Jatancuya National Park, Norway - July 2010 - Trip Report

In the summer of my 2nd year of uni I’d decided to head out to Norway for a few weeks, and had planned several solo multiday hikes in various national parks around the country. Unfortunately, due to personal reasons, my trip was cut short after completing the first trek – a 4 day affair across Jatancuya National Park. Therefore the main outcome of this little adventure is that I now have a number of very expensive and unused topographic maps of Norway!

The trip didn’t get off to the best start. Somewhere between Oslo and my final train station I lost my tent. The tent had been strapped to the outside of my bag and to this day I can’t tell if it was stolen or had simply fallen off, but whatever the reason a missing tent didn’t bode well for all the camping I’d planned to do. The tent wasn’t that new or expensive, I’d bought it about 4 years ago for my Duke of Edinburgh award, but I missed it with a nostalgic sense of loss – it had been my first tent and we shared many formative adventures together on my travels around Australia, New Zealand and Indonesia.

Undeterred I stepped off the train in the small village of. Finding a camping store I was confronted with a conundrum; buy a lightweight 1.5kg tent for around £200 (which wouldn’t have been my tent of choice if spending that money in the UK, and certainly wouldn’t have cost that much), or buy a much heavier tent for a fraction of the price. My bag was already very heavy as I hadn’t really developed a ‘fast and light’ concept by this age, so the decision was easily made.

With my pack weighing in at a miserable 30kg I set off into the Jatancuya park. Night soon closed in and I found myself racing to pitch an unknown tent before the hordes of biting insects surrounding me realised just how tasty my English flesh was. I learnt a valuable lesson that night – tents with mesh inners are cold! My flysheet did not extend that close to the ground so a cold draft chilled me throughout the night.

Over the next few days I become more adept at pitching my tent quickly, and using my rucksack or features of the landscape to block the wind. I continued my trek at a snail’s pace, struggling to lift my heavy bag with every step and wondering why I’d decided trekking in Norway was the perfect time to finish a half-made scrapbook I was making for my girlfriend.

I did not find the trek particularly inspiring. For some reason I’d been expecting deep forests and big waterfalls; instead I was greeted daily by a rolling desolate landscape eerily reminiscent of the Brecon Beacons. My hard work however was rewarded as I began to descend from the mountain towards the end-point of my journey. The landscape suddenly and dramatically changed; trees sprung up from the drab green grass and a sizeable river gushed along the path and over drops.

I finished the trek in better spirits than I start, the scenery what I wanted and the descent aiding my weary legs and struggling back. Whilst up high I’d been fed-up, lonely and demoralised, secretly happy that I was being forced to return home. However, by the end I was sad to have to leave everything behind, but at least I left having learnt a lot and having experienced my first proper solo adventure.