The Blog — TM Photography

Fannaråken has the highest hostel in Europe. At 2068 meters over sea level, you can get a warm bed, a hot meal, and shelter from the elements. You can also enjoy the views, or even partake in the yearly 'run up Fannaråken'-challenge. I did none of that. Having spent the most exhausting 4.5 hours of my life getting to the very top, I could barely get to the cabin. After climbing in the door, I collapsed on a sofa and didn't move for a good while. The two guys taking care of the place just smiled at me; 'we heard there was someone on their way'. Other than that, they let me catch my breath in peace.

After 15 minutes, I stood up, got some coffee, and sat down again. I started looking around. Fannaråkhytte is divided into a few houses; the main house has a dining/rec area, kitchen and staff accommodations, while another cabin houses guest quarters. Bathrooms and tools sheds are separate as well. I read some info plaques about the place. The first building on Fannaråken was a year-round weather station (did I mention the Norwegians are crazy?) built in the 1930s. There was no road up the mountain, so they had to build it. Horses couldn't get up the steep hill, so they were left behind. Even the mules gave up 600 meters down from the top. What did the Norwegian Real Men do? They carried the building materials up. By hand. And built the damn cabin.

I looked outside, thinking about the massive effort, but saw nothing but blinding fog. I left my camera in my bag and concentrated on the hot coffee. The combination of rest and caffeine was starting to have an effect, and soon enough I had enough strength to move myself to the guest house.

Beware the snow. That is a 300 meter straight drop.

There is something down there.. One of the caretakers looking down from the highest point, just beside the guest cottage.

On the way I tried to look at the scenery, but the scenery wasn't playing along. The clouds still held their grip of the small mountaintop, and i could only get glimpses of other mountains or the valleys surrounding the peak. It was still early afternoon, so I knew I had plenty of time to look at the sights (or waiting for it to clear, at least). So I changed clothes and took a short nap in my bunk.

I woke an hour later, looked outside, and my jaw just dropped.

The clouds hadn't cleared fully yet, and periodically they covered the mountain again. But gradually the clouds disappeared, leaving me to do my thing.

Down the valley. We're way above the glacier now.

Some ice desperately clinging to existence in the sun. The temperature was less than 5 degrees over zero.

I spent the whole evening taking photos. I was so blown away, I didn't even really think of what I took images of; looking at them, I realize I missed some. There are a couple of vantage points I don't have any images from. Well, only gives me reason to go back :)

After taking photos for a couple of hours straight, I was invited for some dinner. It was almost all canned food, but I was starving, so it was predictably delicious. Hats off to the guys manning the hostel; not everyone likes being on a mountaintop for 5 weeks straight, making 3-course dinners and breakfast for tourists every day. After the dinner I talked briefly to one of the guys (I can't remember his name, I'm so sorry :( ). I mentioned that the biggest reason I came to Norway was to get a picture from the top of Fannaråken at either sunset or sunrise. Because of the weather, I was optimistic, but the guy said that he hadn't seen a sunset for 3 weeks. The weather had turned bad each evening. I got nervous; I already had great pics, but not THE pic. Would I get it?

After the talk I had about an hour before sunset was supposed to happen, so I had plenty of time to get a few golden hour shots out of the way:

It doesn't get any better than this. Or does it?

Same view, with 100% less fat Finnish man.

I waited 15 minutes for the sun to hit the glacier, but the hill in the middle covered it really effectively. Stupid mountains, getting in the way!

The sun was getting really low now, and the clouds in the horizon had basically disappeared. I wasn't going to get a shot in that direction. However, the most beautiful thing in a sunset isn't always the sun.. I did a quick re-plan, got my tripod out, ready to rock and roll. But first..

The plan was simple; get a shot with golden light on the mountaintops and the buildings. Then wait for a few minutes until the sky gets some color, and take that shot. Using a tripod, both are perfectly aligned. With a sprinkle of Photoshop, you'd get a pretty nice shot. In theory.

I set up my tripod, realized it was wrong, moved it, moved it again, and then settled down to wait. The golden light was absolutely amazing. The caretakers got out their own cameras too, saying it was a very long time since it was this nice. The sun slowly went over the horizon, I kept shooting. Brackets of 5, full resolution RAW, mirror up, cable release. Checking each exposure. There was not a chance in hell I'd mess this up technically.

Most of you know what I talk about when I say that the sunset can paint the sky red. The thing is, it doesn't happen during summer. In fact, I had been at my dads cottage a week earlier, and got almost no red at all. It has something do to with the quicker sunset in autumn along with colder air that creates the magic. I had hoped for a good image. Frankly, any color with some clouds would have made me happy. But this was something else. I still can't understand my luck; out of all of the days I could have chosen, I chose the only evening in weeks that had a proper sunset. And it was spectacular.

I woke up late, just in time to have a proper breakfast. Today was the big day after all, the day I had planned this whole trip for. Best to be rested. I checked the weather outside. Cloudy, but no rain. The forecast called for clear(er) skies later that day, too. I changed clothes, filled my water bag, and packed my backpack with everything I might need, and nothing else; camera, tripod, lenses, rain clothing, sleeping bag. After that, I carried everything else downstairs to my car, checked out, and put my feet on the path towards Fannaråken. I really had no idea where I was heading, I was just hoping the path would be clearly marked. I hoped the weather would stay as good as it was. And I hoped I was fit enough to make it.

The path to Fannaråken does not go to these puny mountains after all. Also, that has to be one of the best camp sites ever.

Looking back at the hotel, just before the path turns.

Have good footwear. And don't be afraid to get dirty.

The trail begins just across the road from the hotel, and is easy to follow. The only issue I had was that because of the heavy rains in the days prior, there were occasional muddy sections in the path. This is where it pays not to be to squeamish with your stuff. Just march right through ;). You can't see Fannaråken from the hotel, so I had no idea where I was going. But the path soon curves to the left, into the valley between big peaks. 'One of these is probably where I'm going', I thought, looking at the cloud-covered peaks. Good thing too, since I might have had second thoughts if I could see the actual peak, and knew where I was going. For now, I was blissfully ignorant, the weather was good, and I had the company of dozens of sheep running away from me.

The sheep were not really smart, running for 10 meters and then stopping to see if I was still coming along the same path. I was. Also, some mountains in the background. Or, most of them at least.

This is what happens when you let sheep roam free. There was poop everywhere.

The path turned into a gravel road in the valley, leading to the end of it (and upward, as I later learned). The walls on both sides are approximately 500 meters high, and there were streams coming down both sides. At the end of the valley there was even a big-ish waterfall. You can clearly see that the stream in the bottom of the valley is made for much bigger amounts of water; most likely melt water coming from the peaks nearby. In the end of summer, the water was still there, but it was barely a river.

A small part of the valley river; there were a few of these, along with the main stream that I didn't bother making my way to.

The scale is difficult to capture in an image; if you look closely there is a dam at the base of the waterfall. Also, the obligatory sheep.

After approximately an hour of walking from the hotel, the gravel road turned steeply as it encountered the end of the valley. The road started making it's way up the wall, in typical serpentine fashion. At this point I was in good shape; not tired, but a bit sweaty, and my shoulders did feel the 13 kilos I had strapped to my back. The walk up the road was a little tiring, and I took a few breaks along the way. Oh boy, I really had no idea what 'tired' meant at that point. Not even halfway up the road, I saw signs telling me that my route went off-road. It wasn't really a surprise, I knew that there wasn't going to be a paved road all the way to the top. And the path looked well cared for too, with big boulders placed strategically as steps, wide enough to walk comfortably. I now knew which peak I was going to; the highest one. The one that had been covered in clouds the whole morning.

End of the road. This is where the fun starts.

When I started, I had made a decision on not stopping along the way to take proper photos (the difference for me is taking out the tripod and switch to the most appropriate lens, and spending more than 2 seconds on composition). I just strapped the camera to the front of my backpack, and guessed that my wide angle was going to cover it. After all, I was coming back the exact same route tomorrow, when I knew I'd be less tired. I also hoped the weather forecast would hold, and the skies would clear up. At that moment the sky was a dreary gray. I still took some photos whenever I stopped for some rest. But it did mean that I didn't get any 'epic' pictures during the climb. You will have to wait for the next post for those ;)

Looking down the valley. The hotel is to the right, just on the other side of the hill where you see the road.

The track went ever-upward, twisting its way up the mountainside. I was still below the clouds, and looking down the valley I had a good sense of the altitude I gained. The dirt road soon looked like a small path. I saw some cars along it, looking like like they were a really long way down. Which they probably were. The altitude change from Turtagrø to Fannaråken is almost exactly 1200 meters, almost all of that after the valley. At this point I had covered about 300 of those, and I was feeling good, still. I even got to see where the waterfall started; turns out there was a glacier on the peaks of the other side, the melt water pooling just on the cusp of the valley ridge. The color difference to another lake beside it was striking. One was clear turquoise while the other was fully clear; it looked black in comparison. The turquoise color is because of rock flour, making the the water look almost milky. You can see the effect in many lakes and rivers in the region.

Two lakes. One is melted glacier, the other is not. Can you spot the difference?

At the 2 hour mark, I noticed the vegetation was dying out. The path also turned from gravel and small rocks to small rocks and big rocks. It wasn't that steep yet, though, which gave me hope. I could do this! Walk, turn, pause, repeat. Up and up I went.

The rocky path with one of the markers. Getting quite high up, now.

After 3 hours I was starting to feel tired. Despite training before the trip, my legs were starting to complain. I knew I was drinking too much water, but I couldn't help myself. I was feeling out of breath after 5 minutes, making the progress very slow. I was also ascending into the clouds. The view down (and up) was getting foggy, and at points I couldn't see anything further than a hundred meters in any direction. Good thing the path is well marked, otherwise I'd lose the way for sure.

The shot is level. The path isn't. This was the last bush I saw on the way up.

Ever climbed stairs for 3 hours straight?

Suddenly, I heard noises coming from above. I knew that there were others than me walking the path today; I hadn't seen anyone the whole morning, but I figured that they had started way earlier than me. It made sense, if they were coming down the same day. I didn't, so I could start later. Turns out it was a couple from Mumbai that I had met the evening before. They hadn't made it to the top, they said. The path was simply too rocky and dangerous. Well, then. Not exactly what I wanted to hear. 'How was the weather?'. 'Even worse than this'. Hmm. They helpfully gave me the altitude reading (I was conserving battery life on my phone, so I had disabled the GPS): 1700 meters. That meant 350 to go. And the couple hadn't made it, so I didn't know how long it would take. I also knew I was running low on water, and I had to force myself to ration it. Time to dig deep for some of that legendary Finnish Sisu.

A good part of the path. It didn't last long. Even the moss had given up.

The memories I have of the final portion are a bit fuzzy. I remember a lot of fog (well, cloud), and being extremely tired. I can't remember the physical sensation, thank [higher being], but I remember thinking that it was the most tiring thing I've ever done, with a good margin. I had to force myself not to sit for more than a minute at a time, because the wind would start to go through my soaked fleece. My legs were made of lead. And as a bonus, my water ran out.

At the 4 hour mark, I heard noises again. The wind had picked up, so I wasn't sure at first. But after a few minutes, I heard the sounds again; there was someone else on the path, coming down. This time it was an older Norweigan couple. They had been to the top, waiting for an hour or so for the weather to clear. It hadn't, so they had decided to walk down. The good news? They were 15 minutes from the top, which meant about 30 for me. I was so glad I forgot to ask them for water. 'You are really close. Soon there will be a patch of snow, and the cabin is just on the other side'. I started walking. If these oldies could do it, then I sure the hell could.

20 minutes later, I stumbled on to the snow. I tripped several times on it, so tired were my legs. They just couldn't obey my brain to take quick steps anymore. The clouds enveloped me more than ever, but I caught something in my eye, and took a photo just before the clouds rolled in again, obscuring what I had seen. But I knew what it was. I had made it.

Day 3.5: why I do what I do

Day 3: going up Fannaråken

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