Voyage in Arctic Europe
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VOYAGE IN ARCTIC EUROPE ~ The tale of an amateur Franco-British kayak expedition to Northern Scandinavia Text by Alice Courvoisier Drawings by Sophie Courvoisier Pictures by Alice Courvoisier and Ruth Cantrell 1 To Ruth, with love and gratitude. 2 PROLOGUE The clouds are low and moving fast, it rains intermittently. Timid sun rays occasionally break through, giving a speckle of life to the landscape. Below me, the wind- streaked sea is a tangle of dark and light silver strips that merge seamlessly into one another in response to the whims of the sky. The stormy weather that prevents us from travelling befits the rugged coast of Finnmark well. From the northern end of Boalonjárga, a wide ridge overlooking our camping spot, I enjoy unobstructed views of the edge of Europe. The island of Havøya stretches to the north-west; bright-coloured houses cluster by the narrow sound that separates it from the mainland and provides boats with a reliable shelter; a green grass slope leads gently towards its highest point, only wind turbines stand tall there, trees do not grow at 71° N. In front of me across Breisundet, stand the dark cliffs and jagged coastline of Helmsøya; in early June, patches of snow still survive on its fells. Further east is Masøya, its southern tip connected to the main body of the island by a narrow isthmus where habitations are. Behind I spy the west coast of Magerøya, the “meagre island”, home to the famous North Cape. We hope to take our kayaks there as soon as conditions allow; until then, and for an undetermined amount of time, we need to practice patience. Suddenly, I spy a sunny spell approaching from the west and lie down on a smooth, flat rock to shelter from the wind. With watery eyes, I gaze intently as the land takes on vivid colours, and the sea's grey hues are recast into subtle shades of blues, with yellow overtones. The sun still shines when I walk back toward the camp. A few reindeer are grazing on the steep slopes enclosing the valley. Below, close to the beach, our red tent and yellow and blue kayaks stand out against the green tussock grass that surrounds them. A thin dark stream, winds its way towards the sea. From a distance, the emerald waters of the bay look deceptively peaceful. Ruth, recovering from a twisted ankle, cannot yet walk far. “How about we play the next hand of canasta?” she asks as I join her inside the tent, sheltering from the first drops of rain. “Go on then,” I reply, “was it your deal?” 3 “There is a psychological accuracy in this insistence that a proper life cannot be lived without a pilgrimage, a journey, a great excursion and abandoning of town, village, hearth. Only in this way is the unsuspected majesty of the world revealed. Only by travelling in danger and discomfort along arduous forest paths, desert routes and sea lanes may truth be approached.”1 James Hamilton-Paterson 1 James Hamilton-Paterson, Seven Tenths, Faber and Faber, 2007, p. 281 4 CHAPTER 1: THE THEORY “Buoret lea jođu go oru” “Better to be nomadic than to live in one place”, Sámi proverb. I On the consequences of looking at maps “The K2 already had quite a bit of water in it when we hit the white water, but we thought we'd be able to empty out later. But the rapid was long, more continuous than we expected, and Liz's nylon spray deck was letting water in with each wave breaking on the prow. Our boat was filling at an ever increasing rate and sinking lower down in the river. Eventually, the front end sank and Liz floated out. I managed to stay in and turned the 21 foot kayak around, so I could steer more easily, and to prevent the bow from snagging between rocks. Then, just as I spotted calmer water over my shoulder, the boat disappeared underneath me, wrapped itself around a rock and left me to swim the last of the rapid!” I had heard versions of this story a number of times, told by Ruth or by her racing companion, Liz. It had happened in Lapland, in the summer of 1995, as they took part in a canoe and kayak marathon. Ruth had been involved for a couple of years with Hastings Canoe Club when she answered an advert asking for a female K2 partner to compete in the DW and ACR. She knew that the DW was the 125 mile race from Devizes to Westminster, along the Kennet and Avon canal and the Thames. She soon learnt that ACR stood for Arctic Canoe Race, a 536 km challenge along the Finnish-Swedish border rivers in Lapland. A nine month period of hard training on and off the water culminated in what was, for Ruth, an unforgettable experience as the team completed both races in the same year. In comparison, I was a latecomer to water sports. I had joined York Canoe Club in the autumn of 2004 when moving in with Ruth and learned the rudiments of white water kayaking on the rivers of Yorkshire and Cumbria. Being a keen traveller, the idea of a self- powered expedition appealed to me and fortunately to Ruth as well. We started our kayak touring apprenticeship in September 2006 with the Caledonian Canal, and, the following spring, by a descent of the Tay, from Killin to Dundee. Long-distance river travelling is however limited in Britain, so we took up sea kayaking, exploring the Yorkshire coast at week-ends and Scotland's western shores during most holidays. We both loved the freedom and closeness to nature that travelling by sea kayak brought. I was completely hooked and keen to go further afield. Ruth had always wanted to return to Scandinavia to paddle the ACR rivers again. She showed me the place on the map. “The route starts here,” she pointed, “at Kilpisjärvi, a lake where Finland, Sweden and Norway meet.” “That's very close to the Norwegian sea,” I was quick to notice. “About 50 km.” This appeared extremely promising. “Maybe we could paddle a wee bit along the Norwegian coast on the way there? It looks nice with all those islands and mountains,” I said, with naïve enthusiasm. Ruth wasn't against the idea. We agreed that if we were to travel “that far”, then it had to be for a decent amount of time, not just a two week holiday. There were a few reasons for this. First, the distance covered during a sea kayaking trip is weather dependent. Having a long stretch of time at our disposal increased our chances of experiencing perfect conditions and would give us the time 5 needed to sit out the worst, in effect allowing us to reduce the risks taken to achieve our goal. Then, we wanted to limit our environmental impact by going for an extended period instead of returning on numerous short-breaks. Finally, we believed that by travelling for a while, we would learn more about the sea, the countries we would visit, and ourselves. *** We started to envisage this long journey in Scandinavia during the winter of 2008 and decided to go on a shorter, experimental trip to closer parts of Norway the following summer. Getting there with kayaks in one's luggage was easy then, using the direct, overnight ferry from Newcastle to Stavanger. Our plan was to combine a week of self-supported sea touring with a week of guided white water kayaking in the Sjoa area. Through UK Rivers Guidebook, an online paddling forum, we contacted Norwegian paddler Erling Brox, who had previously assisted sea kayakers from Britain. We elected to travel around the Boknafjorden, his home waters, launching fifteen minutes drive from the Stavanger ferry terminal. Erling gave us extremely useful advice, lent us maps and charts, and offered garden space to store our sea kayaks while we went inland in search of rivers. We didn't meet him in person, but his youngest son welcomed us in after our sea kayaking week for a much needed shower, a chat and a cup of tea. Our journey had run smoothly, through a maze of low lying islands and smooth, weather beaten rocks, past seaside villages with small welcoming harbours and wooden cabins, or along the steeper, tree clad mainland slopes. Admittedly, we had travelled in a very sheltered area, but we felt confident that, in time, we could get ready for the more challenging conditions to be found in Northern Norway. We mentioned our new plans to Erling, who immediately offered his support. At the time, I was on a fixed-term research contract that I had no wish to renew since I desperately longed to swap desk and computer for life in the open air. Ruth had been project officer for a conservation charity in York since October 2003 and was also ready for a change. It seemed that time was ripe for us to make the jump: leave work and go travelling. Our big trip, we decided, would happen in 2010, leaving us time for planning, training and saving money. As our preparations became more committing, we took care to share the reasons why we wanted to go. I was keen to travel, keen to live outside and experience what I thought of as nomadic life. Ruth longed to paddle the ACR rivers again and hoped to see some new wildlife. Both of us wanted to spend time immersed in a marine environment (although not literally) and learn to feel the sea's many moods.