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DENMARK 2007 - West Jutland |
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Our homeward three week journey began at the busy northern port of Hirtshals from where ferries cross the Skagerrak to Norway. We worked our way down the long continuous wild and wind-swept beaches of the West Jutland coast: skies were sometimes blue and lit with soft golden autumn sun, more often they were leaden grey, but always the westerly gales whipped up wild seas along this North Sea coastline (Photo 1).
Along the shores of Limfjord, the extensive wetlands of Vejlerne Nature Reserve spread across what in Viking times formed the now silted-up northern exit channel into the Skagerrak. The area attracts vast flocks of migrating geese, ducks and waders, and provides nesting cover among the reeds. The thatched hide gave perfect views across the wetlands with heron stepping daintily around the islets (Photo 6).
We had driven 2,850 miles during our tour of Denmark; for a small country this was surprising, but we had explored almost every corner of this much fragmented land, indented with so many seas, fjords and islands. From Padborg, where we had started 10 weeks ago, we hit the motorway for the 550 mile journey back to Calais, and home for the winter. For a country which, before we set off seemed anti-climactically unappealing, we had enjoyed a mammoth feast of experiences and learning, stayed at some wonderfully located campsites, and most importantly met so many interesting people. Our overall conclusion of Denmark and the Danes is that of an enviably civilised society, so make a visit and remind yourselves of how we used to be before .... well look around you for what UK has degenerated to. One final edition to come in a couple of weeks, as a postscript to the trip, reviewing Danish campsites, maps, guide-books and travel tips for Denmark. Sheila and Paul Published: Tuesday 20 November
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WEEKS
8~9 NEWS - West Jutland coast and fjords:
Such gloomy conditions gave the tiny fishing
village of Lønstrup a sadly oppressive air
(Photo 2), the nearby soft mud-stone cliffs steadily eroded by
the pounding waves and unrelenting gales. At Mårup, the tiny medieval
church is perched in isolation at the cliff's edge, the fishing village
it once served long since washed into
the sea 60m below (Photo 3). Further impact of nature's powerful
forces is evident nearby at Rubjerg Knube, where huge sand drifts have
engulfed the lighthouse (Photo
4). Clambering up the steep dunes, you witness sand migration at
first hand as roaring gales whip fine sand into your smarting eyes; it
was a fearful but exhilarating experience, feeling the clouds of sand
hurtling past the half-buried lighthouse tower. 
After a
blustery night in the welcoming shelter of Gammel Klitgaard Camping, the
sun dawned bright, spreading warmth in the chill Autumn air for our walk
along the spectacular wild coastline and empty horizon at Svinkløv Plantage.
The entire span of Jutland's northern region is in fact an island
separated by the Limfjord, a body of water which stretches from coast to
coast. We were to spend the next week around the many shores of this
inland sea's ubiquitously pervasive spread. Wherever you camped,
wherever you looked, there would be
yet another view of Limfjord; it became a reliably comfortable
neighbour, though you were never sure which was 'mainland' and which
an
island. Our first sighting of Limfjord, glowing blue in the clear
afternoon sunlight, was at the Aggersund narrows crossing just north of
the fjord-side town of Løgstør. Here on a hillside over-looking Limfjord,
we found the scant remains of King Harold Bluetooth's fourth and largest
ring-fortress of Aggersborg. Its key strategic position commanded both
sea routes west to England and north to Norway, and land routes south
across the then newly unified kingdom 
of Denmark. All that remains now
of this monumental construction are the low turf circular ramparts which
once enclosed the fortress, now a peaceful hay field (Photo 5).
And standing protectively nearby is the 12 century Aggersborg church; we
stood with a feeling of silent awe that this sacred place had served its
local settlement for 900 years. That night, we received another warmly
hospitable welcome from the charming couple who keep Løgstør Camping;
only in Denmark would a sign in the wash-up read: 'Rengøring af fisk
forbudt' (Cleaning of fish forbidden).
Continuing
westwards, we reached the major fishing port of Hanstholm; ironically the town's main attraction today are the WW2 fortifications
and gigantic 
gun-emplacements built by the German occupiers in 1941 as
part of the Atlantic Wall (Photo
7). High German wages tempted Danish workers to participate
alongside Soviet POW slave-labour in the construction of this huge complex.
Our
sense of outrage boiled over at the fate of Hanstholm's civilian
population, whose homes and livelihood were destroyed by evacuation to
hastily-built camps, enforced by the collaborationist Danish government
in compliance with German demands. Even today, the museum
presents a curiously ambivalent message about the fortress and
the shameful role of the
Danish authorities; the bunkers remain what they have always been,
an ugly and evil intrusion into an otherwise peaceful landscape. Judge for
yourself by visiting the 
Hanstholm
Camping seemed a bleak and cheerless place with little shelter from the
chill wind, but we were able to hire Icelandic horses for an afternoon's
riding along the foreshore. Having ridden
in Iceland (albeit 30 years ago!), we knew of these sturdy horses and
their unique 4-beat gait, the tölt, where the sequence of foot falls
gives a smoother ride and feels so much more natural. NW Jutland shows
characteristic coastal topography: falling sea levels since the last Ice
Age have left former coastal slopes and cliffs raised inland above the
newly created sandy shoreline and dunes. It was thoroughly exhilarating
to tölt at pace along the ling-covered cliff-tops and dunes, and to
splash through the shallow surf, the brisk wind and bright sun adding to
the sensation. To inexperienced riders like ourselves, there seemed
three fundamental challenges about riding a horse: getting on, staying
on and getting off; it was all great fun, and somehow we managed all
three! (Photo
9).
The
villages of Klitmøller and Nørre Vorupør are two of several Jutland
fishing villages without a harbour; boats are
still dragged up and launched from the beach
(Photo
10). Even on a sunny day, the
enclosed bay receives the full force
of the westerly gales, driving huge breakers pounding towards the
beach
and filling the air with salty spray (Photo
11). The Nørre Vorupør røgeri (fish smoke house) ovens fill the air with
deliciously acrid smells; its sign proclaims 'Alle godt fra have'
(Everything good from the sea), and it sells some of the best fish cakes
ever tasted. The wild and wind-swept coastline stretches for miles,
past Lodbjerg cliffs (Photo
12) down to Agger sandbar (Photo
13) and the narrow channel at Thyborøn which forms the Limfjord's
western outflow into the North Sea. After a night's camp at Thisted
overlooking Limfjord, we crossed the bridge spanning yet another
channel of the fjord (Photo
14) to the island of Mors set in this inland sea. On the far side,
we re-crossed to the 'mainland' and from the Selling
peninsula, took the
5 minute ferry crossing to the small island of Fur set also in the Limjford inland sea (Photo
15). In a remote corner of the
island, Råkilde Camping
provided a
hospitable home for our stay. But the year was rolling on: nights were
now chill, early mornings misty (Photo
16), but days were bright lighting up the golden autumn 
colours. The
cliffs of Mors and Fur show a unique geological feature, being composed of moler-clay, a diatomaceous sedimentary rock interspersed with volcanic
ash deposited during the clay's formation. The clay is now quarried for
industrial absorbency applications. The seas in which the
sediments formed were rich in plant and animal life and the moler now
reveals a wealth of their fossilised remains. The day spent walking the
Fur cliffs gave intimate views of the contorted moler strata (Photo
17), and
along the Limfjord water's edge, mussel, clam and razor shells crunched
underfoot (see right).
We finally
said farewell to Limfjord to begin our progression down Jutland's long western
coast with a night's camp at Thorsminde, set on the linear sandbar whose
narrow strip of high dunes stretching for miles down the coast separates
the North Sea from the inland Nissum Fjord. Only a few grazing cattle
revealed that life
still existed in this desolate marshy landscape. Thorsminde village and its harbour have developed around the sluice
which now controls the outflow of Nissum Fjord (see left). It's an
exposed wind-swept place, looking out over the cold grey murky vista of
the North Sea, where gale-driven surf pounds the deserted wild beaches
which stretch away to distant misty horizons (Photo
18). Just to the south Fjand Camping was delightfully hospitable,
and nearby Nørre Fjand on the shores of Nissum Fjord gave another bird
watching opportunity (Photo
19). We chose to visit Ringkøbing, set at the head of its fjord
(another inland sea), at the wrong time: what the Danes call Week 42
in mid-October is when all Danish
schools are on half-term holiday, and
families flock (literally) to anywhere remotely attractive, forgetting
their normal road courtesies - be warned! Another 30 mile narrow stretch of
dunes at Holmsland Klit separates the wild coastline from the inland Ringkøbing
Fjord; here the chill westerly wind drove in breakers along endless
beaches. We battened down for a wild night as gales buffeted the camper
at Nørre Lyngvig and the nearby lighthouse beam swept across the
campsite. A flaring dawn the following morning gave no respite from the
wind; in such conditions, every movement is hard work.
Our
progress down the West Jutland coastline ended at Blåvands Huk (Blue
Water
Head), Denmark's most
westerly point (Photo
20); from the lighthouse, views stretched away
northwards
along the coastline which had been our home for the past week and
southwards to the Wadden Sea mud-flats. And out at sea, the 80 turbines
of the massive Horns Rev Wind Farm, generating 2% of Denmark's energy
needs, filled the
horizon. Ribe, hyped as Denmark's oldest town was an
over-promoted disappointment: the
Viking Centre Museum portrayed
the town's history, dating back to its Viking trading centre origins,
but the Wadden Sea coastline beckoned us. A chain of sandbanks,
mud-flats and low islands of Fanø, Mandø and Rømø stretches south, the remains of pre-Ice-Age coastline before sea-levels rose forming the shallow Wadden Sea. It's a fascinating topography,
but one with a notorious history of tidal surges flooding the parallel
Jutland coast; here the tidal range (difference in sea levels between
high and low tides) can average 1.7m, increasing disastrously with full
moon and gales. The best place to start was Vadehavs Centret in the beautiful village of
Vester Vedsted. Here you can learn about the
area's complex ecology, wildlife and
economy, the
impact of storm tide surges, and more recent measures taken to
protect coastal settlements and farmland with dykes; visit the
A 6 km
gravel causeway gives access to Mandø and is only passable at low tide.
The safest approach is by tractor
bus but this only operates in summer. Extensive tidal marshes surround
the island, providing breeding and feeding areas for multitudes of geese
and
waders. Our tide-tables showed the tide at its lowest at 11-00 am,
and slowly we ventured across the causeway (Photo
21), pausing to observe the birdlife feeding out on the mudflats (Photo
22). Mandø is a tiny island, bleak and isolated, but some 60 hardy souls still
live and farm there, and there is both a small supermarket and camp site
which is open until end-October;
visit the
Back on
mainland Jutland, the warden at Skærbæk Camping welcomed us with
ebullient bonhomie; a bitterly cold
night brought the first major frost of the year, the grass crunchily
white the following dawn (Photo
23).
Just to the south near the village of Højer are the most
impressive of the Wadden Sea coastal protection dykes. The long-occupied
coastal marshlands had always been subject to the twin forces of storm tides and winter flooding of the Vidå River.
After yet another disastrous storm tide in 1976, construction began just
seaward of the existing Højer Dyke on the massive coastal protection
project of the Forward Coastal Dyke and Vidå Sluice. We drove across the
reclaimed polder-land to climb over the
new dyke and down to the foreland by the water's edge mudflats of the
Wadden Sea (Photo
24). On a still day with scarcely a ripple of tide, it was hard to
appreciate the destructive force of flood tides which the Forward
Coastal Dyke and Sluice had been built to protect against. The nearby
village of Rudbøl stands astride the 
Danish-German now open Schengen
border, but as if to project a symbolic two fingers at their aggressive
neighbours who had invaded Denmark twice in the last 100 years, the
Nordic countries' combined flags flew proudly over the EU sign. And as a
further reminder of life under German occupation from
1940~45, our final visit in Denmark was to the Frøslev Internment Camp
where at the latter stages of WW2, 12,000 Danes were imprisoned, over
1,600 being deported to death camps in Germany. German national guilt
for 20th century atrocities committed all across Europe is as indelible
as a concentration camp victim's tattooed identity number, and the
arrogant behaviour of modern-day Germans continues to offend.
