Original Post • May 24, 2019
Norway has been on my mind for quite a while now.
If you haven’t already gathered by now, I love to travel and I love the wild. If at any point the two of those things coincide, I am literally in heaven. Norway was not the first foreign soil I stepped onto, nor is it in any way the last. It was, however, the first trip that fully introduced me to the world of extreme sports, like BASE jumping.
Now, if you don’t have any idea what BASE jumping is, you aren’t alone. And, if you come to think that it is crazy, I am right there with ya. B.A.S.E. is an acronym that stands for Building, Antenna, Span, and Earth… and people go jump off of them. Of course they have a parachute, but still. Crazy. More on that later.
The Journey
Our ultimate destination was a small fjord village called Lysebotn which is home to the Stavenger Base Klub (SBK). It was May 21, 2013 when we boarded our flight across the pond toward Amsterdam and it was here that we would switch airlines and continue our journey into Norway. Now, at this point, we were seasoned travelers. We packed light and never checked bags. This time around was different. Norway was and is expensive… too expensive for a professional and a half (me, I was the half.. anddd I was still siphoning money for college).
Early on in the planning stages it was clear that renting a room at a Bed and Breakfast (really the only option for a room in the village) was out of the question. If we were going to make this trip work financially, we were going to have to camp and honestly, that was quite alright with me. Aaron, my husband at the time, notably hated camping, and after spending a few years in Pennsylvania with some pretty decent hiking/camping opportunities that were never even discussed, I saw this as a chance for the tide to turn. So, in the cheapest expandable duffle bag (yes, everything had to fit in one) that Walmart could offer, and with all the force that my body could muster, I happily finagled and stuffed and squashed all of our camping gear down and got that zipper to close.
That zipper though… it was tighter than a cow’s bumhole in fly season and ready to rip at any moment.
The airline change in Amsterdam was fairly uneventful. We confirmed that our checked bag (the temporary living quarters) was going to be forwarded to our final destination, grabbed a small bite to eat, and boarded the next leg of our journey to Stavenger, Norway. It was now the next day, May 22, 2013, which happened to be our 3 year anniversary, and we were living large!
We waited around the baggage carousel, for our tent, for quite a while until we realized that everyone was gone with their bags. Ours wasn’t there. The one and only time we checked a bag internationally, it was lost. After an hour or so talking it over with the baggage operators, they had located our bag and it was set to arrive on the next flight- the next day. OK, no problem. We just need to grab the rental car and work on finding a room for the night…
Nope. It was high season and although we acquired a rental car just fine, every hotel in Stavenger was either sold out or $500 USD per night. Aaron at one point was willing to splurge. Being our anniversary, he tried everything he could to find us a room. We drove around in our rental car making phone calls for hours. I was finally able to convince him that it really was OK if we slept in the car, even if it was our anniversary (I kind of liked the idea to be honest- you know, in the spirit of adventure). He finally agreed to end the search and we made our way out to a fairly secluded spot, put sheets up in the windows (OK so not everything ended up fitting in the duffle), and called it a night.
(Can I just say I am recapping this trip from 6 years ago while on a bus to Disney Gradventure with a bunch of 5th graders… all screaming SO AND SO LIKES SO AND SO in chant.)
Anyway, the next morning went off without a hitch. We showed up at the airport, quickly swiped our bag, then made a quick stop off at a local grocery store before beginning the 3 hour drive to Lysbotn. We knew that groceries were going to be the most challenging part of this adventure. There is no grocery store in Lysebotn, so we were sure to get enough supplies to last us the 7 days. We did get a few fruits (that lasted maybe into day two), but to last the whole trip we knew we had to load up on a lot of dry foods- cookies, flatbread, peanut butter, and… no, that was pretty much it. Oh, a loaf of bread (how could I forget?)… We did not pack any type of cooking apparatus, which in hindsight may have made things a bit easier. Actually looking back on it now, it seems rather foolish not to have a way to cook warm meals, but I’ll let it slide considering it was really our first low key camping trip. Hey, in the end we did survive! There were times however, when I thought our chances for survival were as skinny as a hipster’s jeans. The drive was one of them.
Lysebotn is a village that can be accessed either by ferry or by car and since the car was the cheapest mode, it was the obvious choice for this budget trip. And, that drive was an experience all of its own, to say the least.
I will say most of it was uneventful albeit b e a u t i f u l. There was a haze set on the landscape and the air smelled crisp through the slight gap in the window. It was cold enough outside to have the heat running, but hot enough inside to need to strike that balance by cracking the window just a smidge. The landscape was simply breathtaking. Then came the part that actually did the breath-taking. For about the last hour of the drive we were forced to brave highly precarious roads. They were narrow, snowy, and snakey. Very snakey. Actually, I’m not sure that you could characterize me as brave in those moments. Aaron seemed OK from what I could see through the slits between the fingers covering my eyes.
We were driving along Lysevegen (FV500), the road that takes you down into Lysebotn. This road has a 9.4% average road grade and 32 sharp bends across its 18 miles with 27 of them being in quick succession, and it is s i n g l e – l a n e d. It is considered one of the most dangerous roads in the world. I mean, of course we were on it. I think I faintly remember having stomach cramps as a result of the stress of that drive. I think the onset was about the time we entered that single lane tunnel (Lysetunnelen) which has 3 hairpin turns throughout. Tunnels are dark. I hate tunnels. Especially single-lane death trap ones. And when I thought my anxiety could not possibly get any worse, mere minutes after surviving Lysetunnelen, longboarders whizzed by, jolly as could be, as if death wasn’t looming beyond every hairpin curve. Unbelievable. We had a very memorable chat with them later.
It was as if the heavens had opened when the road straightened out towards Lysefjord (the flooded glacial valley of Lysebotn with 3000ft towering cliffs on each side). My senses quickly became overloaded. The view was a complete fairytale. In the sky remained that mystical haze against a brilliant cool blue, the cliffs disappearing some unrealized distance into the fog. The grass was as green as Elphaba, and the sheep were… not as white as snow, but not to worry, I would take all the sheep in the world, any color. Nothing could change the feeling that I had at that moment. The quaint village town with no grocery store (and sheep for days) was rapidly nestling into one of the most barren corners of my heart. The spot carved out by what the Germans call “fernweh” which means homesick for a place you’ve never been to. This place was hitting that spot.
The Settlement
We drove around for a short time looking for a spot to nestle our “house” for the next little while. There were quite a few areas in this town that had higher concentrations of campers which we sought to avoid if possible. I suspect anywhere from 0 to 1 people reading this have ever been around BASE jumpers, so you couldn’t possibly know this, but you don’t really want to camp near any of them if you want to get any sleep at all. So, after a little searching we finally found it. It was decent ground, not too hole-y (you know, the “full of holes” kind of hole-y, although this place was probably more sacred than most churches), not too sloped, and not too crowded. We even got our own personal bubbling brook and cascading waterfalls with the place! It was simply amazing.
We spent the next little while pitching our tent and organizing everything in the most efficient way possible. Our tent wasn’t very big, so much of our stuff was destined to stay inside the car. The trunk of the car became the staging area for everything. Our sleeping bags came in green cases which now served a dual purpose. One was now a trash can, and the other was a dirty laundry bin. That tighter-than-life duffle bag was now free to air out and held all of our clean clothes. Food (what little we had of it) was arranged neatly in the back seat. Even though it was approaching the end of May, there was no need to worry about the outside temperature getting so high that the food would spoil.
Once everything was settled, we ventured out into the tiny village. There was a single road (the same bazillion-hairpin-turn one that led down into the valley) that followed our “bubbling brook” down to Lysefjord. We became very familiar with this scenic road and the few houses and many sheep that peppered it. Every day for 6 days we would walk and talk up and down this road and there were 4 really great reasons for doing so.
One
To take in the overwhelming beauty of this place.
There really isn’t a whole lot I can say that will adequately describe it. The natural landscape down in the valley always seemed to have a mystical blue hue cast over it and there was very little going on. There is no hustle-bustle in Lysebotn during the day. The quickest movement we came across was the lazy meandering of bell adorned sheep. And, the sheep easily outnumbered us human-folk. It was utterly peaceful (<- I want to take a moment to identify that this could have been a funny pun if the sheep were actually cows). I couldn’t help but become a participant in the calm. The stillness around me simply didn’t allow for anything else. From the moment we arrived here, my mind began to undergo some sort of subconscious cleansing. The walks that began down this road often found us wandering up cliff sides in pursuit of the highest waterfall access we could manage. We walked and hiked in this serene landscape a lot.
Two
To head down to the SBK building to see what was going on in the BASE world.
Afterall, this entire trip was embarked upon in pursuit of BASE jumping shenanigans. SBK building was small, but lively and situated right where the fjord began. This end of the valley held an array of adventuring types from longboarders and slackliners, to, of course, BASE jumpers. I have never encountered a group more devoted to squeezing all they can out of life than this category of people. They amaze me. They are insane risk takers, but they truly, truly amaze me. The funniest (funny like interesting, not like haha) thing I think I took away from this trip was how personal the perception of risk is. As we sat talking to a trio of longboarders one day (the ones that broke chocolate with us), the conversation began with one question asked by each party to the other: “What brings you guys here?” When we replied with “BASE jumping” they replied with “you’re crazy.” When they replied with “longboarding” we replied with “no, you’re crazy.” We laughed, ate chocolate, and carried on with everyone somehow thinking that their sport of choice was less crazy than the other. It was fabulous.
We also met at SBK so Aaron could catch the BASE bus up to the trailhead that would lead him to the jump. I opted to take the boat out to the landing area in the middle of the fjord to photograph the landings. It was insane. I had never seen anyone purposely fling their bodies off of cliffs before.
Another night down near the fjord there was an epic furniture burning episode which made for a great bonfire in the middle of the night. People from around the world hung around and had a great time telling some of the most epic adventure-type stories.
Three
To eat that shared hamburger and fries that one day.
Somewhere around day 4 we broke down. It was time. The bellies were rumbling and the epic hike was happening soon (the one I opted out of so that I could be at the landing area). Protein was essential and the peanut butter and flatbread had gotten really old, really fast.
We had no money. Like, none. Especially for a place like Norway. In 2013, the Norwegian Krone was 6:1 against the US Dollar. What that means in terms of a hamburger is.. I don’t know. But, we ate said hamburger at Olav’s Pub and it was SO expensive that we could only buy one with fries to share. That was it. That was the only cooked meal across 7 days.
The. most. satisfying.
We had a major ongoing caloric deficit happening the whole trip and this moment was just magical. The kind of moment when your teeth sink into something so savory that your eyes slip into involuntary slow-blink bliss.
And four
To take the one shower of the trip.
After all was said and done we were gross. We didn’t shower at all until the night before our flight (day 6) because it cost money each time it was turned on. Not only that, but this was a timed shower (< 5 minutes) and it utilized FJORD water. Fjord water is frigid.
It was the best, worst shower of my life. The shower alone had me looking like I had been on one of those before-and-after makeover shows. I had never gone that long without a shower and to this day still have not- thus the shower is a luxury I learned to not take for granted. Huge shout-out to modern-day plumbing.
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The Hike Up
I realize that this section has us backtracking a little bit, but this hike deserves its own subheading.
This was the day we came for. We were up early, like every other day (since the sun was up at 4:00am), and gathered all of our necessary gear. While all the BASE related gear was prepared, I was sure to grab my camera and the two-way radios. These were essential for communicating as I made my way back alone, after the jump.
We walked down to the SBK building and loaded into the van that would take us up FV500 (bazillion hairpin turn road) to the start of the hike (you already know this was scary). There were two vans that went up with about 15-20 people in total, almost all with the same intent- hike to Kjerag and jump. The only exception to that was me. I was the only person from that caravan who would hike back down, including the hiking guide- he was a BASE jumper, too.
The hike was 3 hours and contained constant uphill trekking over a semi-snowy, rocky landscape. Some early parts of the hike had chains or ropes to grip onto during really steep parts. I notably took up the rear of this long line of people, often stopping to catch my breath. It wasn’t easy.
My shoes at one point had become saturated due to the occasional ice/snow patches we traversed, and I remember taking them off at one point to get some relief and to let them air out a bit. This trip was pre-awesome-hiking-shoes, unfortunately (again, NO money).
Despite the patches of snow that we came across, the hike was intense enough to generate a significant amount of body heat. The once dreaded cold air quickly became a welcomed feeling on my bare skin, and I finished the majority of the hike with my ski jacket tied around my waist.
Most everyone seemed unphased by this hike. While they may have been running on adrenaline and excitement for the anticipated jump, I knew my fate. I was going to have to back track those 3 strenuous hours without a guide.
(You’re probably wondering why I would subject myself to an unguided, unmarked 3 hour hike back through this unforgiving landscape. Well, BASE pictures of course!)
After making it past those 3 really crazy inclines, one of which the local group referred to as “Hell’s Hill,” we reached the exit point area. There was a huge number of people about to go careening off of this cliff side and their combined adrenaline was palpable. It was time to temporarily sever the mental ties between Aaron and myself to allow room for complete focus on the task at hand. Had there been any shadows over the landscape to recede into, I certainly would have. We exchanged a “be careful” before I could no longer (if only for a few moments) exist.
As jumper after jumper walked over to the exit point, I situated myself on a small rock near the cliff edge to set up with the camera. My jacket was tied around my waist and splayed out around me, cushioning my two-way radio. Although I was very close to the edge, I had chosen a rock that supported me in a backwards lean, which put my mind at ease as I began to view my immediate world through the disorienting soda straw that is a camera’s viewfinder.
This was my first time watching anyone BASE jump from an exit. It was terrifying. Some of them took a running start while others jumped from a more fixed position on the very edge of the cliff. And within a split second, after each “1…2…3…see ya,” they disappeared one-by-one below the 3,200ft cliff and completely out of sight. After each jump, all was still and silent, save for the thumping heartbeat that let me know how terrible of an idea this actually was. And then- whack. The cracking sound of a single parachute would echo through Lysefjorden and back up the cliff side, letting me know that the jumper had made it.
I was able to practice timing each action shot with the guys who jumped before Aaron as he stood behind, practicing reaching for his pilot chute (a small chute, probably about 2ft in diameter that creates enough force to pull the main out of the bag). It was extremely important to get this right because missing it could delay the chute deployment while attempting to grab it again, and when jumping off a cliff like this, extra time is not a luxury. There are mere seconds to get that life-saving apparatus out of its bag before ground impact. (I know this is pretty blunt, but that’s the long and short of it.)
And then it was time. This was not an easy thing for me to process then, and for a long time after as we continued to take BASE trips. It was hard in that moment to accept the risk that was being taken. He had always been one to take extreme caution in regards to risk and that much was comforting, but the bottom line is, the risk in this sport can never be completely snuffed out. Sometimes, shit just happens. I knew that. Yet, here we were.
With my camera pointed as he set up for his jump from the edge, I stopped breathing. I held the camera steady as he bent his knees, then launched off the side- back arched and arms out. And, just like all the other jumpers, I followed him in the viewfinder until he fell below the edge of the cliff and out of sight.
The sound of that crack came.
The Return
Relieved, I quickly returned the camera back to its case, zipped it up, and slung it onto my back. Then, as I stood to begin the hike back, I immediately heard something smack into the ground. I watched in disbelief as my radio noisily fumbled its way toward the cliff’s edge, and then all at once plunged into a silent free fall. It was gone. The relief I had just felt, was gone with it.
(As I type this my body is undergoing the same stress responses as that day, which is pretty gnarly.)
I hadn’t known just how much comfort the idea of having that radio gave me-until it was gone. The return hike that was already lonely and treacherous, that seemed to be a distinctly better option over BASE jumping, didn’t seem that way anymore. At this moment, I wished I would have just jumped.
I began the return hike scared.
It wasn’t so bad at first. I came across a few groups early on that were hanging around the cliff side doing their own thing. The most notable were the slack liners who somehow fixed a slackline to two edges of a semi-circle shaped cut-out in the cliff, suspended 3000ft high. It had to have been at least 30 feet from edge to edge, and these crazies balanced their way across the open air, defying death, wearing no gear whatsoever. No harnesses, no parachutes…nothing. Stopping to watch them for a minute probably didn’t help my mounting anxiety.
Soon, I carried on. I had made a point of looking at the scenery behind me every 20 minutes or so on the way up since the trail didn’t follow the cliff’s edge. I knew I was going to need some reference points to use on the return and it seemed to be working. Until it didn’t anymore.
Somewhere along the way, I fixated on the wrong reference. I thought I remembered it clearly. I had remembered it as a patch of snow on a hill face that was shaped like a giraffe and when I saw it, I happily carried on in that direction. After about 30 minutes of making my way down the steep terrain, I noticed something different about the area. The ground that was once snowy with jagged rocks had somehow transitioned, unnoticed, to an almost impossible steep incline of smooth rock and slick moss. The reference point I had chosen wasn’t right and I immediately knew I was lost. And then I cried. The amount of fear that had coursed through my mind in the last few hours was becoming too much.
I sat down near some moss in an area where I wouldn’t slip down the slick rock and I broke. All the worry and anxiety completely consumed me. Fortunately, the self-pity didn’t last too long due to an important thought that developed in my mind. No one knows I am lost, but me. It had only been 2 hours into what should have been a 3 hour hike, so no one had reason to be alarmed yet. Not to mention there was only one more van of jumpers being dropped off at the trailhead for the rest of the day. I had to be there to catch that van back down the FV500.
Then, my brain kicked over into fight mode. I realized self-pity wasn’t going to get me out of this.
The landscape was so vast, that I had no true way of knowing which direction I needed to head in. A 360 degree survey of the area proved that everything looked the same.
Except for the moss.
I decided I had to make a decision based on my gut and a survival tip that I probably learned from a show on Nickelodeon when I was a kid. I knew that moss grows in areas that receive little sun. As I sat on the hill, the sun was at my back. It didn’t matter which way north was, I just knew I needed to determine which direction the fjord was, relative to me. I remembered that, down in the valley, the sun was always in front of us as we walked from our tent to the fjord, and always behind us as we walked back. Remembering this, and knowing the sun was behind me at this moment, I determined that if I turned 90 degrees to my left and started walking, I would eventually come to the cliffside that overlooks the fjord.
I don’t know how much time passed before I found the trail again, but the journey there was completely life changing. Finding my way back was both scary and lonely for the first little while, but then something began to change in me. I had never been in such a position with raw earth. There was no way I could have escaped the spirituality of my situation because there were no distractions. In this moment of being completely lost, knowing that the cold alone was going to threaten me if I didn’t get back before dark, I realized for the first time, just how insignificant I am in the universe. I can’t fully put into words the impact this whole ordeal had on me, but it certainly made me realize the selfishness and self-importance that existed in my life.
I never made it far enough to see the fjord again, because I eventually came across the guiding ropes of the trail that had been set up in some parts along the way. I knew I could make it back from this point, although the physical challenge was far from over. After a few more hours I finally conquered the last hill that revealed the FV500 waiting for me on the other side. Within 2 minutes (no lie) of sitting on the guardrail and letting out a huge laugh of pure relief, the BASE van appeared from around a hairpin curve. The jumpers funneled out, and in the van I went.
We rode the van back down to the valley on the FV500, which no longer seemed so scary, and I shared the crazy pictures I had taken of the day.
This was the last day of our trip and therefore shower day. As I said before, it was the best, worst shower of my life and it goes without saying that I slept really well that night.
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The next morning we began the return journey back to the states. We were tired, but clean and on the flight back I realized that Norway will always reside in the epic category of heart.
Indie Cruz 