5. The Norwegian Islands and the Turn Southwards

In the absence of newspaper headlines along the lines of “Plucky Elderly English Couple in Whale Watching Boat Tragedy” or “Brits in the Drink”, you’ll gather that all passed off safely for us on the ‘rib’.  About a dozen of us decked out in flotation suits and life jackets waddled across to the boat looking like a Teletubbies day out at the seaside.  The important stuff was OK, I could just reach my binoculars and camera but other than that I could hardly move.  We set off at a fair lick into open water heading as far as I could tell in the direction of Greenland.  “Greenland” being a Viking estate agent’s marketing slogan.  Just look at a map, it’s so cold they can’t even be bothered to put a u after the q’s in the place names. 

Anyway off we went.  The whales feed in deep underwater canyons some way off the coast and being air breathing mammals have to come to the surface to breathe.  They rest on the surface for a while with their breath visible from nostrils on top of their heads.  This gives their position away when they rise and our spotter shouts “blow” and points rather more dramatically than necessary.  The helmsman puts his foot down or whatever you do in a boat to go faster, a lot faster, and we slow down surprisingly close to the tail end of a fifty foot Sperm Whale.  The sight of one of these huge creatures at such close quarters is both breathtaking and exhilarating.  The researchers and boat crew recognise individual whales from their tail scars and shape and the one we have in view is called Shiny because his tail is in ‘just out of the showroom’ condition.  The light is good enough, sunny from behind and still reasonably high for us to see that Shiny’s skin is brown.   He, for all the whales in the area are males, decides on a fish snack, arches his back, the tail rises in the air and he slides vertically down with hardly a ripple for up to half an hour feeding in near pitch darkness.  Just like onshore in the middle of December, I imagine.  Sperm whales use a form of echo location to locate food, a bit like bats while at the same time being totally different from bats.  Only a few minutes later another cry of “blow” and we rush off to make the acquaintance of Quasimodo, who as you will no doubt work out has a rather grizzled and damaged rear end.  Killer Whale damage is mentioned (about a week after this on the west coast of the Lofotens we see a pod of about 15 - 20 probable Killer Whales passing nothwards from the pitch at our campsite for the night.  10 pm, brilliant sunshine).   We see both Shiny and Quasimodo again from the rib and then it goes quiet.  That’s all the whales for us tonight so we head off to see birds on a breeding island.  More Puffins than you can shake a stick at, half a dozen Sea Eagles and small numbers of other sea birds.  The midnight sun comes in at a shallow trajectory and well, just carries on across the sky.  We have to be further south or later in the year to see it just kiss the surface of the sea.  At about 2.00am the Teletubbies trip comes to an end and it turns out that I’d put on too much warm clothing after all.   Still, better than a chill on me kidneys.      

The beach from which we saw the Killer Whales had the remains of a WWII radar station.  It was a sobering thought to know that when in operation this was one of the monitoring points trying to locate The Arctic Convoys which were transporting material to the Soviets at Murmansk.  The very convoys on which Heather’s Dad Eric did 15 trips to Russia, starting when he was only 18, although I’m not so sure about the word ‘trips’. 

The various islands in these two groups, Vesteralen and Lofoten are usually quite close to each other and joined by bridges which have to be high enough to allow ships to pass.  Consequently the bridges arch, some quite steeply which makes for an elegant bridge but the most elegant by far are the ones built with a lateral curve in them.  It gives them a sinuous quality and a definite beauty which fits surprisingly well with the natural magnificence which surrounds them.  The Lofotens are smaller than the Vesteralens and are much narrower with one road running their length with branches off that.  It is incredibly scenic and the weather changes constantly between low cloud, rain and brilliant sunshine.  You really cannot predict ten minutes ahead sometimes.

One big surprise for us is that after being in the country for a week or so we’ve discovered that the Norwegian Campsites can only be described as primitive.  Every site so far has electrics with no earth so we won’t use it and while the facilities are always clean they’re ridiculously inadequate for the size of the sites.  Often they’ll be perhaps two lavatories and two showers for a whole site and these will hold 30 to 40 vans, caravans and tents.  Some of these sites are just like car parks with outfits parked side by side on gravel.  For this we are expected to pay £25 and then have to put coins in a meter for showers.  So we do what many other motorcaravanners do and wild-camp.  Just as in Sweden, this is a right granted by Norwegian law.  We’re fully contained and there are some fabulous spots to choose from.  We use gas, our batteries and solar panels.  Unfortunately, our diesel central heating has stopped working which is irritating but at the moment it is warmer, up to 25C on one day and we had dinner outside a day or so back in what can only be described as an official wild-camp.  I know that sounds a bit of a paradox but it was a set up parking area off the road, tarmac with a grass centre, measuring perhaps 60 or 70  yards by 30 yards with picnic tables and a motorhome service point plus a lavatory with hand basin and hot and cold water.  All perfectly clean, no litter anywhere.  We had a view over a town called Leknes and a cruise liner which was in port.  Anywhere else we could have seen the town lit up at night.

A major export from the Lofotens with claims are that this trade dates from about 800AD is stock-fish, which is air dried cod, much of which goes to Italy, Spain, Portugal and Africa.  The wooden frames are very common and pretty extensive in area, holding the fish eight feet or so in the air for a couple of months from April.   Some just hold fish heads which are sold to Nigeria where boiled with peanuts and chillis they’re a big hit.  So, tip No1 if you plan to rent a holiday cottage in the Lofotens is to make sure, absolutely sure, that your chosen place is not near a fish drying rack.  A couple of thousand drying cod is every bit as aromatic as you might think it would be.

With these particular islands getting all the publicity, although to be fair they are stunningly beautiful, it isn’t a surprise that they are busier with tourists than the Vesteralens and there are even more motorhomes.   About two thirds of them are German with most of the rest being Norwegian or Swedish, a fair number of French, Dutch, Italian and Austrian but virtually no Brits.  At the southern end of the islands is the picturesque little town of Å, which you might think would be the first in an alphabetic list of Norwegian towns.  Alas no, Å is the last letter of the Norwegian alphabet and is pronounced as far as I can make out, as two syllables oo aa, a bit like a cross between Robert Newton’s Long John Silver and Frankie Howerd.

Rather than drive all the way north to get back on the mainland we take our first ferry of what will have to be several as we make our way southerly somewhat vaguely along the coast.  With such a convoluted coastline (have you heard of the Fjords ? that Slarty Bartfast certainly deserved his award) it’s impossible to drive along the coast without missing great lumps and getting ferries.  So, this time to save about 300 to 400 kms of twisty road we plump for the about an hour Svolvaer to Skutvik crossing at just over £40.  On the way the ferry calls in at another small island, apparently just to drop off three women with their shopping but the approach was impressive.  We came speeding in dodging around islets, headlands and other assorted rocks as if we were in a speedboat, backed onto the quay for a couple of minutes and we were off again.  I’ve mentioned the command of English that Norwegians have and while paying for one ferry crossing I asked if we would get on the next ferry.  It was just pulling in to the dock.  The ticket man looked to be someone doing a school holiday job, everyone looks young these days to me, but he must have been about 17 or so.  I’d said “the next ferry”.  Oh no he said “I think you will get this ferry”.  So, able to distinguish at that level.  Impressive. 

We don’t have gas bottles with this van, we have a fitted gas tank which we can fill at an LPG pump in a garage and it went the whole of last year without being refilled, so we knew we had plenty of gas to last us.  Miscalculation.  We were obviously using a lot more gas than expected without any electric hook up and before we left the Lofotens with more than a month before we got back to dear ol’ Blighty, gas levels were critically low.  Running out would be an irritation because that would be our cooking and making tea up the chute.  The complication is that there are five different types of nozzle used in Europe but when we checked, Good News - we found out that in Norway several different nozzles are used including the one we need.   Bad News – there are few LPG pumps in Norway, especially this far north.  Double Bad News – the first two garages we went to, on our route but still a couple of hundred miles apart, were out of LPG.  Good News – the third one not only had gas but the right nozzle, so for about the same price as in England we filled up, relieved.   Naturally, we had a cup of tea to celebrate.