steadily toward the north, despite the headwind. It's a bit like a treadmill, you go, you go, but the landscape around you doesn't run. Here, we would circle without a compass until spring thaw. As the afternoon rises, it seems to me that the sled is even worse on the plain than in the steepest climbs. I work like a horse, but no effect. I'm starting to look at Kozlík suspiciously behind him for slack reins. But I also meet his suspicious look. Do you also find that one of us is not pulling or that the lake is uphill? Apparently neither of us was slacking because we look like draft horses for the night. Check the sled. Nothing slows down, nothing pulls. What about our wooden base? Ah, here's the problem! They started to frost and scrub us. Let's try to tighten it to a convenient place for a bivouac and we'll defrost. This is hard work. We sound like laden locomotives and our heels are crushed. The leather straps of our bindings stretched to rupture. Look at the shadow in front. Don't you find it too angular to be a pun of nature? Clearly it looks like a cottage about 150 meters from us. We'll drag it to her and kick a bivouac. Neither wanted to betray happiness and think aloud that it might be open. On the last 100 meters we have to give four breaks, absolutely incredible! As if we were dragging an anchor from Titanic behind us. Last 15 meters to the hunting lodge. Perhaps the last exhalation. Well, isn't that the key that swayes on a string next to the latch? I was happy to wash the last 15 meters and scoop the unsuspecting Kozlík on the sled. It is more like a shed in Norwegian conditions, but a luxury for us.

Both the tent and the running surface can be thoroughly freed of ice, and after a long time we eat while sitting. Even the sleep on the broad bunk was a pleasant change. The only thing that doesn't change is frost. The wood is here only for absolute need and we are not in it. In the morning everything inside is frosted and the temperature is around minus 25 degrees. Total fairy tale. Valerian, isn't it the fulfillment of our summer dream when we were making sleds in over 30 degrees of heat? Remember when we were looking forward to getting our nails? So now our dreams come true. After dressing and putting on the shoes, squat for 15 minutes to sit down for breakfast at all. We play a two-cylinder engine and we can laugh at each other. All the trolls are rushing outside. When I take the handle to get the cooking snow, the door ejected me out into the snow and in a second I was like a snowman. A night and a half meters high came up in front of the window. So in this weather, you wouldn't drive Amundsen out. We do the necessary repairs, about three times to try out skis out, but after a few minutes we are back in the "warm" frozen hut. The worst was a forced ride for great need. Put on the skis, take the shovel and quickly as far away from the cottage. There among the skis dig a ditch for excrement and then expose your background to the chances of ice crystals that pinch like needles. I have to peel the ice off the right half, and I don't feel it at all for a while. With my "joy" I curl my mouth as she comes back together with my fingers. We'd rather get into a sleeping bag early in the afternoon and warm up reading about Amundsen's expedition to the South Turntable. Glory, we continue again. The wind had fallen in half and the sleigh was sliding again, which would be a great fit for the saddle. It seems that after five days we will finally see something. That we'd pass the entrance exam and the Winter Queen showed us her nicer face? Even so, we are determined to reach only half of our planned route and return the same way back to Haukelisetter. Thanks to a better bus connection we get another two days to good in this adrenaline and calm filling the landscape.

You don't get along? The continual struggle of the body for survival in inhuman conditions intertwines with calm, filled with fascination with this raw yet charming splendor that lets your thoughts flow freely. So we draw full strength for further struggle with everyday life. We spend this night in the backyard. It takes more time than building a tent, but you get warm and get a solid structure in which the temperature is stable, beautiful silence and no wind blowing. On the walls of the snow cave, the rays of the rising moon are reflected in a full moon, silence like in a grave, and a valerian standing on its right side. Romance as a thong. But does the creaking snow in front of our entrance pull me from falling asleep? I hear it too, there must be something out there. Trolls? Oh yeah. It's them. One is called Mads and the other is Thomas. Two Norwegian friends came to see what a hole in the snow with a Czech flag on avalanche probe before entering. We host them with fresh tea, milk chocolate, and long into the night we talk to each other about skiing, exploring Norway's nature and traveling in the mountains in general. We say goodbye that we will meet in Altai in 2017, which we have poised at the end. So no, not all tests are over yet. Or is it a deserved punishment for our softened nature? We wanted to contact the families from the highest peak that they could not reimburse our insurance yet, and the wind lord and Mrs. Winter drank us accordingly. True, we found a pinch of signal behind a single stone that provided a miniature shelter from a whirlwind and fortunate our precious halves, but it was redeemed by frostbite and an unpleasant fall that only happily managed without consequences. How convenient. You are going to announce to your beloved wives who have let you down to the danger only on condition that you do not take unnecessary risks and let yourself know at least once. And then. You take the greatest risk, just to fulfill that wish. It makes sense? I wake up to an early shower on my nose in the form of a falling other hoof from a tropical tent. In the morning we got cold to -32 ° C. Zips frosted so that they can not even open. Even the weather knows that we are in the middle and can calmly turn. We can do the kilometers and extend our stay in these spas, which will thoroughly rinse our brains. You argue that walking the same route is terrible boring? But we didn't see where we came here at all. For us, it is discovering something that has influenced our destiny for six days, but only now it gets outlines. And which! Absolutely monumental. A hard, blown backing that the sled is literally flying, calm and the sun! Yes, the other bright round thing in the sky, except for the moon. It fully compensates us for what she has been denied so far. The sight is literally shifting. The low-pitched sun with wavy snowy landscapes shows unusual phenomena. In fact, even this pleasant weather significantly slows our march. We constantly take pictures, shoot and put our load under suitable slopes and move upwards vertically.

We also want a panoramic view of the endless wide plain of the Handargervidda Plateau. It's a dream come true. Fantastic visibility and everywhere just a snowy plain and other mountains. Only the two little ones are part of this winter fairy tale. How about to drive our ash skis off a powder-coated slope and cut out a few telemark arches? Just a couple? If there was no hunger and darkness, we certainly still play there. Perhaps I won't even tell you how we met all the racers of the Amundsen Expedition and how we surprised them with their rhythm. Our eyes were coming from those pretty young, braid young girls who had dragged a forty-two-kilometer sled. Perhaps not even inviting us to the sauna with a view of Haukelifjell, we had a toast with them in an outdoor hot bath, while our hair was frosting. Maybe I would upset you if I write about how many courses we got for Sunday breakfast and what a bastion it was. And I do not dare to point out that despite the above-average intake of a very caloric diet, in 11 days in freezing temperatures up to 35 ° C below zero, we lost 6 kg anyway. But now, at least for a while, we're not going to make a difference.