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*** NORWAY 2014 - WEEKS 6~7 *** |
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This week's
Photo Gallery |
Lofoten Islands flora and Fauna |
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Ferry crossing from Skutvik to the Lofoten Islands: on a serenely sunny early June morning, we drove down to the little ferry dock at Skutvik for the 2 hour crossing to Svolvær on the Lofoten Islands (Photo 1 - Svolvær ferry arriving at Skutvik) to begin the next phase of our trip.
Across onto northern Vestvågøya: our first night's campsite on
Lofoten, Lyngvær Bobil-camping, was a mediocre place; while the setting was
glorious under the shadow of the eponymous Lyngvær Fjell looking across
With
bright morning sunlight giving the waters of Gimsøya Sound a
turquoise glow and highlighting details of the backdrop of Vestvågøya's mountains, we turned across the bridges which arched over the Olderfjorden inlet and Gimsøystraumen, to follow E10 which hugged the southern
shore of Gimsøya under the bulky mass of Svartinden (see left). We should
Vestvågøya's northern coast at Eggum and a wild-camp at
Unstad: rejoining the E10 the following morning, we paused at a
viewpoint which gave a magnificent prospect across Lake Ytterpollen towards the
indented, craggy mountains of the Eggum peninsula where we were heading today,
and westwards along Vestvågøya's central valley with its scattering of red
cottages against a backdrop of peaks. Beyond the isthmus between Inner- and
Ytter-pollen Lakes, we turned off onto the lane leading out to Eggum. The
single-track lane wound around the coast below increasingly severe mountains on
the landward side ending at a bulky headland with cliff-face plunging down
to the narrow coastal strip along which the road threaded. Alongside the lane by
a small fishing harbour, rows of fish-drying frames were laden with this
winter's catch,
Eggum: beyond the hamlet an unsurfaced lane led to a shore-side parking area by the remains of a WW2 German radar station; from here a coastal path led for some 9kms around the headland to Unstad. We set off inland on a track alongside the lake of Heimredalsvatnet which filled an elongated corrie carved into the surrounding craggy mountains (Photo 6 - Mountain corrie near Eggum). With its rich carpet of wild flora, this was indeed a superb setting which we shared only the sheep and lambs grazing alongside the path indifferent to our presence (see left). We followed the lakeside path into the dark inner recess at the head of the corrie where overflow water from a high tarn tumbled down the sheer face. At the foot of this, a small HEP generator-house was fed by a pipeline to provide local electricity supplies.
Unstad: back along past the lake,
we returned to E10 across the centre of Vestvågøya to turn off again onto
another single-track lane leading back out to the north coast at the isolated
hamlet of Unstad. The narrow lane wound through hilly terrain past farming
settlements; with severe mountains seeming to block all forward progress, the
lane gained height towards an apparently opposing mountain flank, turning at the
last moment into a tunnel mouth. Just before the tunnel, we paused to examine
road-side fish-drying racks and discovered that they were laden with row upon
row of severed heads of cod fish, now brittle dry with gaping jaws and grotesque
staring eyes (Photo
7 - Dried cods' heads). The only clue at this stage we had of their purpose was a
reference in a brochure to their being exported to Nigeria as the basis of a
popular spicy fish recipe. Seeing these strings of gaping jaws of cods heads
hanging to dry on racks made this seem like a bizarre fantasy! We pressed on and
the narrow lane turned into the darkness of an unlit, single-track tunnel, the
only passing-places being bays cut into the rough tunnel wall; we hurried
through peering cautiously for fear of meeting oncoming traffic. Relieved at
being safely through, we rounded a bay but instead of advancing along an
apparent valley, the lane climbed again along the flank of the enclosing
mountains and turned sharply into another single-track tunnel. This one ran
straight and narrow for 800m to emerge on a ramp which descended to a huddle of
cottages set in the confines of a small valley cut off from the rest of the
world by the mountainous barrier we had just penetrated and ending at the sea;
this was Unstad. Just beyond the hamlet, the unsurfaced lane ended at a tiny
bay, a perfect wild-camp spot at the Unstad end of the coastal path from Eggum
where we had been earlier (Photo
8 - Wild-camp at Unstad Bay); an honesty
Leaving the unmemorable town of Leknes to cross to Flakstadøya:
back to the E10 along Vestvågøya's central valley, we reached the island's main
town and service centre of Leknes. Eventually finding the TIC hidden away inside
a gift shop, it was immediately evident that 'Tourist Information' was a
misnomer: the girl was incapable even of handing out street plans let alone
helping us with our enquiry as to the location of the Rema 1000 supermarket. It
seemed futilely cruel to embarrass her with further questions and we left having
helped ourselves to a street plan. This just about summed up Leknes. We found
the supermarket in the outskirts, but this was an equally frustrating experience:
a huge place with enormous stocks of precious little, and we struggled to garner
the contents of our weekend food shopping-list. Glad to leave this
unmemorable urban sprawl, we continued west towards the crossing to the next
island in the Lofoten mountainous chain, Flakstadøya. Across a narrow fjord
inlet, E10 rounded a headland Vikten on north coast of Flakstadøya: from
the approach to the undersea tunnel crossing, the skyline ahead was dominated by
the dramatic saw-tooth peaks of northern Flakstadøya, a largely uninhabitable molar
tooth-shaped
peninsula of mountainous pinnacles rising vertically from the sea. The E10 cuts
through a valley across the molar's crown, then traces a tenuous route around
the western coastline, clinging desperately to the narrow shore-line with
spur-roads branching off to dead-end fishing villages on the southern coast.
Emerging from the Nappstraumen Tunnel, the road passes around a high cliff
headland with the mighty peak of Stornappstinden towering overhead
above the fishing port of Napp. Across the peninsula's central valley, we
diverted around the north-west coast on a single-track lane which clung
precariously to a narrow shore-line shelf wedged between cliff face
Flakstad church on north coast of Flakstadøya:
returning to the main road, the E10 now followed a long southward diversion
around the vast inlet of Flakstadpollen enclosed on all but the narrow seaward
side by fearsome mountains. A few farms nestled around the innermost landward
end of the fjord inlet which we rounded to return along its western shore.
Service buses passed us, their headboards wishing us God Pinse (Happy
Whitsun). Where the road arched around the broader flat north-facing
foreshore at the north coast, a side-lane branched off through the scattered
farming settlement
Fish-drying frames loaded with stockfish at Ramberg: around the broad foreshore of Flakstadøya's northern headland, we reached the larger village of Ramberg, the island's administrative centre, with shops and Ramberg Camping which as expected was over-priced and filled to the brim with camping-cars, certainly not appealing! At the far end of the village just beyond the fishing port, the shore-line was filled with fish-drying frames which here were still laden with stockfish and dried cods' heads (Photo 10 - Stockfish drying frames). We paused to examine the stockfish more closely: the headless, gutted and rigidly dry bodies almost 2 feet long were much heavier than expected (see left). A JCB was busy at work transporting loads of dried fish carcasses along to the village, and this late in the season most of the frames now stood empty. We still had so many questions about what was clearly a major industry along with agriculture and tourism on the Lofotens.
Moskenesøya's bizarrely mountainous topography: on the day that we were to move on to the most spectacular part of Moskenesøya's mountainous and indented south-westerly corner, the solid cloud was down with a vengeance to ground-level. In this total cloud covered white-out however, we were unlikely to see much of the bristly, pinnacled ridge with peaks rising to 1000m protruding directly from the sea. A glance at a relief map of this narrowing archipelago shows it indented by both inlets of the sea, which penetrate deep into former valleys amid surrounding sheer-sided peaks, and by inland lakes to create a lacy topography of interconnected island-peaks. Moskenesøya's thread-like archipelago projecting south-westwards into the Norwegian Sea is a largely uninhabitable bare mountain-scape, with just the life-line of the E10 clinging precariously to its southern face, with interconnecting islets and bridges spanning the gap where the sea floods into the huge fjord penetrating its central mountainous region. But in this morning's murky light with cloud down to ground level, we should see little of this bizarrely stark topography.
Crossing to Moskenesøya: returning
over the bridges and causeway, we
re-joined E10 on the Flakstadøya side of the Selfjord which cleaves deep into
the interior separating this island from Moskenesøya. Down the length of the
fjord and alongside the Sundtraumen channel, we diverted around a narrow lane
down to the tiny fishing hamlet of Sund at the mountainous peninsula's southern
tip. Here a ramshackle of cottages clustered around the little harbour with
fish-drying frames still partly loaded with stockfish and cods' heads
Hamnøya, Sakristøya and Reine bridging the
mouth of Reine Fjord: with traffic over the narrow series of bridges
bunched into one-way convoys by the road works, we nervously pulled off into the
hamlet of Hamnøya, a crowded cluster of red-painted holiday rorbuer (fishermen's
wooden shacks) covering the tiny islet. Having turned back to
the E10, there was then further delay as we waited for the traffic lights
controlling the one-way traffic flow over the narrow interconnecting bridges
spanning the next islets. Views all around of this mountainous sea-scape would
have been spectacular in the extreme, but frustratingly the sea-level
Moskenes and the fishing village of Å i Lofoten:
beyond Reine the road improvements had already been completed leading down as
far as the port of Moskenes for the ferry crossing to Bodø, and passing through
another modern tunnel, we reached the little harbour village where traffic was
queuing for the Bodø ferry. The TIC was closed on Whit Sunday, but the café next
door supplied us with the free walking guide for Moskenesøya. With low cloud
still obscuring the surrounding mountain peaks, the E10 beyond Moskenes reverted
to being a narrow country lane winding through
A memorable stay at
Moskenesstraumen Camping at Å i Lofoten: around
the winding back lanes we found Moskenesstraumen Camping, its huts and little
camping areas tucked among the rocks or perched on terraces overlooking the sea
on a craggy headland. At this time of year it was deserted apart from one sturdy
camper whose owners had travelled overland from Australia; in conversation with
them, it turned out not only were they also from Adelaide but were related to a
cycle-racing friend of our daughter. This small world of ours is full of such
remarkable coincidences! The campsite owner suggested a pitch up on a high
grassy shelf perched on a cliff-top outcrop from where we could look out across
the grey sea, and we readily settled in. At 220 NOK/night including power,
showers and Wi-fi internet, and such a memorable setting, Moskenesstraumen
Camping, at least at this early stage of the year, was a wonderfully
charactersome place to camp. After almost a week we had at last found an
acceptable campsite in Lofoten, and we celebrated with an albeit chilly barbecue
on our cliff-top ledge (Photo
13 - Cliff-top barbecue at Moskenesstraumen Camping). The following morning, we waved farewell to the
Aussie couple, and moved over to the small sheltered rocky terrace which they
had vacated. In splendid isolation on our rocky shelf overlooking the bay here
on our world's end cliff-top camping spot, with just the birds for company and
low cloud still covering the surrounding peaks, we enjoyed a productive working
day in camp (see above left). Looking out across our little bay, eider ducks paddled around,
terns flitted over, oyster catchers nested on the rocky headland opposite with
the male bird standing guard or 'peeping' aggressively at any disturbance, and
cormorants ducked and dived in the grey water; at one point we even spotted the
black triangular tail fin of a killer whale and its spouting spray as it passed
around the rocky inlet. Later in the afternoon, 2 fishermen stood gutting huge
cod fish at the campsite's fish table; Paul The Å Stockfish Museum: Å, the final settlement of Moskenesøya's fragmented, mountainous island (and coincidentally the last letter of the Norwegian alphabet), is described in the tourist literature as a 'living museum' - visit the web site of the Å i Lofoten Fishing Village Museum: the village and its significant port which was once home to a large fishing fleet now makes its living from tourism with its wooden houses, fish-drying frames on every headland, and red-painted rorbuer shacks. These once provided seasonal accommodation for the many visiting fishermen attracted here by the winter cod shoals spawning in Vestfjord but now serve the needs of tourists and make sizeable livings for their owners. In light drizzle the following morning, we walked down through the village, photographing the stockfish drying on the frames, the air filled with their all-pervasive fishy smell, and bought traditional dark bread and cinnamon buns (albeit at great expense!) from the village bakery. The harbour, at one time busy during the winter cod fishing season, was now a peaceful haven for just a few leisure craft. The once thriving fishing hall now stood derelict, all its ledges, sills and roof providing nesting sites for 100s of kittiwakes (see above right). The female birds sat on the filthy nests, and as we approached the male birds went berserk hustling around aggressively with their shrieking 'kittiwake' alarm-calls (Photo 14 - Kittiwakes nesting at Å).
Production and export of Lofoten stockfish:
for generations the catching and drying of cod fish has been the life blood of
the Lofoten Islands, and nowadays is a major export commodity, so much so that
Lofoten
This trade in stockfish (Lofotfiske) has become a
mainstay of the local Lofoten economy through a coincidental chain of
circumstances: in pre-refrigeration days before any effective means of
preservation other than unacceptable salting, the winter cod migration created
an annual glut in fish stocks needing to be kept over the year as a basic
foodstuff; the unique Lofoten climate with cold dry winds produced the ideal
solution for drying the Spring glut of fish; as fish stocks increased beyond the
basic foodstuff levels, the surplus of stockfish produced a trading commodity;
stockfish was also an ideal preserved foodstuff for seafaring merchants who
traded their surplus in Catholic Mediterranean countries, creating a demand We did indeed learn much from Steinar Larsen at the Stockfish Museum with his knowledge and enthusiasm which matched our quest for understanding of this unique commodity and its export trade. He showed us a couple of DVDs about Lofoten cod fishing and stockfish production, and we wandered around the museum examining the many samples of stockfish and equipment of display (see above left) (Photo 18 - Stockfish on display). This included a dried King Cod with its distinctive forehead lump, which every Lofoten fishing family hangs from a string on its porch both for good luck and for its alleged weather forecasting properties: as the string expands and contracts with air humidity, the monster fish rotates like a barometer - a weather cod (see right). If you visit no other museum in the Lofotens, the Stockfish Museum is a must to learn about this unique Lofoten product.
The over-commercialised tourist trap of Nusfjord: with
100% cloud cover on a bitterly cold morning, we were glad to leave Skagen, to
turn off E10 at the inner recess of Flakstadpollen. The single-track lane gained
height to drop down to the dark water of Storvatnet with low cloud obscuring
what would have been the craggy slabs of the lake's magnificent backdrop.
Isolated rock pillars seemed to hover amid the misty cloud which covered this
spectacular range with water streaks of snow melt-water trickling down the high
slabbed eastern face above the lake. The lane wound down through the wooded
lower valley leading to Flakstadøya's southern coast and the bijou fishing port
of Nusfjord (Photo
29 - Nusfjord). This
Working fishing ports of Napp and Ballstad: leaving Nusfjord to the kittiwakes and gullible tourist hoards, we returned along the narrow approach valley and re-joined E10 along the eastern side of Flakstadpollen and over Flakstadøya's eastern peninsula to the very work-a-day, no nonsense, modern fishing port of Napp (Photo 30 - Napp fishing port). Gulls swarmed around over the waters of the harbour as today's catch was unloaded from the working boats at the quay-side into fish-processing factories which lined both sides of the inlet. Through the Nappstraunen undersea tunnel to Vestvågøya, we swung around the shore-line and across the mud-flats to the large fishing and ship-repair village of Ballstad on the island's south coast. By now a bright sun was shining through the broken cloud, but the price was a brisk, blustery and very chill northerly wind. The village spread across the island Ballstadøya and clustered around its busy harbour and huge ship-repair shed. Again this was very much a work-a-day port but backed by spectacularly jagged peaks along the skyline.
The sad port of Stamsund: heading
eastward from Leknes, Route 815 climbed steeply over a wooded watershed to
descend even more steeply to where a narrow side-lane led around this bleak
southern arm of Vestvågøya. Barren cliffs dominated the landward side with the
seaward side looked out
Vestvågøya's magnificent southern coastline: after a leisurely
morning here at Brustranda Camping enjoying the pleasant fjord-side mountainous
surroundings, we continued around the inner fjord-shore around onto the southern
coast-line of Vestvågøya. From this magnificent spot, we could gaze out across
the wide expanse of Vestfjord, the straits separating the Lofoten archipelago
from the Norwegian mainland, where the winter wandering cod migrate to spawn.
The jagged peaks of Austvågøya stood out clearly to the east, and in today's
clear light the distant serrated peaks of the mainland were visible along the
south-eastern horizon. Behind us on the
Midnight Sun from shore-side Hov Camping:
we booked in at the club house, settled into one of the wide pitches looking
out over this magnificent coastline, and went for a wander along the shore to
identify a suitable Midnight sun vantage point.
Henningsvær:
the following morning we drove around Gimsøya's northern coast with the craggy
mountains of Northern Austvågøya gracing the eastern skyline. The shore-hugging
lane passed around the
Henningsvær,
perched precariously on an islet-promontory projecting from Austvågøya's
mountainous SW tip, is a working fishing port whose boats still catch the cod
which migrate to spawn in the warmer waters off Lofoten. The headland on which
the village is perched is approached by 2 ultra-narrow arching bridges which in
peak summer must be a nightmare to cross with the hoards of tour-buses which
Henningsvær's picturesque setting attracts. At this time of year the lane was
still quiet,
More unsavoury campsites: the E10
passed through a tunnel at the foot of the mountain barrier which from a
distance seemed to block the way forward, and 8kms east near to Kabelvåg we
turned off to 2 coastal campsite options. Being close to the tourist centre of Svolvær,
neither raised great expectations. Pulling into the neighbouring campsites of
Ørsvågvær and Sandvika, it was
Storvågen : the following morning, the weather was still blustery
with squally Arctic showers that overnight had fallen as snow on the mountains
surrounding Hovsvika. This had been the coldest trip undertaken, with scarcely
an evening when we had not relied on the fan-heater for warmth; the only
advantage was that the prolonged Arctic wind had delayed the start of this year's
midge season! Our plan for today was to return to Austvågøya to visit Storvågen
and Kabelvåg, do a provisions stock-up in Svolvær, and tonight camp on the NE
coast of Austvågøya. Leaving Gimsøya and crossing the Gimsøystraumen Bridge for
the final time, we passed around the chunky mountainous coastline of SW Austvågøya
and turned east through the tunnel into the island's central valley. The E10
brought us to the turning for Storvågen, said to be the site of the original
Lofoten medieval fishing township and harbour. It was here in 1120 that King
Eystein Magnusson built the first rorbuer,
tiny wooden cabins with fireplace and earthen floor for the seasonal
Storvågen today is nothing but a tourist trap with the Lofot-Museum housed in a former Merchant-landlord's residence, an art gallery-restaurant, and the Lofoten Aquarium, all places we should normally shun like the plague. We called at the aquarium however in an attempt to find more information about the whale whose black triangular dorsal fin we had spotted off the coast at Å. We explained our quest purely for information to the girl at the ticket booth who, readily trusting, allowed us to enter without charge. But the place was bereft of any staff or source of information about their tanks full of exhibits; perhaps their usual tourist-visitors had no need for information. Even the souvenir shop was unmanned and since we had no requirement for furry seals, we thanked the ticket girl for her understanding and continued round to Kabelvåg.
We drove on returning to the outskirts of Svolvær, passing the ferry terminal where we had arrived in Lofoten 2 weeks ago. Much had happened in the intervening time during which we had seen and learned so much. We completed our shopping for provisions in the town, and in gloomy light continued northward along the eastern coast of Austvågøya under the towering mountain pinnacles overshadowing Austnesfjord.
The ever accurate Norwegian Meteorological Institute website forecast grey gloom and heavy and continuous rain for the next 36 hours driven by southerly gales. It made good sense therefore to bring forward our planned day in camp and sit out the bad weather at this magnificent spot here at Sildpollnes Sjø-camping. We pitched George's nose into the driving rain with the surrounding mountains hidden by misty white-out. The weather showed no sign of improvement all day, chillingly cold with all-enveloping, and soaking mist filling the entire valley and we huddled inside the camper with the fan-heater on full for warmth. Today we endured some of the coldest, wettest conditions ever camped in, testing even our stamina.
Austvågøya's northern coast and the isolated village of Laukvik:
in insidiously driving, misty drizzle, with dense, gloomy cloud totally
enveloping the mountains across Austnesfjord, we set off the following morning
northwards on the last section of E10 we should use. Rounding the head of the
fjord, we passed through the farming-fishing village of Laupstad which looked
woebegone in such dreadful weather. Continuing over the low col which just
separated the southern Austnesfjord and northern Sløverfjord, we wondered how
long it would be before this land barrier was eroded away to separating Eastern Austvågøya
into a new highly mountainous island. In low visibility we passed 3 brave
cyclists struggling against the soaking rain, and continued alongside Sløverfjord scarcely able to see across the width of the fjord to the mountains
opposite. This was truly foul weather. Beyond
Here along the flatlands of the northern coast, the weather had improved remarkably but looking back towards the mountains of the landward interior, dark murky rain cloud still persisted. Beyond the hamlet of Strømstad, the lane turned south down the shore of indented Morfjord which was almost bridged partway down its length by a sandbar across the mudflats. Across the flat meadows of the island's next projecting northerly peninsula, we seemed to have moved into an entirely different world from the severely mountainous interior. The lane crossed the shallow, sandy Grunnførfjord nature reserve on a narrow causeway leading to the isolated farming-fishing village of Laukvik (see left). The large port, which once would have sheltered many working boats, was now almost empty; the Co-op minimarket on which we had relied for supplies remained open, but only just - the 'Til Salg' sign announced it was for sale.
A
perfect spot for the Midnight Sun:The cloud along the northern horizon out over the
sea gradually thinned and the sun broke through. As the evening wore on, the sun
dipped in and out of the cloud (see right) (Photo
43 - Sun shining through cloud at 11-05pm). But approaching 11-30pm, it finally emerged,
For all its shortcomings, Skippergården Camping
had provided a peaceful setting looking out northwards across the Norwegian Sea
for us to enjoy the clearest Midnight Sun so far (see right). As we drove away the following
morning,
Fiskebøl for the ferry to Melbu on the Vesterålen Islands: we returned to the peripheral lane at Straumnes and turned south around the peninsula. It was still bright and sunny over the flat farmlands here, but ahead the higher mountains of the interior were still gloomily shrouded with raincloud with a fresh sprinkling of snow having fallen on the mountains overnight. The narrow lane swung eastwards along a central valley, overshadowed by craggy mountain faces, and eventually led back to the E10 at Vestpollen. Looking across the dark waters of Austnesfjord, the peaks of Eastern Austvågøya were scarcely visible buried in rain cloud. We headed north again to turn off to join the queue of vehicles at the port of Fiskebøl awaiting the 13-15 ferry over to Melbu on the southern coast of Hadseløya, the southernmost and smallest of the Vesterålen Islands for our onward journey. But that's a story for the next edition. Next edition to be published shortly
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CAMPING IN NORWAY 2014 - Lofoten Islands of
Vestvågøya, Flakstadøya, Moskenesøya, Gimsøya, and Austvågøya:
The
ferry drew away from the quay and curved around in a broad arc through the
channel between the mountainous tip of the Hamarøya
peninsula and off-shore islands, out into the flat calm of the Vestfjord which separates the jagged
and snow-covered mountain chain of the Lofoten Islands from the mainland. This
was one of the most spectacular ferry crossings ever experienced: whichever
direction you looked, every horizon was lined with a parade of jagged mountain
peaks. From the upper deck, we took photographic advantage of this glorious
mountainous seascape panorama, and as the ferry moved further out into the
channel, the ferry's wake provided a perfect foreground to the receding line of
mainland peaks (see left) (
Arriving
at Svolvær on Austvågøya: passing off-shore islets, the ferry approached
the township of Svolvær the main settlement of Austvågøya, the most easterly of
the Lofoten Islands. Conical, snow-covered craggy peaks towered over the
town as we drew into the harbour (see left) (
were about as helpful as the plastic trolls
lining the display shelves. With the sun still warm and clear, we left Svolvær to begin
our westward drive on the E10 which threads a tenuous route the full length of
Lofoten chain of islands surrounded by spectacular mountain peaks, most of their
craggy tops still snow-covered (see right). Beyond Kabelvåg, the mountains surrounding the
valley closed in seeming to block the way ahead; only at the last minute did the
entrance to a short tunnel appear in the face of the apparent mountain barrier,
leading through to the flatter land of Austvågøya's western tip and the channel
of Gimsøystraumen which separates the easterly island from its western neighbours. We
had much to learn about the startlingly spectacular topography of this
mountainous archipelago.
the
sound to the conical mountains of Gimsøya and Vestvågøya, the rowdy presence of
massed ranks of camping-cars (bobil in Norwegian), traffic noise from
the E10 running alongside, and dysfunctional facilities gave the campsite an alien feel.
Despite the intrusively pollutant
noise, tonight we enjoyed the trip's first barbecue; but although we were
sufficiently north now to experience the Midnight Sun, the bright evening sun
here dipped behind the mountains.
return this way in a week's time to explore the island of Gimsøya, but in the meantime
continued ahead around the flatter northern shore of Vestvågøya. Our journey
today would take us around the lanes circling through the fishing hamlets of
northern Vestvågøya. The shore-side single-track lane with passing places
indicated by M-signs (Møte-plass) was peacefully deserted, passing small
farmsteads and isolated cottages. The pyramidical peak of Hoven stood out distinctively
from the flat lowlands of north Gimsøya across the mud-flats and shallows
separating us from the neighbouring island (
to Vestersand harbour. An unsurfaced lane led from the village
across a causeway over low coastal flats to the scattered settlement of Sandøya
where we parked to walk across the coastal grassland to the lane's end. In bright
afternoon sunshine in this isolated and wonderfully peaceful setting, we photographed the distant mountains of
the northern peninsula rounded earlier (see left), and
closer to hand the wild flora colonising this open coastal terrain. Back along
the dusty lane to Vestersand, we paused at the village's graveyard (kirkegård)
spread over the headland overlooking the off-shore skerries, before looping back
to the main E10 to find tonight's planned campsite, Lofoten Turistsenter, set
behind a road-house opposite Steirapollen Lake. Contrary to our fears, the place
was deserted, and with the indifferently unsmiling and non-communicative
non-welcome at reception, and unkempt, uncared for camping area, with
uninspiring setting, we could understand why! So far Lofoten campsites were
proving unimpressive, but we booked in to use their internet and charge up ready
for a Midnight Sun wild camp tomorrow night. Young back-packers provided
interesting company on a warm sultry evening which brought the first signs of
this year's swarming midges. The sub-zero overnight temperatures of
just one month ago in the
mountains seemed a different trip. 
too distant for us to examine closely but seemingly too small to
be cod. A tractor was unloading the dried fish into crates to transport over to
the harbour wharf (see right). We had much to learn yet about the traditional
Lofoten fish drying industry, and our as yet unanswered questions were piling up.
For now we took photos of the drying fish, and continued ahead to the settlement
of Eggum, which was mainly holiday lets billed as rorbuer but looking far more
classy than straightforward fishing shacks which the term had once signified.
So impressive were the wild flora and fauna during
our 2 weeks stay on the Lofoten Islands that we have included a photo-gallery of
box invited donations of 100kr for over-nighting
here. We set out to walk part of the shore-side path which was lined with wild
flora and hemmed in on the landward side by craggy cliffs. But the eye was drawn
out to the sparkling sea and the conical peak which topped the southern
mountainous headland enclosing Unstad Bay (see left). Breakers crashed in intermittently
onto the sandy shore which attracted surfers to this tiny and isolated deep-set
bay. We continued around the coastal path which gained height, narrowing to the
point where it rounded the headland enclosing the northern side of the bay.
A peaceful wild-camp at Unstad Bay - but no
Midnight Sun: back at the deserted parking area, we set up camp
looking out to the NW across the bay. Despite having been within the Arctic
Circle now for over a week, we had not so far camped in a position which
achieved the 2 requirements for experiencing the Midnight Sun - a clear,
cloudless night, combined with a view of the northern horizon unimpeded by forests or
mountains. Here at Unstad, the evening sky was clear of cloud, and we had a
clear line of sight to the horizon looking out to sea. After a delightful
wild-camp barbecue supper, we sat looking out across the bay in golden evening
sunlight. But despite what earlier had seemed perfect conditions for seeing this
year's first Midnight Sun, reconsidering the angle of the sun's decline, it now
seemed frustratingly as if the northward enclosing headland would block our line
of sight as the sun reached its lowest point towards the later evening. In fact
by 10-45pm the declining sun duly hit the northern headland, passing behind it
and out of sight to continue down to
the unseen northerly horizon (see right). Despite the
frustration of an unseen Midnight Sun, Unstad Bay had been a wonderful spot to
camp on a sunny evening, and to enjoy the peaceful solitude of this magnificent
setting with just the sound of bird song and surf from the beach below (see
left).
descending steeply into the 1,780m long undersea Nappstraumen Tunnel linking across onto Flakstadøya.
and
sea-wall, leading around a headland for 4kms to the isolated tiny settlement of Vikten, set amid this mountainous-marine wilderness (see right). Trim little brightly
coloured wooden cottages lined the village street at the lane's end, nestled at
the shore-line below the towering bulky peak of Hustinden. This was no lifeless
assemblage of holiday-lets but a working farming-fishing hamlet, with normal
everyday life happening all around: a lady walked along to wait for the
service-bus bringing local school children home (we were thankful not to have
passed the bus partway along the narrow approach lane); younger children played
on the beach, a garage workshop was busily at work on tractors, and one of the
gardens was filled with newly born lambs. The only intrusion into this isolated
haven of normality was a twee glass studio built as if from driftwood but
probably as pseudy as its owner.
of
Flakstad with its red-painted, onion-domed wooden church (
unexpected
campsite, Skagen Camping. Reasonably priced and in such a magnificent setting
looking out over the deserted Skagsanden beach and backed by Flakstadøya's
gloomy mountains, the site seemed appealing. We assured the welcoming lady-owner
that we should stay on our return journey, to which she responded with the
Nordic courtesy of Welcome back.
Fredvang Camping, mercenary and penny-pinching:
we continued around the northern bay to turn off onto a side-lane which crossed
2 arching bridges and a causeway linking islets onto the northernmost extension
of Lofoten's most westerly island, the much-indented, multi-armed and
ultra-mountainous island of Moskenesøya (see right). Just across the final bridge, we
reached the scattered farming village and fishing port of Fredvang where an
unsurfaced lane turned off to Fredvang Camping on the north-facing coast. We
were greeted at reception by one of the family which had kept the campsite since
1990. The wide, flat and rather featureless camping area was almost empty and
ended at a white sand beach which stretched along the northern shore-line (see
below left); we
found a pitch close to the low dunes edging the beach from where we should have
an unimpeded view of the Midnight Sun if the sky remained clear later in the
evening. But here the positive features ended. The basic price including power
was 230 NOK which was in itself more than we had generally paid, but
additionally wi-fi cost 20kr/day, showers were 10kr each, and when we
investigated the
facilities, the ultimate insult was that electric rings in the
kitchen needed 10kr coins for a half hour's usage. All this accumulated to a
whopping 280 NOK for what was a straightforward no-frills campsite, other than
happening to be by a beach with views of the Midnight Sun, fortuitous natural
features for which we did not expect to pay. We felt highly resentful at this
mercenary and penny-pinching attitude, but needed tomorrow's day in camp at what
was a reasonably peaceful site with potential for Midnight Sun, and reluctantly
settled in. When we left 2 days later, the women's attempts to justify the
excessive costs were simply tedious verging on the offensively rude; her parting
remark about welcome back was cut short with 'I doubt it!'. Today however the
sun was still high and bright with a chill breeze blowing from the north over
the sea, but by evening increasingly low cloud gathered totally obliterating
both surrounding mountains and seaward northern horizon. The anticipated
Midnight Sun was a non-event, and rather than wait up with sanguine hopes, we
turned in early; perhaps we should have demanded a reduction for a
non-functioning Midnight Sun!
A gloomy day in camp and unexpected Midnight
Sun at last: we woke to solid grey misty cloud down to ground level
all around, the air still and stagnant with no movement to shift the cloud, for
our day in camp. But at least the wi-fi signal enabled us to make contact with
family in UK and to hear from our daughter in Adelaide about her latest
impressive cycle-racing achievements in the South Australian State Championships
where wins in both time-trials and 100km road race had made her State Champion!
Parental pride knew no bounds. We interspersed our day's catching up with jobs with a wander around the grassy
hillocks and dunes surrounding the campsite to photograph both the wild flora
and the ground-nesting oyster-catchers
as the male birds aggressively flew up or
guilefully distracted us from the nest sites by limping away with down-turned
apparently injured wing feigning easy prey
(see right). The solid low cloud layer sat resolutely on the surrounding mountains all day, occasionally thinning to give glimpses of the sea but then closing in again. By evening we still hoped that
the sun would emerge from below the cloud layer, but other than brief
tantalising glimpses of the sun's faint outline as the cloud momentarily parted,
the sun remained doggedly obscured. At 12-15 as we finally admitted defeat and
prepared to turn in, the sun mystically re-appeared below the cloud layer. We
rushed over to the beach, oblivious to the chill night air, taking our photos of
this magnificent and long-awaited re-sighting of the Midnight Sun, albeit in a
different form from 2 years ago, with the sun's ruddy-golden orb hovering high
above the horizon and trailing a glimmering tail across the sea (see left) (
covering
the rocks. At the lane's end by the harbour, a blacksmith's 'studio' (sic!) was
at work turning heaps of derelict scrap into heaps of derelict 'artwork'.
Re-joining E10, we crossed the bridge onto Moskenesøya with the road now running
along a high shelf along the precipitous southern face of the island. Just
beyond a modern, wide and well-lit tunnel, we were halted by major road-works: a
15 minute wait with traffic in controlled single-direction convoys
passing through 3km long reconstruction works to blast out a wider shelf for the
E10 across the mountainous face of the headland. The scale of the work was
monumental, made eerily gloomy by the low cloud. Eventually, competing with
diggers and contractors' trucks and bumping a way through the road works around
the headland, we descended to the tip of the mountainous peninsula. From here
the on-going E10 advanced heroically over a series of islets spanned by
interconnecting bridges across the mouth of the huge Reine Fjord which
penetrated deep into Moskenesøya's mountainous interior, not that we could see
much of it in the gloomy conditions.
misty
cloud obscured all. Crossing 2 further narrow arching bridges and an intervening
islet, we reached the next islet of Sakristøya which was largely occupied
by its fish shop, cod-drying frames and rorbuer holiday accommodation, as
if to add to the bewildering topography. The fish produce looked and smelled
tempting but prices of both fresh and smoked fish were as bizarre as the
surrounding topography. We did sample their smoked whale steak and found it
surprisingly tasty, and took the opportunity to ask about the Lofoten stockfish
export trade. It was true that the dried cods' heads were exported to West
Africa as a food-stuff and the stockfish mainly to Italy. The origins of this
curious trade were Lofoten sailors who carried dried stockfish as preserved food
for long sea voyages to the Mediterranean. The Italians took a liking to this
unlikely product and traded stockfish for fresh produce, giving rise to the now
highly lucrative export trade in stockfish. All the fish shop's stockfish recipe
leaflets were in Italian for the benefit of Italian tourists. But so many of our
questions about stockfish and dried cods' heads remained unanswered. Another
narrow bridge linked E10 over onto a projecting spur of land encircling Reine
harbour whose village we could just about see across the enclosed body of water
(see right).
Ahead a vast pinnacle of Moskenesøya's mountainous mass loomed upwards to unseen
heights lost in the enveloping gloomy cloud. In such spectacular surroundings,
the gloomy weather was such a disappointment (
the straggling village of Sørvågen with its minimarket. We continued on through the hamlet of Tind to
reach the road's southern ending at the fishing village of Å i Lofoten. Despite
its local economy relying heavily on tourism, the entire settlement of Å seemed
still to be in hibernation over Whit weekend.
asked to buy a couple of fillets for
supper; 'we've had a good catch, you can have some' was the reply, so we ended our
day with supper of locally caught cod thanks to their generosity.
Our first call of the day was the
Stockfish is a protected trademark. The Vikings perfected the
skill of drying fish as a means of preserving foodstuff for long voyages;
stockfish remains edible for years, and is reconstituted for cooking by soaking
in water. The fishing season traditionally peaks during the winter months from January~April when cod from the Barents Sea migrate from Arctic waters to spawn
in the warmer Gulf Stream waters of Vestfjord around the Lofotens; this spawning
migration gives rise to the Norwegian expression Skrei Torske (Wandering Cod).
The quantity of cod caught each year is regulated by quotas but in a good year
can reach up to 60,000 tonnes. Some 25% of Lofoten cod is traditionally
preserved by drying in the crisp, dry winter air on frames seen by every Lofoten
village harbour (
Whereas stockfish was once preserved by air-drying
in pre-refrigeration days as a food staple for islanders' home consumption,
today it has become a major export commodity particularly to Mediterranean
Catholic countries such as Portugal and Italy where Catholic dogma forbade
meat-eating on Fridays. This trade connection with Italy may have started with
Venetian merchants visiting Norway or Norwegian sailors trading preserved fish
for local fresh produce, but today it is big business with canny merchants
driving a hard bargain for pricing stockfish and selecting the best quality
produce. Stockfish has become a luxury exotic foodstuff called bacalao for which astronomical prices are paid
in Italian restaurants. Not even the cods' heads
are wasted: as well as the paired cods' bodies hanging to dry on frames, we had
also regularly seen the bizarre sight of massed cods' heads hanging from strings
on frames. We now learned that these were exported mainly to Nigeria where the
heads are boiled with ground nuts to make a spicy cassava stew, again doubtless
a luxury dish for the few who can afford it. This curious trade may date back to
the days of British Empire when cheaper cods' heads were transported as a
preserved foodstuff, but today this Nigerian export of dried cods' heads is as
lucrative for Lofoten merchants as is stockfish to Italy. The Norwegian Fishing
communities of the Lofotens are vociferously protective of this lucrative export
asset: the Lofotens recorded an over 90% vote against EU membership in the
Norwegian EU referenda to protect access to the cod and invasion of their
inshore waters by Spanish fishing fleets if Norway were to join the EU.
for
dried fish which Lofoten merchants profitably met, resulting in stockfish
becoming a principal export commodity long after other more effective means of
fish preservation such as refrigeration had taken over for fresh fish. 
Moskenesøya's inaccessible SW corner and Moskenesstraumen Mælstrom:
still somewhat over-awed by all that we had learned about the stockfish
trade, we walked back around through the village of Å. A short tunnel led
through to a huge parking area which keeps the summer tourist masses out of the
village and beyond here, a lane wound up onto the moorland cliff-tops. This
headland was the furthest west we were going to get, but at least from here
there were views of the inaccessible peaks which make up the remote southernmost
part of Moskenesøya. Cloud covered the higher peaks and the sky was still murky (
Across Reinefjord to Vindstad and Moskenesøya's north
coast at Bunes Bay: Moskenesstraumen Camping, a sheltered little gen of a
straightforward campsite and a haven of peace at least at this time of year, had
served us well for our 3 day stay . Our final morning gave the first hints of sun
in 5 days with the residual cloud just clearing the mountain tops (
white sandy bay of Bunes Bay with the turquoise sea
beyond off Moskenesøya's north coast (
A miserably cold night and an inadequate
campsite back on Flakstadøya's north
coast: back at Reine, the glorious views of earlier were now obscured
by cloud as we re-joined E10 to cross the series of bridges threading a way over
the islets across the mouth of Reinefjord. Squeezing past the Å service bus amid
the E10 road-works, we rounded Moskenesøya's final headland to re-cross the
bridge back onto Flakstadøya with the sky now dark and murky and low cloud again
covering the mountains. Back along the shore of Sundstraumen and around to the
broad foreshore of Flakstadøya's northern coast at Ramberg, we turned off into
Skagen Camping which we had discovered last week. Our earlier impression of this
campsite by the wide Skagsanden beach had been good, but disappointment now loomed.
Facilities were minimal and the camping area spread across the foreshore's
dunes had little level
ground. We eventually found a flat corner and settled in
with heater on full against the now bitterly cold wind. Low, gloomy cloud down
to sea level covered the magnificent mountains that dropped sheer behind us down
to the shore-line denying any possibility of a midnight sun despite the
favourable north-facing position. Late in the miserably cold evening, a minimalist glimmer of late sun
showed through the cloud cover to match a minimalist campsite (see right).
picturesque 19th century fishing village, shoe-horned into a
tiny cove with its rorbuer clustered on stilts around the harbour hemmed
in by towering crags, is now the jewel of Lofoten's mass tourism industry.
Greedy business interests have also cashed in on this crude commercial
exploitation, milking the tourists who flock here in the 100s of 1000s during
summer. The setting is without doubt glorious, but the end result is a twee
tourist trap costing 50 NOK entry to what the slick advertising flyer calls a
'living museum'. The only thing left that is living or genuine about Nusfjord
are the kittiwakes nesting on the high craggy cliffs enclosing the tiny port;
the only thing that is free surprisingly is the car park, where space in the
upper area is limited given the aerial view down into the wee, twee settlement.
One token fishing boat, which probably has not been to sea for many a year, is
moored in the little harbour, and don't forget the cod liver oil factory on the
quay or the stockfish frames (empty of course) on the headland. It was truly
commercial yuksville, and tour-buses duly filled the lower car park. Naturally
we declined to part with money for such a contrived tourist trap, and were
content with photos from above and a free wander among the rorbuer, the
largest of which now formed the offices of one
of the investment interests that owns the place.
across bays studded with islets and the now bright
afternoon sun sparkling across the waters to a skyline of distant jagged peaks (
Brustranda Camping - a first class campsite: around Skifjorden, the
now narrow single-track Route 815 turned off around Vestvågøya's southern coast
hugging the shore-line with towering mountain cliffs overshadowing the landward
side and again huge chunks of rock debris lining the lane. At the head of the
inlet of Rolvsfjord we reached tonight's campsite, Brustranda Camping. You know
by instinct when a campsite is good and Brustranda had a very acceptable air
about it: the owner greeted us with a smilingly helpful welcome and showed us
round, the well-cared for camping area clustered around a small fjord inlet and
surrounded by high mountains was delightful (see right), the facilities were first class
with a well-equipped kitchen, comfortable common room and generously timed
showers, and the good value price of 220 NOK included site-wide wi-fi
internet. If only all campsites were as good as this; we gladly settled in.
But tonight the northerly wind blowing down from the enclosing mountains was
insistently chill, penetrating all the camper's vents with draughts which the
fan-heater struggled to combat.
landward side, the craggy cliffs of
Vestvågøya's southern coastal mountains towered overhead with spillages of rock
debris fallen onto the foreshore. Through the farming hamlet of Valberg nestled
into a broad bay with its white church visible from a distance against a dark
mountainous backdrop across the shallows, the lane swung around the next
mountainous headland enclosing the bay on the far side. Just around the
headland's point, we pulled in to the shore side. Here the view across a small
white sand beach, turquoise shallow waters and distant jagged mountains was
simply breath-taking - a classic Lofoten photograph (
Across onto Gimsøya: the lane swung
NW crossing lower farming land and the shallows and mud-flats of Malnesvika, and
over rounded hills overlooking Henningsvær-staumen with the mountains of Gimsøya
on the far side, we reached the bridge spanning the narrows separating Eastern Vestvågøya
from its neighbouring island. We crossed to the Gimsøya shore passed last week on our outward journey, and turned north onto a single-tack
lane around the flat farming lands of Western Gimsøya; the only distinctive
feature was the conical hill of 368m high Hoven which dominated the northern tip
of the peninsula. The lane led around the remarkably flat western side of Gimsøya under the towering cliffs of Hoven's peak to reach the tiny fishing
harbour of Hovsund at the NW tip of the island. Here partly loaded stockfish
frames covered the
headland, and as we stood photographing these in the bright sunlight, a male gull guarding its mate nesting on top of the frames swooped
viciously down with aggressive shrieks. Across the shallow bay, the mountains
of Northern Vestvågøya's Kvalnes peninsula, which we had driven round last week,
were silhouetted against the western sky (see right). A short distance along Gimsøya's
northern coast we reached Hov Camping which overlooked the glorious white sand
beach of Hovsvika (see left). This lovely, peaceful campsite, ranged along the roadside
opposite the bay (see below left), looked out across a beautiful white sand beach and clear sea-scape to the northern horizon,
a perfect, unimpaired vantage point for viewing the Midnight Sun (
The sun began its slow decline
across the northern sky and, despite some gathering cloud, things looked
promising for a Midnight Sun. We waited anxiously taking occasional late photos
as the sun lowered across the sea around 11-00pm. At 11-40pm we kitted up fully
against the cold wind and walked over to our observation point at a nearby
beach-cove (
A chill camp day at Hov Camping: our day in camp was going to be
a cold one, with low misty cloud covering the sea and a chill Arctic wind in
this exposed north-facing location at Hov Camping. We turned the camper into the
wind which had overnight veered to be blowing from the NW but, despite having
changed back into full Arctic gear to keep warm, the cold draughts were so
penetrating that the fan-heater was fighting a losing battle to maintain
even 15°C inside the camper. With the weather worsening even more during the
afternoon, with all-enveloping dense cloud obscuring both mountains and sea,
with bitterly chill wind and driving drizzle, it was a miserably gloomy day, the
worst of the trip only fit for a day of writing and trying to stay snug in the
shelter of George. Despite a brief brightening of the northern horizon, the
weather closed in again for a foul night of wind and rain with zero chance of a
repeat Midnight Sun tonight.
mountainous rump of Gimsøya along the island's eastern
coast with now empty fish-drying frames covering the headlands. Reaching the
Gimsøystraumen-brua, we crossed the high-arching
839m (2,753 ft) wide bridge (
apart from the camping-car nuisance, and we walked from the parking
area at the village's approach around the horse-shoe shaped harbour around which
Henningsvær has developed. We ambled among the lanes of quiet wooden houses,
avoiding the festering of art galleries, around the elongated inlet-harbour
enclosed by the small causeway linking the 2 long islets on which the village
was built. It was the sort of place where, even on a peaceful Sunday afternoon
you kept expecting something to happen; and thankfully it never did. The size of
the harbour indicated that clearly Henningsvær was until recently a busy, active
fishing port with all its supporting infrastructure. But times have changed, and
today there at most 8 working boats moored around the extensive quays, with a
leisure-craft marina set at the causeway. Despite fewer boats occupying
the harbour, the view from the causeway looking along the length of Henningsvær's
harbour with its backdrop of jagged snow-flecked peaks was still classically
Lofoten (see left) (
clear that our negative feelings were
well-founded. Despite, or perhaps because of, the attractive shore-side setting
with panoramic views of jagged peaks westwards now shrouded in rain-cloud, both
campsites were packed full with camping-cars; there was not a cm2 to escape from all the
objectionable
noise. But the worst was yet to come. The price was an equally offensive 290 NOK,
and the owner's uncivil manner and indifferent take-it-or-leave-it attitude made
our decision easy: we soundly rejected both, and at the expense of extra
driving, we returned to Gimsøya's peaceful northern coast at Hov
Camping. With George's nose pitched resolutely into the bitterly cold NE wind,
we quickly settled in with fan heater on and a beer in a hand, thankful to be
back in the peace and quiet of this welcoming campsite.
fisher-folk
who flocked to the Lofotens for the winter cod spawning season. But this was no
act of regal philanthropy since by encouraging the cod fishing, Eystein took
control of the rich tax revenues from fishing. By the 19th
century power over the predominant fishing trade was controlled by local
nessekonger, meaning privileged traders, merchant squires who bought
up local property. These new land owners forced the tenant fishermen of their rorbuer
to deliver their entire catch at prices set by the landlords. The 1857 Lofoten
Act greatly reduced the power of squire-landlords, but not until the 1936 Raw
Fish Act did they lose the power to set fish prices.
The little port of Kabelvåg:
down at the Torget, the wooden buildings of Kabelvåg village spread around what
was clearly a large harbour enclosed by a sturdy cobb. It had once been a
principle fishing harbour, home to a sizeable fleet, but those days were now
long gone. There was now scarcely a boat to be seen in the empty port. We walked
around past the harbour-side wooden inn where boats would once have been drawn
up alongside. But now only the ghosts of those glory days lingered, with just a
couple of camping-cars to disturb the peace of the place. A local girl had just
got off the bus, and in halting English she proudly told us she worked at the
nearby fruit and vegetable packing establishment; a straightforward soul she
somehow endeared herself to us. The enormous harbour now stood empty; long gone
was hum and bustle of yesteryear and the fishing fleet that once would have
sailed from here for the Lofotfiske. With rain beginning again, we
returned to Torget and bought some of our provision at the local Co-op. Back out
at the E10, we paused at another indication of Kabelvåg's past greatness, the
enormous wooden church set on a hillock overlooking the sea. It was built to
serve the needs of the seasonal fishermen who flocked here in the early 20th
century for the annual Spring Lofotfiske (
Appalling
weather in North-Eastern Austvågøya and another excellent campsite at
Sildpollnes Sjø-camping: some 20 kms along the fjord coast we reached
Sildpollnes Sjø-camping, a large site spread across the peninsula of
Sildpollneset which projects into Austnesfjord and is tipped by a tiny wooden
church. This was a magnificent spot looking across the fjord to the Trolltinden
range's coronet of jagged, snow-covered peaks. And best of all the place was
peaceful and almost deserted, with the few other visitors lost in the vast
camping areas scattered across the peninsula. The campsite owner, a tall
gangling Lofoten man whose family had owned the land and its fishing for some 50
years, gave us a friendly welcome and showed us around. The campsite showed
clearly the care that had gone into its progressive development; never before
had we seen such a varied choice of camping spots: a large, flat area on the
northern side of the peninsula with multiple secluded bays and trees for shelter
was temping but further from the services-hut; we selected a pitch close to the
little chapel on
a flat south-facing terrace with panoramic views eastward of
Eastern Austvågøya's mountainous profile of jagged peaks (
2 short tunnels cut through rocky
headlands, we reached the junction where E10 branched eastwards to enter the
long undersea tunnel connecting across the fjord's mouth to Eastern Austvågøya,
and the lane to the ferry port of Fiskebøl continued north. We continued ahead
as George's odometer recorded 2,000 miles driven so far in Norway. Before
crossing by ferry from Fiskebøl to the Vesterålen Islands, we should spend one
final night's camp on the north coast of Austvågøya, and followed the narrow
lane along the fretted northern shoreline with its deserted white sand beaches.
Skippergården Camping - for sale and in
terminal state of dereliction: back along
the village street, we found Skippergården Camping; it was open but also up for
sale. Despite indications of a run-down and passé campsite with woebegone, basic
facilities, the price including showers was an expensive 240 NOK. The camping
area stretched linearly for some 400m along a drive-way out to coast; it was
deserted, and you could understand why. The place was clearly in a state of
terminal dereliction, totally overgrown and uncared for with minimal power
supplies. But at the far end we reached a flat gravelly area directly
overlooking the shore-line, an open setting with north-facing orientation ideal for the Midnight Sun if only the cloud would clear. The owner admitted that the
there was no longer wi-fi provision, and the facilities hut part-way along the
drive-way was out of action due to a freeze-up last winter meaning a long trek
back to reception. The fact that damaged loos were only being repaired 6 months
later, together with the general air of decline, spoke volumes about the place's
imminent closure; it would probably not last the summer season. But despite our
reservations and excessive price, we booked in and pitched in peaceful isolation
looking out to sea with the hope of another Midnight Sun.
and
we spent the next almost 2 hours down on the hummocky foreshore photographing a
cloud-graced Midnight Sun, only finally turning in at 1-20am when the sun had
dipped to its lowest point (see left); still high above the northern horizon it was now
traversing horizontally through the thin cloud layer (
blear-eyed after our late night, we talked with empathetic sadness
about the state of Laukvik's terminal decline: the fishing industry clearly was
a shadow of its former scale, and being far from the main Lofoten tourist trail
and the mountains, this remote NW corner of the island had little tourist
industry to take its place. Both the village shop and campsite were up for sale,
clearly no longer viable businesses; it seemed the place had little future.
