Oliver Laxer's Adventure

My warm Italian days were over. I took an overnight bus from Milan to Geneva, and I flew north to Bodø, via Copenhagen and Oslo. In five days, I’d taken six buses, eight trains, and three planes. I was ready for some rest. I walked to the grocery store and then to the end of a spit of land in the Bodø harbor. My dinner consisted of a loaf of bread, a jar of pesto, salami, an apple, and cinnamon buns. As I ate, the sky streaked yellow and pink. A warm welcome to Norway.

At 8:30, I walked to my hotel and fell into a deep sleep. Five hours later, my alarm went off and outside the window glowed green. This adventure would be worth the lack of sleep. I quietly walked out of my eight-bed dormitory and went outside. The light pollution of Bodø was strong, but the aurora above was stronger. With streaks in the sky, I was thrilled! It jittered and danced so quickly, but never moved far. Always a long searchlight beaming and thrashing like a whip through the sky, shining from the lighthouse of the Arctic.

I began to walk out of the city, in an attempt to escape the light pollution. Bodø is class seven out of nine on the Bortle dark sky scale which is described as “light pollution makes the entire sky light gray, strong light sources are evident in all directions.” Not ideal. I tried to hitchhike out of town, but the roads were empty. I thought about borrowing someone’s bike from outside their house, but decided against it. So I walked a mile and a half out of Bodø and up a hill to a cell tower. It was significantly darker, so I lay on my back and enjoyed the show. Fired up with awe and inspiration, I jotted down what I saw and later turned it into this:

Aurora stepped out onto the stage, curtains open far and wide. The dance was about to begin. Arms outstretched, Aurora leapt and swayed across the star-specked stage with shapes and colors moving like a bonfire in the autumn wind. The first dance came to a close, and Aurora took a bow. The audience erupts into applause, except the audience is just me. The rest of the world lies sleeping, missing the show of a lifetime. Aurora does not realize she’s performing for one, as Aurora has no eyes, like you and I. I cheer and woot and holler like a sold-out symphony at Carnegie Hall. The next dance began, and Aurora reached out an arm to the audience, an invitation to dance. I took her hand and we danced and spun and jumped until witching hour had come and gone. Aurora didn’t know I couldn’t dance as she has no eyes like you or me. The final dance was another duet, between Aurora and the sun. As the dance began, it didn’t feel like a duet at all. It was Aurora’s show, but slowly the sun had different moves than Aurora, slow and warm. By the end of the dance, Aurora was tired and it became the sun’s stage. A smooth blue stage, much different from Aurora’s part of the show was was no more, so I finally returned home. I have seen the sun dance before.

The aurora began to go away at 3:30 AM because the sun began to rise, so I walked back to the hostel to finally get some much needed rest.

With bags under my eyes, I rose again a few hours later and spent the day writing, doing laundry, and buying groceries. At 4:30, I finally left the hostel and headed to the ferry terminal. I sat with a friendly-looking guy, a fellow traveller. We talked for much of the ferry to Svolvær. We spoke of travel, film, literature, work, and life. He was from the Netherlands and wore a similar sweater to Walter Mitty towards the end of the film as he plays soccer in ungoverned Afghanistan. I enjoyed hearing about his enthusiasm for the upcoming ten days that were to be filled with sailing around Lofoten and hopefully seeing some northern lights. I didn’t hesitate to ask if there was room on board for one more; he said he would ask the captain when on board and let me know. He gave me one of his nectarines, and I shared some of my strawberry shortcake. A good trade.

At one point, towards the end of the ferry ride, he said softly, “Hey man, can I shake your hand? I just wanted to say how much I am enjoying this voyage with you.” He then told me about the book he was reading, about a pilgrimage, and it speaks of how thinking about death and accepting one’s fate can lead to appreciating each moment and not taking anything for granted. He continued, “If I was kaputz yesterday, I would not be here, on this voyage to Lofoten with you.”

At 9:30, we docked in Svolvær, 140 miles into the Arctic Circle. I wasn’t going to pay for a hotel and saw mixed reviews for the campsite, so I decided to just walk out of town and find a suitable place to pitch my tent. Being outdoors is ingrained in Norwegian culture and, as long as one is respectful towards the land, the country is open to explore. Norway’s right to roam states that “You may put up a tent, or sleep under the stars, anywhere in the countryside, forests or mountains, as long as you stay at least 150 metres away from the nearest inhabited house or cabin.” I cooked some pasta in a bus stop next to the E10 to avoid the pouring rain and howling wind. It was well after 10 PM and I was not enjoying myself. I was still feeling woozy from the open ocean and very sleep-deprived. I ate my pasta with fluttery eyes and then, tired and wet, I walked further out of town and up a hill until I found a clearing to pitch my tent; it was almost midnight, and I slept like a bear waiting out a snowy winter.

I woke up feeling much better. My acute seasickness was gone, and I had finally caught up on my sleep. I took down my tent and walked back into Svolvær. I ate breakfast, bought food and fuel, and finally, at 1 PM, I began walking. My plan was to hike the Lofoten Long Crossing (map below from rando-lofoten), a 100 mile thru-hike with 29,800 feet of elevation gain. The northern terminus is in Delp, but getting there required taking a bus, which I did not have the brain power to figure out, so I skipped the first two days and started hiking from Svolvær.

My bag was so full; I had a full 60 liter pack and then some food and odds and ends in a shoulder bag. I was carrying all my belongings I needed until January. I would have left my non-backpacking junk somewhere and pick it back up after the hike, but I wasn’t certain I’d return to any specific city. So I carried it all. I began to climb up away from the sea, using ropes to pull myself up this slippery rock path next to a water pipe. It was precarious at times, and I would have to hoist up my backpack and shoulder bag ahead of me while climbing the more exposed parts. I topped out next to a small lake and followed the path, passing mountains, sheep, and nice grasses. Then, the descent into what I called the ‘bog of despair and rainbows.’ The trail was just muck, deep muck, wet grass, water, and slippery rocks. There was no keeping my feet dry, or dry legs for that matter. I spent much of the descent ankle deep and occasionally knee deep in thick, viscous mud. I fell a few times and managed to lose my phone. (I realized within 10 minutes and backtracked and found it in a bush!)

As I reached the valley, it began to rain, and over the course of 20 minutes, it fell harder and harder. I took shelter under a small roof that jut out of a little red cabin. After 15 minutes, I figured I had to keep walking regardless of the precipitation and toughed it out. I tramped through bog and mush, cold and wet. I planned to hike another four or five miles to what might have been a campsite (I didn’t plan or research this hike very well), but then I stumbled upon two people rushing to set up their tent in the rain next to another cabin. I walked up to them and meant to ask, “Can I camp here with you?” or “Do you know how far it is to the E10?” but I was so battered, when I tried to speak, no words came out. I just stood there speechless and exhausted, asking for help with only the sorrow in my eyes. The two strangers were quick to explain that they didn’t know whose cabin they were camped next to, but they were similarly so tired of trudging through the bog and rain that, frankly, they didn’t care. They figured that the homeowner wouldn’t mind, so I found my words and said that, if it was okay with them, I would be their neighbor for the night. After our tents were all set up, we introduced ourselves. They were also doing the Lofoten Long Crossing and were from the Netherlands. It was raining hard. I made my dinner under the cover of the outcropped roof and ate not one, not two, but seven burritos filled with warm rice, cold beans, and cheese. The rain began to slow, and the sun managed to peak through the clouds, giving way to a bright rainbow in the sunset.

We joked about how this was our reward for trudging through the rain and muck all day. I’d say it was worth it. In retrospect… It was lucky I camped where I did, as the heavy rains turned into strong winds, and I would’ve been flat as a pancake if I hadn’t been protected by the hut and surrounding trees.

I woke up at 7 to no rain, a dead phone, and a newly broken portable charger. I unfortunately have been relying too much on my phone for communication and navigation, so I had to get to a town to charge my devices. I walked with my Dutch friends the remaining three miles to the main road. It took some time to realize, but I was at this same lake a few years ago with my family. Cool to be back! The rain was starting to return (falling sideways as it was so windy) as I was telling the story of my wonderful time in Framura, Italy. I spoke fondly of the sun and warmth when one of them said, “Rain builds character. Sun does not.” I laughed. She was right, but in that moment, I wanted to snap my fingers, say abracadabra, and teleport back to Framura.

However, that was not an option, so I said goodbye to my friends and took the bus for 45 minutes to Lekenes and, as soon as I sat, I fell into a deep, calm sleep. When I awoke, I had arrived, and I walked to the nearest gas station. The nice person working the cash register let me use the outlets, so I sat in the corner, below the frozen pizzas, and charged my devices. I sat for hours reading, writing, and on my phone. I then went grocery shopping to stock up on food until Ramberg, when I began to notice a peculiar trend. I saw cowboy hats for sale in the gas station and remarked how far I was from the American southwest. I was even more surprised to see two people walk in and pay 400 KR (40 USD) each for a cowboy hat. But that was just the beginning. While walking to the grocery store, I saw eight people wearing cowboy hats. Some with cowboy boots, working jeans, and flannels. One even had a brown leather jacket with leather jacket with leather tassels, and intricate beadwork. So interesting.

I then hitchhiked out of Lekenes with a nice Norwegian guy who called Lofoten home. He worked at the local grocery store and occasionally at the fish processing facility. He was quiet and reminded me of the shop owner, Oaken, in Frozen. He actually offered to drive me to Ramberg, where I planned to hike over the following two days, but I insisted that I liked hiking and was happy to take my time. I think he was a bit lonely and enjoyed the company. After dropping me off, I was surprised to see him turn around and go back the way we came. I then walked a few miles along the fjord away from Napp. I found a place to camp above a brackish lake connecting to the fjord and surrounded by mountains. I set up my tent, made dinner, and watercolor painted the sunset.

The following morning, I started walking fairly early, through muck and rocks. At one point, the trail split into three. There was no signage, so I took the middle one, and I thought all was well until I got cliffed out. I found a way down, shimmying down a wet slab and into a small gully before finally getting back to the right trail. Precarious for sure. I walked and walked until I reached a road and then hitchhiked to Nusfjord, a small, cute fishing village. The town cost 100 KR to enter, so I sat just outside, basking in the sun as my phone charged in the bathroom.

I talked with two people also hiking the Lofoten Long Crossing about where they were sleeping tonight and of northern lights. We walked together, and I camped next to them on a peninsula overlooking Nusfjord. I made couscous for dinner, but unfortunately had no sasoning except a bulb of garlic I took from the free bin at the Bodø Motel. I had used all my remaining fuel heating up the couscous, so the garlic was raw. Not a good meal, even by my low backpacking standards. I’ll bring salt next time. I walked over and talked to some other neighbors about hobbit homes and aurora.

I woke up a few times in the night looking for the northern lights, but it was never more than a dim glow faded out by moonlight.

I started walking again just after 8 AM, along the fisherman’s trail, hugging the sea to the next small village. The views were great and got even better as I rounded the corner. I first smelled and then saw the skeleton and rotting remains of some sort of sea animal. Maybe a dolphin or porpoise.

I then walked along a small dirt road for a few miles until I hitched a ride to Ramberg with a nice older German couple. Ramberg is a nice town with a handful of hotels and a grocery store. I had timed my food rations and fuel to run out as soon as I reached Ramberg, to not carry extra food, and then I would resupply. I soon learned that everything, including the grocery store, was closed on Sundays. All except a small cafe, which I took refuge in. I bought two small slices of pizza for $12 and tried to forget that I bought an entire large pizza for less money in Milan a few days prior. Tired and still very hungry, I sat reading, looking at my phone, and playing the cafe guitar. The friends I camped next to last night arrived, and we went over to the Ramberg Resort to pitch our tent. They told us they didn’t have a campsite, but we could pitch our tent in an RV spot if we paid the RV price of $55. We split the cost and shared a spot. I texted my dad about my lack of food and how I wasn’t going to pay $45 for a meal or $25 for cheesecake :(. He told me to ask a restaurant to wash dishes in return for food. I went back into the Ramberg Resort and told them how I was traveling the world for a year with little money and really planned to buy food at the grocery store. They were super kind, and they said since it was the off season, they didn’t have dishes for me to wash, but they could give me some leftovers from a wedding! They gave me three boxes full of potatoes, chicken, greens, bread, and pancakes. Finally, I ate like a king after many days of flavorless gluten. I sat overlooking the sea and thought, “you know, this gap year thing is really working out for me!” I felt so good that I decided to go for a swim. The white sand beach and crystal clear water gave the illusion of warmth and tropical seas, but as soon as I jumped in, I realized this was the Arctic Ocean after all.

I then walked back towards where my camp spot was and saw a mangled-looking tent. It had a tusk of metal coming out of the top and had flaps of fabric flowing in the wind. It looked weary. I giggled and asked myself, “whose goofy-looking tent is that?” But as I got closer, I realized it was mine. Well, actually my sisters… Sorry Erica. The wind must have pushed it enough in the right way that it snapped. I was surprised. It was a bit breezy, but not that windy. The metal pole was broken where the poles came together, so I couldn’t use a splint. My friends returned from a walk and began trying to help me right away. One of them found a piece of plastic and was cutting, melting, and warping it to slide over the confluence of the poles and keep them all together. It was very complicated.

I was optimistic, but it began to get late, and we weren’t making progress. The cheapest hotel was $150, which was far out of my budget, so I took a walk on the beach to think. I was in Lofoten for another week, so in total, lodging in a hotel would be upwards of $1000. Maybe I could buy a new tent? Or maybe the hardware store has some magic glue. I no longer felt that high of solo travel success, but instead, a dread for the next eight months. I walked into the Ramberg Resort restaurant and the song Oh Klahoma was playing, transporting me right back to autumn in Vermont. For the first time in my travels, I missed home, my family, my friends, my dog, and having a roof over my head, but I was in Northern Norway, tired, lonely, and ready to endure a long shelterless night. While sitting on the beach, I decided I had had enough of this whole adventure thing and decided I wanted nothing more than to be back in New England, going to college, running cross country, and to have some comfort. I actually went as far as to call the admissions office at Williams to get information about transferring from UBC, but I was sent to voicemail. It ws getting late, so I walked back to my pile of belongings, wrapped myself in my tent’s rain fly and went to bed. The forecast looked dry, but of course, this is Norway, so around 1 AM it began to rain, and I got wet.

I woke up at 8am, damp and cold. Some rain and dew seeped through the tent material and sleeping bag to my body. I slowly packed my things and walked to the grocery store. I bought 1kg of muesli and a small container of milk which ended up being goat’s milk. I had my breakfast and then went to the hardware store to look for advice. A nice man inspected my pole and pondered for a bit before referring me to the camping store. The woman at the camping store was very kind. She showed me a tent repair kit she had, but unfortunately, we both realized it wouldn’t fix mine. The tents for sale cost $700 on the cheap end, so I quickly dismissed that idea. I began to think. My next stop was going to be a small hut on a nearby beach that I had seen on Pinterest a year earlier.

My new plan was simple. Live in this small hobbit hut for the next week until my flight south. It seemed like a good shelter, in a beautiful place, and it was free. There were many unknowns. Was the hut open to the public? Would there be room for me to sleep inside? But what choice did I have? I walked back to the grocery store and stocked up on food. I ran into Rachel Pohl in the store, too! A very cool artist living in Lofoten whom I follow on Instagram. She had been to the hut before and wished me luck. I then bought pasta, crushed tomatoes, rice, beans, tortillas, pita bread, hummus, cinnamon buns… All in vast quantities. Then, with a backpack full of food and a brain full of questions, I walked out of Ramberg, into the unknown.

I hitched a ride with a nice Australian man to the Kvalvika Beach trailhead north of Fredvang. I was so worried the hut would be full of hikers staying the night that I powered up and over the pass in perhaps record breaking time. I learned my lesson two year ago when hiking with my family, when we reached our hut for the night only to find out it was full. We ended up sleeping in a cave, which sounds pretty cool in hindsight, but it was a brutal sleepless night that I wasn’t looking to recreate.

I climbed up and above a sea of fog with mountain peaks rising above like islands, then descended the backside to Kvalvika beach. I first heard the waves crashing, and then, as I kept hiking, I saw the beach through the fog.

I walked along the beach until I saw a small chimney rising out of the hill on my left. It was disguised enough between boulders that one has to be looking for the hut or be quite lucky to find it. I walked up the sandy slope, away from the sea. The hut had a small round wooden door, hobbit like, surrounded by boulders, and covered with moss. Outside, colorful bouys hang like ornaments, and a wooden slat carries the hut’s name: the Hakuna Matata Hut in blue paint. The hut itself is no more than 12 feet long and 8 feet wide. Just big enough for two beds, a rustic wood stove, a battered desk, and a few shelves. Light shines down through two small windows on the roof and one, which appears to be the door to a washing machine, on the wall opposite the door. The walls and ceilings are covered with names, dates, stickers, stories, paintings, and words of wisdom. I enjoyed spending time sitting on the bench in the middle of the room, reading the memories on the walls. In red paint and full letters says “It’s just a dream, Paradise, Kvalvika Beach, and the magic hut – Marco from the sky.” In black sharpie on the bed wrote the Chris McCandless quote “Happiness is only real when shared.” A piece of paper on the desk tells the story of the cabin:

Welcome to our house! We are two guys who brought our surfboards, turned off our cell phones, and walked out here in September 2010. We lived here one winter to follow a dream of surfing and live a simple life. We gathered drift wood, bottles for insulation, and rocks – everything from this beach made an environmentally friendly home. It was a cold winter with lots of storms, but the fireplace, made out of an oil barrel, kept us warm. We truly lived as the saying “rich life – simple means.” You are welcome to use everything here and we hope you enjoy and respect it.

The two guys who built the hut made a movie about their experiences called North of the Sun. Whenever I mentioned to a Norwegian that I was staying at the Hakuna Matata hut, they’d ask if I’d seen the film. I’d say not yet and they’d laugh and say “I can’t believe it! You’re living it, but haven’t even watched it yet!” It was nice to learn the story of the hut and to think that the very walls that kept me warm were put together with plastic bottles and driftwood.

I set up my sleeping bag on one of the beds and walked back up the stone steps, away from the beach. I hiked up Ryten, the peak sitting above the north-east part of the beach. I climbed up and above the fog and was given views of the surrounding fjords. I talked with two people around my age from the Czech Republic who were also hiking the Lofoten Long Crossing. We both spoke of a lonely Norwegian man who worked at a grocery store and gave each of us a ride. Must have been the same guy.

I hiked back down and made my dinner of pasta and tomatoes, and sat upon a wooden log overlooking the beach. Then, an early sleep for my first night of many in this cozy hut.

I rose when the sun came up and had a relaxing morning consisting of reading Watership Down, writing in my journal, eating breakfast, and attempting to sweep the sandy floors. A thru-hiker stopped by in the hut and offered me some lunch. Very kind. I decided I should go on an adventure, so I walked to what I called morning beach. Kvalvika beach has two parts, separated by an outcropping of the mountain above called Moltinden. The mountains are so big and close that the Hakuna Matata Beach doesn’t recieve sun until the early afternoon. The further beach, however, has a valley perfectly oriented for light to shine through, in the morning. The walk over was precarious and involved climbing up and down large, slippery boulders. I was there with two other guys and we helped each other, handing down backpacks and lowering each other.

The sunlight was warm and refreshing. I lay on the beach until I fell asleep and woke up just as the sun was dipping back below the mountains. I returned to Hakuna Matata beach, following the sun.

I was boiling some drinking water when four people around my age stopped by. They were from Germany and were in awe of the cabin. I joined them for a swim, jumping over and getting pushed by the waves. It was shockingly cold, yet so fun. We played bocce with three buoys and a plastic bottle. One of us would throw the bottle, and whoever threw their buoy the closest won. It evolved to a distant cousin to golf as we would place the bottle far away and see how many buoy throws it took to hit the bottle. As the sun began to set for the final time, they returned to their campervan, and I returned to my hut. I made burritos and fell into a deep sleep in a hut of memories.

Unfortunately, my sleep was too deep as I heard from passerbyers of a good display of the northern lights. I did wake up at 2:30AM from a dream of being attacked by a great green spider, but didn’t check outside. I spent the better part of the morning finishing my book and eating breakfast. I was low on food, so I packed up my bag and departed on a grocery run. The beach and col above Kvalvika was in the clouds, but I made a detour up Ryten to climb above them. The clouds were pouring over the cliffs from the south-east and dissolving into the sea air. At the top, I regained cell service as the beach below is void of communication. I responded to a pile up of messages and was about to continue on when my Dutch friends from the first night appeared out of the fog below. We caught up and each had our own exciting stories since we last spoke. I told them of the hut, and they said they might join me inside. I then walked back down towards Fredvang and hitchhiked with the couple who camped below the hut last night back to Ramberg.

I bought heaps of groceries, and, while eating my cereal, I ran into an colorful character. He wore pink clogs, pink bell-bottom cordourys, a pink shirt, and walked with a ukulele, backpack, and a cardboard sign saying “Reine.” He played me a tune as I ate and then continued on with his hitchhiking journey.

I returned to the camping store and the owner let me charge my phone. She had been to the hut before and was very curious how it was living there. I walked back to the hut later that afternoon, after the rain had come and gone, and was welcomed back by my Dutch friends.

I ate my dinner, walked on the beach, found a jellyfish, swam in the ocean, and took a shower in a nearby waterfall. The sun dipped below the horizon and I tucked myself into bed. I had only partially fallen asleep when my aurora alarm went off. Still wrapped up in my sleeping bag, I climbed on top of the hut and looked above. The mountains and sea were lit brightly by the moon, and the aurora beamed above. I sat in awe, watching for an hour before finally getting some deep sleep.

My days at Hakuna Matata began to blend together. I had a routine of sleeping, reading, writing, eating, wandering, swimming, and beach cleaning. I began to get accustomed to frequent visitors poking their heads into the hut, taking photos, talking, and reading the walls with awe. Visitors asked the same questions: “Do you live here?” “Is it private?” “Have you seen the documentary about the hut?” “Where are you from?” I didn’t mind, although I began to feel like a prop in a museum or Hobbit fan experience. It didn’t help that I sometimes played The Shire on my tin whistle. Still, answering the repetitive questions was sometimes nicer than being alone and much nicer than the occasional person who would peer through the door, stare, and take a photograph of me in awkward silence. I also was not expecting visitors at every hour. Nothing will beat my fear and delusional state when I awoke in the middle of my first night to a random man standing in the center of the hut. He was kind, but gave me a real fright.

A few days in, the weather began to shift towards winter and the rate of visitors dropped significantly. The tent attendance of thru hikers dropped too. Gray skies and strong winds also kept me home, inside the hut. A group on a travel tour from France stopped by and all eight people took turns looking in and taking a photo of me lying in bed reading. I smiled when they pointed their camera my way and gave them a thumbs up. I made their photos more exciting. I now appear in these people’s camera roll as an unwashed, unshaven, unlaundreyed vagabond in a hobbit hut. I have to admit, I did fit the part. I was even barefoot, which was quickly pointed out by one French lady who peered in, pointed at my feet, and exclaimed, “NAKED FEET!”

I enjoyed being remote enough that I didn’t have constant access to cell reception. I spent more of my time reading, writing, and appreciating my surroundings. It briefly crossed my mind that if I were to get hurt, I would have some trouble getting help, so I moved methodically while crossing the slippery boulders between the two beaches and was careful while using my stove. I stayed safe and, ironically, my closest call was while hiking up to get cell service to tell my family I was safe. I had walked across the beach and was making my way up the stone steps when I felt a sharp pain in my heel. I assumed it was a rock in my shoe, so I took it off and shook it upside down. Nothing came out, so I resumed walking, only for the pain to continue. I stopped again and this time examined the sole. There, in the heel, the head of a nail lay flush with the rubber. I flipped the shoe over and took out the insole to find the tip of a nail just barely protruding. Luckily, the nail was short and my trail running shoes had just enough foam to avoid disaster.

While returning from a grocery trip, descending the stone steps, I spotted two surfers in the ocean and a note on my sleeping bag saying, “Hello, We are two local girls who are here to surf! Not sure if anyone is actually staying here or not… Looks like a storm is coming so we really hope we can share the cabin tonight! PS: We brought smores!”

I was putting away my groceries when they returned and was met by the two people, looking very cold and with the biggest smiles. We ate our dinner inside to avoid the rain and shared stories for hours and hours. They brought firewood, candles, and smores. The warm light, sweet food, and good company somehow made the small hut even cozier and more inviting. We were in Nothern Norway, but their stories transported us near and far. All the way to Indonesia to surf, sailing in Australia, and more. We ate, talked and laughed until well after 11 and slept well.

The next morning was my last on Kvalvika Beach. I went down to the beach and stood with Marthe, watching Maren surf, followed by my final Arctic swim.

I had done a litttle sketch of the hut on a paper plate I found and wrote the motto from Life magazine from the film The Secret Life of Walter Mitty: “To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and to feel, that is the purpose of life,” then signed my name and clipped it to the clothes line.

I packed my bag, gave my new friends a hug goodbye, and walked away from my new home. I am forever grateful for the Hakuna Matata Hut. I was in a moment of trouble, with no place to stay, and the hut welcomed me in with open arms. Big thank you to Inge Wegge and Jørn Ranum for building this hut with so much character 15 years ago. I’m thankful for the weather. Autumn in Northern Norway is known to be wet and cold, yet I had one and a half days of rain out of 13. I walked to and from Kvalvika Beach by myself, but at Hakuna Matata, I was never alone. I’ll be back.

I left 40 minutes late and knew I was going to miss my bus. Most would be stressed, but deep down, I was content. Hitchhiking is cheaper and gives me an opportunity to meet more people. It was on my way out that I began to realize how small Lofoten is. The same characters kept reappearing on different pages. I became friends with the parking attendant at the trailhead, and it was he who gave me a ride to E10. Reconnecting again and again with the camping store worker, tour groups, hitchhike drivers, with my Dutch friends, Swiss friends, and Czech friends… Later, in Moskenes, I recognized five or six people from different parts of the archipelago. I caught up with them all on the four-hour ferry back to Bodø.

I never finished the Lofoten Long Crossing. In fact, I only walked 34 out of the 100 mile trek, but that’s not the point. The trail served as an outline. I didn’t travel to the Arctic to check a thru-hike off my list end to end. I traveled here to experience a simple form of life where my days are filled with walking and enjoying nature. My biggest troubles were having muddy feet or a lack of shelter, which was a nice change from the complexities of the modern world. I left Lofoten with my eyes full of endless fjords, sparkling ocean waves, and northern lights. As the saying goes, “rich life, simple means.”