Tromsø, and Fugløya, Norway
Early this morning we docked in the sheltered port of Tromsø, and so completed our exploration of the coastal fjords. Over an extraordinary week blessed with unbroken good weather, we have touched some of the most secret corners of Norway. In the south we walked among hushed birch forests, hiked up glacial moraines and came upon ghost hamlets where farmers once tended pocket-handkerchief meadows. In mid-Norway we landed on gravel beaches with profuse swathes of wild herbs, and gazed up in awe where waterfalls leapt from the flanks of polished mountains. On the Lofoten peninsula, a chain of jagged ripsaw mountains, we visited communities, which still wrestle a living from the winter sea. This is the home of the legendary “maelstrom”, where wind and tide can brew a whirlpool powerful enough to suck down small fishing boats. We threaded the labyrinthine canyons of Nordfjorden and Tisfjorden, hiked inland toward the Swedish border, and braved the triple perils of torrent, moose and mosquito.
So it came as a shock this morning to find ourselves on tarmac, pavement and sidewalk, facing the greater peril of oncoming Tromsø traffic. But this lively, developing city was a delight. First the modern “Arctic Ocean Cathedral” whose jagged white roofline echoes the spiky peaks of Spitzbergen and Finnmark. Like us, poised for Svalbard, it too looks to the north, catching the bright reflections of sun and sea through a triangular prism of stained glass. Then the Tromsø Museum with its superb zoological exhibits and evocation of Sami culture, direct descendants of the men who first colonized this barren land 10,000 years ago. And lastly the Polar Museum, which showed how sealers, hunters and then explorers led the way into these northern wastes. Now it is our turn to set off north, inspired by the exploits of Barents, Nansen and Amundsen. In the late evening sunlight we passed under the vertical cliffs of Fugløya, where strings of puffins came whirring home, past waiting sea eagles. Soaring to over 1500 feet above the black waters, this rock citadel is our last landmark as we strike out into the Barents Sea. Our Arctic adventure begins.
Early this morning we docked in the sheltered port of Tromsø, and so completed our exploration of the coastal fjords. Over an extraordinary week blessed with unbroken good weather, we have touched some of the most secret corners of Norway. In the south we walked among hushed birch forests, hiked up glacial moraines and came upon ghost hamlets where farmers once tended pocket-handkerchief meadows. In mid-Norway we landed on gravel beaches with profuse swathes of wild herbs, and gazed up in awe where waterfalls leapt from the flanks of polished mountains. On the Lofoten peninsula, a chain of jagged ripsaw mountains, we visited communities, which still wrestle a living from the winter sea. This is the home of the legendary “maelstrom”, where wind and tide can brew a whirlpool powerful enough to suck down small fishing boats. We threaded the labyrinthine canyons of Nordfjorden and Tisfjorden, hiked inland toward the Swedish border, and braved the triple perils of torrent, moose and mosquito.
So it came as a shock this morning to find ourselves on tarmac, pavement and sidewalk, facing the greater peril of oncoming Tromsø traffic. But this lively, developing city was a delight. First the modern “Arctic Ocean Cathedral” whose jagged white roofline echoes the spiky peaks of Spitzbergen and Finnmark. Like us, poised for Svalbard, it too looks to the north, catching the bright reflections of sun and sea through a triangular prism of stained glass. Then the Tromsø Museum with its superb zoological exhibits and evocation of Sami culture, direct descendants of the men who first colonized this barren land 10,000 years ago. And lastly the Polar Museum, which showed how sealers, hunters and then explorers led the way into these northern wastes. Now it is our turn to set off north, inspired by the exploits of Barents, Nansen and Amundsen. In the late evening sunlight we passed under the vertical cliffs of Fugløya, where strings of puffins came whirring home, past waiting sea eagles. Soaring to over 1500 feet above the black waters, this rock citadel is our last landmark as we strike out into the Barents Sea. Our Arctic adventure begins.
