Norway Post 28

Day 25

With my expertly repaired skeg I turned Namsos’s corner and headed north through a narrow fjord into an archipelagic inland sea. The headwind was chilly and brutal. The current dropped my speed to glacial.

At the end of the even narrower outlet fjord,, a kayaking couple, friends of those I had stayed with last night, waited for me.

I passed a marina. I could stop, but it wasn’t that much farther to hospitality. I pushed on, one inch at a time. With every stroke I wondered just how much easier it would be to go back to that marina. I kept turning around to measure how little I had accomplished since the last time I checked five seconds earlier.

By the time I turned my boat around I had a kilometer to paddle back, and from the middle of the channel with waves wind and current at my stern I flew.

While the small single docked marina did not have a shower, I found and appropriated a hose. A small wooden club house with three walls sheltering cushioned outdoor furniture sat at the head of the dock. There was even a curtain to pull across the opening.

Norway Post 27

Day 24

I paddled past the sea wall that I thought was a marina. It was.

The wind blew from the southwest. For the first hour it was a nice tail wind. When I turned the corner into Namsenfjorden the water calmed. Farther south a headwind rose and shifted to a tailwind as the fjord curved east.

I took narrow pathways between islands until I arrived at a dead end, though my chart showed a passage. To turn back and go around the other side of the island would add at least half an hour to an already long day. I got out and dragged my boat up a short beach onto a road. From the road I saw the other side. Two hundred meters of low tide mud flats lay between me and smooth paddling.

I slogged over the flats and resumed paddling. The wind periodically blew rain clouds overhead, but they never stayed for long. A rainbow upside down smiled at me.

As I pulled into Namsos I sang songs to welcome in the Sabbath, maybe a bit loudly. When I stopped singing to ask about a guest marina the fellow above didn't really want to talk to me since my singing told him I was crazy.

In the marina I met Osla who had just finished painting his sailboat. He and his wife were math and history teachers by day and kayak instructors by night. They welcomed me into their home like family and while I napped Saturday afternoon Osla went ahead and fixed my skeg. 

It works wonderfully.

Norway Post 26

I went for a walk hoping to find a shower. I found myself walking besides a man who asked me if I was a tourist. I told him my story and he showed me where the public showers were. The village had hot showers for the workers who were rebuilding it after last year's fire burnt everything down, and I was warm and clean.

I slept on the dock next to my kayak. In the middle of the night, despite the clear blue sky, my sleeping bag was damp. I convinced myself it was raining and nodded off. I woke back up, decided to get my bivi sack out, and fell back asleep. I woke up again, got the sack out, and slept 'till dawn.

When morning came, with my clear consciousness I realized that the fuss I had lost sleep over was dew.  Down by the water, there's a lot of it.

Day 23

A north wind was forecast to get stronger throughout the day. Fortunately, almost my entire route took me through tight well sheltered passages. One small rushing tidal stream connected two fjords. The ten foot wide race wound a 40 foot passage and turned under a tiny bridge before joining the next fjord. I climbed upstream with an intense and sustained sprint. "I am a beast," I screamed through my adrenaline hazed attack on the natural beauty turned wilderness enemy around me.

At the other end of the fjord the passage was almost as narrow but the water pulled me a along like a fire hose and I wooted with joy.

After a couple more less intense narrow passages the last four miles were into the headwind. An eagle rode the thermal vents above the edge of an island's cliffs. Between that and the island just north of it a mink scooted by me in the water and climbed up the rocks. It scampered behind a stone and then stuck its head out to look at me. I looked back, and then took a bunch of pictures.

I continued my push into the headwind across the bay and was thrilled to finally make landfall. I passed a small island where some folks talked above a dock. I was tired and had been on the water for over 8 hours. I asked if that blur in the distance that looked like a sea wall was the marina I remembered from Google maps.

"No, why do you need a marina?"

"Sometimes they have showers and friendly folks." I said.

"You can shower in our house." She told me. I was also invited for dinner and to sleep over. The next day when the weather was bad they invited me to stay until I was ready to leave. I love Norway.

Norway Post 25

Day 22

The sun shone all all day. In the morning I had a robust tailwind as I paddle between densely packed islands and the mainland.

I stopped for a brief break and noticed an otter floating at the surface just behind me. He was either asleep, meditating, or silently stalking fish from above. It was the closest I've ever gotten to one, apparently completely unaware of my presence.

I took out my camera, which made a beep when I turned it on. The otter's head shot out of the water and looked directly at me. We stared at each other for a moment. My camera made another digital sound when I hit the zoom and with a splunk the otter dived into the opaque water.  I took another moment to set my camera on silent.

I cut straight across a bay between an archipelago and the mainland and then headed north in only slightly more exposed water. Under a large light house I found a kind of seaweed that I had been told was edible and been meaning to try.

At first the large flat leaf was crunchy and tasted similar to the other sea weed I had been snacking on. As the leaf dissolved in my mouth something happened. My mouth was full of ooze. It didn't taste bad, it just felt salty and oozy. I decided to end the experiment and spit it out.

In the afternoon I paddled under clear skies over calm waters. The mountains above me stood proud in perfect kayaking weather.

I ended my happy day after eight hours of paddling just north of Uran.

Norway Post 24

I waited for my host to wake up. I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye and he offered to give me a lift to the marina to save me an hour of walking. At 11:00 I checked to see if he was in the house, maybe he'd gone out earlier without me noticing.

I woke him. Despite his hangover, he was out of bed and we were on our way to the marina, with me once again behind the wheel. I didn't know not driving while hung over is a thing, but apparently it is. I've never had one.

Kids, don't drink and drive. Also, don't put yourselves in a situation where I have to drive stick for you.

Day 21

I paddled on calm water across the southern end of the island and then turned into the north south fjord between the island and the mainland. I first felt the north wind that lasted all day.

My progress was pitiful. So slow I couldn't figure out where I was on the chart because I thought I was much further north, and an Island connected to the mainland by a bridge hid an important land marking harbor from me. My chart doesn't show bridges, which is a defect.

I stopped at 17:30 without having hit any of the distance landmarks I expected to find. I needed a toilet. Five identical red vacation homes were lined up above the water next to the small marina. The marina had a number of small cabinless fishing boats, each with five rods held ready in upright shafts. The wind made the fishing line sing.

I didn't want to take an afternoon poop in the marina with people about.  Looking for a bathroom I found that none of those people spoke English. It turned out they were mostly German tourists on a fishing holiday.

Up at the red houses a number of them were cleaning and gutting their catch of the day. Families set to work happily with knives, fish, and a hose. Nobody knew where I might find a toilet. Nobody wanted to give me the least bit of help.

I walked past the last house and found a secluded spot next to the water. I used the fish cleaning hose to shower and slept in the one boat that had a cabin. It did not have fishing rods set up as the others did and only smelled mildly of gasoline.

The next day, while walking some distance from the marina I met a man who knew Schell, my Thursday night host. He had heard about me and was all too happy to host me in his guest cottage for Saturday and Sunday night.

Sunday was Tisha B'Av, the Jewish day day of mourning.   

Norway Post 23

My skirt was a little too big for my combing; the result had been that every time I turned hard, cold water spilled onto my leg and into my boat. I tied a string around the front of my skirt solving a problem that had annoyed me for the last 18 days.

It didn't seem like lowering the skeg had made much of a difference since the last time I fixed it. I checked to make sure it worked and discovered it didn't. I might be able to fix it with a hex wrench which I do not have. I weighted the stern to reduce weather cocking.

Day 20

I paddled in the tight space between islands and under their connecting bridges before setting out into more open waters.

To the northwest the sky and sea were bright blue. To the southeast they were doom gray. I paddled the glassy sky-reflecting waters in between passed small islands. To the east bulbous stony mountains were great puffs of smoke reaching towards the heavens forever frozen, broken by fjords meandering deep into the mountains.

I tried some seaweed. The leave's pea sized enclosures perpetually reached towards the surface where the sun was brightest. There was a rough sawdust after taste.

A tail wind picked up. The waves began to break around me left and right as I pulled into hyperdrive. Without a skeg, my boat wanted to weathercock, despite the extra weight in the stern. The wanting wasn't subtle like I want a Jewish Norwegian wife, it was powerful like the need to go to the bathroom after I eat insufficiently cooked Norwegian peas.*

I edged way over nearly using my gunwale as my keel. I held my paddle from the end and only on one side.  Each stroke I exaggerated pulling water away from my bow. Barely, and only with my most massive effort, did I keep my boat going straight-ish.

At least I was going fast and I soon arrived in Stokko's marina, phenomenally exhausted. There, in an unattended marina building, I found a hot shower, kitchenette, and well heated living room with a comfortable couch.

The next morning the wind continued. After my own failure to fix my skeg, the locals gathered together with all their tools and wisdom to repair it for me.

In the end, they told me "There's a place up north where they may be able to help you with the stripped screws," that were part of the problem. They showed me on my chart. It was a week and a half away.

In the afternoon I sat at a bar to use the internet. A man started chatting with me and invited me to sleep over. Only, I'd need to drive him home since he'd had too much to drink.

The last time I drove stick was in Naples after the first leg of my Spain - Cyprus expedition. That was for three blocks and the car stalled as many times. My host helped by occasionally operating the BMW's stick and telling me to press the break. Before long I figure out that by break he meant clutch and we were moving. Sometimes I did it all by myself, but occasionally went to the wrong gear. Fortunately, I managed to stay clear of the reverse, except for when I needed it and that wasn't so fortunate.

That night at the beach he introduced me to Andrea, who had just come back from studying in Paris. She was a little taller than me and made a point in life a facing her fears. I wonder if she knows how long to cook peas. She wanted to hear my stories, which was good since I wanted to tell them to her, and then maybe speak of love.

The young lady sitting next to Andrea got up to go to bed, but not without a long intimate romantic parting good night kiss with Andrea. Andrea told me that she had an extra bed in her room and I was welcome to stay with her for the weekend if I wanted to remain on the island for a few extra days.

I went to my very comfortable bed that evening confused and slightly titillated.

*Hopefully my Norwegian wife will know how long to cook the local peas, and I'll hit two birds with one stone.

Norway Post 22

Day 19

I paddled north under a tiny bridge and then weaved in and out around around extended seaweed rocky areas that were probably completely underwater at high tide.

In the distance I saw a black buoy. Black is a strange color to choose for a buoy since they're usually designed to be visible. The buoy vanished.

Twenty minutes later I saw it again. It was closer, but farther north and to the west of where I saw it the first time. It vanished and reappeared again about thirty feet from me. The seal tried to figure me out.

There's something about almost every dog's face that says, "kiss me I love you." Seals seem to have that going on for them also, maybe because they look like sea dogs. In reality, seals should neither be kissed nor clubbed, respect wild animals. They're wild.

I passed the Kjeungskj light house, which is a big red light house in the middle of the sea.

I entered a marina in Nes to investigate. It was much too early for me to stop, but maybe I'd meet the great sailors from Kristiansund. I found a sailboat that had two sea kayaks on deck! I complimented the sailor, but she wasn't really interested so I moved on.

A couple of hours before I intended to stop I saw a scary storm on the horizon.  I needed to get off the water before it hit. As the waves picked up I used the distance between my fingers held at arms length to estimate the storm’s progress in my direction.

I passed an older heavyset Norwegian woman in a bikini about to go for a swim as her kids watched from the rocks above. The waves jostled me up and down and crashing into the shore. She was strong! And extremely helpful. There was a marina just around the corner and the boathouse next to it had a couple beds. I could walk to the nearby farm and probably get permission to sleep in the boathouse.

The beds were being use by a Lithuanian couple working in the area, but a man offered to let me sleep in his clean comfortable motorboat.

I walked up a narrow gravel road through meadows and hills towards the village. I met a dog and his walker. The walker told me the supermarket was too far to walk, but I could borrow his bike.

I biked the length of the island and over a bridge onto the mainland to the market. After my shopping I returned past the farms and very old small homes. When I brought the bike back the fellow insisted that I stay for dinner. His wife made an enormous amount of salad for me that was wonderful.

My hosts told me that if I worried I wasn't getting enough salad, then I could and should eat seaweed. Two of the three kinds I regularly paddle through were edible and highly nutritious. I shouldn't eat too much at once however since it might upset my stomach.