Hiking Stabbursnes

Stabbursnes Nasjonalpark protects the pine and birch forests around the river Stabburselva. The area where we camped and hikd is low country by the river. An east-west trail farther north crosses the high country directly to the next fjord west, and offers an open hytte along the way. If bikepacking is allowed in the park (and I suspect it is), it could be a fun passage for someone with more cushion in their frame.

Hike day

We only have one night in the park, so a short hike is in order. Breakfast by the river is just warm enough to be comfortable. Our standard butter, hazelnut-spread, brunost combination is the mode of the day.

Though the river’s in flood, the gravel bottom keeps the water brilliantly clear.

The trail rolls through pine forest, birch forest, rocky upland, and what might be old streambeds. Along the trail, there is little if any dead/down wood, and there aren’t visible stumps from cutting either. Snow patches come occasionally, but the area is almost entirely melted out.

Our hike ends at a waterfall, roaring in the meltwater flood. As in any good promotional photo, I framed the shot to leave the dam out. The landscape here is open and empty, but humans have walked on all of it.

Porsangerfjord

After our hike, we got back on the road. Porsangerfjorden is beautiful, low and rolling on the coast, with occasional homes and hytter dotting the water’s edge.

Though salmon fishing is the major draw here now, dried cod (AKA stockfish, AKA tørrefisk) is one of the historical staples. I’ve tried tørrefisk snacks and read a bit about the traditional drying racks, but these are the first I’ve actually seen.

And what is any coastal real estate, without weird sea monster bones? I couldn’t tell what this partial bone was (head? spinal column?), but if you know I’d love more information.

A tourist’s life

We are headed north towards the Nordkapp (North Cape). It’s a famous destination and the target of most of the tourists we’ve run into in the area. Like some malign but unavoidable foreign power, we’ve entered its zone of influence. When we stop in a grocery store, noone says “oh, wow, you’re cycling where?!?”. Instead, they say, “Oh, going to Nordkapp?”, and stifle a yawn. It makes me sad a little, so here’s some brunost.

There is steady traffic here on the E6, and most of the vehicles are camper vans. From Norway, the UK, the Netherlands, France, whatever, they’re loud, and large, and going somewhere fast. They’re all headed north to the somewhat arbitrary tourist trap that is the Cape. Though we don’t plan to head that way, after enough conversations it almost feels like we should. Like everyone would be less disappointed if we did. shudder

We met our first cycle tourist today (powering north to Norkdkapp of course, and fueled by many many liters of coca-cola). He’s on sabbatical from his job driving trains in the Netherlands. He’s biked this way, will take a bus home, and then go on a vacation from his vacation with his wife. Maybe the Czech Republic.

The prize for sweetest surprise of the day goes to Remigi. When a man by a Eurovan started waving something at us from the roadside, I was sure we were going to have to help him fix his car or something. Images of trying to inflate his donut with my frame pump ran screaming through my mind, until I realized it was a Toblerone bar he was waving. He’d stopped to take some photos of the lovely light over the water, and pulled us aside to chat with “Do you like swiss chocolate?”

In the end, we left the Nordkapp for others and turned left across the peninsula. There was a lovely birch bench below the road and above the river shortly after the turn, and it looked like home for the night.

New friends

• other tourists
• Blueberries in flower!