Lofoten Loafin' (Part 3): July 28th - August 2nd, 2023
Still climbin'
Typically, when you climb a big ol' mountain in the US, you get an "alpine start", meaning stupid early in the morning, so to climb Vågakallen we set our alarms for 4 AM and hit the trail by 6 (which is still far too late to be a "true" alpine start). Well, that's not a good way to do things in Norway. The trail was absolutely SOAKED from the nighttime dew, and it wasn't long before we were dripping as well. And, despite the clear forecast, the peak itself was obscured in an impenetrable blanket of sea fog. Even though we'd done most of the approach, it was about 9 AM and the fog showed no signs of lifting, so we were discouraged and turned back. Several other groups passed us heading up and seemed determined to wait out the fog.
It turns out they were right. We biked back to camp, and then into Henningsvær for some coffee and bathrooms, and then back to camp... and the sun blazed in a crystal-clear bright blue sky. Chatting with Arnstein and Magnus a bit revealed that that's a pretty typical weather pattern for Norway, and their infectious excitement for climbing rubbed off on us; since the midnight sun promised constant illumination, we thought to ourselves "Why not try again?". Never mind that, back at the trailhead at 2 PM, we'd already biked about 20 km and hiked 10 km in the 10 hours since we'd woken up. Maybe we weren't totally fresh, but we had literally all day (since there's no night), so we could still climb, right?
Well, that was mistake number 2. Slogging up the approach again, getting actual views of the ridge and the peak kept our stoke burning (even if I was strategically swapping out my socks to compensate for my soggy shoes). However, when we found what looked like the start of the route based on signs of wear on the rock and the ground, I had quite a bit of trouble with the opening moves of what was supposed to be an easy (Norwegian 4-) first pitch. Scared and struggling to find gear, I finally pulled through some definitely-not-four-minus moves to get to some easy scrambling... maybe not the best sign at the very start of a long climb.
Susan climbed up and we continued along doing our best to follow what seemed like obvious trails and signs of traffic along the sides of the ridge, assuming this would follow the correct route. Sadly, sticking along the clearer path involved scrambling over a lot of loose rock and sandy dirt. By the time we reached what was supposed to be the first crux pitch our hands were filthy from literally clawing into dirt for some of our handholds. I nervously looked up at the chimney that was supposed to offer some of the hardest climbing on the route, wondering how tough it'd be if everything before was "easy". But the pitch actually ended up being a ton of fun! Finally some solid rock and interesting 3-D climbing. The guidebook mentioned a "tunnel" at the end of the chimney, but Norwegians have a different perspective on tunnels and this one felt as wide as one of their highways (Susan fit through just fine even though she graciously carried both backpacks for the harder pitch). I wonder what they would call the Wormhole on Spire 4 in the Black Hills, or the Birth Canal at the top of pitch 2 of Skyline Arete...
Continuing onward, doing our best to follow worn terrain where parties had climbed before, we still found a lot of sections harder than advertised, or that following the common path tricked you into climbing that was harder than it needed to be. We nervously watched the sea fog on the west side of the mountain chain try to fight its way over to us on the east, purplish gray mist wrapping its thick tendrils around jagged peaks and spilling over in cottony billows through the mountain passes, and hoped we wouldn't end up in white-out conditions. It was getting to be late (9 or 10 PM?) and we were feeling the sleep deprivation (18 hours since waking up?) so that didn't help either. Luckily the next crux pitch was again really pleasant, a wide crack in a slab (supposedly a "fist crack", yet I wished I'd lugged the number 5 cam) with sparsely protected but secure and solid climbing. More scrambling led to the final "hard" pitch, and by this point the edges of our vision vibrated from fatigue and a lack of sleep. But the other hard pitches had gone well enough, and at this point the only way out was forward, so I collected all the gear and launched into it.
Leading that pitch was one of the most mentally taxing things I've ever done climbing. It's only supposed to be Norwegian 4+, and that might be fair, but I would certainly call it "serious for the grade". I had a false start, backing off one way, before committing to a slightly-downward & unprotected chimney-traverse. At least there was one good piece before the final awkward exit moves. That deposited me on a few small, dirty, and exposed ledges, maybe 4 - 8 inches wide, and looking up at some overhanging choss, wondering which rocks I could grab that would let me pull myself up instead of pulling out of the mountain and sending me tumbling hundreds of feet. I spent maybe an hour on those small ledges, sometime around midnight, trying different moves before backing off, building a nest of so-so gear (out of 3 questionable pieces, one should hold, right?), and attempting to control my ragged and terrified breathing. Thank God we had the walkie-talkies, as Susan was wonderful about encouraging me on through mild panic attacks (bailing from that spot would have been practically impossible). Finally, FINALLY, I figured out a sequence of moves to get me on top of a block and then into a gully with easy scrambling and the ordeal was over.
From here the last push to the summit was supposed to be easier, and indeed it was so, except for a final difficulty (that we at least knew was coming). There is a prominent gap in the ridge, probably about 4-5 feet wide, that requires you to either jump, or to rappel and climb out of. Thankfully it’s relatively wide and level on both sides of the gap. I took one look at the supposedly "moderate" climbing out of the chasm and knew I couldn't do it in my current state, so the jump it was. We were going on about 22 hours without sleep and my eyes played tricks on me in the dim lighting, but Susan put me on belay with about 15 feet of slack, and I backed up, practiced the run-up a couple times, then dashed forward and lept, clearing the the distance with a fair bit to spare.
Now, the problem was that there was no way Susan was going to also make that jump (not to mention that, again, she'd kept both backpacks so that I'd have an easier time clearing the gap). I set up an anchor and got her on belay, but there was no way for her to get situated down in the gap without taking a nasty swing across into the far wall. So in a bout of remarkably clear 2 AM thinking, Susan first put herself on rappel (off some tat on a horn), lowered herself into the chasm, slowly transferred her weight to me, and then undid her rappel. How we managed not to screw up the ropes through all that is a miracle. No clear sailing yet, though - Susan still had to get out. As I expected, the climbing in the cleft proved pretty stout, and again, she had about 25 lbs of backpack to carry. So we rigged up an assisted hoist, and Susan and I yarded on her end of the rope until she could scrabble over the lip of the cliff, first plopping her top half on the other side, and then finishing one of the most spot-on impressions of a beached-whale I've ever seen. I couldn't help but think of a Simpsons reference.
Surely we were done! It was supposed to be simple scrambling to the top! Yet, somehow, one nasty surprise remained. We got led off course to the summit by a big cairn (human-made pile of rocks) seeming to indicate the route went a certain direction. I found more harder-than-it-should-have-been and unprotectable climbing, which my brain absolutely could no longer tolerate, so I made a bail anchor, Susan lowered me down, and we sadly shuffled around the other side, thinking we'd have to settle for getting only within about 15 meters of the summit. But lo and behold, as we followed what was obviously the descent trail, a scrambling path branched off to the right and led us to the top! 23 hours and one-and-a-half attempts later, we'd finally found the summit of Vågakallen via the Nordryggen route! I was too exhausted to think straight and our eyes buzzed with fatigue. It was cold and windy. Type 2 fun indeed
Thankfully the path down was a well-worn "hiking" trail (meaning some 4th class scrambling), but it was easy enough to follow and truly did not have any technical or rope-worthy bits. After passing one of the main obstacles on the descent we found a flat platform where we could curl up and get a little sleep before continuing, finally feeling safe enough to catch a little rest to make up for our 24-hour day. The cold and wind kept us company, our puffy jackets offering not quite enough warmth. Susan shivered constantly; my semi-sleeping anxiety-addled brain thought of at least 3 ways to make ourselves warmer but failed to rouse my exhausted limbs to ever take those actions. After a couple hours of fitful rest we finished what was, very fortunately, an uneventful hike out, biked back to our camp, and slept for most of the rest of the day.
I think it was a Saturday when we made it back and slept all day. We'd both been a little sick going into that climb, and by the time Sunday rolled around that sickness was in full swing (I guess our bodies had had better things to do then support our immune systems). We wanted to do some more climbing at the Paradiset area (a short little seaside cliff - sounded inviting!), so packed everything up to move over there and then biked over, hacking and draining out our noses all the way. In a stroke of luck, though, Arnstein and Magus were also headed to Paradiset that day, so they hauled our 4 heaviest bags to the parking lot for us! Otherwise that 15 km bike ride might have killed us even though Vågakallen hadn't.
The camping at Kalle (Paradiset) had more pay-to-use bathrooms, which *also* didn't have potable water (we were getting sick of that...), so we had to beg some off a nearby hotel. Kidding ourselves that we'd do any climbing that day, we hung out at a picnic table for a little planning before turning in early. The next day was reserved for more rest, as we treated ourselves to some indoor housing at a very nice vandrehjem in Kabelvåg, did some laundry, and went back to Svolvær for supplies and groceries.
Wrapping up our last couple days in Lofoten we managed to get in some nice climbing before showers rolled in both evenings. One day we finally made it to a crag at Paradiset for chill and fun single pitch climbs on super coarse, grippy, and featured granite right above the ocean. It was strangely empty at the cliff for most of the day, and climbing with nothing but the sound of waves beneath you created a really relaxing atmosphere that reminded us how much fun this silly sport can be.
And our final day was probably my favorite Lofoten experience of all. Despite our near-epic on Vågakallen, I convinced Susan to climb one more peak - Glåmtinden, a "small but classy mountain" in the words of the guidebook. One really enjoyable part of this was that a good portion of the approach trail followed an old road, so we got to knock out that section out on bikes! The rest of the hike to the Ørneryggen (Eagle Ridge) route was easy enough, and we had 4 enjoyable pitches of climbing through interesting features (squeezing through the eagle's beak!) and jug-laden overhangs to the top. The easy-to-follow, honest to goodness summit HIKE led us quickly back to the bikes, and we rocked and rolled down the bumpy old road back to the highway and then our camp. Using the bikes for part of the approach felt really satisfying, and for once it was unquestionably worth it to have combined these two sports for a long long journey down the coast of Norway.
So.......sunshine shorty shorts sport climbing time in Turkey: seaside edition? Or else I'll play porter and hang out in base camp. 💀
ReplyDeleteHahahaha I mean we can't pass up the chance to have a porter, can we?? But yeah I think we're planning for those to be some "why do we even have the trad rack" days 😝
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