From Dawson Creek we had been following the Alaska Highway. This was built in the second world war to connect Alaska to the rest of the USA as part of a response to the Japanese threat. Back in the day it was a dirt track and considered to be a long, difficult and, in places, dangerous route. These days it is a fast, easy road supporting a lot of traffic. I reckoned that well over half the vehicles we saw were RVs. Many of these are American so that means an RV based on a full-sized coach towing a family car. The Canadians tend to favour an equally large RV that is towed by a pick-up truck using a fifth wheel bolted into the flat bed. The rest of the traffic is commercial trucks often pulling two full sized trailers.
At Watson Lake we left the Alaska Highway and headed up the far less travelled Robert Campbell Highway. This took us north, roughly following the Pelly River and deep into Yukon. A few short sections of this route are sealed but most of it is a dirt track. Throughout the rest of the afternoon, we only saw two more vehicles. We enjoyed two quiet days on quiet roads with quiet campsites. Rather disappointingly we saw very little wildlife. We had hoped there might be more on a quieter road but obviously this is not always the case. At Carmacks, we joined the Klondike Highway which would take us north to Dawson City. We also followed the Yukon River for a short while. At the height of the Klondike gold rush Dawson City had a population of over 16,000. Much of the food and supplies needed to support so many people came in on paddle steamers that navigated their way up and down the Yukon River. Today Dawson City is a tenth the size and there is a well-made road.
North from Pelly Crossing we passed through a large area of forest fires. The air still smelled smoky and we drove past several miles of blackened trees. A few days earlier the road had been closed. Canada experiences a lot of forest fires in the summer. Most of these have a natural cause and are so far away as to not cause many problems. Occasionally fires are caused by negligence. These are often much more of a problem because they are usually closer to habited areas. There is some suggestion that climate change is exacerbating the situation. In the last few years there have been some quite extreme heatwaves leaving the forests tinder dry.
Dawson City still manages to feel like a bit of a frontier town. Some of the shop fronts and wooden buildings have been deliberately left looking a little like a wild west film set. There is an old paddle steamer by the side of the road and pretty much every sign appears to reference gold. We stocked up on a few essentials and prepared ourselves for the ferry in the morning.
From Banff we got a shuttle to Calgary where we collected our Recreation Vehicle (RV) for the next few weeks. This came from the Canadream company, who appear to have a virtual monopoly on Canadian RV hire. We dealt with them last year and it all worked out well. So we came back. This time however, the RV we chose was a bit more rugged. Essentially it is a plastic box, the living unit, on the back of a standard 4×4 pickup truck. A Ford F350 with a 6.7l powerstroke diesel engine. The complete unit is a bit cosy but we could take it down a few dirt tracks. Initial leg of the trip, to Watson Lake, is all sealed roads, easy.
The first thing we did was drive to the local supermarket and buy a load of food and wine. Also, some of the stuff we wanted in the RV that is not normally supplied. A sharp knife and cutting board, small food processor, fire-lighters, mosquito coils, extra bedding and so on. Then the vehicle would not start. It uses keyless ignition. I am always a bit suspicious of this. You have to close the door, put your foot on the service brake, select Park, make sure the key hob is close enough (to something), press the button and hope. Nothing happened. It was a bit embarrassing. I imagined that there was some part of the arcane starting spell that I was doing wrong. So, I was sure that when the spotty youth turned up to help us, that he would do something simple while making vaguely condescending remarks and the engine would burst into life. It was gratifying, in an odd way, that he was not spotty, or condescending and he could not start the engine. None of this helped solve the problem but it did make me feel better. Eventually it was decided that our almost brand new 4×4 Ford F360 was broken and would have to go back to Ford.
A replacement vehicle was found. A blue truck that looked almost identical to the original red one. I was however assured, that being blue, it would be slightly faster. An hour later we had moved all our gear into the new RV and set off into the evening traffic. Fortunately, it was not far to the campsite. I had planned that we should not have far to drive and also that we would stay there for a couple of nights. It is at least a day’s work to get all our gear organised in the truck. There is not much space so you need to think about what goes where quite carefully. Getting this bit wrong can easily lead to arguments further down the road. The few things that we don’t need for this part of the trip go in the small case. The one we use as hand luggage on a plane. This fits inside the medium sized case which in turn goes into the big suitcase. I think this is quite clever and it saves a lot of space.
A couple of days later, we were ready to set off properly. There are not many roads in Canada. This is especially true around the Rocky Mountains. Our plan, approximately, was to drive north up the eastern side of the Rockies to Alaska and then back down on the western side. Travel by motorhome is easy in Canada. For many it is by far the best way to travel. Campsites are abundant and, once you are away from the city, booking is rarely needed. Facilities range from full-service (water, sewage, electricity) to, well, nothing really. For $20 on a national park campsite you get a pitch in the woods with a table, firepit and firewood.
On the very first day we set off properly, we saw a bear. Not a glimpse of a bear in the woods but a full-grown black bear just ambling down the road. We had stopped for second breakfast in a layby and he wandered down the far side of the road. Caused a big queue of traffic. A short while later he had his fill of attention, hopped up the bank and vanished into the woods.
MooseMountain Sheep
One aspect of travelling that I love is the serendipitous way that things can happen. A few days later, a Saturday, we arrived at the Liard River Hot Springs Park. This is a very popular area and the campsite was full. It was the only time in the whole trip that we found a full campsite. They suggested we could camp in the car park across the road and walk over to use the campsite facilities. This did not impress us much so, despite the late hour, we pushed on. In the next half hour we saw our second bear, a whole heard of bison and moose with a calf. Brilliant. We then found a lovely little quiet campsite close to a remarkable waterfall.
BisonBaby Bison
Our route followed the Liard River as it wound north and west until we arrived at Watson Lake. This is a small town whose only claim to fame appears to be a strange forest of signs. A bunch of poles that visitors have been nailing stolen road signs to. For us it was significant because here we would leave the main road and strike off on to what we hoped was a slightly more remote and adventurous road.
The Rocky Mountaineer train company operate tourist trains along four routes mostly from Vancouver. This is train travel for its own sake. It is not a good way to get around because it is expensive and does not run to schedule. The passenger trains have to give way to freight trains so on each leg of the journey you can never be quite sure when you will arrive. It is intended to be a train where you can relax and enjoy the scenery while being wined and dined. There are two classes of comfort. In Gold you get an upstairs viewing area where you spend most of your time in your seat watching the world go past and being served drinks. Downstairs is a dining area where lunch and diner are served. The Silver class is more basic and food is served at the seat.
This all sounded quite fun, so at 6am we were sat in the lobby of a Vancouver hotel waiting for a transfer to the station. One thing they did not tell us about this two day trip to Banff was that it would involve some very early mornings. Our luggage was whisked away on a truck while we travelled by bus to the station. Here we were literally given the red carpet treatment as we boarded the train. The train trundled out of Vancouver. Then we were served breakfast and at around 10am the free bar opened.
The first part of the journey, out though the suburbs of Vancouver was only mildly interesting. As the morning rolled on the scenery began to open out and we passed through forests and hills. An early highlight was a black bear trotting through a field by the track. Free drinks all day sounds like a recipe for a wild party but the reality was that drinks were served at your seat and the service was very slow. We did of course thoroughly enjoy having another glass of wine put in front of us every so often. The food was heavily meat/fish orientated. The vegetarian fare felt like an afterthought. Too many times there appears to be an assumption that vegetarians prefer their food completely bland and lacking in texture. There was plenty enough to eat and snacks so we did not go hungry.
A big selling point of this trip is the scenery. The route through the Rocky Mountains is certainly interesting but in a gentle, peaceful way. None of the excitement that you can get with some of the world’s great train journeys. There were a lot of trees. If you don’t like tress then don’t come to Canada. The crew in the car told us stories about the different places we were passing through. This was done in quite an informative and interesting way. Definitely added to the trip. The seats were very good too. Large and comfortable. To Diane’s delight she found that the seats were heated via a little control panel by the arm.
We arrived in Kamloops quite late. By the time we were dropped of at our hotel it was well after 9pm. We had to be up again at 5pm. It is hard work being a tourist sometimes. We skipped dinner and went straight to bed. A nice touch was that our luggage had been delivered to our room We could leave it there for collection in the morning as well.
Next morning I probably did not wake up until halfway through breakfast on the train. That was only just before the bar opened. The countryside was becoming more mountainous. Occasionally we could see snowy peaks. We also saw several freight trains. Seriously long trains of tankers, shipping containers stacked two high or open cars containing loose gravel, sand, cement or sulphur. Apparently the top surface of these is sprayed with some sort of plastic which seals them against the weather and stops the contents simply blowing away. Day two was a lot like day one. Pleasant rather than exciting. A brown bear and two bald eagles later we arrived in Banff. This was the end of the line for us. We got to the Banff Inn quite late again and then set about preparing for the next phase of our Canadian trip
Last year we spent a couple of weeks in Iceland. Fabulous trip but we missed out on seeing an active volcano because it had stopped erupting a couple of weeks before we arrived. Now we had the opportunity. We were on our way to Canada and flying via Reykjavik. This is quite a cost-effective route. So, we arranged to stop over for a few nights. Our accommodation was the Viking Hotel in Hafnarfjordur, a little way outside Reyjavik. This is an interesting hotel. Quite comfortable and reasonably priced. It is also great fun if you have any interest in Vikings. Some of my Danish friends, who claim direct descendance from the berserkers of a thousand years ago, would undoubtedly relish this place and bring their own axes.
Our helicopter trip for the next day got pushed back a day because of uncertainty about the weather. Instead, we tried booking on a whale watching trip for the next day but this was cancelled because it was too windy. Such things are not an unusual occurrence, and the company were very good about refunding our money. Later that day we met up with Jón, our pilot friend from Iceland. He showed us round a few interesting places local to Reykjavik. We ended up having a pleasant meal in a restaurant overlooking a bay with a beach.
Next afternoon we all met up at the Reykjavík Helicopters office at the city airport. This is not Keflavík International Airport, located around 40km southwest of Reykjavík, but a much smaller facility just south of the city centre. Once again, our pilot was the very cool Solveig flying an Airbus H125. We felt safe hands. If you are going to fly around an active volcano then you really should pick a good pilot.
Fagradalsfjall is a an active tuya volcano volcano formed in the last glacial period on the Reykjanes Peninsula to the south of Reykjavík. Tuya are created when a volcano emerges through an ice sheet. They typically have steep sides and flattened tops. After sleeping for 815 years, it burst into life in 2021 and has erupted every year since. Being close to Reykjavík it has become a bit of a tourist attraction. Walking there will take four or five hours. This is a problematic way to see the volcano. Apart from the long walk, it is difficult to get anywhere for an unobstructed view and there are dangers. The current eruption is emitting a variety of poisonous gases so a sudden change in wind could cause a lot of problems. The broad valley where all recent activity has occurred is completely uninhabited and considered extremely dangerous. New erupting fissures and craters can open up anywhere without any notice. Much better then is the helicopter approach.
After a briefing we took off and tracked along the coast for a short way. An old volcanic cone acts as marker for the route. Helicopters fly out on one side of it and back on the other. A roundabout for aircraft. Getting closer to Fagradalsfjall you can see vast expanses of black lava. The remains of flows that have cooled. We spotted a place where a large bank has been built to try and control an earlier flow. These have been used quite successfully at times. If you are lucky the initial lava flow cools along the levee, cools and reinforces it. Sometimes it just gets washed away.
We headed straight for where the smoke was rising and then circled around the cone. From our perfect vantage point, we could see directly down at the boiling lava. It is a quite incredible thing to see rock boiling up close and personal. The lava boiled like a cauldron of thick porridge, spitting red hot gobs of molten rock into the air. A thick, viscous and slowly moving river of lava moved down one side. Absolutely fascinating to watch. We spent quite a few minutes there. I wished it could have been longer. Then we circled round the eruption site of the last two years and then, to my surprise, we landed.
Solveig put us down on a reasonably flat area of lava flow. Amazing. We landed on some of the newest rock in the world. It was still warm and smoke was rising through cracks. Sulphur collected on the edges of the rock and the air smelt of fire and brimstone. We were somewhere that Dante might have recognised. The rotor blades slowed to a halt and we got out for a wander round. Very strange place. It was quite a privilege just to be in such an unusual place. Just a few years ago it simply did not exist. I did wonder a little about safety. Was it possible that the ground could just give way and drop us into a fiery pool of lava? An immense eruption was busily going on not far from us. The rock seemed solid enough. After a few hesitant steps I decided it was probably alright and tried to look casual as I walked away from the aircraft.
After photographs and some time pondering, we clambered back on board for the short flight back. Quite an amazing experience. It is difficult to do justice to describing things like this without sounding all flowery. I am not a natural writer. Look and the pictures instead. Jón drove us out to a picturesque park and light house. Here we could reflect on the experience while looking at the many ducklings.
In the morning, we continued our journey to Canada. The aircraft was a bit cramped but this is not such a long haul and we did get some amazing views over Greenland.
We thoroughly enjoyed our time sledging with the dogs but so far as practical travelling is concerned, dog sleds are a relic of another age. These days, if you want to get around in snowy places then a snowmobile, or ski-doo, is the tool of choice. Longyearbyn is stuffed to bursting with them. Back when I worked in Antarctica, the snowmobiles were quite basic. The manual pull-cord made them energetic to start, exhausting at times. They were awkward to steer, slow, noisy and uncomfortable. All this with the great smell of two stroke oil. The modern machine has a powerful four-stroke engine with an electric starter, full suspension, soft seats and heated handlebars. The sitting position and technology have some similarities to a motorbike but otherwise there is surprisingly little in the comparison. Riding a motorbike requires a level of precision and balance. The snow mobile however, just launches off across the snow bouncing and skittering around while heading in only the general direction that you point it. None the less this is great fun. You can easily reach speeds of 50 km/h or more which feels much faster and can be remarkably exhilarating in a sort of hanging on to a wild rampaging beast sort of way.
Our first trip out was north to the top of some cliffs overlooking Tempelfjorden. We each had our own snowmobile and were part of a group of ten riders. The day began with a briefing and introduction to the machines. We got togged up in warm, one-piece suits, mitts and a helmet before walking down a short slope to where the snowmobiles were all ready for us. The group leader was towing a small sledge with safety equipment. He we also equipped with a rifle and a flare gun in case of polar bears. We never got to see any bears on Svalbard but we were regularly assured that there are plenty around. Travelling single file, we set off along some very dirty and well used snow up the main valley. After about fifteen minutes we took a left and headed up into the mountains. Soon we had left all traces of civilisation behind. Just us, the snow, the mountains and the odd reindeer. Over the course of a couple of hours we followed a series of linked valleys until eventually emerging at the top of the cliffs. The view was spectacular. A wide-open stretch of sea with mountains at the far side and a glacier in the distance. Coffee and biscuits appeared from the survival sledge and we spent a good twenty minutes just taking in the scenery and watching a few sea birds. The journey back was uneventful but still great fun. Everyone was getting a bit more comfortable on the snowmobiles so we could pick up the pace a bit.
The next day we went down a mine. Svalbard was a very quiet place for just a handful of trappers and whalers until the start of the 20th century. Coal was discovered and the mining companies moved in. For while the archipelago was all about mining. Some of the best quality coal in world could be mined here. Mostly found in horizontal seams that were accessed by drift mines cut straight into the valley walls. Today all but one of the Norwegian mines are closed and the last of the Russian mines has almost stopped production. Tourism is the main industry now so quite reasonably, one of the old mines has been turned into a museum. This is not the sort of museum with glass cased displays and little information cards, it is a mine where they stopped working a few years ago. The passages have been made safe, or at least safer, but otherwise things are pretty much as they were on the day production stopped. It is quite dirty inside. We were given overalls to wear and headtorches, so the small group soon started to look like miners. After looking around the workshops and the topside coal handling facilities, we were led down one of the main passages. The coal seam was about two feet thick. From the access passage, the miners would dig into this with coal cutting machines creating a narrow crawl way which was supported by multiple props jacked into the roof. Then they would cut another segment of the seam next to it and then another. Imagine trying to remove the cream layer from the centre of a cake by cutting successive pencil shaped pieces out and working your way across the cake. By the fourth cut they would need to start removing the props from the original cut otherwise they would run out of props. This was the dangerous part because the roof would eventually collapse once enough props were removed. The trick was to not be there when this happened. Apparently, the skilled miners could listen to noise the mountain made as they took the props out and tell from this when it was becoming unsafe. I crawled into one of these seams, hand and knees for about 100m, to get a feel for what it was like. I left with a whole new level of respect for the bravery of miners. And with much coal dust firmly embedded under my finger nails and many other places.
On our last day we took another, longer, trip on snow mobiles. Different company but the basics, a briefing, clothing and the machines, were similar. One major difference, when we set off, was the light was very flat. When the sky is completely clouded over there are no shadows and it can become difficult to judge the lie of the snow-covered land. It all just looks white and a bit featureless. These conditions can be tricky skiing and on a snowmobile because it is hard to anticipate how the land is sloping and changing. We set off a lot faster than the previous trip and I found I had to really concentrate. Diane had chosen to ride pillion with me and this made balancing a little more difficult. For the first hour I think all I did was focus on the snow mobile in front of me, watching to see the shape of the hills and the valleys. Later, as the sun started to break through, it became much easier and far less disconcerting.
We drove eastwards for a good couple of hours before dropping down into a wide valley. At first, I thought this might be a frozen lake. It looked like one, but fact was just a flat and safe valley bottom. Across at the far side of the valley we followed another small valley before emerging at the coast by a hunter’s lodge. Over coffee and biscuits, we were told tales of the trapper that lived there for most of his life along with his wife. The route back involved a short stop at a gully which was fun to climb up and slide back down. We also went up to the top of hill for some lovely views.
Getting up at 4am next day for the flight was not much fun. At Tromsø , everyone needed to leave the plane, with their luggage. We then went through security and passport control to re-enter Schengen before getting back onto the same plane, in the same seats, with the same luggage. I found someone had taken the overhead space that my luggage had previously occupied. Somehow this seemed rather rude. Back in Oslo we collected the car and over the next few days made our way back to the UK.
We had signed up for a three-day dog trip. Next morning, we were standing outside the Coal Miners Cabin, again, waiting to be picked up. Marcel, our guide, met us in a rather battered van then we collected the two other couples doing the trip. There are only a handful of hotels in Longyearbyen and it seems to be normal that excursions include hotel transfers. A couple of miles outside of town we arrived at the dog kennels. The dogs were already keen and excited. Each dog has its own kennel and is chained up so that it cannot quite get to any of the dogs around it. They jumped up and barked a lot. Small when compared to the Greenlandic dogs we met a few months ago. Maybe 25 kg max. They are a cross between several breeds including Greenlandic and Serbian Huskies. Somewhat to my surprise, they were very friendly to humans. Sledge dogs are not pets, they are work dogs and can sometimes be a bit aggressive. These dogs, however, were clearly well acclimatised to being handled.
First job was to get changed into warm padded overalls and insulated boots. Then we had a short briefing about dogs and sledges. Then we were shown how to harness the dogs. The main thing is to keep hold of the dog. They are so excited that if you let one slip it will run off. It will come back eventually but only once it has run round the other dogs, started a few fights and generally caused mischief. Best to hang on to them. Diane and I had our own team of six dogs. Each had its place in front of the sledge. The harness fits around the dog’s shoulders so you must help them step into it. Then there is webbing to help even out the load and fit comfortably across the back. From the front of the sledge there is a long gangline, the cable that all the dogs are attached to. A tugline connects the rear of the dog harness to the gangline. This is what takes the load when the dogs are running. A neckline is attached from the dog’s collar to the gangline. This does not take and load but helps keeps the dog organised.
In much less than an hour we were all ready to go. Marcel set off with his team. We were next. Diane sat on the sledge and I stood on the back to control the brake. One of the helpers released the rope at the back of the sledge and we were off. The only control I had was the brake. A claw like affair at the rear of the sledge that you variously stand on or even jump on to control the speed. The dogs simply followed Marcel’s sledge. I did not really have any control over that.
We started off easy. A flat, wide trail that led up a shallow valley and back down the other side. In the thirty minutes it took to do this the dogs settled down a bit, we settled down a bit, everything started to get a bit easier. Then we turned eastwards and set off for a cabin somewhere in the mountains. Both of us started to get into the rhythm of dog sledding, which is really rather lovely. It is very quiet compared to snowmobile. The dogs trot along happily. They really are happy; it is easy to tell that they just love pulling the sledge. It is all they want to do. Even ten minutes or so Marcel would stop to give the dogs a breather and make sure everyone was keeping up. I had to stop our sledge before our dogs got to Marcel’s dogs. Sometimes this would mean really jumping hard on the brake. Once stopped, I deployed the snowhook. This is an anchor to hold the dog team back when the musher decides to stop. It is like a parking break for the dog team — although somewhat less reliable. Looks and works like a ship’s anchor. Theoretically, the harder the team pulls on the snowhook the more the hook digs into the ground. In reality, the team may occasionally pull hard enough that the snowhook will pop free.
A couple of hours into the trip and we were starting to settle into dog sledging. The dogs trot along. It is not very fast although you would struggle to keep up by running. Feels like a nice pace for enjoying the surroundings, spotting a few reindeer and thinking about the explorers of old. Every 15 or 20 minutes we would have a short break. One of us would always have to stay with the sledge and keep a foot on the brake. If the dogs managed to run of with the sledge they could quite possibly go for many miles. They don’t care if the musher is on board, they just want to run with the sledge. Marcel would always set off first. Immediately I had to jump hard on the brake. My dogs would see the lead team leaving and want to be straight off after them. Then I had to reach down and pull up the snowhook. The dogs are ready for this. They are keen to go. They can sense as soon as you reach down and start pulling hard again. Keeping the brake hard on, I stow the snowhook just below the handlebars and then we are properly ready to go. In keeping with tradition, I would shout “mush” at the dogs when I released the brake. This was a bit superfluous; the dogs knew the moment the brake came off and were already pulling hard.
After four remarkably enjoyable hours travelling up a broad, open valley we rounded a corner and spotted the cabin. Diane and I had no idea what to expect and were pleasantly surprised. From a distance it looked modern and comfortable. First, we had to park the dogs. Marcel had tied up his sledge when we arrived. He grabbed our lead dogs and then tied the rear of the sledge off to a large wooden post. Lines were already laid out with a place for each dog so Diane and I could unhook them from the sledge and tie them up for the night. The dogs sleep directly on the snow. They are well used to this and seemed thoroughly comfortable. Dogs sorted we went to explore the cabin.
It was basic. No running water. Heating from a wood pellet stove and small generator powering the lights. Each couple had their own bedroom. The rooms were very snug and had a curtain for a door. Diane and I shared a bed that looked, to me, to be small for a single bed. Fortunately, no-one was put off by this and we all sat round the table for a late lunch. Food was a packet of freeze-dried something. I had a Thai curry which, when I had the patience to let it rehydrate properly, was not too bad. We even had some wine. It came from a box and tasted a little rough but nobody minded. We could sit out on the terrace, enjoy the sunshine, enjoy the view and reflect on the day.
Once the dogs had rested for a good hour, we fed them. It is important to give them this resting time before eating. Also, in the morning, they needed an hour after breakfast before they could start running. Same applies to all dogs. Mixing feeding with exercise can cause twisted gut and other ailments. Food for these dogs was high protein kibble with water from melted snow. Looked awful but the dogs loved it and gobbled it down like it was the best food ever. Then they simply curled up in the snow and went to sleep.
Our evening meal was bags of frozen Elk stew. Marcel and his assistant, Rebecca, defrosted this in a large pan of boiling water. Each person got a bag of hot stew, a bowl and a spoon. Diane and I are vegetarian and we each got a bag of vegetable stew. This was ok but I had to remind Diane that we had not come for the food. The rest of the evening was given over to playing cards, talking and reading. The day was as bright as it had been in the morning but come 10pm we retired to bed and I discovered that I was really quite tired after a day of mushing.
Next morning, I went downstairs to make some coffee. Fortunately, I found some ground coffee and a cafetière. I don’t mind basic food but instant coffee would be a step too far. I was so pleased that I made Diane a cup of tea to have in bed. As the coffee slowly did its morning magic, I was also pleased that no-one was complaining about my snoring. Seems there were a few other snorers there so nobody wanted to start pointing fingers. First job, after a second cup of coffee, was to feed the dogs. Same kibble as last night. They wolfed it down and then settled down again. After a night in the snow they each had a comfortable depression that they could curl up in. Our breakfast was something dried in a packet again. One option was dried egg and bacon. Nobody went for that. I opted for muesli with strawberry washed down with more strong coffee.
Day two. The plan was to head out in a big loop and come back to the cabin. Here is how to set off on a dog sledge. First make sure that the sledge is securely tied to the large wood post. Lay out the gangline. Fetch the first lead dog, fit his harness and attach the tugline. Leave Diane to hold the lead dog. Fetch dog number two, fit his harness and attach next to the lead dog. Connect the neckline between the two dogs. Now Diane needs to be firmly braced and holding the lead dogs while I fetch, harness and attach the remaining four dogs. Dog number six cannot contain his excitement, so he starts fighting with number five. I break them up but this only lasts a few seconds. We are nearly ready, so I take my place at the back of the sledge and stand on the brake. Loosen the knot on the wooden post and take a turn round it so that I can hold the sledge. Marcel has set off, so I signal Diane and she runs round the sledge and jumps on. The dogs try and follow her which adds to the confusion a bit. I let slip the rope, shout “mush” and we are off. Fights and other distractions completely forgotten the dogs are now set on chasing Marcel’s dogs down. After ten minutes things start to settle down a bit and by twenty minutes we are into a nice steady trot. Dog number five still has the odd nip at number six.
We head east off into the arctic wilderness. This really is a brilliant way to travel and feels like a perfectly natural fit to the environment. This time we have brought a few snacks, some biscuits to nibble on the way and a flask of water. The weather is enormously better than when we first arrived. Sunshine and blue skies. It is not cold. Probably hovering a little below freezing but the padded overalls keep us snug. Even Diane was comfortably warm. We crossed a massive, shallow valley. Feels like we are on a frozen lake but in fact it was just flat ground. Then we turned up a narrow gorge to look at a frozen waterfall. First obstacle was a short slope. The dogs could not quite pull the sledge up, so I hopped off the back to run and push. The moment the sledge crested the top, the dogs accelerated downwards and I had to leap back on the sledge while jumping on the brake so as not to overrun the dogs. Diane whooped and thought this was great fun. I wondered briefly how she would have felt had I missed my leap and abandoned her and the sledge to vanish into the distance. At the top of the gorge we took turns holding the sledges and inspecting the waterfall. Turning all the dog teams round, in a narrow gorge, was fun. The trick is to keep the teams apart otherwise they fight. Probably took about 20 minutes to get everyone sorted and then we were off again. Back over the little slope. I was ready for it this time. Then a loop to the north that took us round a mountain and back to the cabin.
The evening was pretty much a repeat. More wine was drunk and there was some singing. Not by me I would stress. A construction that looked a little like a large barrel by the side of the cabin was in fact a sauna. Several of the guests took advantage of this. I gave it a miss. Tried a sauna once but for the life of me could not understand why anyone would want to sit around and get hot. Makes me uncomfortable and sweaty for no apparent benefit at all. Each to their own.
Day three. Last day. I could happily have carried on. We still had a good four or five hour run with the dogs. Came back a different route to the way out over some slightly more challenging terrain. It has been a long time since I ran so much in one day. All too soon we were back and saying goodbye to our dogs. The final highlight of the trip was puppies. We visited a separate area of the kennels where there were puppies. Unbearably cute little bundles of fur that we had to give back. One day, I thought, one day…
Svalbard is an archipelago to the north of Norway. Way, way north. The capital, Longyearbyen, at 78°N, is the world’s most northerly settlement (>1,000), approximately halfway between Norway and the North Pole. It is also the furthest north either of us have been and indeed, the highest latitude I have ever been to. From Denmark we took the ferry to Gothenburg and then drove to Oslo airport. Parking here, if booked well in advance, is remarkably cheap, for Norway.
We flew to Tromsø in the north of Norway. On arrival we had to leave the aircraft, taking all our hand luggage, and then go through security checks. After this came passport control. Then we were herded back to the original plane where we could pack our hand luggage back in the overhead lockers and retake our earlier seats. Svalbard, formerly known as Spitzbergen, was established in the early twentieth century, when the high quality coal reserves became important. While the whole archipelago, annexed by the Svalbard Act 1925, has Norwegian sovereignty, it remains outside of Schengen and the EEA. Hence the passport and security checks. No visas are required to visit or work here and this appears to attract a wide variety of people from around the world. The main island is now known as Spitzbergen while the whole archipelago is called Svalbard.
It took nearly two hours to fly from Tromsø to Longyearbyn. We dropped out of the clouds to an expanse of glacier covered islands and snowy tundra. As we landed, snow was drifting across the runway. The sun never sets here. Not in the summer. It just goes around in a circle in the sky. In the winter it sets for three months but while we were there it was complete daylight. Longyearbyn airport is small. Just one luggage carousel and just one bus outside. The bus calls at all the hotels. Our hotel, the “Coal Miner’s Cabin” was basic but comfortable. The room was just big enough for two single beds and the shared bathrooms were a short walk down the corridor.
Less than an hour after arriving at our hotel, we were standing outside it waiting for the snowcat. Roads on Svalbard are limited to the town. There are very few cars. To get elsewhere needs something more capable. The Volvo snowcat is a very capable rough terrain vehicle. We were soon bouncing up the track out of town to visit an ice cave along with a guide and two other aspirant glacio-speleologists.
This particular cave had formed underneath a glacier. During the summer meltwater works its way through cracks in the ice and runs down the valley underneath the glacier making a cave. Arriving at a rather windy and bleak part of what was otherwise plain, snow covered hillside, we were taken to a door. A door in a snow bank. Inside a small tunnel angled sharply downwards. We switched on our headtorches and dived in. There was a rope to hang on to. This was essential because blowing snow had filled in the steps previously cut into the hard snow. After a bit of lowering, sliding and generally scrabbling around we arrived inside the cave on a rock floor with ice all around us.
The passageway was, for the most part, quite narrow. For about forty minutes we worked our way downwards. Once section involved a bit of crawling. Eventually we got to a large chamber with handprints on the wall. Not ancient cave art but prints made by the warm hands of previous visitors. In the roof were ice crystals. Given the right circumstances, water can freeze directly out of the air and makes incredibly delicate angular crystals. The walls of the cave were smoothed off by the water revealing layers in the glacial ice. Remnant of how it has formed over the years. There we also a variety of stones and pebbles shaped by the water and ice. After pondering the 40m or so of ice above our heads, we made our way back. Exiting the small tunnel proved even more interesting than getting in. A fair amount of grunting and heaving was required.
Heading back down the valley the wind dropped a bit. We stopped on top of a moraine hill overlooking the town for a quick brew and a biscuit. The wind may have dropped but the whole view was still grey and sombre. We hoped it would improve for the next day when we were embarking on a dog sledding trip.
We were heading north, to Svalbard, but on the way, we dropped in to visit the incorrigible Lars and his lovely wife Inge. It was nine months or so since we had seen them in Normandy so there was some important catching up to do and wine to be drunk. We drove to an old farmhouse near Aalborg owned by Lars and Inge’s daughter Lea and her husband Theis. They have set up home in a collection of buildings on a large plot of land. So, far, they only really use one of the buildings as a home. We set up camp in another one and this proved to be a very comfortable base for exploring some of Northern Denmark.
First day out we drove up the beach. For the most part, in Europe, driving on the beach is frowned upon or simply not allowed. In contrast, there is a section of coastline in NW Denmark where driving on the sand is both allowed and quite popular. It was a fun thing to do on a dull and overcast afternoon. We waded a couple of streams and avoided getting stuck. The day was rounded off with a bite to eat and beer at one of the many coastal cafes. Then back to the farmhouse ready for when the cows come out.
Beach drivingExcited cowsInge & BirkLea & Birk
Next day there was a buzz of excitement in the otherwise quiet rural area. Today was the day that the cows come out. A lot of people turned up. Several hundreds of people turned up and brought their children. There were traffic jams and queues to par by the roadside. We ended up with quite a long walk before we finally got to the cause of all the excitement. The cows in question are mostly dairy cows that spend winter in covered sheds. In the middle of April, they are let out into the fields for the summer. As you might imagine, for a cow, the first time into a field for six months is the cause of great celebration and no little giddiness. The locals like to share in this and turn the whole day into a big party. We got to wander round the sheds where the pre-release cows were biding their time. We saw brand new calves and various displays of farm machinery. There were dairy themed games for children and cow shaped space hoppers. We tasted free samples of milk, cheese and several yoghurt-like foods that are somewhere in between. Eventually the moment came. Everyone wandered out into the field and jostled for an unobstructed view. The cows, possibly as many as a hundred, were released and skipped cheerfully round the field. The crowd cheered, there were shouts of encouragement and some of the younger children burst into tears. I don’t think cows can stay overly excited for long. Within a few minutes most of the had done with the minor stampedes and chasing round the field. Instead, they settled down to some steady grazing. Chewing the cud does not hold the public’s attention so much as a mad stampede and people began to disperse. Rural bovine excitement over for another year.
Who let the cows out?StampedeSituation normal
To the east of the farmhouse in Lille Vildmose. A wildlife and nature preserve where, it was rumoured, there were Moose. We went for a short walk around and saw some ducklings. All very pleasant but there were no Moose. We visited several look-out towers and hides. We walked along wooden walkways above the bogs. Still no hint of moose.
In the morning Lars and I put the car through its paces. We were given use of a old gravel quarry by a friend of Lars’. Here we tried out some of the Range Rover’s off-road features. Turns out that it is very capable. The Serbian winter tyres that we bought in Slovakia gave good grip on the muddy surface. After that the traction management with two automatically locking differentials did its magic and the car made easy work of most of the tracks. I was especially impressed by the descent control. Even on a very steep and loose hill the automatic combination of engine retardation and ABS brakes meant a steady and controllable ride down the slope with my feet on the floor. A steep bank of loose sand proved impassible. Possibly we could have reduced the tyre pressure to handle this. Overall though we were very happy with the results. I now have a much better feeling for the limits of the vehicle, and this should help keep us out of trouble in the future.
The northern tip of Denmark’s Jutland peninsula, where the North Sea and the Kattegat meet, is a surprisingly popular tourist destination. North of Skagen, a shallow sandbank running northwards, called Skagen’s Odde, exacerbates the impression of two seas colliding. Opposing currents in the shallow water whip up crashing waves. The spit of drifting sand grows by about 10m a year towards Sweden. The whole area is a nature reserve and a lovely place for a walk. There are also some WW2 bunkers to keep the history buffs happy. After a light lunch in the tourist orientated town of Skagen we out to the beach south which was famously buried in sand. It is not buried now. It got buried and could no longer be used. Sand in the pews is a terrible thing. So it was mostly dismantled and sold leaving just the tower which, these days, is no longer buried. I did find this a little confusing. The tower, however, is quite interesting. You can climb to the top for a view out across the dunes. Finally, we went to the big dune. The biggest in Denmark. In fact, with an area of about 2 km², Råbjerg Mile, is the largest sand dune in Northern Europe. We walked to the top and were rewarded with a view from the North Sea to the Kattegat.
On our last day with Lars and Inge we went off in search Moose again. There is an approximately circular walk near the visitor centre at Vildmose. In the car park, I was changing into my walking boots when I realised that the surrounding sounds of birds was not coming from birds. In fact, there were very few birds around at all. No. The bird song was coming from speakers mounted in the trees around the car park. I will admit this created a nice ambiance, but at the same time it seemed a little like cheating for a nature reserve. We were out walking for several hours, and we came across moose spoor, some droppings, and a few tracks. Even so the prospect of moose remained a bit of a joke. We walked through some woods by a lake and through open area that seemed more like farmland than nature reserve to me. Finally, we started closing in on the final leg bag to the visitor centre when we saw two moose. They were way away in the distance but were moose. I have included a picture which, I realise, constitutes no proof of moose presence at all you will just have to trust me.
Råbjerg MileThe great moose huntDiane explains mooseMoose eggsMoose!
The quickest way from Bormio to Champoluc is to head to Milan on the autostrada. Bit boring though. We stayed close to the Swiss border which ended up being a great drive although it took us two days. We passed through Livigno on the way where we spotted yellow snow. Traditionally, you are warned not to eat yellow snow, but this was a different type of yellow. This discoloured snow was caused by Saharan dust picked up by the wind, in particular the Foehn wind, and carried high over Europe before being dumped on the alps. I pondered all the times we had driven in the Sahara kicking up the dust and wondered if there might be a connection. The dust makes the ski slopes look a bit of a mess and is probably illegal in Switzerland.
Halfway point was by Lake Maggiore, another of the great northern Italian lakes. Just as we arrived the downpour began. Rain such as is rarely seen along with thunder, lightning and all the trimmings. We had a perfect covered balcony so we could look out across the water and enjoy the show. For the best part of two hours, rain was bouncing off the road while lightning sparked all around the lake and the air was filled with the sound of deep, rolling thunder. We ate our take-away pizza, drank some wine, and relished the ambience of our small, sheltered corner.
Next morning, further south on Lake Maggiore, we hopped on a ferry. There was no good reason for this. We drove into Laveno-Mombello, saw the ferry boat, and decided to give it a go. We enjoy a ferry, lends a little sense of adventure to the day. Fortunately, this crossing did not take us out of our way, as happens sometimes. In fact, it may have helped reduce the drive a little.
A series of minor roads took us into the Aosta Valley while avoiding the autostrada. Finally, a right hand turn and we were winding up the small road towards Champoluc. and the Monte Rosa ski area. This is quite a popular ski area for Brits. Especially now when it is one of the few areas that still has snow. The lifts can carry you through three valley systems to the south of Monte Rosa. This provides ample scope for a wide range of skiing. You can pay extra for one additional cable car to get access to the “free-ride” area. In other words, open, un-pisted and essentially uncontrolled mountainside. Snow conditions were such that no-one was skiing up here. Repeated freeze-thaw had made the snow hard and crusty. Nasty stuff. Best avoided.
Meanwhile, back on the prepared slopes, conditions were not too bad. I had several good days of skiing. By the afternoons all the slopes were turning to slush. The sort of stuff that grabs at your skis and is tiring work. Mornings were best and although the slopes were quite crowded, many of the skiers were having lessons. Once I had found the slopes that were not used for ski school, I could get on with enjoying myself and the mountains. Diane came up to take in the scenery on a couple of days. The warm sun might not have been ideal for the snow slopes, but it was great for sitting out on a deck chair. With a grinding inevitability, our last day arrived. I took one last schuss around the slopes and met Diane for a lazy lunch. We took the lift down together – this seemed the safer option that risking the wet, heavy and difficult melting snow on the lower slopes again.
Next day we set off for Denmark. First part of the trip was the top end of the Aosta Valley and then through the Mont Blanc tunnel. The autostrada runs up to the tunnel and provides a fast, straightforward way to get to France. However, there are many tunnels so if you actually want to see the top end of the valley you need to take the slow road. This is my preferred route. It takes more time but the views are terrific. Some of Europe’s greatest mountains crowned by Mont Blanc which towers over the end of the valley. Then we were through Chamonix and over the Montets pass to Martigny in Switzerland. The evening found us in an excellent apartment overlooking Lake Leman. Next day we drove through Geneve and then aimed north over the wonderful Jura mountains. We paused briefly in Luxembourg and then plodded on through Germany. Two days later we crossed the Keil canal and arrived in Denmark.
Sulden nestles underneath the Ortler mountains in a high valley of the South Tyrol. In the summer it can be accessed via the Stelvio Pass. With 75 hairpin bends, this is one of the most remarkable passes in the Alps but is closed during the winter. We needed to go the long way round and arrived just after it started snowing. This looked promising. March was proving to be every bit as unusually warm as February meaning that only the higher altitude ski areas were still functioning. In Sulden we got a good deal on half board in a hotel. We generally avoid this sort of thing and prefer to cook for ourselves. Fortunately, this family run hotel understood something about vegetarian cooking, and we ate quite well. The hotel was old and traditional. Felt comfortable and relaxing. Lots of wood panels, heavy wooden doors and a balcony where we could bask in the midday sun.
I managed a couple of days skiing. Higher up the snow was still in quite good condition. The lower slopes turned to mush by lunchtime and were showing patches of mud by the end of the week. As the skiable area starts to reduce, everyone gets packed into the remaining snowy patches. This increases the wear on the remaining snow, so everything starts to go off quite quickly. The furthest lift is some 300m from the next closest. A local man with a horse and cart offers an informal and voluntarily funded solution. He tows groups of skiers between the two lifts using a long rope attached to the back of the cart. This is and moderately practical. Typically, a few people fall over, and it takes some minutes to get everyone organised again. Even so, it is quicker than walking.
Sulden, no to be confused with Solden, which is in Austria, boasts one of the six Messner Museums. Reinhold Messner, possibly the most famous climber in the world, has been instrumental in setting up these museums which mash together stories of the Himalayas, South Tyrol, great achievements, and the decline of the mountains. To be honest, I found this a bit of a confusing mess although it was moderately interesting. Much more exciting was a rumour of a herd of Yaks kept near the museum. It started raining, hard, just after we set off to find the Yaks and we failed. Various locals assured us that they did exist and pointed us in the right direction but ultimately, we got fed up of being wet and cold so we hopped on the bus back to the hotel. Mesner would have been disappointed with our lack of commitment.
Next stop for skiing was Bormio, but first we skipped south for a weekend drive to be exceptionally beautiful Lake Garda. In general, we try and drive at the weekends. Ski resorts can get terribly busy on Saturday and Sunday, so we try and arrange to be on the road then. In this case we found a fabulous mountain route to a lovely hotel with a balcony overlooking the lake. The sunset was perfect, sundowners were tasty, and the restaurant served a rather good pizza. Terrific way to spend a weekend. We found a different but equally interesting route back north to arrive in Bormio on Sunday evening.
Monday skiing in Bormio was excellent. After that, not so good. On the first day the sun was shinning and there was a little fresh snow from the weekend. By Tuesday, the crowds were turning the snow into slush and the wind was picking up. Wednesday the wind had shut down all the top of the mountain, where all the good snow was, so Diane and I spent the day exploring the town instead. I managed another day’s skiing but by Friday the lower slopes were closing and there were patches of mud everywhere. Time was running out for skiing everywhere in Europe for 2024. Many of the very highest ski areas are near Mont Blanc, the highest mountain in Europe. So, we headed there next.
Leaving warm and sunny Budapest, we wandered off across Austria in search of snow. We found some. Mostly the dirty, slushy remains of ski slopes. Many resorts had shut down completely. Only the few higher altitude places were still running. We ended up in Kaprun, where they had a glacier. Sadly, the weather was rubbish, so we went for a walk instead and found a nice lake.
We pressed on. Not only in search of snow but also a good weather forecast. Two days later, we slipped into Italy and a little village at the end of Val Senales. This looked a lot more promising and I finally got a good day’s skiing. Then the weekend came, the place became very crowded and the weather turned bleak and cloudy. I spent a day sorting out my photographs. This is causing me a few problems at the moment. A couple of months ago I convinced myself that RAW images were the way to go. They allow much more scope for editing. The first problem was finding some software to use for sorting and editing. Diane and I take quite a lot of pictures so the first thing I need to do is move the images onto my PC and delete all the bad ones. Then I go back and start getting more meticulous while at the same time doing some cropping and rotating. Finally, I might do some colour and brightness corrections before exporting a small selection, in a lower resolution, to use on the blog. A modicum of research suggested that Corel Aftershot would do the job. Out of the tin, this appeared to be the case. It allows you to quickly view and sort the images so I could do a first pass filter quite efficiently. A database of change information allows you to apply corrections such as resizing, exposure and colour balance without changing the original. Finally, an export function supports conversion to JPEG format while also resizing. All good.
Then I started to discover the software is disappointingly flaky. The program crashes at random intervals. Some changes to an image render it unviewable by the software. The export batch process hangs up on any thing more than a couple of images and so on. This is disappointing because Corel appear to be putting more emphasis on headline features than creating solid, reliable software. The final straw came when I got my little camera back from being repaired. This is a Canon Powershot G1X. A terrific and handy pocket camera. But Aftershot cannot read the RAW files from it. A camera profile, specific to each camera, is needed. A profile for the Powershot is not included. I searched the Corel website for a solution and was eventually passed to a “expert”. A week later, after being passed onto several different experts, I concluded that I already knew far more about Aftershot and problem of camera profiles than they did.
Back at square one, I looked at some other image processing software and have now settled on Cyberlink Photodirector. Immediately I spotted two benefits. Not only will it import images from all my cameras, but it also crashes far less often. On the downside, it has a massive emphasis on using AI to mess with your images. Interesting to play with but not what I need. So again, the rush to introduce headline features has left the rest of the application a bit inconsistent. I might even say, incoherent. It is taking some time to work out the best way to use the software for the mundane tasks of sorting, filtering, and very simple tweaking. One pet hate of mine is a confirmation dialogue box every time I want to delete a file. Are you sure? Yes! Stop asking me. An extra mouse click for each delete operation may not seem much but by the 200th time in one afternoon it gets very irritating.
Wandering further into the incredibly beautiful Dolomite mountains we arrived at the delightful town of Cortina – “one of Italy’s most famous, fashionable and expensive ski resorts”, says Lonely Planet. Certainly, the town centre boasts shops with names like Gucci, Versace and Louis Vuitton. We gave them a wide berth. Our hotel had a balcony commanding an excellent view over the town to the Dolomite peaks beyond. We only stayed a couple of nights but enjoyed sitting out, watching the sunset on both evenings. I managed to get in a terrific day of skiing. Next day we moved on to somewhere slightly less fabulous but much more cost effective.
February was the warmest February, for the entire world, on record. Which means in the last 175 years or so. We are on a skiing trip. Unsurprisingly, the skiing part of this trip is not going brilliantly. We have seen many washed out ski slopes and, in places, green fields where there should have been ski slopes. At times we have pondered whether we are seeing the final, declining days of European alpine skiing. Last year it was raining in Chamonix throughout January. This year there was some early snow but many of the ski areas feel like spring – which would previously have been in April.
Leaving Romania, we set out to explore Hungary. For a few hours we drove through flat wetlands. There were a few ducks and a few more geese. Then we arrived in Slovakia and felt as if we had missed out on Hungary. Slovakia had some interest in the shape of the Tata mountains, so we headed there. On the way we saw the remains of several ski resorts. All looking remarkably sad. A couple of days later we arrived at the Tatras and they are indeed magnificent mountains. We spotted a ski area that appeared to still be operating but the weather was not very nice and we were still hoping to see some more of Hungary.
Our last night in Slovakia was spent at a castle that had been converted into a hotel. This was great fun and not expensive. The corridor walls were festooned with the heads from numerous dead animals. Fortunately, there were none in our room although the large boar’s head right outside the door was a bit alarming.
Heading towards Budapest, we crossed the Danube by ferry. At 2,850 km the Danube is Europe’s second longest river, after the Volga. It rises in the Black Forest, heading east and south to the Black Sea. Commercial river traffic can travel between Bavaria and the Black Sea. With the opening of the Rhine-Main-Danube canal, vessels can travel all the way to the North Sea forming a major trade route. Back in the 19th century, the Danube was regularly frozen and impassable to marine traffic. These days, less so. We saw very little traffic on the river but we do enjoy a ferry trip and this seemed like a nice way to arrive in Budapest.
In Budapest we did a couple of days of city things. We looked at a lot of buildings, rode on a Ferris wheel, avoided museums and Diane found a new kind of ice cream in a cake. There are some amazing buildings in the city including the massive parliament building. We wandered around and tried to get interested in them but the overcast, grey, damp and generally dull weather gave the whole city a bit of a sober feel. The day we left it, the warm sun came out and it felt like summer. While this was pleasant, it also seemed unlikely that there was going to be much more skiing left. As best I could tell there was still some snow at some of the higher altitude resorts so we set off to find some.
We headed to Romania on a whim. We had never been there before and there was a small chance of skiing. Good enough. A day’s drive through Croatia and then we had to make a decision. Car insurance covered Serbia but not Bosnia. It is possible to buy insurance on the border, but we figured it would be easier just to avoid Bosnia. Driving through Serbia was an easy day, and the border checks were painless. Arriving in Romania, the guard was mostly interested in talking about skiing. Our first stop was the city of Timișoara, first European city to be lit by electric streetlamps in 1884. A fact still celebrated by displays of lighting across some of the streets. Timișoara boasts some large public squares surrounded by restaurants and bars. Wonderful to wander around in the evening and we found some good food as well. We were impressed by the magnificently lit city centre and also by a large statue of Atlas in the entrance lobby of our hotel.
Next stop was Castelul Corvinilor (Corvins’ Castle). Romania has an awful lot of castles. We felt obliged to visit a few. It was cold and raining when we arrived. The castle looked good from the outside. Inside it proved to be rather baren and chilly. Renovations were in progress. Areas were roped off. A few workmen were standing around smoking and looking cold. One of them examined a stone in a rather desultory way before putting it down and wandering off. A suit of armour in the corner of one hall caught my interest although, like me, it had a rust problem and probably creaked. We looked around for other interesting things but found little. We paid extra for entrance to the medieval torture display. Gruesome models of people being dismembered, disembowelled and generally filleted in various unhygienic and probably terminal ways. I imagine schoolboys would like this sort of thing. It was still drizzling as we checked out the souvenir shops and then trudged back to the car.
A day later I was standing in the lift queue at the ski area just outside of Lupeni. It was foggy but this time the was no getting above it. Fortunately, as the day progressed, the cloud lifted. At lunchtime two more lifts right at the top of the hill were opened along with several more ski slopes. There had been a bit of fresh snow. The pistes were still a bit thin but I enjoyed the skiing. Just before my last run down there were a few nice views of the valley.
We headed for Brașov in the heart of Transylvania. A rather circuitous route took us through the mountains where we met dogs and a cheese man. The cheese man was selling a selection of local made dairy produce out of the back of his van. Communication was limited but sufficient. He gave us various taster pieces and we indicated the ones we liked. In fact, we needed to restrict ourselves to the cheese that we really liked. It all tasted rather good. Especially the smoked cheeses. The dogs mostly live by the road and often appear to own a layby. They are quite peaceful and will only approach cautiously. We took some food with us for the dogs. They appreciated this and we like to feel we could do a little bit to help them. There are dogs running around all over the place in Romania. Many of them appear to be free spirits but very few look malnourished or mistreated. We have noticed that a lot of dogs are owned but live outside and are not tied up. I quite like this. You can see that the dogs are generally well balanced and happy.
Brașov was busy with tourists. We mingled with them and explored the streets. There are some nice buildings here. The gothic Black Church is possibly the largest of its kind in eastern Europe. Popularly, it became black during the great fire of 1689 but the reality is that the dark colouration comes from much more recent air pollution. The church houses the biggest bell in Romania – all 6.3 tonnes of it. I read that the best way to see Brașov was to take the Tâmpa Cable Car to the top of Tâmpa mountain. Sadly, it was not running so we mooched around in the town which is still not a bad way to see the place.
Time for another castle. This time, Bran Castle, famously marketed as Dracula’s Castle. There is no good reason for this. Bram Stoker, author of the original Dracula story is unlikely to have known the castle. His description of Count Dracula’s lair bears little resemblance to Bran Castle. None the less, this is another of those places made famous through literary fiction. Think Reichenbach Falls (Sherlock Holmes), Kings Cross Station (Harry Potter) and The Pond in Central Park (Catcher in the Rye). Around the castle is a roaring trade in souvenirs and other tat. I hoped to find a Dracula sticker but the only one I saw was rubbish. Plenty of fridge magnets but I do not own a fridge. We paid to go inside the castle. It was more interesting than Corvin’s Castle but also packed with people, many of whom were coughing far more than seemed healthy to me.
A couple of hours later we were looking for somewhere to warm up some soup for lunch and came across the medieval Rupea Fortress. A magnificent fortress on a hill. It has been renovated to some extent and commands terrific views across the town below. There were only a handful of people here and just one, small, souvenir stall. We enjoyed looking around and then had soup and bread in the car park.
Salina Turda sounds like something a bit dubious to English speakers. It is in fact a salt mine near the town of Turda. Mining finished, after nearly 900 years, in 1932. Since then, it has been turned into a tourist attraction. Salina Turda was ranked in 2013 by Business Insider as among the “25 hidden gems around the world that are worth the trek”. It is interesting in places but redevelopment, with a strong focus on tourist attraction, has sent it off into what seems to me a strange direction. The car park is expensive. Entry is expensive. There is a reduction for seniors but only if you are in possession of a Romanian pensioner certificate. Once inside I found the old salt mine bits interesting. Here we have stalactites and stalagmites made of salt. The main chamber is impressively large. The strata and mining techniques combine to create interesting patterns on the walls. Then things get strange. You can descend in a lift 90m to the bottom of the main chamber. Here you will find the ubiquitous souvenir shop. Also, a miniature golf course, some billiard tables, a Ferris wheel, a small arena and a boating pond. All of which you must pay extra for. Assuming you really want to descend into the depths of the earth to play miniature golf.
Our last stop in Romania was the Scărișoara Ice Cave. We have been into caves in ice before, usually inside a glacier. This is a limestone cave with a glacier inside it. Very strange. The entrance is a steep 50m descent down steps into the main chamber, about 100 m across and full of ice. The public can walk around this on a rather rickety wooden walkway. Here we have stalactites and stalagmites made of ice. They are quite fragile and fall off occasionally. Fortunately, they only take a few weeks to grow back unlike the calcite type which can take hundreds of years.
We liked Romania. Caves and castles. Dogs and a lot of rubbish. I mean, an awful lot of rubbish. And a little bit of skiing. Next stop is Hungary.
We arrived in Slovenia on a warm, sunny afternoon. We came over the Wurzenpass from Austria and descended the lovely road down the valley side towards Podkoren. On the other side of the valley were a few ski slopes. A perfect looking picnic spot in the sun was irresistible, so we stopped and cooked up some lunch. We have a little gas stove that is increasingly finding use at lunchtime. Often, I am re-heating soup or boiling up some pasta. Something quick and easy. This time it was cous-cous with a harissa sauce made from left-overs a couple of days ago. Sitting there, in the warm sunshine, it seemed unlikely that we were going to find much more skiing.
The rest of the afternoon was a relaxed and picturesque drive past the tourist town of Bled and into the centre of the national park hosting the Vogel ski area. We stayed at a small apartment in the town of Bohinjska Bistrica. There are many apartments like this, built specifically for rental. It makes an excellent alternative to a hotel. You get a space to yourself and a few basic facilities. Ideal for people, like us, that would mostly prefer to cook for ourselves. Possibly a good bet for small families or groups friends. Whatever the reasons, these apartments appear to be becoming more popular than conventional hotels.
Next morning, I abandoned Diane and drove a few kilometres to the cable car at the end of the valley. It was a foggy morning but cold and frosty. The venerable and modest sized cable car brought back warm, comfortable memories of my early days skiing in Switzerland. The younger me found it almost unbearably exciting as the cabin set off on its trip from the ordinary valley floor to the extraordinary and vertiginous mountains. Obviously, I am older, more experienced and far less likely to get excited these days but in fact, as we rose above the valley cloud and a clear, sharp vista of snowcapped peaks unveiled itself, I still got that old twinge of elation and wonder. The entire day proved to be visually spectacular. Clouds rolled over the mountain ridges in a thick, viscous wave at about the same height as the top ski lift. At times we were enveloped in thick fog but mostly we were just above it, looking down on swirling clouds. The skiing could not be described as spectacular. The slopes were limited and not particularly challenging. However, it was still great fun. There were no queues. The views were terrific, and, to my delight, there was an old, one-man chair lift. This took you to the very highest point on the mountain and felt remarkably precipitous. I had an excellent day and was a happy, if very tired, skier by the time I got back to the car.
The day afterwards, Diane and I explored the town and made plans for other things to do in Slovenia. There are many caves here. Also, castles. First, we drove over a mountain pass to the south. This was not only fun, but we also stumbled across another ski area that looked promising for another time. Then we passed a sign indicating a castle and a cave. Ideal. A short way down the road we found a car park and small tower. The tower was disappointingly closed so after walking around it we set off to find the cave. A short walk up a river brought us to the bottom of a deep valley that ended in steep cliffs with a sizeable river emerging from a cavernous entrance. This suddenly got much more interesting. We had brought our headtorches so, feeling pleased with ourselves for this forward planning, we advanced along the walkway into the cave. We found an enormous cavern containing a large lake. This had been dammed to draw off a supply for a water wheel a little way outside of the cave. At the back of the chamber was a locked gate barring further progress but even so, we felt comfortably happy with our discovery. I spent a little time messing with the camera to capture the moment. Eventually, we retraced our steps to the car and continued on the castle and cave journey.
Predjama Castle is a Renaissance castle built within a cave mouth. It is a marvellous looking castle tucked under an enormous cliff. There are many stories about the place but also, it looks like the sort of place that there should be many stories about. It has features in a Jackie Chan film and also Season 3 of The Witcher (which we have not watched yet, but we are planning to soon).
Not far from the castle is Postojna Cave. This caught me completely by surprise. I had not done any research and was unprepared when we were herded down a short tunnel and onto a train. The cave is 24 km long, second longest in Slovenia, and one of the top tourist sites. We were there on a damp and gloomy weekday in February, but even so there were plenty of visitors. Only about 5 km are accessible to the public. The train takes you much of the way and then there is over an hour walking through a succession of enormous chambers with the most extensive and amazing display of speleothems (secondary mineral deposits) I have ever seen.
Back in my younger and dafter days, I used to be quite keen on caving. Spent many cold, muddy but happy weekends crawling through limestone holes in the Yorkshire Dales and elsewhere. This cave, the Postojna Cave, is bigger and contains more flowstones, stalactites, stalagmites, helictites, soda straws and columns. that all the caves I have ever been in put together. This is no exaggeration. The scale of the place is utterly staggering. As a show cave the amount of work that has gone into the place is also impressive. Not only a whole railway system but also thousands of lights, miles of concrete walkways, bridges, railings and as we discovered at the end of the trip, the worlds only underground post office. The final chamber, called the Concert Hall, is known for its exceptional acoustics. Symphony orchestras, octets, and a variety of soloists perform here to an audience of up to 10,000 people. Deep inside the cave, away from the chaos of the tourists, lives an aquatic salamander. The Olm or Proteus (Proteus anguinus) is the only exclusively cave-dwelling chordate species found in Europe. It is blind, snake-like, 30 cm long, lacks pigmentation and has three toes. Stuffed toys of Olm are available in the underground post office.
First thing we did when we crossed from Italy to Austria was to go to Switzerland. The Riesa Pass brought us close to the village of Samnaun, a village where we spent a lot of time during the Covid lockdown. Although technically in Switzerland, Samnaun is mostly accessible from Austria and, for some reason, is a duty-free enclave. Very good place to buy alcohol and ski equipment. I wanted a new pair of skis. While travelling in Baloo, I had limited myself to a single set of skis. These are some wide, long, all-mountain skis. Terrific for fresh snow and skiing off piste, less good for the steep, icy pistes they appear to favour in Austria. I had done my research and knew what I wanted. Much shorter, narrower skis, necked in the middle so they will bite into the snow and help me properly carve turns. We looked in a couple of shops and then there they were. The skis of my dreams. Waiting patiently for me in the basement of the third shop. And at a healthy, duty-free price. We also bought some alcohol.
Back to Austria and the village of See. This shares the same valley as Ishgyl, one of the larger and busier ski resorts. See, however, is much smaller, quieter, more peaceful and altogether more our type of place. We got lucky with an apartment literally just across the road from the ski lift. I had a couple of terrific days skiing. The weather was a bit mixed but some flurries of fresh snow helped the state of the slopes and one morning I even found some fresh powder to play in. On the second day, Diane came with me on the ski bus to Kappl, a little further down the valley. This is another small ski area covered by the same lift ticket. The sun broke through the clouds from time to time and the views were terrific. We met up at the top lift station for lunch.
New skis
Next stop was Sölden. This a large, popular area at the end of a valley. The small, mountain road over the pass at the end of the valley is closed in the winter. I had booked a couple of nights at a hotel that appeared to be part the way up this road. The Hotel Silbertal runs a shuttle service from village and advises that to drive there yourself requires a 4×4 and snow chains. I found this irresistible, and we did end up using the snow chains. The hotel is right at the end of the ski area but high up so that you can ski in and out. We watched the sun set over the mountains at the end of the valley while sipping wine on the balcony. This all seemed perfect to me and to round off my pleasure the food proved to be excellent. Vegetarians are well catered for. The cooking was imaginative and tasty. The downside to this wonderful place was the cost. We kept our visit to a couple of nights in between which I had a long, hard day of skiing.
Ski tunnelHotel Silbertal
Driving further west, past Innsbruck and Mayrhofen, took us to the village of Bramberg am Wildkogel. Another smaller ski area and a return to the more modest apartments that we usually stay in. There had been a worrying lack of fresh snow for the previous week and the weather continued to warm up. As we arrived it was raining, clearing the last remnants of snow away from the valley. For the next two days it rained. I am quite keen on skiing but not so keen as to get intentionally soaked in the process. Anyhow, rain makes the snow slushy, heavy and difficult. Even up on the mountain tops it was raining, not snowing. We had a drive round. Visited the bottom of the Großglockner pass – also closed in winter.
Spring skiing in Feb
We moved northwards past Kitzbuhl to Niederau. Our good friend Tim has a cousin who rents apartments here. We got a deal on a nice, cosy place for a week plus some excellent local advice and schnapps on arrival. The rain had passed, the sun came out and most of the week was warm and pleasant. The trouble is that warm and pleasant is not ideal for ski slopes. There are three small ski areas easily accessible along the valley. I enjoyed exploring them and Diane came along to take in the views. But all the time the snow was getting thinner and icier. It began to feel like spring skiing. This can be fun. Skiing in the warm sun with views across green fields. It does not last too long though before the snow is gone completely. Last year we had spent much of January in Chamonix vainly waiting for snow. Here it was looking like the ski season would end in February. I started to wonder, with climate change apparently starting to really kick in now, has the halcyon age of alpine skiing passed?
Sportgastein
On this rather gloomy note we started making plans for a bit more road tripping and a bit less skiing. The gloom was emphasized by clouds rolling in and yet more rain. We headed for Slovenia. On the way we stopped for a day at Gastein. I skied at a couple of the areas there. The first, high area at Sportgastein, was pleasant if a bit crowded and limited to one lift. The second area, more comprehensively served from the main town was awful. The slopes were in terrible condition. Very icy with piles of slush that threaten to trip you up. It was Sunday and the place was very crowded as well. To the point where it started to feel a bit dangerous. Too many out of control skiers on a small icy slope. Diane came up to the restaurant at the top of the mountain. I not only met her there but came down on the gondola with her. Normally, I would always ski down but this time it really did not seem like a clever idea. Next morning we took a car-train through the Tauern Railway Tunnel to Mallnitz before heading south-east to Slovenia.
Close to Vipiteno is the village of Colles and the Racines ski area. We stayed at small, modern apartment for a couple of days. I skied for a day although the weather was far from brilliant. When it is overcast the light can become very even. The same amount of illumination from every direction. This tends to make the snow covered ground look completely flat. Then it is difficult to see just how the slope undulates and you end up feeling your way down the hillside because you can’t see the detail of the slope. I suspect that this is good practice and helps improve your balance, but it can get a bit tedious. By lunchtime I was getting quite cold and little bit bored of wandering around in the mist. I stumbled, almost literally, across a lovely little restaurant high on the slopes. Just a handful of more hardened skiers were in there having lunch. I ordered a dish of spinach dumplings in a gorgonzola cheese sauce. This proved to be fabulous. By the time I was ready to leave I was thoroughly warmed through and feeling much more stable, anchored by some typically substantial Tyrolean dumplings. The cloud lifted a little, I found a new and interesting place to ski, and all seemed good with the world again. I also managed a little reconnaissance of the Passo Giovo. We needed to cross back over the next day, and it had been snowing. I could see the road was still open, the snowploughs had been busy although now the road was covered in a layer of hard packed snow.
Next morning, we set off and I wondered, yet again, at the wisdom of driving over alpine passes in a car that screeched as if all four wheels were about to come off. I really hoped that the Merano mechanic’s assessment was correct. In the event, the pass was straightforward. I put the Range Rover in “snow mode” and it happily coped with the icy conditions. Once again, I felt pleased that we had swapped the Jaguar for a car more appropriate to the task of a winter alpine road trip. We enjoyed driving over the pass, but it was cold and windy, so we skipped stopping for a brew this time. Back in Merano, we dropped the car off to be repaired and explored the town a little more.
Good news met us back at the garage and I eventually discovered just what had been going on. Language had been proving a bit of a barrier. Round here they speak German with an Italian accent. I don’t speak either. However, when the mechanic showed me the damaged parts it all made sense. A Range Rover, like most Land Rovers, has a hand brake that is quite separate from the service brakes that act on the wheels. The hand brake uses a drum brake on the output shaft of the transfer box. This had the advantage is that it locks all four wheels. The two brake shoes in the drum assembly are held in place by a pin with a spring. One of these springs had broken and was rubbing on the flat surface of the brake drum. This was really not doing any harm at all, hence ‘safe to drive’. None the less, me, Diane and the car all seemed much happier when the noise was cured.
I snuck in another day of skiing. This time, now that the New Year holiday is over, the crowds had vanished. The cable car carpark was now half empty, so I set off from there and thoroughly enjoyed the ride up the mountainside. The day was gloriously sunny, the slopes were mostly empty, lift queues were non-existent and even in the restaurants there was no waiting. There is an awful lot to be said for waiting until the second week in January to got skiing. If you can manage this, you will often be rewarded with the perfect combination of good snow and uncrowded slopes.
Next day we left Merano for what we hoped would be the last time and set off for Austria. Our route took us over the Reisa pass. A route which we had previously done in Baloo. This time however, we had a small car rather than a 22-ton truck, so it was much easier to find somewhere to park by the reservoir. The walk around the lake proved to be delightful. Crisp snow, warm sunshine and many interesting sights including kite skiers, ducklings, wooden walkways, and rotating boxes. The box was a very clever idea for a seat. It could be moved to just the ideal position to catch the sun while sheltering from the wind. In the evening we stayed at a hotel very close to the border and had a fantastic pizza at a restaurant that was within a few feet of the border. Finally, we were ready to tackle Austria.
Having managed to escape Christmas we still had New Year to deal with. New Year is typically far less problematical and often this can be great fun. Eat some tasty food, drink too much and watch fireworks. The previous few years have been noticeably quiet for us. Last year we were in Chamonix where it rained so much that although there were some fireworks all we could see of them were a few colours in the clouds. Prior to that were two years of lockdown and the year before that we were deep in the desert on our own. So, we had hopes for fireworks but were not sure how this might work out. In the meantime, we wanted to see a bit more of Piedmont so we headed to Alba.
The weather was dull and overcast but the city of Alba proved to be quite interesting. First job was to check into our apartment. We had booked a little apartment to be our base for a couple of days. Usually someone meets you, takes care of any registration formalities and shows you the place. Bit like checking into a hotel. Not this time. First, we both had to fill in an online form before they would send us the access code for the keys. This might sound like a convenient, high-tech solution but to be honest, sitting in a car, poking at a phone with one finger and having to contend with a dodgy signal, it was a bit of a pain. Eventually we got the code and found the keys without too much trouble. Then I got an anonymous text message on WhatApp. “Who are you?” seemed reasonable for me to ask but it was not until I threatened to block the sender that they admitted to representing the apartment company. After that the text conversation got increasingly ridiculous and annoying. “Where do we park” was answered with “Watch this five-minute video” and “Which is our apartment?” elicited “Read this 28-page document and follow the instructions”. We got to feel like we had become trapped in some weird and extraordinarily frustrating reality game. We wandered around, tried the keys in the wrong apartment, talked to some locals that lived there and searched for an umbrella stand. The company would not tell us which apartment we were in, instead we had to find an umbrella stand. Why? I have no idea. Eventually, we managed to get the car parked and out bags into the apartment. Took over an hour. The small flat was adequate even though they had skimped a bit on the cleaning. The company got very stroppy with me when I gave them a poor review on booking.com.
Alba is a food-lovers delight. Traditionally, Bologna is the food capital of Italy (and possibly the world) and while I would not dispute this, especially with an Italian, we found Alba to be much more accessible. The city is famous for wine and white truffles, but it is also where Ferrero Rocher and Nutella come from. Some of Italy’s more famous wines such as Barbera, Nebbiolo, Barbaresco, and Barolo originate here. Walking through the gorgeous old centre of the ‘the city of a hundred medieval towers’ we were fascinated by so many specialist food shops selling such a variety of wonderful eatables as to be almost overwhelming. I was intrigued by displays of white truffles each carefully laid out with its weight and price. Eventually, I bought one. We took it home and used it grated onto fresh pasta with butter and garlic. Absolutely fantastic. My mouth is watering just to write about it. I should have bought a couple more.
PiedmontAlbaTruffles for sale
We headed for the mountains. Northwest across the plains of northern Italy, across the Po Valley, past Milan and then due north past Verona. Our overnight stop was a lovely hotel perched high on the valley side above Lake Garda. As night fell the stars came out and a fire pit was lit just outside of the bar. We could sit out by the fire and drink wine as the darkness closed in. Perfect. In the morning we continued north to the village of Tyrolo just above the Merano. To our delight, the apartment had a balcony which looked out over the village, the town, and the whole valley below it. New Year’s Eve was spent watching everyone else’s fireworks.
New Year’s Eve
The car had started making a terrible noise. The sort of metal-on-metal screech that I imagined was an important transmission bearing failing. The day after the New Year break, we found a garage and they diagnosed a problem with the hand brake. We were assured that the car was safe to drive, they ordered a replacement part and asked us to come back in a week.
In the morning I went skiing. The car still sounded like there was a box of wailing banshees underneath it and people were turning round in the street to look. I drove to the main cable car, but the carpark was packed so I was waved past and directed up the hill. Twenty minutes of screeching and grinding up each steep hairpin bend and I arrived at the bottom of the ski slopes where there was a much larger car park. First day back on the slopes is always a bit tricky. My boots did not fit properly so my feet hurt. My skis did not work properly so I struggled to hold a good line. My legs did not work properly and soon started to cramp up. Apart from that it was great. Remarkably busy for such a small ski area but I did not mind waiting a bit for each lift as it gave me a small rest. By late afternoon I was so tired that I barely noticed the wails of tortured metal as I guided the long-suffering car back down the hill. It was a good day.
MeranoThe ventriloquist’s sheep sang opera
We still had several days to wait until we could get the car fixed and they had assured us that it was safe to drive. Next day drove over the Passo Giovo (Jaufenpass) to the lovely town of Vipiteno. The 31 km long, extraordinarily scenic route has the magnificent Ötztal Alps to the north, and the Sarntal Alps to the south. It is a varied and steep road with many switchbacks. Often included in the list of top ten Alpine passes. Because it is such a convenient shortcut it is usually kept open during the winter. We thoroughly enjoyed the drive over. With the windows shut we could barely hear the scaping noise from the transmission.
Next day, I skied and particularly enjoyed the first gondola ride. This takes you from the main car park up to the ski area by going over the busy A22 autostrada. This is one of the most important motorways in Italy. It connects Pianura padana (the Po Valley), the city of Modena and the A1 motorway to Austria. 35,000 vehicles per day, of which 30% are HGVs, use this road to cross the Brenner pass – one of the lowest mountain passes in the Alps and also one of the busiest borders in Europe. It is a remarkable route to drive, from the lowlands up and through the high mountains. We have travelled it many times in motorhomes, in Baloo, on the bike and by car. Every time I have noticed the cable car from Vipiteno. Now I finally got to ride it and found the experience to be remarkably satisfying.
December means Christmas is coming. This usually gives me an urge to leave the country. I am not so bothered about Christmas, never really have been. It is a family affair and in our family that did not seem to ever work too well. The problem however, my problem, is that I feel that I cannot be allowed to be indifferent to Christmas. There are many celebrations that I am not too bothered about, but which do not cause me a problem. Easter can pass me by without a chocolate bunny, on Burns night the haggis is optional and for Bonfire night I can choose to stay in without someone stashing gunpowder in the cellar. I leave them alone, they leave me alone, everyone is happy. With Christmas, I am not allowed to do this. We even have special words, derived from the absurd Dickensian Christmas fantasy, for people who will not conform. It is all-in. Like Marmite, love it or hate it, you cannot be ambivalent. The media starts its assault in November and by December is in full flood. Christmas this, Christmas that, Christmas the other and if you are not positively enthusiastic then “Bah! Humbug!” is the cry of shame you will be marked with. It is too much for me. Sometimes it feels like a scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers. You may recall, when the pod-people encounter an unconverted human they point and scream. In this case one inadvertent disparagement of joyous noel brings forth the wagging fingers and the derisory “Bah! Humbug!”. Objectively, when I consider Christmas, I see a little religion and a massive amount of media hype. In all honesty, I am not too keen on either so each year, in November, the cross-channel ferry starts calling me. Obviously, despite Brexit, they still celebrate Christmas in the rest of Europe, but they don’t seem to make such a meal of it. What is more, if I am very lucky, I can get to ski instead of eating mince pies.
We took the Hull to Rotterdam ferry. This is our favourite way across to Europe. Short drive to Hull, meal, bar, sleep, breakfast, and you are good to go. This time we started off with a brief visit to Antwerp. Never been there before. Well, visited once on business but seeing just a hotel and an office does not really count. This time we wanted to spend a couple of days exploring. We found a nice enough place to stay a few kilometres outside the centre. Antwerp is busy, expensive, has tiny roads and barely any parking. We found it best to keep the car far from the centre and instead use the cheap and easy tram system.
Drinks on the ferry
Antwerp is mostly famous for chocolate and diamonds. It seemed sensible to keep Diane away from the diamonds, so we went to look at a chocolate exhibition. We both like a bit of chocolate and quite enjoyed learning about the history of chocolate and how it is made. Climax of the trip was a tasting involving a dozen or so distinct types of chocolate. The chocolate was being stirred in warm vats and we got to pour out a spoonful of each. Basic chocolate is either dark, milk or white. But, as I discovered there is now, in just the last few years, a new type of ruby chocolate. This is made from ruby cocoa beans and has a pink colour. The experts debate whether this is really a new type of chocolate – but it does taste rather good.
Mighty organTomb of Isabella of Bourbon
Wandering around Antwerp we found many museums and Christmas markets. We did our best to avoid both of these, but we did get lured into a couple of churches, How come churches do not put up Christmas decorations? We saw a few nativity scenes and lights on the outside but inside there was nothing. No tinsel on the pews, no plastic penguins on the altar, not a bauble on the lectern and the choir boys were not wearing Santa outfits. The Cathedral of Our Lady was our first dive into catholic artistic overindulgence. Many paintings by the Dutch Masters of which Rubens was prominent. He spent much of his life in Antwerp, so I imagine it was handy for the local cathedral that the paintings did not have to be sent far. The cathedral also sports some terrific stained-glass windows, the excessively ornate tomb of Isabella of Bourbon and a mighty organ. Sadly, there was no-one around to play it. The Sint-Pauluskerk church was a much more modest affair in terms of touristic hype and entry fee but, nonetheless, sported what was possibly a better array of paintings. Rubens must have been terribly busy at times. Next morning, our interest in churches sated for the next few years, we left Antwerp and set a course south.
Rubens
We stayed in a gypsy caravan guarded by a fierce looking sheep. Then we spent my birthday in a little cabin with a lovely view and a hot tub. Diane enjoyed the hot tub, but I discovered that the high level of chlorine in the water played havoc with my skin and made me itch for days. South through France the weather was consistently terrible. Very wet and windy. Arriving at the Jura mountains we found the remains of snow being washed away by the rain. No chance of skiing here. We did however, find a lovely hotel restaurant that served us a fantastic fondu with morel mushrooms.
We pushed on south through the Alps, in the rain, and through the Fréjus Road Tunnel into Italy where the weather finally began to improve. At Oulx there was a lovely hotel in the mountains opposite a restaurant with the best pizza since the last time we were in Italy. Next day, in glorious sunshine, we crossed the Col de Montgenèvre back into France at Briançon and then south-west back to Italy over the fabulous Col de Larche.
By the evening we had arrived at Mondovi, a lovely little Italian town where we holed up for Christmas. Here we spent a few days pottering round and enjoying the tranquillity of a small mountain town.
We visited the old part of town, admired the architecture, climbed the clock tower and generally had a few very peaceful days. The apartment we had hired proved to be very nice and, as usual, we enjoyed cooking for ourselves. After three days we had done enough peacefulness and were ready to get back on the road.
Last November we went for a cruise with Helen and David. It all worked very well. Everyone enjoyed it. This November we thought we would do something similar but on a different ship and a different itinerary. First significant change was that we were sailing from Marseilles. To get there would be a short road trip. We like road trips. Helen organised this one. Diane and I had hoped for a gentle and relaxed journey. Not a chance. First day was a 6am start for a mad thrash down the motorways to Dover. Next morning saw us up at 6am, again, to catch the ferry. Toll motorways to Epernay. A short break to taste and buy champagne. Arrived at the rented bungalow late and crawled into bed. Next day things began to get easier. We had time for breakfast before a relatively easy drive to a lovely hotel in a big old, rambling building. The fabulous evening meal was a highlight but also came with a fabulous bill. And so, to Marseilles where we arrived in the evening and found absolutely nowhere to park. Fortunately, the hotel manager moved his car to give us space. This was a great relief because we were starting to wonder if we would need to a find a different hotel with enough space to unload David in his electric wheelchair. Seeing the progressive deterioration in Dave’s condition is always upsetting. There is also the very practical consideration that every aspect of his life just keeps getting harder. On the previous cruise we had been able to use a conventional wheelchair that could be lifted and man-handled. Now, David is totally dependant on his electric wheelchair. Great bit of kit but way too heavy to lift.
Next morning, we were welcomed onto our ship for the next ten days. The MSC Divina. Quite a bit older than our previous cruise ship, the MSC Virtuosa, but equally enormous. Our cabin was lovely. Nice sized double bed and a small balcony. Diane and I got settled in, Helen and David got settled in and then we all met for lunch and a glass of champagne. We were pleased that we had made it to Marseille with any real problems. Helen does not consider getting up at 6am as a problem. We were looking forward to some relaxing days with a little bit of indulgence. In the evening we sailed for Genova, all was good.
MarseilleGenoaFocaccia
From the port, Genoa is a solid, pressing mass of buildings going up the hillside around the docks. We found ourselves constrained to a narrow strip close to the coast. Beyond that the streets were just too steep. No matter, there was still plenty to see. I was delighted to come across a Focacciaria, a small shop selling variants of Focaccia Genovese – a light and tasty flat bread baked in big trays. This was served with a local pesto sauce. Genoa is famous for growing basil, the key ingredient of a traditional pesto. The result was, frankly, spectacular. Back on board by late afternoon, we broke out the cocktails as the ship left port in the evening sun. I discovered a cocktail with chilli and dried orange that was surprisingly good.
Genuine art or just a prop?Barcelona
Next day we arrived in Barcelona. Sunny, bright and colourful. We headed out to Las Ramblas street. Originally this was a sewage-filled stream forming an important drain especially during the heavy rains of spring and autumn. In 1440, the stream was diverted to be outside the newly built city walls and since then the street has become an increasingly popular hub of urban life. The street is very crowded but also wide and open. Since 1703 it has been lined with trees and although the open-air markets for birds and small animals have been banned since 2010 there are still a wide variety of birds, including parrots, flying around. Small stalls, market traders, entertainers and side shows abound. You can easily spend a full day wandering around, taking in the sights and sounds while nibbling at tapas from the enormous range of restaurants. This was exactly how we passed the afternoon before heading back to the ship to prepare for Africa.
We had a day at sea while we steamed towards Morocco. In the morning, I hopped out of bed with bare feet straight onto a wet carpet. Some problem with the bathroom plumbing apparently. I did not want to know the details and washed my feet anyhow. We moved to a fresh cabin on another deck. Of course, we had to pack up first and then unpack. This all took a couple of hours and was a bit irritating. In fact, irritation became a bit of theme for this ship. On the Virtuosa, the yacht club dining room was on a mezzanine level above the bar. Fabulous views and very convenient. Here on the Divina, it was at the other end of the ship. To get there with David meant taking a lift down nine levels, walking the length of the ship and then going back up nine levels. There were often queues for the lifts so this route could easily take ten minutes. Does not sound too bad until you consider ten minutes each way for three meals a day by which time you have wasted an hour. For all that, the restaurant was cramped and had no views at all.
Casablanca, if I am honest, is a bit tricky as a tourist destination. The largest city in Morocco is also the country’s economic and business centre. The port is enormous, but it is a working port. Thousands of containers being moved around, bulk carriers getting loaded, a steady flow of commercial vessels in and out. In the distance the city, a massive commercial block, rises out of the dusty gloom. It is not very appealing. A handful of the more dedicated tourists booked trips although even then it is probably an hour or two of driving to see anything interesting. Morocco is a fascinating place. Golden sand dunes, amazing mountains, vest seascapes and ancient buildings. The trouble is that none of these places are anywhere near Casablanca. Quite why the ship docked here is anybody’s guess but I am fairly sure it was not for the benefit of the passengers. Getting David onto a bus was going to be impossible and when Helen and David first attempted to disembark, they were told that the tide was too high. They did eventually get off. David got to step foot (wheel) in Africa. They walked down to the security fence and got a stamp for his passport and then that was Morocco and Africa done. Next stop, the Canary Islands.
Cassablanca
Tenerife is an immensely popular tourist destination. With five million visitors a year it is a major worldwide destination and one of the most important to Spain. The larger proportion of visitors are from the UK as it quite evident from the abundance of chip shops and Irish bars. The municipality of Adeje in the south of the island has the highest concentration of 5-star hotels in Europe and Spain’s best luxury hotel. For our part, we went for a walk round a park and ate some chips. Next day was supposed to be Madeira but a port pilot’s strike put paid to that so we had two days in Santa Cruz instead. This meant, come evening , that we could eschew the ship’s restaurant and sneak out for a curry. Turned out to be a properly excellent meal that we all thoroughly enjoyed. Next day Helen and Dave managed to have a fabulous day out in a taxi which was capable of taking the electric wheelchair. I don’t know the details, but they came back buzzing after being shown around the greater part of the island.
Hassan II Mosque
Late afternoon we sailed for Malaga. A two-day trip to the ever-popular Costa del Sun. Popular with the British that is. The trip was essentially uneventful. The sun shined. We explored alternative restaurants. Helen and Diane wallowed in the hot tub. I read a book.
We set off quite early to see Malaga and ended up on an open-topped tour bus. The pre-recorded commentary was desperately boring and delivered in a monotone. Rather than fall asleep I gave up with the earpiece and just looked as what was around us. Malaga seems to be quite a vibrant combination of beaches, bars, and restaurants surrounding a historic centre of narrow streets and old buildings. Having circumnavigated the city we hopped off near the port and attempted to find a restaurant, a tapas bar, that had been recommended to us. We did find it and so did several hundreds of other people. The queue was immense, so we gave up and settled for some perfectly delicious tapas at a smaller and less popular restaurant. The rest of the day was quite a long walk back to the ship where we started packing in preparation for returning to Marseilles the next day.
The return trip was easier. We even had time to stop off for a small tour round a champagne vineyard. Michel Fagot – possibly my new favourite champagne. We split the UK leg into a much more pleasant two days and all arrived back in Todmorden safely.
We joined a trip to the town of Churchill, organised by Natural Habitat Adventures – a group who claim to be world leaders in conservation travel. Their by-line is “conservation through exploration”. The idea is that they organise trips for small numbers of people to inaccessible locations in a responsible way. Churchill is a small settlement on the western side of the Hudson Bay known as the Polar Bear capital of the world. In October and November each year, hundreds of bears converge on the area. Polar Bears like to eat seals. They hunt seals on the sea ice, so in the summer, when there is no ice, they get hungry. Churchill is pretty much right on the point where the sea ice starts to form each year. Polar Bears are traditionally very solitary creatures. Possibly one of the loneliest mammals on the planet. However, this behaviour is briefly put to one side for the bears of the southern and western Hudson Bay. These bears make up two to three thousand of the world’s total population of maybe 30,000 animals. Exact numbers are difficult to assess. See https://www.arcticwwf.org/wildlife/polar-bear/polar-bear-population/ Back in the 1950’s it was estimated there were only 5,000 bears left worldwide. There has been an enormous rebound since the international agreement of 1973 to seriously limit hunting. Humans have always been their biggest threat. These days, some populations of bears continue to flourish while others suffer from the ubiquitous combined pressures of habit encroachment and climate change. A few years ago, National Geographic published a distressing video of a starving polar bear along with a dialog that pointed squarely at global warming as being responsible for the poor animal’s imminent demise. For a while it looked like polar bears were going to become the poster child of the climate change lobby. Fortunately, sanity ruled. National Geographic were playing fast and loose with the facts for the sake of a story. The bear simply could have been old, ill, or suffering from a degenerative disease. Overall, polar bears are doing fine. You can still hunt bears though. For around £30,000 an Inuit hunter will sell you his allocation and help you find a bear to murder.
In 2021, Churchill had a population of just 870. Tourism is the major source of income. Some whale watching and some aurora spotting but mostly polar bear safaris in October and November. To the west of Churchill is a large conservation area that used to be a rocket launching range. From 1956 to 1984 rockets were fired into the upper atmosphere for research purposes. These days a handful of special trucks are licenced to take tourists out in search of polar bears. The trucks are custom built and quite enormous. They can easily travel across the rough terrain while at the same time keeping visitors safe from wandering polar bears. The bears are wonderful to watch but it is prudent to remember that these are the world’s largest terrestrial carnivore. Half a ton of apex predator. And they are hungry.
Our trip began in Winipeg. Here, at the rather lovely, Fort Gary hotel, we met up with the rest of our group, collected coats and boots, attended an introductory talk, attended an introductory meal and had a tour of Winipeg. Unfortunately, at about this time my small camera developed a fault. It was not focussing correctly. Looked fine through the view finder but the final images were terrible. What makes this worse is that I did not notice until I took the images from the camera several weeks later. My main camera is a Canon EOS 5D MkIV. This is a truly beautiful camera and much better than me at taking photographs. However, it is a bit large, so for smaller jobs I use a Canon Powershot GX1. This is also excellent. Pocket sized with a telephoto lens and a proper view finder – essential in bright snowy conditions. Ideal for a day trip to see the sights of Winnipeg.
We started the day by visiting a field full of bison. Big, shaggy cows that reminded me of Yaks. We were driven into the middle in a rather battered bus and warned not to get out. The North American plains used to support over 30 million of these animals living in balance with the local tribes. Then came the cowboys and someone had the great idea that an effective way to get rid of the North American Indians (pesky locals) would be to exterminate the bison that they depended on. By 1900 the entire bison population was down to about 1,000. Now there are around 200,000 in the whole of North America. On reflection, I can see that Canada has a long history of hunting creatures to extinction but despite that mostly everyone we met still seemed very keen on hunting and fishing. Lessons yet to be learned. As we left the two-acre field our guide remarked “I hope you enjoyed your safari”, which caused me to wonder about how far the meaning of a word like “safari” can be stretched. The rest of the day was a relaxed meander round some parks and monuments. We eventually ended up in a museum where there was even more bison romanticising. Also, a ship which was supposed to illustrate early trade but seemed more like a pantomime pirate vessel to me. Next morning, we flew to Churchill.
Fort GaryBisonPirate ship
Churchill has the wonderful air of being a frontier town about it. Not quite so extreme as some of the settlements we had encountered in Nunavut, but still a long, long way from the hustle and bustle of a modern city. It was late afternoon by the time we arrived. Our group of sixteen was assigned to a bus with Judy, our group leader, and went for a drive around town. The road from the airport is mostly a dirt track. There is not much to see in Churchill. Houses, a few hotels and restaurants and some basic facilities. Some interesting art, painting on rocks and houses, remains from an event a few years ago. I was struck by the polar bear warning signs. This is not a place to wander around on your own. At the coast is an Inuit inuksuk – a construction of rocks used as a cultural symbol. Made a good place for a group photograph. Also gave me a chance to look out across the Hudson Bay – somewhere I have wanted to visit for a long time. The bay is a massive salt-water inlet, technically part of the Atlantic Ocean. Named after the Englishman, Sir Henry Hudson, another character in the story of the Northwest passage. He spent time mapping the bay but met his end when his crew mutinied in June 1611 and set him adrift in a small boat, possibly not far from Churchill.
The bears come here because the ice starts forming here. Winter is coming. By the end of November there will be sea ice and the bears will be gone. For us, in October, it is still getting chilly. Minus 24°C is the Churchill record low for October. That would have been cold. While we were there the temperature hovered around freezing, even so, there was often snow in the air. In the morning we were introduced to our truck and our truck driver, a big, cheerful bloke and clearly a bit of a character. The trucks, called Polar Rovers, are designed specifically for this job. Apart from being massive, they are also capable off-road and self-contained. Water, food and a toilet are all provided. You get on the truck via a special raised platform and get off, at the end of the day, the same way. The truck has an outside viewing platform, but you are still way above the ground, safe from bears. Did I mention the Polar Rover was big? Seating for about forty so with just sixteen of us there was plenty of space and everyone could have a window seat.
Inuksuk Polar Rover
The sun was just coming up as we left the boarding area along with four other vehicles. They like to make an early start here. A Polar Rover is only quite slow but even so, on the rough terrain, you needed to hang on a bit. For an hour or so we lurched and banged our way along following rough tracks marking the passage of many other trucks. Then our driver saw a bear. I was immediately reminded of spotting polar bears from the Hurtigruten ship we had been on earlier. A little white dot in the distance. We waited a while and then moved closer. The driver used his judgment to decide whether we were disturbing the bear. Clearly it would be a bit irresponsible to simply chase the animals around in trucks, so they try and tread lightly. As lightly as possible in a 25-ton truck. To be fair, the bears do not seem too concerned about the rovers. Possibly they have got used to them or maybe they hope there may be some food involved. At times they are quite curious although they are never given any food. Elsewhere in the world you would not be able to do this at all. In Svalbard, for example, it is illegal to hunt, lure, pursue, feed or disturb a polar bear. Around Churchill the polar bear viewing is highly regulated although part of this might be driven by protectionism of the tourist industry. Natural Habitat make a big issue in pointing out that they are one of very few organisations with permits to visit the whole conservation area.
Apex Predator
We finally got reasonably close to a bear so, along with several other rovers, we stopped for lunch. This proved to be a pleasant affair. A range of food was produced from cupboards. Hot food in flasks. Cold nibbles. Even some wine. The pattern was established for the next couple of days. Up early. Bounce off across the tundra in the morning light while sipping coffee. Wander around until we found a bear. Spend time on the rear viewing platform trying to get some half decent photographs. Leisurely break for lunch. More bear spotting and then back as dusk was falling. It was interesting and fun, but we thought, after three days that we had done about enough of this.
Old rocket rangeConservation area
On the last day in the rovers, there was an unexpected drama. Bears are normally very solitary and only get forced together here while they wait for the ice. Most of the bears are single males. On the last day we saw a mother with her cub. Typically bears have one or two cubs which they look after for two or three years. The male bears have nothing to do with bringing up the cubs, in fact, they are a bit of a danger and have been known to attack and eat cubs. Especially when they are hungry in the late summer before the ice forms. So, we spotted a mother and cub on a small spit of land and a larger male bear making its way towards them. The mum played it cool for a little while and then decided to make her escape. She took her cub to the end of the rocky spit and then clambered into the water. The cub was clearly less competent at swimming and mostly just hung onto her back. They swam round to shore well away from the male. He appeared to lose interest once they took to the water. By the time the mother and cub were shaking themselves dry the big male had laid down and gone back to sleep.
Inside a roverThere is a male bear comingThe escapeSafe
Our last day at Churchill we went on a helicopter ride. Once again, this was very expensive but so worthwhile. We are unlikely to ever visit Churchill again. It is an amazing place and flying is a terrific way to see it. Just three of us in the aircraft along with the pilot, Bob, who explained he had been flying bush helicopters for several decades. He was certainly an excellent pilot and truly knowledgeable. By flying we could range much further out than in the rovers and get a much better sense of just how many polar bears were around. Most of the bears were along the coast so we flew a zig-zag path along the beach. Did we mind doing some sharper turns Bob asked? No we did not so we ended up doing some very exciting manoeuvres. Great fun.
I do not want to be shot again
Occasionally bears must be handled. Sometimes they are fitted with tracking collars or simply need to be measured and examined for scientific purposes. Occasionally they may need to go to prison. Bad bears, those behaving in a way which is causing problems for the settlement get locked away. Solitary confinement in an old military building. Later that day we visited the polar bear holding facility. Bears are locked up here until the ice has formed and they can be taken well way. Initially, the bears were fed until it was found that the following year, they came to the facility hoping for more food. To catch a bear, you approach in helicopter and shoot it with a tranquilising dart. The sedated bear can then be handled, netted or whatever. The bears do not like this, and they remember. Bob could point out bears that had experienced this because as the helicopter approached, they promptly sat down so that they could not be shot in the bum again.
Bear observatorySea ice forming
A short but fun dog sled ride plus a visit to a souvenir shop rounded out the day. Then came the flight back to Winnipeg and by late evening we were back in Fort Gary hotel enjoying a farewell dinner with the rest of the group. Next day we flew to Calgary and a couple of days later were back in the UK.
In Calgary we traded in our compact RV for a larger model. The smaller one had proved fine, with the possible exception of the shower. It was a bit narrow. l found I could clean one side of myself but then had to step out and turn around to clean the other side. We had a problem with the generator which is why we had called at the Calgary depot. While discussing this, it occurred to us that we could try a different RV for the remainder of our trip. We ended up with a considerably larger model. It had slide-out sections. The whole vehicle could expand when we parked up. Gave us loads of space inside. Much bigger than Baloo ever was although the base vehicle was much smaller. Also, we had a proper oven thus expanding the range of culinary possibilities.
The Wolf Sanctuary was closed
One aspect of Canada that takes a bit of getting used to is that you never pay the advertised price. It does not matter what you are buying, the displayed cost is only ever a starting point. On top of that will come at least one tax, often two and then sometimes a tip. I have a receipt which includes ECOFRAIS, TPS and T.V.P. – no idea what any of these are although they add 15% to the bill before tips. Tipping in Canada is not just encouraged but virtually mandatory. When you are handed a credit card payment machine it will not simply display the amount you will be charged. First you will need to choose the level of tipping – typically 15%, 20% or 25%. In a move that seems strangely unfair to me, the tip is calculated as a percentage after tax. So, you pay a tip on the tax as well. It is also difficult to know when you are going to pay a tip. Supermarkets, no. Liquor store, yes. The shop keeper hands you a bottle of wine and then expects to be tipped for this. It is all a bit baffling and disturbing. Feels like having a little mouse in your pocket that keeps nibbling away at your money.
We spent a night in an exceedingly popular RV camp just outside of Calgary. It was not great. Busy and expensive. Next day we stumbled across an almost deserted campsite a few miles off the road. As we were driving down the track, a grey wolf ran across in front of us. This was much nicer. We spent a couple of nights there. Had a few walks. Saw another wolf and got to find our way around the new, enormous, RV. Eventually, we arrived in Banff. We had definitely arrived in the Rocky Mountains. On the downside, the weather started to be quite wet and we discovered that Banff was just about to close for the season. We had arrived just on the awkward gap between summer and winter. Last time we were in Banff was back in the winter of 2009. It appears to have changed enormously since then. Such is the power of the tourism industry. We had a potter around time. It was not too crowded, but we could sense that it must be heaving at times. Found a lovely vegetarian restaurant and a specialist chocolate shop that was irresistible to Diane. Next day the campsite closed. This RV site on the hills overlooking Banff is truly massive. We are talking a thousand or more pitches. Even so, it closes at the end of the season.
We moved on to the rather scarily named Radium Hot Springs. I have no idea if the waters there really glow in the dark but there was a quiet and pleasant campsite. Next day we drove up to the town of Golden. Another slightly odd name but naturally lends itself to naming local features, Golden Road, Golden Bridge and so on. Here we paid extra for a campsite pitch with a view (Golden view). It was lovely so we stayed two nights. Then we climbed over Rogers Pass and through the Glacier National Park. You need a permit to drive within a national park. Fortunately, we had bought a multi-park pass when we hired the RV. We stopped in a small car park by the side of the road and discovered that we were supposed to have a permit for that. And another, special winter permit if we wanted to park there in the cold. We hoped we could get away with our 30 minute pause while Diane made lunch and I tried to photograph the chipmunks running around the tarmac.
After a very pleasant and relaxed few days crossing the Rockies, we arrived in Vancouver and gave the RV back. This left us a day spare, so we went to look around the downtown area on the rather excellent mass transportation system called SkyTrain. This proved to be a bit of a shock. We had come to expect Canada to be generally clean and pleasant. Downtown Vancouver has a bit of a social problem. Not only were there many derelict and run down areas but also a lot of derelict and run down people. In fact, some of the park areas were festooned with people who appeared to be very much down on their luck and either unconscious or begging for money. We kept our visit fairly short before heading back to our hotel and preparing for the trip to Winnipeg.
After leaving the Fram, we were flown to Montreal. Following six weeks in remote Arctic places, we were back in a big, bustling, modern city. In general, we are not too keen on cities, but Montreal feels clean and friendly, so we did not mind spending a few days exploring. The weather was warm and sunny. We looked at a few buildings, walked in some parks and found a couple of nice places to eat. Eventually it was time to move on.
We got a taxi out to the north of the city, to where we had arranged to collect a small motor home, a recreation vehicle or RV as they are commonly referred to. Diane and I have spent quite a lot of time in motor homes of diverse types. These have ranged from cheap and small to the 22-ton monster that was Baloo. This one was definitely on the smaller side. A converted Ford Transit van. Although quite small, it was well equipped. The back turned into a reasonable bed. There was a small cooking area with a sink, gas hob and microwave. We had a small shower and a toilet, gas heating and even an air conditioning unit in the roof. A generator meant we could even stand a few days wild camping. Underneath there was a very neat combined grey and black water drain valve – something that would have saved an awful lot of time and trouble in Baloo. The hire company claimed that the RV could be used in winter down to -30°C – this was probably true and quite impressive – the Canadians know a thing or two about cold winters.
After a couple of days on a pleasant campsite just outside of Montreal, we set off westwards. It was lovely to be back on the road again. The fine details of what type of RV you are in or how it is equipped really makes little difference to the basic pleasure of moving through the landscape, seeing something new each day and never being quite sure where you are going to end up. For the first week we travelled through forest. East Canada is one immense forest. A vast extent of gently rolling hills and trees. We chanced across a few interesting sights such as Canada’s longest rope bridge, but for the most part, each day was pleasantly quiet roads and endless trees. Not boring but not notably exciting either. Canada is a wonderful place for RVs. Lots of space and well organised campsites. We were travelling close to the end of the season so there was never any need to book ahead. Most campsites come with electric and water hook up plus a little drain that you can connect the waste water outlet to. Usually there was a fire pit. For a few dollars you can buy a sack of logs and then have a campfire to sit around.
Round about this time, my mother died. This was not unexpected. We knew she was seriously ill before we left for Iceland. We had talked. She was content, she had made peace with her God and when I said goodbye at the end of July neither of us expected to meet again. That said, losing your mother is a big thing and for a few weeks we both felt decidedly low. Quietly travelling and sitting around campfires suited us just perfectly.
Eyebrow
Passing Winipeg we arrived at the wonderful little town of Eyebrow. The small RV site appeared deserted but not long after we settled in, a local woman turned up in a pickup truck to bring us firewood and welcome us to the Eyebrow RV site. Next day, to my delight, we went through the town of Elbow, just a short way from Eyebrow. Aside from towns named after bodily parts, this part of the trip also marked the transition from forests to plains. Vast plains of wheat. Many things in Canada appear to be vast. Vast and flat. One local, a fruit seller just outside Eyebrow, explained that it was so flat you could watch you dog running away for four days.
On we drove, along dead straight roads, past wheat fields the size of small counties, past grain silos, farms and harvesting machines as big as family homes. We passed several salt lakes and oil pumps, nodding donkeys, pulling oil up from deep underground. Slowly, slowly the totally flat fields gave way to undulations and then, rather suddenly, we dropped off the edge of a plateau and into some deep ravines. After nearly three weeks and over 4,000 km we had reached the edge of the plains. Next stop Calgary and the Rocky Mountains.
The town of Uqsuqtuuq is the only settlement on King William Island. The name means “lots of fat” and refers to the abundance of sea mammals in the nearby waters.
Roald Amundsen named the place Gjoa Haven in 1903 after his ship Gjøa. It was during his expedition to be the first to travel the Northwest Passage. Amundsen arrived here and declared it to be “the finest little harbour in the world”. The vessel was moored for nearly two years while Amundsen and his crew learned from the local Inuit about living off the land and traveling in extreme conditions. It was these skills that stood him in good stead later when tacking the South Pole. They also plotted changes in the Northern Magnetic Pole which, rather surprisingly, moves quite a lot. Today some locals claim descendancy from Amundsen, or his crew.
The mist had come down, the sea was calm and the land, what we could see of it, was flat and featureless. Not ideal for photographs. I could slip a couple of pictures of Saddleworth moor on a foggy day in here and you would not spot the difference. Despite the “lots of fat” name, we saw nothing more than a couple of sea birds.
The settlement was interesting and gave us a bit more insight into life in the high arctic. A little museum hosted a rather excellent bronze bust of Amundsen. Turns out he had a large and prominent nose. In the community centre my attention was caught by some public information signs about travelling on the sea ice. It reminded me of the posters you might see in the Peak District reminding walkers to take a waterproof with them. Of course, this is a far more extreme environment, so the advice made refence to such things as rifles, harpoons, satellite phones and recognising sea ice features. I also spotted a poster concerning the Erebus and Terror. You will recall that these were Franklin’s ships. Both now found in the relatively shallow waters not far from Gjoa Haven. Erebus was discovered in 2014 and Terror in 2016. The cold, arctic ocean has preserved both vessels well and they have given up some of the last pieces of the puzzle of Franklin’s expedition. Both are now preserved as historic sites and strictly off limits.
The cultural demonstration proved to be genuinely entertaining. We knew to expect throat singing and drum dancing. I was somewhat surprised when the event was rounded off by square dancing, something I think I had last experienced in Texas.
The next day we arrived at Cambridge Bay and the end of our trip. We left the Fram for the last time on the RHIBs to spend a few hours looking around. Off to one end of the town is the Canadian High Arctic Research Station. A marvellous looking building with two very interesting hovercraft parked outside. Unfortunately, no one was there. I guess they were all out doing research. Just out from the other side of town are some geodesic domes that looked to enclose radars. These are part of the Distant Early Warning (DEW) line established during the cold war. as protection from incoming soviet bombers. I asked our guide about the radar station, and he asserted that it was so secret that it was best to not mention it at all. Mid-afternoon we flew in a small charter plane to Montreal.
Next day we were heading south. We crossed Viscount Melville Sound and by daybreak passed Prince Leopold Island, an important bird sanctuary, before arriving at the northeast corner of Somerset Island. Here are the remains of another HBC trading post and the opportunity for another landing. Standing by the hut, we tried to imagine what it might have been like back in the day. Two people, a pile of provisions and a stove. Occasionally, local hunters would turn up with furs which were then compressed into 90 lb bales. Once a year a ship would arrive to take the furs and drop off more provisions.
Flowers even in harsh placesTypical frost shattering patten
In the evening we pressed on south. This is probably not the route that Franklin took. He went west of Somerset Island. Our route took us past Fort Ross and through the Bellot Strait. Fort Ross was the last ever trading post for HBC. Built in 1937 and operated for 11 years it was eventually abandoned when two successive resupply attempts failed because of the sea ice. The three HBC employees were eventually airlifted out in a daring rescue that involved the first high arctic parachute jump. The Bellot Straight separates Somerset Island from mainland North America. It is a narrow channel and a significant challenge to navigation. Part way through is a large cairn marking Zenith Point, the most northerly point on the American mainland. The channel is 25 km long, narrow and steep sided. Currents can reach 8 kts and there are often small icebergs creating a significant danger to shipping. In the event, our traversal went very smoothly. Sadly, the mist closed in and although we got a glimpse of Zenith point that was about our lot. We finally emerged into open ocean at Franklin Straight. So, you may guess who sailed past here once.
Zenith PointLeaving Bellot Straight
Before we picked up the Franklin trail again, there was one last chance for a trip out in the RHIBs. A couple of polar bears had been spotted in Peel Sound. We took turns in using the RHIBs to get a little closer to them. Not too close obviously. We did not want to scare them or ourselves. That done, the Fram turned south again. Next stop Gjoa Haven.
We were at the start of the Northwest Passage (NWP). For centuries this was a much sort after, almost mythical, route between the Atlantic and the Pacific. Before the Panama Canal, vessels needed to either risk the infamous Cape Horn or sail south of Africa and India to get to the far east. Renowned polar explorer, Roald Amundsen found a route in 1903. It took him three years, two winters in the ice. In 2007 the Norwegian Polar Institute announced that the passage was clear for the first time since records began in 1972. It is generally acknowledged that the declining ice is caused by climate change. Since 2009 the winter pack ice has cleared, albeit for a fleeting time, each year. Now it is possible, for just a few weeks annually, for the right type of ship following the right route to slip through.
The tale of the NWP is many stories of courage, endeavour, and mystery. Prominent amongst these is the well-funded, well-equipped British Royal Navy expedition led by John Franklin. His two ships, the Erebus and Terror, were hailed by whalers in Baffin Bay, July 1845 and then never seen again. We were following part of his route, along Lancaster Sound and the coast of Devon Island. Specifically, we were heading towards Beechey Island, a small piece of land just to the south of Devon Island. Here some of the first clues about Franklin’s expedition were found in 1850. However, hours before we arrived, before breakfast in fact, the ship’s PA system announced another polar bear.
Typical bear sighting
I went out to look. Fully expecting to see a little white bear in the far distance. This was exactly what we saw. But then, just as I was about to go back into the warmth, someone shouted that there was a bear in the water. There were three bears, a mother and her cubs. The shipped slowed right down and we watched as the bears clambered out of the water onto the rocky land. For ten minutes or so they made their way along the difficult and steep coastline. Faced with even steeper cliffs, they eventually gave up on this and hopped back into the water. To our complete delight, they then set off swimming towards the Fram. Maybe they could smell food or maybe they were just curious. Either way they came remarkably close, while the decks resonated with the sound of camera shutters. A few minutes later, Mum appeared to decide that was enough and led her cubs away. Brilliant. A once in lifetime encounter. Well, so I thought.
Five minutes later came another shout. “Bear in the water!”. Again, the ship slowed right down and again we all watched in awe as the bear came right up to us. This time it was a single male. A big one. Clearly, he was well fed and happy. He bobbed around for a while watching us watching him. Then he turned and headed off towards the now distant shore. Incredibly. Two amazing bear encounters and we not even had breakfast yet.
After breakfast, we arrived for a landing at Beechey Island. In all, around thirty expeditions set forth to discover the fate of Franklin and his crew. The whole story was only pieced together in the last decade. Early evidence showed that Erebus and Terror spent their first winter beset in the pack ice off Beechey Island. They were prepared for this, and the ships were built to survive the ice. It would not have been a problem to over-winter there. In later years, the bodies of three of the crew were buried there along with a French Naval officer who died falling overboard on one of the search expeditions. Amundsen too stopped here to pay his respects on his successful 1903 expedition. Since 1975, Beechey Island has been designated a Territorial Historic Site by the government of the Northwest Territories. Beechey Island is a bleak and forbidding place. The land is virtually bare and pock-marked by curious depressions caused by permafrost. We wandered around a little, paid our respects at the graves and spotted some beluga whales off in the far distance. As the day ended, we were safely back on board the Fram and sailed out past Northumberland House. This is the remains of a Hudson Bay Trading Company trading post. There is also a memorial, a cenotaph in the shape of a hexagonal pillar, commemorating Franklin and some of the other brave explorers that died in the quest for the North West Passage.
Effects of permafrostGravesLancaster House and CenotaphBeluga whales in the far distance
For a day and a night, we sailed west across Baffin Bay. In the morning we were holding station outside Pond Inlet. Population 1,500. Mostly Inuit. Largest community on Baffin Island in the Nunavut area. Known to the Inuit as Mittimatalik. This is the traditional start of the NW Passage and our entry point to Canada. Border control formalities needed to be observed and an official came aboard to stamp our passports. A couple of other ships were hanging around similarly waiting for clearance. A big old tramp steamer called Kitimeot looked like she had a tough life. By contrast a strangely shaped super-yacht called Shinkai looked to be dedicated to easy living. Hard to work out who owned this remarkably expensive vessel, but our best guess was a Russian oligarch.
Formalities over, we were ferried ashore to be shown around the town in small groups. Wikipedia states: As a tourist destination, Pond Inlet is considered one of Canada’s “Jewels of the North”. It is one of the most picturesque communities with mountain ranges visible in all directions. Far be it for me to contradict this but, my first impressions were that it was a bit of dump. Life here is harsh. It is one of Canada’s most inhospitable climates. Long, dark winters and temperatures averaging −35 °C. Trust me, that is properly cold. Your eyelids freeze together, and the snot turns to ice in your nose. In those conditions tidying the place is possibly a low priority. Today it probably did not help that the cloud was thick and low making visibility poor. We were shown round a few places in town and asked not to visit the supermarket. Provisions were low and they did not want us wandering off with anything. We ended up in the community centre for a cultural presentation. Diane and I have seen a few of these now but this one was better than most. We passed on the fish and caribou soup but enjoyed the drum dancing, the throat singing and the demonstration of winter games. That is, competitive Inuit games, including jumping on one foot to kick a small, suspended stuffed mouse.
Throat singingDrum dancingDisinfection station
Next day, after leaving Pond Inlet, we sailed north back into Baffin Bay, then through Lancaster Sound and up to Devon Island where we saw a polar bear. First bear since we had been in East Greenland several weeks ago. He was far in the distance making his way along the coastline. Even with a long lens he was just a little white blob in the distance but still exciting to see. Later in the day we turned into Dundas Harbour for a possible landing but then another polar bear was spotted. This put paid to the landing. Too dangerous. So instead, we got the RHIBs out and went to look at the glacier snout. Pottering around glaciers and icebergs is always quite good fun. A few brave souls went out in kayaks. I have tried kayaks at various times in my life and never really seen the appeal. Diane reckoned that if she got in one then she would never be able to get out again. Either way, we left the kayaks to others.
Bear in the distance
Early evening, everyone was back onboard, and we were heading back out to Lancaster Sound when we came across the second bear again. He was closer to the shore now and I could get a slightly better photograph. Sadly, he did not look a very happy bear. Through the summer, the bears typically do not eat. They need to wait until the sea ice comes so that they can hunt seals. This guy really looked like he could do with a couple of seals.
Our last port of call, in western Greenland, was Ilulissat. Third city of Greenland. With a population of just 4,500, there are almost as many sledge dogs here as people. The harbour area is quite small, so the Fram anchored off and we were ferried ashore on the RHIBs. No bus tour, but there was a shuttle service up to a visitor centre. Ilulissat is the most popular tourist destination in Greenland. These days it is tourism, not fishing, that is the town’s principle industry. Part of the attraction is the nearby Ilulissat Icefjord. This is a spectacular fjord into which calve enormous icebergs from Sermeq Kujalleq, the most productive glacier in the northern hemisphere. This is one of the few glaciers where the Greenland icecap directly reaches the sea, and it is moving fast. Up to 40 m per day. Listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is described as a dramatic and awe-inspiring natural phenomenon. Seemed like it might be worth a look.
The bus took us through the main town and out past another dog town to the Ilulissat visitor centre. We chose to save the centre for later and went off for a walk. A wooden walkway helps in crossing a boggy area on the way to the coast at the outlet of the fjord. I think there must be some sort of bar at the exit because many icebergs were jammed here. This makes the rest of the brash fill the fjord in a very spectacular and satisfying way. Despite being 250 km north of the Arctic Circle, it was quite a warm and sunny day. Perfect for a hike. We could make a loop by walking back along the rocky side of the fjord then cutting over a hill back to the visitor centre. It was a slow walk with many stops to gaze across the constantly moving ice. If we stopped for more than a couple of minutes the mosquitoes found us.
Visitor CentrePurple dog hut
We walked for three hours or so, but I think, if you had the time, there must be days of fabulous hiking around here. The visitor centre is an interesting building shaped like the wingspan of a snowy owl when it is in flight, apparently. There are numerous displays about how people have lived in the area, the geological history of the glacier and how studying the ice is helping develop the current scientific understanding of anthropogenic climate change. Visitors are required to remove their boots before entering. It is possible to walk across the roof which gives some nice views. We poked around for a little while and then hopped on the shuttle back to the ship. In the evening we sailed out into the fabulously named Disko Bay where I glimpsed a whale. Then it was north past Disko Island and finally west across Baffin Bay to Canada and the entrance to the North West Passage.
Overnight we sailed 320 km further north. We crossed the arctic circle and arrived in Greenland’s second city, Sisimiut. Population 5,500. Sisimiut means “the people living in a place where there are fox dens”. Originally established to support the whaling industry, fishing is now the principal industry in Sisimiut. Shrimps, salmon, halibut and cod. The Royal Greenland fish processing plant at the port is the largest within Greenland and is amongst the most modern shrimp-shelling factories in the world. 20,000 tonnes of shrimp a year. The city is very striking. Brightly painted houses and a busy port all surrounded by picturesque mountains.
Once again, we set off on a bus tour but this time the trip proved to be much more interesting. There were dogs. First, we looked at a local bronze of a fisherman catching a fish. A few shops of interest were pointed out. Then we got to the dogs. Lots of dogs. About a thousand of them all living in an area well outside the main conurbation know locally as “Dog Town”. There is only one type of dog in Greenland, the Greenlandic Sledge Dog. Other breeds are not allowed and dogs that ever leave Greenland are not allowed back. The dogs live outside, year-round, in an assortment of kennels and shelters. Each dog owner has a designated area in Dog Town and it is strictly forbidden to interfere with dogs that are not your own. Fortunately, our guide explained, she had her own dogs so we could go to see them. She had about a dozen dogs. These were used for pulling sledges in the winter. Greenlandic Sledge Dogs are big strong animals with a thick, insulating fur. They can sleep outside quite comfortably even when the temperature is well below freezing. In the summer they can easily overheat so mostly they just laze around. Fortunately, everyone on our small tour was much more interested in dogs than shops and schools so we spent quite a while with them. Also, there were puppies. One pair were several weeks old. The other two were just a few days old so their eyes had not opened yet.
Eventually we had to leave the dogs and got dropped off by a museum not far from the port. Diane and I stuck our head in a couple of the buildings but did not find much of interest. We are not good museum people. Instead, we wandered back to the Fram. Our coats were shedding dog fur for several days and probably carried a canine whiff with them, but we did not mind.
Further up the western coast of Greenland we approached the little town of Paamiut. Population 1,300, it is the tenth largest settlement in Greenland. We sailed straight past Paamiut and up the fjord to the east. Here was another magnificent glacier emptying directly into the sea. Also, there was a chance to go ashore. As usual, the expedition team landed first to check for polar bears and set up the armed guards. Then we got ferried ashore in the RHIBs. At the start of the voyage, we were allocated to a boat group. The order in which boat groups go ashore is rotated. This time we were in the last RHIB to land. A short walk up the hillside brought us to a fabulous viewpoint. Mountains, glaciers and the fjord. Someone saw an arctic fox earlier, but it was long gone by the time we got there. Superficially, these landings can seem like a lot of effort for a short walk. For me, they are completely worth the trouble just to stand on such a remote place as Greenland. To take in some of the terrific and rare sights. Just a short walk but a special one.
Next day we arrived in Nuuk. The population, 19,600, is about a third the entire population of Greenland. Nuuk is the capital city. There are a few roads but none of them go anywhere outside the city. The Nuummioq (citizens of Nuuk) are well served for education with a university and several other establishments of higher learning. There is also a good healthcare provision and a cultural centre.
We began our visit with a tour on a bus. This did not take very long. We stopped outside the Royal Greenland fish processing plant, a major source of income derived from an awful lot of frozen shrimp. We also looked at the university and a large graveyard where the locals like to be buried with a view. Finally, we were dropped off at the city cultural centre for a short presentation. A couple of songs, some drum dancing, and ten minutes of crazy mask dancing later we queued to taste some local delicacies. Dried fish high on the menu along with a few other things that did not bear close inspection. Diane and I slipped out of the queue and took a wander round the shopping centre instead. The sky was getting dark and ominous as we took the bus back to the harbour and rejoined the Fram.
We spent the night and the following day sailing north towards Greenland. I amused myself by trying to photograph the sea birds following us. These are Northen Fulmars, they have a reputation for flying after ships. Everything I read suggests that they are opportunistic feeders hoping to find something tasty from the vessel. However, watching them swoop, glide, dive and generally mess around behind us, I could not help feeling that they were just having a good time. Photographing them was tricky because they move so fast. Fortunately, I had time to take many, many out of focus pictures and then throw most of them away.
In the morning we had arrived at Prince Christian Sound, gateway to a series of magnificent fjords in the very southernmost tip of Greenland. The sound is 100 km long and narrow, just 500m wide in places. Steep, bare rock walls rise up to 2,000 m above it. Several glaciers calve directly into the fjord and numerous waterfalls cascade down the precipitous cliffs. We got the RHIBs out to have a closer look at one of the glaciers. I always find it fascinating to peer into the dark blue recesses and caves in a glacier. Not too close though. These glaciers are quite active, towers of ice regularly collapse into the water and would be extremely dangerous to a small boat. There were many small ice bergs and lumps of ice floating around and this gave us an idea. After a bit of messing around we managed to retrieve a piece of ice from the water and took it back to the ship with us.
Falling ice
RHIB trips done, we pushed on through the sound. Diane tested the ice and found it to be pure, fresh water. Perfect. We left it in a bucket and hoped it would not melt too quickly. Much of the rest of the day was spent on deck, camera at the ready, watching cliffs, glaciers and waterfalls drift past. Quite remarkably there is a settlement here, called Aappilattoq, where the tough people live off hunting and fishing. The handful of colourful houses nestle on bare rock underneath a steep and forbidding mountain. Access by land is probably quite impossible. We spotted a small helipad but even so it is an incredibly isolated outpost.
Aappilattoq
I set up a small time-lapse camera to capture part of the passage.
As we reached the far end of the fjord the mist arrived. The Fram was enveloped in a thickening fog. Fortunately, this did not seem to upset the navigation at all, but it did mean there was very little more to see on deck. We retreated inside, collected our piece of glacier ice, and headed for the bar. Here, the very obliging barman mixed a gin and tonic for using our carefully collected ice. Apparently it was very hard and difficult to break. It did however make and excellent cocktail and seemed a very appropriate way to end the day.
We had a day in Reykjavík . The Fram was extraordinarily busy disgorging passengers, collecting fresh ones, bunkering fuel, and loading victuals. We, on the other hand, needed to do a little shopping but otherwise had an empty day. Diane’s birthday was fast approaching so a helicopter trip seemed in order. She has always been excited by helicopters and, as we discovered, a flight in Iceland is something special. With a little help from Jón, our friend in Reykjavík , we booked a trip. The weather was perfect and ideal for the half-hour stroll from the harbour to the airport. We even managed to get the necessary shopping done on the way.
Our captain was the incredibly cool Solveig and our aircraft was a six seater Airbus H125. I do not know anything much about helicopters, so I looked this up. We shared the trip with a very pleasant American couple who were visiting from one of the big cruise ships. We compared notes about sharing a vessel with 6,000 passengers as against the 200 onboard little Fram. We walked out to the helicopter, settled in and, after a very short brief, took off. First, we flew south towards the coast. Reykjavík looked very neat and tidy from the air. I caught a brief glimpse of the Fram in the distance. Then we were flying over part of the great divide. The line where Iceland is pulling apart at a few millimetres each year. From our vantage point we could clearly see the fault lines and volcanoes. As Solveig explain, in Iceland, if it looks like a volcano, then it probably is. I asked about living with volcanoes and the possibility that your house might suddenly get destroyed. Solveig said that people just get used to it. Apparently, whenever there is a new eruption, everyone packs up their trucks, not in preparation for escape but to drive out and get a good look at it. We also passed over some oddly coloured lakes and a massive steam vent.
Reaching the coast, we flew along the cliff edge for a while and then turned inland along the the Reykjanes Peninsula. Iceland is an extraordinary country. There is so much volcanic activity that the ground seems alive. From our viewpoint we could see many volcanic cones (if it looks like a volcano, it probably is a volcano) and vents emitting sulphurous steam. Solveig took us in to land at what appeared to be a small car park right next to one of these cones that was dotted with fumaroles venting steam. Closer inspection revealed that we had genuinely landed on a small car parking area – an ideal place to park your helicopter. I did notice that Solveig followed standard car park protocol in carefully locking the doors of the vehicle before we left. A short climb got us to the crater rim for a round of photographs then back to our aircraft. I could not help thinking that this was an incredibly cool way to explore volcanoes.
Geothermal power station
We flew over the Blue Lagoon, a man-made geothermal spa. The water is a byproduct from the nearby geothermal power plant Svartsengi. Superheated water is vented from the ground near a lava flow and used to run turbines that generate electricity. After going through the turbines, the steam and hot water passes through a heat exchanger to provide heat for a municipal water heating system. Then the water, rich in salts and algae is fed into the lagoon. A remarkably high silica content accounts for the milky blue colour and forms a soft white mud on the bottom of the pool. Bathers like to wallow, hippopotamus like, in the pool while smearing the mud liberally about themselves.
Then we circled round the new volcano a couple of times. The cooling craters of Litli-Hrútur are the newest landscape of Iceland. The area, known as the Fagradalsfjall volcano, has erupted three times since 2021 and remains a top attraction in Iceland’s southwest corner. The broad valley where all recent activity has occurred is completely uninhabited and considered very dangerous. New erupting fissures and craters can open up anywhere without any notice. However, it is only 35 km from Reykjavík and glow was visible from Iceland’s capital. Litli-Hrútur was still emitting lava, smoke and steam when we first arrived in Iceland. Sadly, for us, it stopped while we were exploring the fjords of eastern in Greenland. None the less it was still fascinating. You could clearly see where the fresh lava had flowed to merge with slightly older rock and fumaroles were everywhere. Brand new rock was laid out underneath in complex swirls and patterns. We looped past one of the earlier calderas., a fearsome looking carbuncle of cooling lava and vents, then turned for home. I could very happily spend days flying around an incredible country like Iceland and I would strongly recommend a flight. But be warned, this is Iceland, so the cost is fearsome. Even our short trip cost around €1,000.
Blue Lagoon
We calmed down a little on our walk back to the harbour. Although even when we stopped for a beer all we talked about was how fantastic the flight had been. Eventually we arrived back at the Fram to a pleasant surprise. There were fewer passengers on this next leg of the trip, so we were offered a free cabin upgrade. This new cabin had a balcony. We did not hesitate for a moment and so ended a particularly good day drinking wine on our balcony as the ship set sail for West Greenland and the North-West passage.
Siriuspatruljen (the Sirius Patrol) is an elite Danish naval unit that conducts long-range reconnaissance. Set up during the advent of the cold war in 1950, they patrol and enforce Danish sovereignty in NE Greenland. Soldiers patrol in pairs, using dog sleds. They travel independently for months at a time in the winter and cover a combined distance of 20,000 km. Volunteers sign up for this duty but need to satisfy a gruelling qualifying course before the elite, few, are chosen. These are properly hard men and are truly maintaining the Viking spirit. Women are allowed to apply – but so far nobody has. The name, Sirius, comes from the main star in the Canis Major constellation, also known as the Dog Star. Ironically, although Sirius is the brightest star in the night sky and is visible across most of the world, it is not visible at latitudes above 73°N – the location of the patrol’s main operational area.
Greenlandic sledge dogSirius base
We landed at their base but did not encounter any active Sirius solders. Instead, we had a pleasant walk up a hill to a view over the next fjord. We also saw a few dogs tied up outside but were warned to give them a wide berth. On the way back from our stroll we met a couple of “old dog men” as they introduced themselves to us. They had sailed up to the base in a small red boat just as they had been doing for years since they retired. We chatted a little about the old times and they reflected that this was probably their last trip up here.
Small red boat
By early afternoon everyone was back onboard, and we set sail for Reykjavik. There was no rush. We still had a long and spectacular trip back out along the fjord. Plenty of time to take in more of the austere rocky magnificence of the awesome cliffs and powerful glaciers. At the mouth of one wide valley that opened into the main fjord we spotted muskox. The name derives from the strong odour emitted by males during the seasonal rut. However, despite the name, muskox are more closely related to sheep or goats rather than oxen. Big, hairy things, they are up to 1.5 m at the withers and weigh up to 400 kg. Native to Greenland and Arctic Canada, they are well equipped for the conditions with thick, dark hair overlaying a lighter layer called qiviut that is prized for its softness and insulation value. Sadly, we could only see them from what seemed to be a great distance. Even with my best camera lens the animals can only be discerned as little dark blobs.
Muskox
Approaching the entrance to open water we came across drifting sea ice. Although well broken up, this was still thick and dense in places. Possibly strong enough to cause the Fram a few problems. We slowed right down and worked our way forward using the excellent manoeuvrability of the ship to dance round the larger icefloes and bergy bits. The sunset provided a perfect backdrop to the scene, and we enjoyed some spectacular dusk views while sitting out on deck with a glass of wine.
Next day we made our way serenely down the coast of Greenland. The captain kept a course close to the coast in case we might sight anything. All was peaceful on the Fram so we got to have a tour of the bridge. I could, at this stage, go off on a rant about the terrible state of digital chart systems in the over-regulated marine world. However, I could see that nothing much has changed, and I got bored of this rant fifteen or more years ago. Suffice it to say that the bridge was loaded with official, type approved navigation displays that were largely being ignored in favour of a small, cheap system designed for yachts. Diane got to sit in the captain’s chair. Late afternoon, the tannoy barked into life to announce polar bears. This was true but, again, they were far, far away. So, try as I might, I could only add little white blobs to my collection of animal pictures. That evening there was a little party in the bar. The following day we crossed the Denmark Straight ready to arrive back in Reyjavik early the next morning.
Northeast Greenland National Park is the world’s largest national park and largest terrestrial protected area in the world. At almost a million square kilometres it covers the whole of the top, righthand part of Greenland. Nobody permanently lives there. Typically, the wintering population, a mix of scientists and military, amounts to about thirty people. We had permission to visit a small part of the park.
Two days later, early in the morning, we sailed into Keiser Franz Josephs Fjord. The sky was dark and overcast. Fog clung to the mountains. The steep, dark and imposing fjord walls loomed over us. The place was dead. Usually, at sea, there is always some life around you. Sea birds, especially near land, things swimming in the water, occasionally animals on land. Here there was nothing. The land was steep, rocky, barren and almost lifeless. Just the occasional patches of rough grass and stunted plants. There was not a bird to be seen and the water remained still, dark, and deep. All felt a bit sinister. We stopped a couple of kilometres short of the snout of the massive Waltershausen Glacier. This is fed directly from the main Greenland ice sheet and is around 10 km wide.
The Fram has a Dynamic Positioning (DP) system. This keeps the vessel on station without needing to tie up or drop the anchor. It is rather clever while being extremely easy to use. Once the ship is in the required position and orientation, the skipper presses a button, and she simply stays there. Under the covers is a sophisticated process that monitors the ships position and orientation then uses the bow thrusters and azimuth pods to keep her there. This is an enormous benefit and allows the Fram to stop and deploy the RHIBs from a position that might be impossible to maintain otherwise. In front of the glacier the bottom is several hundreds of metres deep, far too deep to use an anchor. Elsewhere, it means that the seabed is not damaged unnecessarily. In the RHIBs we could get right up close to the glacier and see some of the very dark, old ice formed deep inside – ice that is possibly hundreds of years old.
In the afternoon we went for a walk. This is Greenland, it is not so simple to just go for a walk. First the “Expedition Team” go ashore and secure the area. They check for polar bears and set up sentries. They also unload a great pile of survival gear, food, shelter, and water, just in case we inadvertently get stuck ashore for a while. Then we can be ferried ashore by RHIB in small groups. One of the conditions of visiting the national park is that only a few people can go ashore at a time. We all keep our life jackets on in case we need to return to the boats in a hurry. This time, we also slapped on extra mosquito repellent. It was a pleasant walk and nice to get off the ship for a while. We climbed a small hill to take in a view of some lakes and the surrounding area. That done, and in the spirit of all great expeditions, we headed back to the Fram for diner, a glass of wine, and an early night. Next morning, we would find out about the Sirius dog patrol.
In the morning we were out messing around in boats. Small groups in each RHIB. Up close with the icebergs, getting a feel for the place from water level. This is a lot more fun that it might sound. The weather was warm and sunny. The sky was clear, the water was incredibly clear. Most of the ice we were looking at are lumps that have calved off the many glaciers flowing into Scoresbysund. The shapes of icebergs can be fascinating although you must treat them with a little caution. They are melting and can occasionally roll over or break into pieces. The wave caused by this could easily swamp a small boat and this is not a good place to go swimming.
Next day we moved further up the fjord for another landing. At our first landing, mosquitoes had savaged us. A few poor souls quite serious swellings. This put many people off, so they skipped the next trip ashore. Fortunately, the airborne molestation was not repeated and by the third landing we were back up to full numbers. In general, there are few insects in Greenland. It is all a matter choosing areas that do not have any swamps. If there is no stagnant water for the larvae to hatch, then then will not be any mosquitoes. In many ways, there is not much to do on these shore trips. Walk up a hill, admire the view, spot a few plants, take a few photographs, and enjoy the fresh air. At the same time, it was great to walk somewhere that hardly anyone else had ever been. To actually step foot on Greenland and try to connect with the place a little.
Following morning we woke to see the town of Ittoqqortoormiit outside our window. Ittoqqortoormiit means “the place with the big houses” in the East Greenlandic dialect. Despite several attempts I have not been able to pronounce it. The houses are quite large and certainly very colourful. There are very few settlements at all in east Greenland and this one, population 345, has been described as one of the most remote settlements on earth. We arrived the day after a cargo ship had turned up. Only a few vessels visit because sea ice closes off maritime access for much of the year. This meant the town was unusually busy with loading and mostly, unloading cargo. Everything came off in standard shipping containers. These were craned off the cargo ship one at a time to a small ferry that delivered them to the quayside. Here, they were collected by one of the towns two trucks and, I assume, delivered to their final recipient. The whole process seemed perfectly organised, so we stayed well out of the way. We did go ashore however and wandered around for a while. I know what it is like to live in an extremely remote place, so I had a small sense of what life might be like here. There are, however, some very striking differences between Ittoqqortoormiit and my old base in Antarctica. For a start, we only went there for two years. Importantly, we had everything provided for us. We were not trying to earn a living and raise a family. I think that fundamentally breaks the comparison even though there are similarities in terms of weather and isolation. We never needed to worry about polar bears in Antarctica and we never needed to go on hunting trips. There is good hunting in the area around Ittoqqortoormiit. Seals, walruses, narwhals, polar bears and Arctic foxes. This still forms the backbone of the economy although there is a slowly increasing income from tourism. Fishing is important during the summer months but becomes increasingly difficult when the sea ice forms.
In the evening, the Fram pulled out of the harbour area, and we set a course for the Greenland National Park. Only the Danish Sirius patrol and a small number of hunters from Ittoqqortoormiit are allowed to enter the North-east national park without special permission. We had no idea what the Sirius patrol was, but we had just received permission for a visit. I amused myself for a while trying to photograph the Black Guillemots hanging around on lumps of sea ice. These are ridiculously cute birds. Eventually I gave up and went to check out the cocktail of the day in the bar.
Just after lunch, we joined the Hurtigruten ship, the Fram, in Reykjavik and easily settled into our cabin. The ship slipped her moorings early evening. By the time we had finished dinner, Iceland was receding far into the distance. Next day we spent the morning catching up on some sleep before wandering out on deck to discover that whales had been seen while we still in bed. Never mind, we had plenty of time on the Fram and hopefully there would be much more to see. We spent the rest of the day finding our way around the ship and enjoying the sense of anticipation. The next two weeks would be about exploring East Greenland. New places ahead.
Next morning we awoke in time for breakfast and there was sea ice. This was quite exciting and, for me, brought back many memories of the last time I had been in sea ice some thirty years earlier. The ship had come to a dead halt. It was explained to us that we had to get past this ice before we could get into Scoresbysund Fjord, the first of two large fjord systems we hoped to visit. We bobbed around there for the rest of the day and by the next morning we were still bobbing around in pretty much the same place. Back in the day, on my old BAS ship, the Bransfield, we would have easily smashed through this small ice floe. The Fram however, is a much more delicate vessel. She has a bulbous bow. Great for stability when cruising but hopeless in ice. She also uses azimuth pods, again, great for manoeuvring but a bit fragile for ice work. The Fram is ice strengthened and rated for polar operations – but anything other than very thin ice needs to be avoided. In the evening a shore lead finally opened and next morning we were in Scoresbysund ready to go ashore.
To a good approximation, we are in the middle of nowhere here. There are no facilities, no landing stages, no roads or tracks. Just wilderness and the odd polar bear. Everyone had been issued with heavy duty neoprene wellington boots called muckboots. We also had waterproof jackets and inflatable life jackets. Thus prepared we were ready to be ferried ashore in RHIBs. First an armed party needed to secure the area. Polar Bears are not common but they are very, very dangerous. So the first people ashore carry rifles and flare guns. Their job is to scout the area and then to stand guard. When the passengers land we are instructed to stay within a marked trail. On the hillsides around us stand people with rifles. Gives the place a slight sense of a day out from prison. We had a pleasant walk, took in some views, looked at some flowers and got eaten alive by mosquitoes. I have encountered mosquitoes many times before and can confidently assert that these are the worst ever. They are quite capable of biting though thick trousers and socks. Later I discovered that some people had reacted very badly to them and needed treatment. Diane and I were prepared with insect repellent from Finland (strong stuff) but even so I got nasty bites on my legs and chest. It was several days before the swelling went down.
With everyone back on the ship, we could continue along the fjord. Scoresbysund branches like a tree. The main trunk is 110 km long before it branches into multiple channels up to 350 km long. This makes it possibly the largest fjord system in the world. It is deep too. From 600 m down to 1,450 m in places. The walls are steep and imposing. They rise to 2,000 m and are punctuated by many glaciers. This rock is old, very, very old. Whereas, Iceland is geologically brand new at a mere 16 million years, Greenland rock dates back over 3 billion years. Almost to the birth of the planet. In Iceland the strata was simple and mostly flat, here the rocks are bent and twisted. Geological forces, the collision of continents, intense heat from deep underground and time, an awful lot of time, have shaped and reshaped the rock. Folding and twisting. Cracking it open and filling the gaps with molten rock. Then folding and twisting it again. Finally, ice sheets and glaciers carve great fissures deep into the strata, laying it bare and exposing the great metamorphic complexity to the world. There is so much raw history in the walls of these fjords as to be breath-taking at times. Dark, austere, imposing and powerful like some hallowed monument celebrating the dawn of planet earth. That day and much of the next, we made our way slowly through this amazing network of channels. I saw very little life. There is some here but it is sparse. Patches of grasses growing in flat areas near the water was the most of it. Very occasionally there was a bird. Of animals on the land or in the sea we saw nothing.
There are an awful lot of waterfalls in Iceland. Some estimates reach 10,000. Truly a fabulous place for a cascade connoisseur. We are strictly amateur in our appreciation of waterfalls. However, we did discover that our increasingly bold offroad excursions were often rewarded by some terrific cataracts in places that were a little more remote and a little less crowded. From Húsavík we continued west, via several lovely waterfalls, round the coast to the Hofssadir Guesthouse. This was another lovely place to stay where we had our own little shed complete with large French windows and a little patio.
Next day was quite a long drive. Obviously we stopped at a few waterfalls but eventually we ended up right out on the Snæfellsnes Peninsula. This is a very dramatic landscape in the far west of Iceland dominated by the glacier capped, Snæfellsjökull volcano, a 700,000 year old stratovolcano. Our knowledge of volcanoes increases by the day, so I can tell you that a stratovolcano is one that keeps erupting. Snæfellsjökull last erupted about 2,000 years ago. The volcano has many pyroclastic cones on its upper slopes while lower down are craters that produced basaltic lava flows. The whole area is dominated by the multiple lava flows of many eruptions. Volcano fans would not be at all surprised to learn that Jules Verne’s famous novel Journey to the Center of the Earth was set here. The general rule in Iceland appears to be that if it looks like a volcano then it probably is. If it does not have a crater then it erupted under the ice during the last ice age. Easy. In the morning we walked up a little volcanic cone right next to road. A steel staircase had been thoughtfully constructed to help us and we did not have to pay to park there. We were very impressed.
We drove directly inland for a couple of hours to visit a volcanic cave, a lava tube Víðgelmir. I had cheerfully assured Diane that it was not a real cave because they only occur in limestone and are caused by the action of water dissolving the rock. However, I had to back-track on this a bit because, much to my surprise, the tube did contain many cave-like features. It was formed as the lava cooled. The low viscosity surface flow cooled enough to create a solid crust forming a roof above the more fluid lava below. The crust is good thermal insulation and so hot lava continued to flow underneath until eventually draining out downhill and emptying the tube. That was in 900 AD so it has had a chance to cool off. You can clearly see how the flow has filled the glacial U shaped valley giving it a flat bottom. We were kitted out with helmets and lamps before being taken down a wooden access ladder that descends through a hole in the surface crust. The tube is long, 1½ km, so we were underground for the best part of an hour. Lighting and walkways have been installed making it a very easy trip. The first cave-like feature I noticed was some stalagmites. Admittedly these were made of ice but even so they were caused by water seeping into the tunnel through cracks just like a real cave. Then I spotted real stalagmites on the ceiling. There were two main types. The first were small, rounded drips which I imagined were formed just after the tube had drained but while it was still very hot and the walls were “wet” with molten rock. The second type we longer and more delicate caused by minerals separating out into liquids with a slightly lower melting point so that they dripped through into the main tube. We saw several other features which reminded me of calcite flows but were actually molten rock running down the walls in different ways.
That was it. We were done with Iceland for now. I dropped Diane off at the hotel in Reykjavik, took the car back to the hire company and enjoyed a pleasant walk back to the hotel. We had a ship to meet the next afternoon, which left us just enough time in the morning to meet up with a correspondent friend called Jón who lives in Iceland. He is building his own expedition truck so we had plenty to talk about. He gave us a brief tour of Reykjavik in his car and his wife prepared a light lunch. It was delightful, thank you.
South of the Vatnajökull icecap are vast plains that are occasionally inundated with glacial meltwater. In places you can see where dykes have been built to try and control this. In other places are previous generations of bridges that have been destroyed. Several glacial tongues push down towards the coast. These have been receding for a few hundreds of years and a couple of them have created lakes by leaving a large terminal moraine that blocks the valley. The weather was a bit gloomy but we still enjoyed walking around one of these lakes and watching the occasional bit of ice fall of the glacier. The next lake we came across had an outlet to the sea. Small lumps of ice can drift out through this and then get washed up on the “Diamond” beach. This is an immense tourist draw. Took a while to find space in the car park. Then I had to wait ages just to get a photograph of a small section of the beach that was not full of people waving their phones around. Thirty minutes later, three photographs and a substantial parking fee later, we left. I hope you enjoy the picture.
We pressed on, taking in the scenery and wondering why there were so many ponies. Properly, the Icelandic breed are referred to as horses. Please do not ask me why or what the difference is. By law, horses cannot be imported to Iceland. Even horses from Iceland cannot come back if they leave. There is just the one sort of equine animal here but there is an awful lot of them. We saw the occasional group out pony trekking, or is that horse trekking? Otherwise, they mostly appeared to be quite happily standing around in fields. We rounded the bottom, right-hand corner of Iceland and had just started making our way north when we came across a flock of swans. We have seen swans before. Usually in small groups. Here we were confronted with 200 or more of them. In a sea water fjord. Whooper swans I think but I will cheerfully admit I know almost as little about swans as I do horses. Made for a very nice scene.
By the evening we had arrived at the little village of Fáskrúðsfjörður, pop 650. The hotel used to be a French hospital looking after fisherman until 1935. This clearly made a big impression on the residents because the village still sports bilingual signs indicating street names in Icelandic and French. The French cemetery with 49 graves of fishermen possibly indicates how busy the hospital was. We arrived just as celebrations for “French Day” were getting into full swing and the place was heaving with French visitors. In the evening there were fireworks. Sadly the weather remained stubbornly overcast and raining. This plus the lack of darkness at this time of year meant the display was not quite at its best.
In the morning we drove the long way round the headland and were rewarded with some terrific views. We then pushed on into the northern part of Iceland and for a few brief hours started to feel like we had left the crowds behinds. There were a few detours, involving dirt tracks, to visit yet more waterfalls. Iceland has a lot of waterfalls in gorges. Apparently this sort of topology is typical of young mountains. Iceland is very young, only 16 million years old – a mere blink on the geological timescale. The young Iceland is perched on top of a massive magma column that reaches deep into the depths of the planet. It erupts onto the surface from time to time. Elsewhere, just a few tens of metres separate the surface from fiery, subterranean heat. In these places the ground can feel alive. Pools of boiling mud, spouts of boiling water and steam escaping from many vents. Multicoloured deposits and the smell of sulphur and worse in the air. Also, there are pay car parks with number recognition cameras.
Having paid our dues, literally, we pressed on across a long mountain road through the highlands. There were lupins here. Brightly coloured flowering lupins alongside many of the roads. These looked lovely. I even took some photographs of them. However, it turns out that all is not well with Lupinus Arcticus in Iceland. Despite being very pretty, it is an invasive species. Introduced from Alaska in 1945 it is doing very well but displacing many types of native plant species. Recent studies show that the resultant decrease in diversity is bad for the pollinating insect population. We met some of these pollinators at the next hotel. Great crowds of them swarming around your head at the slightest opportunity. Fortunately they were not the biting type but they flew into your mouth and ears and eyes making them thoroughly irritating. Why were they trying to pollinate me when there were lots of lupins to go at?
Puffin IslandNot far underground it is very hot
The morning came when we were going to see the whales. Húsavík bills itself as the ‘whale watching capital of the world’ and there may be some justification for this. We were loaded into a rather smart and powerful RHIB along with ten other people. A RHIB, rigid hull inflatable boat, is ideal for this job. Stable, light, fast and seaworthy. As we set off out of the harbour I reflected on how we were going to see whales in a boat invented in Wales. First stop was an island full of puffins. They were very cute and very numerous. Further out into the fjord we caught sight of other whale spotting boats and then there were whales. Loads of them Humpbacks. Each one would come to the surface for a breath, bob up and down once or twice and then lift their tail into the air as they dived. In a couple of hours we saw a dozen or more whales. All quite remarkable really and we were easily getting close enough to take some great photographs. I wondered a little if the whales were bothered by the boats buzzing around but I hope they were not. There is really an awful lot of space in the Skjálfandi bay and the animals could easily have stayed away from the boats if they wanted to. The boats always tried to avoid getting too close or in front of the whale. Trip over, we had a light lunch while we calmed down. The car was now looking quite embarrassingly filthy and we still had plenty of driving to do.
Reykjavik is among the cleanest, greenest, and safest cities in the world. It is small, with a population of just 140,000 and very popular with tourists. Our first hotel was right in the centre. We stepped out of the door onto a walking street packed with souvenir stores and restaurants. The weather was mild and we had a pleasant couple of hours looking at the vast range of goods onto which the image of a puffin can be displayed. Diane eventually settled on a t-shirt and some puffin socks. We also encountered some enormous stuffed polar bears, a vast array of woollen goods, mugs, walking sticks and more fridge magnets than I have ever seen. Eventually we ended up eating noodles with expensive cheap wine at a Vietnamese restaurant. Alcohol is expensive at the bars and restaurants so, apparently, people tend to drink before going out. Beer is becoming increasingly popular and Beer Day celebrating the legalisation of beer in 1989, is celebrated every March 1st. Before then, Iceland was in the rather odd position where strong spirits were legal but beer was not.
In the morning I collected our hire car and we set off for the “Golden Circle”. The name is a bit of a tourist gimmick applied to a trio of sights readily accessible from Reykjavik; a tectonic rift, a waterfall and some hot springs. It is not really a circle but more of a triangle. The name “Golden Triangle” has been used by the CIA since the 1950s to identify an area of illicit opium production north of Thailand so this might give the wrong sort of impression. Fortunately, there is a mathematic theorem stating that just one circle can be drawn through any three given non-collinear points, you and I would call this a triangle. So I guess the tourist board went for this.
Our first stop was the Þingvellir National Park. This was the site of Alþing, the annual parliament of Iceland since 930 ad. From 1881 they have used a rather nice and much more comfortable building in Reykjavik. Much more interesting to me is that this is a rift valley. The very line where the North American and European tectonic plates are pulling apart. The width of the valley increases by about 2cm a year. My back-of-an-envelope calculation initially suggested that Iceland is getting bigger by 5 sq km a year but later I discovered that coastal erosion balances the expansion so the overall land area remains constant.
Next stop was the hot springs, steam vents, and sulphurous mud pots at Geysir. This was the original geyser from where the name came. It seldom spouts these days but fortunately the Strokkur geyser just a few metres away reliably gushes boiling water up to 30 m into the air every ten minutes or so. During the wait some people inevitably accumulate on the downwind side of the water spout and then get soaked when the great belch of water, steam and sulphurous fumes erupts. I found this oddly satisfying to watch.
Last stop of the day was Gulfoss, a magnificent waterfall that attracts crowds of thousands each day. It is aesthetically a very nice waterfall. There is an awful lot of water doing more than its fair share of falling and is worth a visit. We did find the crowds a bit too intrusive.
Our plan was to circumnavigate Iceland, anti-clockwise in ten days. We had pre-booked the car, the hotels and a route plan. This is quite a popular package and we found ourselves bumping into the same people in the evening at each successive hotel. First step next day was the Lava Centre in Hella. This hosts some very impressive displays to explain the vulcanology of Iceland. It also cost £45 entrance for the two of us. Such is the cost of things in Iceland. We did learn quite a bit and enjoyed some of the displays but in less than an hour we had read all the explanations and were ready to move on.
Next came another very impressive waterfall. Paying at the car park was mandatory and then there was a large queue of people up to what was, presumably, the perfect view point. I took a photograph from the roadside and we pressed on. As we distanced ourselves from Reykjavik, the traffic became less and we started to feel we were getting away from the crowds.
Right down in the most southern part of Iceland, below the Mýrdalsjökull icecap, are the black sand beaches. Lovely sandy beaches with, as you might have guessed, black sand formed from volcanic rock. This was also where all the crowds had come. We avoided the car park fee simply because the car park was chock packed full. We had to walk quite a long way down the road instead. The beach was interesting and we found some lovely basalt columns. Eventually the squabbling children left and could get a photograph unadorned with colourful little darlings. We also spotted some eternally cute Puffins nesting high up on the cliffs. They were safely above the reach of the tourists however the tourists were still well within range of the Puffins, who, being clean Puffins, preferred not to use their cliff as a toilet. Actually, I have heard that Puffins build a separate part of their nest cave as a bathroom. This may be true but I know what I would do if I were a Puffin.
That evening we stayed at the wonderful Magma Hotel. There is a main building for reception and the restaurant. The rooms are a short walk away. Each ‘room’ is actually a wooden hut. Very comfortable and self-contained. The rooms were arranged so that each one featured a large window and balcony overlooking a lake. I enjoyed myself trying to photograph some of the birds fishing in the evening.
Come morning we were ready to set off across the glacial outburst plains below the mighty Vatnajökull icecap. This is the largest glacier in Iceland and occasionally causes a few problems. Volcanoes can erupt underneath the ice creating large pockets of melt water. Occasionally one of these will burst causing a deluge of flood water. The first part of our route took us past yet more waterfalls and then across a rocky plain created long ago by a massive flood of lava from one of the many volcanoes on Vatnajökull. This was a bleak and desolate place with just some sort of lichen growing on the tumbled mass of rock. In the distance we could see glacial tongues reaching down from the icecap above.
We went on an organised motorcycle tour. We had signed up quite a while ago. The trip was organised by Paul Beattie, my motorcycle instructor of a few years ago and mostly involved a group of friends we had met through motorcycling. Seven years ago we had all done a very enjoyable trip around Scotland. Ireland offered the chance for another great journey and to catch up with friends. It also made a novel change to how we normally travel. Usually I plan ahead but not too far, we can change our plans easily. This time, I did not have to worry about where we were going, we just had to turn up at the right place at the right time. Day by day instructions were on my phone, the route was loaded into my satnav. We no longer had many choices but we were ready to go.
Our trip actually started in North Wales, at Betws-y-coed, in a lovely little cottage about the size of a toolshed. We came here to make an easy start for the journey. Most of the others would be up early to get to Holyhead for the afternoon ferry. We opted for a more leisurely approach. Next day we took a lovely route through the mountains of what used to be called Snowdonia. The mountain range has a different name now. Not sure of the new name, I imagine it to be unpronounceably Welsh but I do not really care. I was brought up walking and climbing in Snowdonia and there is no way that will ever change inside my head. I do wonder however, what authority it takes to change the name of a mountain range. What group of people feel they have the right to change important place names? Snowdonia is a fabulous UK national treasure so possibly nothing short of a national referendum should be needed. Caution though. We have encountered problems with badly thought out referenda in the past. Making significant changes on the basis of insignificant majorities leads to instability and unrest. I would also suggest that a pre-determined majority, say 65%, should always be required as an indicator for major policy changes.
The sound of screaming engines focused me back in reality. Having shunned the main road we drove around the coast and stumbled across a motor racing circuit where some sort of track-day was happening. This looked great fun. We watched for a while as an assortment of riders of wildly different skill levels wrestled their street bikes around the track. Eventually, dragged ourselves away and presented ourselves at the Holyhead MacDonalds to meet up with the others. Ten of us in total. A motley crew of aging, overweight bikers making more than our fair share of engine noise. The ferry was straightforward. Dublin was busy but the rather nice hotel was only a short way. Not long afterwards we were heading down O’Connell Street looking for somewhere to eat.
In the morning, we set off for the anti-clockwise circum-navigation of Ireland. Diane and I made a heroic effort to get up early but were still last to breakfast. By the time we were ready to start riding everyone else was long gone. This seemed to set a pattern for the rest of the trip. The concierge took us down to the underground car park and casually mentioned that our bike, the last one there, had a flat tyre. This was very worrying and could easily cost us a day or two stuck in Dublin. However, as we neared the bike he conceded that the puncture was a joke. I smiled weakly but in my mind had already smashed him firmly in the face and was considering kicking him as he rolled on the floor.
Up the coast through the lovely Mourne Mountains to a ferry where we briefly met up with the others. After lunch they gave us the slip again but we were happy following the coast northwards. We skipped past Belfast on the motorway network and arrived at hotel number two a little way further north. Next day was a tour of the Giant’s Causeway and other NI tourist attractions. We had been here a few years ago, so instead we followed a very tiny road to the far top right-hand corner of Ireland. Here, at Torr Head, we were rewarded with peace and quiet and terrific views across the sea to Scotland. Encroaching rain and wind encouraged us to get on with the riding. We made our way to Portrush just as the sun was returning. Parked up at the very cosy B&B then wandered into town to find a perfect gin & tonic on the balcony of the old lifeboat station.
First café next day was the Pickled Duck in Derry. For me, the name alone made it worth a visit. There was more rain and as we came into Derry we caught up with Paul and Jeannot. They split at a junction. We followed Paul, figuring he was most likely going the right way since he planned the route. However, he did an unexpected double loop of a roundabout and we lost him. Undeterred, we found the Duck as the rain was getting heavier. Cappuccino with some mushrooms on toast made for an excellent second breakfast by which time we had dried out a bit and were keen to get back on the road. The rest of the day was mostly about rain. Final call was a stone circle which, when we finally found it and walked down the track, was a handful of small rocks. I took a photograph of some cows instead.
Group photograph
The next couple of days we crossed and recrossed the border to Ireland several times. As promised by numerous politicians, this remains frictionless, although it is quite clear which side you are on by the density of Union flags. I could not help reflecting on how this border, which is now a boundary between the UK and the EU has to remain sacrosanct while other UK, EU borders are being reinforced and becoming increasingly difficult to cross. Border controls are now in place for traffic across the Irish Sea to NI. The UK is possibly unique in having an internal international border. To my mind, this all serves to illustrate how ludicrous and artificial Brexit is. Whatever your opinion, it is hard to see how this border situation can be tenable. The riding was good if a bit damp. There was plenty more rain but realistically this is just part of bike riding. Especially in Ireland. We had two long riding days roughly following the Wild Atlantic Way. Fabulous scenery, wild cliff tops, open moorland and quiet, rolling roads. We stayed at a posh hotel in Galway that turned out to be rubbish. It was probably much nicer back in the day but had been sitting on its laurels too long. We rode right out onto the Dingle peninsular, which was terrific, and ended up in an interesting hotel in Killarney that featured an immense rainbow flag outside a pink themed bar inside. The room proved to be very nice.
A rare sighing of our fellow ridersAnne respecting the sheep Best name for a cafe
Diane and I are the odd ones out in this group. For a start we have never travelled with Globebusters. This is a company that organises motorcycle trips. Everyone else had been on grand adventures with them. South Africa, Patagonia, China and elsewhere. Paul had organised this trip just like a Globebusters trip. It was all a bit new to us but comfortably familiar to everyone else. Secondly, we were the only KTM on a BMW outing. KTM (Kraftfahrzeuge Trunkenpolz Mattighofen) are based in Austria, BMWMotorad (Bayerische Motoren Werke) are based in Germany. Both companies have built bikes since the 1920 and, worldwide, KTM sell about twice as many as BMW. I am assured, by the BMW riders that KTM has a poor reputation for reliability. My experience is limited but our current bike has already done 14,000 faultless miles and not quite reached its first birthday. From my point of view, I still feel too young to ride a BMW. Each to their own. We are the only bike with a pillion. It does make the bike a bit heavier, slower and harder to handle but suits us well. Diane has no ambition to ride a bike. Finally, we were the only bike to get knocked down. This happened approaching Killarny. We were stopped, at a stop sign, when someone drove into the back of us. Fortunately no one was hurt and there was not much damage. Luckily he did not hit us square on because we would then have ended up lying in the busy main road. After everyone had calmed down a bit and the police had visited, we negotiated the cost of damaged paniers and went our own ways.
We stayed two nights in Killarny. This gave us a chance to ride the picturesque Ring of Kerry. The route started up some winding mountain roads where we had to bunny hop past slow tourist traffic. Further on the road opened up towards the Skellig islands. On Great Skellig are the remains of the Skellig Michael monastery which has since been revealed as a Jedi temple and final home of Luke Skywalker. Unfortunately we did not have time to visit the island although, heading back, we managed to slip an extra and completely unauthorised ferry trip into the route. We arrived back in Killarny feeling much calmer and more relaxed than on the first night and rounded off the day with an excellent curry.
In the morning we set off for the Ring of Beara. Heavy rain was forecast until late morning so we lazed around, pretty much like we normally do in the morning, before setting off around 11am . Heading south west, again, through the Killarny National Park we noticed several new waterfalls since the day before. Pushing further south we rode out into the wilderness of the Beara Peninsula with tremendous sea views, mountains, moorlands and winding roads. On the way back we stopped at a Buddhist retreat for tea, a sandwich and some calm peacefulness. Lovely. Last item on the official agenda was kissing the Blarney stone at Blarney castle near Cork. At €20 a snog, we decided to leave this to those that had a reason to kiss a rock.
Travelling around Ireland is usually a story involving rain. The next day was no exception. We stopped at Dungarvan for a quick look at the remains of the castle and a very good espresso from a van by the docks. Next stop was Tipperary, I am not going to say anything about how far it was but will mention that it was tipping it down with rain. The town was crowded and wet so we pushed on. Kilkenny was a similar story. Packed with tourists and throwing it down with rain. We glimpsed the long queue to visit the castle and carried on to the hotel.
Last day in Ireland took us over the surprisingly remote and very pretty Wicklow mountains. Mid-morning we met up with the others at a café. For a moment there looked to be the possibility of a group ride to the wonderfully named Deke’s Diner and then on to the port. There might even have been a group ride, I do not know because yet again, they gave us the slip even though we left less than a minute later. I followed the route carefully on my satnav and we arrived at the port. No sign of Deke’s Diner or everyone else. Not really sure how they managed this but this is why, in all the photographs from the trip there are virtually none of the other riders. We did not mind, this just seems to be the way. They turned up, together, about 15 minutes later and we all happily boarded the ferry back to England.
Diane and I have packed the bike away for the winter now. This may seem a bit premature but we have great plans, starting with Iceland. We will be back on the bike but it is going to be a long break.
We had arranged to meet the indomitable Lars and Inge in France. They had driven from Denmark for the Le Mans 24. Last year we had found the crowds a but much at Le Mans so we just planned a short trip to meet up with our friends. While thinking about the best way to cross the channel, it occurred to us that we had never been to the Channel Islands. Using Condor ferries we could go Poole -> Guernsey -> St Malo and come back via Jersey. This is how we found ourselves, a few days later, on a high speed trimaran doing 35 knots towards Saint Peter Port.
Guernsey was a bit damp and overcast. We had a ride around the island. This did not take long, it is only about 10 km across in any direction. There were a few nice beaches and coves linked by a myriad of small roads. My overall impression was to do with how compact the whole place is. Houses and buildings everywhere. Not a square inch of space going to waste anywhere. If you ever wanted to get away from it all don’t come here. The hotel was lovely and very welcoming. In the morning, we went round the island the other way, just in case we had missed anything, and hopped onto the ferry to St Malo.
Saint Malo
The old part of St Malo looms impressively above the port as a solid block of four story stone buildings. It is surrounded by a large wall and you enter through one of the impressive gateways. Inside is a labyrinth of cobbled street, small shops, restaurants and bars. We stayed at the Hotel Nautilus, right in the centre. Recommended. The owner is very friendly and helpful. He has a small garage, where he keeps his Harley and where we could also park our bike overnight. Just up the road was a wonderful vegetarian restaurant. We sat at a table on the cobbles and Diane had to move her chair in occasionally to let cars past. The food was terrific, tasty and imaginative. Finally, we took a stroll round the ramparts to watch the sun set over the ocean.
Heading east from St Malo for a couple of hours brought us to the town of Falaise, birthplace of William the Conqueror, first of the Norman Kings of England. Just south of here is a small, converted barn that we had rented for a couple of nights. Lar and Inge, still driving the 1975 Volvo 303, arrived and hour or so later. We sat up until late around the barbeque chatting and catching up. Back in Falaise, the next day, we explored the castle and ended up having a big history lesson. The castle has been partially renovated but also patched up using modern materials. We were each given an iPad through which, in each of the castle’s many rooms, you could view how it might have looked back in Norman times. A combination of virtual reality and augmented reality that was really quite effective. We learnt how William, a direct descendant of Rollo the Viking, consolidated Normandy before taking the English crown after the battle of Hastings. England and Normandy and a large area of France remained a single kingdom, the Angevin Empire under the control of the House Plantagenet, until the Wars of the Roses in the late 15th century. I sometimes think modern politicians could do with a better understanding of long and common history of France and England. The day was rounded off with cheese toasties and beer sitting outside a classic café. Perfect.
History lessonsFalaise castleMont Saint Michel
In the morning we breakfasted on “Eggs in purgatory” – eggs poached in a spicy tomato sauce with chunks of fresh, crusty bread. Lars and Inge set off to explore some of the WW2 sites in Normandy while Diane and I headed for the evening ferry to Jersey. Along the way we followed the coast and came across Mont Saint Michel – a striking looking island, abbey and fortress that rises steeply from the sea. Sadly we did not have time to visit but we did collect a small bottle of Calvados from one of the many local sellers.
Previously I only knew a few things about Jersey such as Jersey butter, Jersey milk, Jersey cream and Jersey Royal potatoes. This led me to imagine Jersey as being predominantly fields of happy cows interspersed with potato patches. The reality is more like a massive and spread out housing estate full of old people. Bailiwick of Jersey is a self-governing British Crown Dependency. It is not part of the UK – as my phone provider was keen to point out just after slapping me with a load of roaming charges. Jersey was part of the Duchy of Normandy and remained loyal to England when Normandy was lost to the English Kings in the 13th century but never became part of the Kingdom of England. Being on the border between England and France, the island was at the fore in the Anglo-French wars and was invaded several times up to the end of the Napoleonic wars. In WW2 the island was invaded and held by the Germans for five years. The main source of income for Jersey is financial services, not cows. In fact, we never saw a cow in the two days we were there. I now suspect that name ‘Jersey’ is given to a breed of cows and that Jersey milk comes from Jersey cows that have never been anywhere near Jersey. Anyhow, Jersey is one of the world’s largest offshore finance centres and has often been accused of being a tax haven. Agriculture accounts for just 1.2% of the island’s GVA. There are some interesting signs of the money around the island. Public toilets for example. Something which appears to be rapidly going out of fashion in most of the UK. Clean, well kept, free to use, public toilets. Very handy. Also parking space by the beaches, coves and harbours. Free parking up to twelve hours. Lovely. A few odd things as well such as the expensive sports cars on a tiny island with a maximum speed limit anywhere of 40 mph. I can see the appeal as a retirement location, if you can afford it (average house price £567,000). Mild climate, nice little beaches, quiet pace of life, comfortable life style mixing with other retirees who are similarly comfortably off.
Calvados
At the top, right-hand corner of the island we found a pair of immense wicker-work puffins. Momentarily excited at the prospect of seeing real puffins we read the associated plaques and discovered that, these days, the iconic Atlantic Puffin colonies of Jersey are down to just 4 breeding pairs. Fishing, pollution and rats are blamed.
