LOFOTEN* ISLANDS

One of the most impulsive, exciting trips I did back in the days when I just went off somewhere without giving it too much thought. My inspiration had been a photo of yellow rorbuer (fishing huts) with a mountainous background that I’d seen on the website of a company that ran photography workshops there. I had tried to get on one, but they were fully booked up 2-3 years ahead and hideously expensive. Not put off, I used a lunch break to locate the yellow huts, and discovered you could rent them, so I went ahead and booked one for the following March. I didn’t think about how I would get there, how I would get around, what I would do there let alone the fact that the islands are 100 miles inside the Arctic Circle and I had just booked to go in winter. On my own.

* I am still not 100% of the correct pronunciation of ‘Lofoten’. When you hear it spoken it sounds like ‘Lurften’or sometimes ‘Lur-fur-ten with the emphasis on the second syllable. Bodø is ‘Burdur’ and Å is ‘Orr’. The vowel sounds remind me the north east of England, which makes sense when you think about our shared history.

I took the long way up: a flight to Oslo; a train to Trondheim where I stayed overnight; an early train to Bodø where I stayed another night; and a late afternoon ferry across to the islands. I made friends with a salty old Norwegian sea dog on the ferry – yellow oilskins, big white beard, a norlender jumper, he may have had a pipe. He told me in his perfect English that he was going over for the fishing and asked what I was going over for. I had no answer to this question, I didn’t know what had pulled me there, clearly not the fishing but, whatever it was, I was very excited.

We docked at Moskenes in pitch dark where there was a car waiting to take me to the rorbuer. Along the way I could make out jagged peaks all around and I was reminded of a night-time arrival in Wales once, and realising the wall of darkness in front of me was mountains. Anything higher than 1000 ft is a thrill when you live in southern England.

I loved my little cabin straightaway. Needless to say it was warm – the Scandanavians are good at making cosy. I was starving but had brought some basics with me: a jar of pesto, some dried spaghetti and some tea bags and that was all I needed for the first night. I slept in the loft under several layers of quilt and a skylight. I hoped to see the northern lights above me but I fell asleep too quickly and slept like a baby. The next day I woke up to a view that was exactly the image that had originally inspired me: clear blue water, snowy rocks, colourful buildings.

The islands were pretty much shut to visitors at that time of year, which is probably how I got a booking. Most of the shops and cafés were boarded up, but the bus that goes all the way from the top of the islands to the bottom a couple of times a day was running, plus a supermarket about a mile away, and that was all I needed. The only other aliens I saw were photographers, which was no surprise as the islands are very beautiful.

I found a little café open in Reine where an American was arguing loudly on the phone with his tour company about how lousy the weather was, and how he hadn’t been able to make the most of photo opportunities ‘as promised’. The weather is incredibly unpredictable so really, anyone visiting should stay at least a couple of weeks and be ready for anything weatherwise. My meteorological expectations were low thankfully which is the best and only way to enjoy your time on these islands.

Every year, thousands of cod (‘skrei’) come to the Lofotens to spawn and so begins the fishing season or ‘Lofotfiske’. All over the islands I saw racks of cod and haddock drying. The perfect temperature means they dry in the sun and wind without rotting, but I wondered why the birds didn’t get them. Usually the heads were separated as these were used for pet food while the bodies were exported to places like Portugal for bacalhau. Unsurprisingly, it was the vikings who first started trading their dried fish with southern Europe and weeks later I bizarrely found myself in Porto food market looking at fish that had come from Norway.

Inevitably there was a strong fishy whiff everywhere which pleased me as it added to the ambience for my short visit, but the woman who managed the rorbuer complained that she was sick of it as she couldn’t hang her washing out.

There was a small hut selling fish cakes by the cabins. Everything else came from the co-op about a mile up the road. Norway is expensive but I was able to get essentials from here and keep myself alive for a few days. I had basic cooking facilities and a sweet little table overlooking the water and mountains. The walls were old boards from the fishing huts complete with graffiti. My fire-making skills are reasonably good, so was able to keep the stove going, and a log elf visited the cabin every day while I was out and filled the basket. On the table was the shell of an anemone which I desired so much. Imagine my joy when I found one of my own my way to Reine where the sea laps onto the road.

The main road is the E10 which runs from one end of the archipelago to the other. Along it runs the bus service which is infrequent but always on time, and my transport to other parts of the islands. I spent a couple of days in Flakstad with its pretty little church with an onion-shaped spire and red clapboard walls. It’s dedicated to the many people who have lost their lives in the deadly maelström whirlpool nearby.

The beach was stunning and deserted apart from the odd photographer plus tripod. On the icy sand were riverlets of very cold water that felt like ice needles as I discovered when I accidentally stuck my foot into one of them. Luckily I had a change of socks in my pack, plus a flask of hot chocolate with me. I sat in the church porch and warmed up.

Another day I set off for Nusfjord which is supposed to be the prettiest fishing town on the islands. After I got off the bus, it was a long walk along a suspiciously quiet road banked up at either side by huge piles of snow. I didn’t see a single vehicle and walked the whole way in the middle of the road. The route was beautiful alongside lakes and a fjord with giant erratic boulders scattered about. By now it was raining – sharp icy drops working their way through my ‘waterproof’ coat.

When I got to the town everything was shut. I had hoped to get a hot drink somewhere but instead I stood under a balcony and ate a miserable energy bar and drank some cold water, and then walked back. I could feel the rain getting through to my base layers and I started to feel really cold. This is how hypothermia begins so I sped up and got to the E10 just in time to catch the last bus back. At the road junction I noticed a sign that said the walk to Nusfjord was only 6km – it had felt much longer. I was soon back in my cosy cabin with my fire and warm food. It’s wonderful and impressive how quickly you can get warm and dry in Norway.

Opposite the cabins was a convenient rock to climb and take photographs. I love this one I took overlooking the main road crossing the fjords and winding its way around the coastline.

My last day out was to Å (pronounced Orr) which is at the southern end of the E10. Another Lofoten town that has shut down for winter, but Å now makes a living from tourism instead of fishing as it once had. So the sweet little shop/post office was open and I was able to send some postcards.

I then walked as far as I could around half-frozen Lake Ågvatnet until I reached a rock face with nesting gulls. Now unable to distinguish any features in the snow, I wondered if anyone would ever find me if I slipped down a slope and fell through the ice. On the other side of the Moskenes island is the famous Moskstraumen maelstrom that has taken many lives and inspired stories like Edgar Allen Poe’s A Descent into the Maelström. I could easily imagine how legends and superstitions had come out of this landscape.

I left the islands by prop plane from Leknes airport across the sea to Bodø. It was a short flight but gave me a chance to look below at the coloured houses and stunning landscape. I would love to come back here again and see more of the islands and I think I would come back again in winter when there are so few people.

I spent my last night in a hotel in the harbour of Bodø. The next morning, I had a sublime breakfast of smoked salmon (in big chunks not delicate slivers) and scrambled eggs. I definitely went back for seconds. Outside big blobs of fairy-tale snow were falling which was exciting for someone who rarely sees any at all. There was hardly anyone in the restaurant so the staff opened a french window for me so that I could go outside and enjoy it. And, like everywhere else I had been the past week, it was silent.

For the short time I had been here, I had barely seen or spoken to anyone and had wandered around in a snow-muffled hush. I had loved every minute of it.