finding our own line across the hardangervidda
Sometimes you take a trip, and sometimes a trip takes you. Our Hardangervidda expedition in Norway took me skin and blood, sweat and pulse. After 15 days of skiing and camping, my feet were cratered with blisters, my ankles were sore and oozing, my legs were wincing - and I was completely smitten with this trackless land of cold and white.
"Rapture is the only sensible response," mused Ed Hoagland, "where a clear line of sight remains." Accordingly, we tried to keep lines of sight clear on the plateau. The Hardangervidda didn't always cooperate, of course, but every paradise exacts a penance. In this case: nights of truly terrifying cold, days defined by minus forty winds, feet reduced to raw nubs, food reduced to noodles and liver paste. Bliss, served with a side of blizzard.