***  NORWAY  2014   -  WEEKS 6~7  ***

This week's Photo Gallery  Lofoten Islands flora and Fauna Bottom of Page Return to Norway Index Page

CAMPING IN NORWAY 2014 - Lofoten Islands of Vestvågøya, Flakstadøya, Moskenesøya, Gimsøya, and Austvågøya:

Ferry crossing from Skutvik to the Lofoten Islands:  on a serenely sunny early June morning, we drove down to the little ferry dock at Skutvik for the 2 hour crossing to Svolvær on the Lofoten Islands (Photo 1 - Svolvær ferry arriving at Skutvik) to begin the next phase of our trip.

Click on 2 highlighted areas of map
for details of Lofoten Islands

The ferry drew away from the quay and curved around in a broad arc through the channel between the mountainous tip of the Hamarøya peninsula and off-shore islands, out into the flat calm of the Vestfjord which separates the jagged and snow-covered mountain chain of the Lofoten Islands from the mainland. This was one of the most spectacular ferry crossings ever experienced: whichever direction you looked, every horizon was lined with a parade of jagged mountain peaks. From the upper deck, we took photographic advantage of this glorious mountainous seascape panorama, and as the ferry moved further out into the channel, the ferry's wake provided a perfect foreground to the receding line of mainland peaks (see left) (Photo 2 - Mainland peaks from Lofoten ferry). Ahead the chain of fearsomely vertical Lofoten peaks rose from the surrounding sea as the ferry passed through a narrow channel between the outer skerries' mountain peaks and drew into the quay of the tiny inhabited islet of Skrova. Lorries disembarked and as quickly as it had docked, the ferry pulled away again from this isolated little island settlement whose only lifeline is the Svolvær ferry (Photo 3 - Ferry departing Skrova).

Arriving at Svolvær on Austvågøya:  passing off-shore islets, the ferry approached the township of Svolvær the main settlement of Austvågøya, the most easterly of the Lofoten Islands. Conical, snow-covered craggy peaks towered over the town as we drew into the harbour (see left) (Photo 4 - Approaching Svolvær), our first real impression of the Lofoten archipelago's startlingly mountainous topography with peaks rising to over 1000m directly from the sea. Within minutes we were ashore to drive into the town to stock up with provisions for the coming Whit weekend and to buy detailed maps for our month's stay in the Lofoten and Vesterålen Islands. The view over the flower stalls in Torget market place by the harbour was backed by a mountainous horizon, but for a main tourist centre the staff in Svolvær's tourist information centre (TIC) were about as helpful as the plastic trolls lining the display shelves. With the sun still warm and clear, we left Svolvær to begin our westward drive on the E10 which threads a tenuous route the full length of Lofoten chain of islands surrounded by spectacular mountain peaks, most of their craggy tops still snow-covered (see right). Beyond Kabelvåg, the mountains surrounding the valley closed in seeming to block the way ahead; only at the last minute did the entrance to a short tunnel appear in the face of the apparent mountain barrier, leading through to the flatter land of Austvågøya's western tip and the channel of Gimsøystraumen which separates the easterly island from its western neighbours. We had much to learn about the startlingly spectacular topography of this mountainous archipelago.

Across onto northern Vestvågøya:  our first night's campsite on Lofoten, Lyngvær Bobil-camping, was a mediocre place; while the setting was glorious under the shadow of the eponymous Lyngvær Fjell looking across the sound to the conical mountains of Gimsøya and Vestvågøya, the rowdy presence of massed ranks of camping-cars (bobil in Norwegian), traffic noise from the E10 running alongside, and dysfunctional facilities gave the campsite an alien feel. Despite the intrusively pollutant noise, tonight we enjoyed the trip's first barbecue; but although we were sufficiently north now to experience the Midnight Sun, the bright evening sun here dipped behind the mountains.

With bright morning sunlight giving the waters of Gimsøya Sound a turquoise glow and highlighting details of the backdrop of Vestvågøya's mountains, we turned across the bridges which arched over the Olderfjorden inlet and Gimsøystraumen, to follow E10 which hugged the southern shore of Gimsøya under the bulky mass of Svartinden (see left). We should return this way in a week's time to explore the island of Gimsøya, but in the meantime continued ahead around the flatter northern shore of Vestvågøya. Our journey today would take us around the lanes circling through the fishing hamlets of northern Vestvågøya. The shore-side single-track lane with passing places indicated by M-signs (Møte-plass) was peacefully deserted, passing small farmsteads and isolated cottages. The pyramidical peak of Hoven stood out distinctively from the flat lowlands of north Gimsøya across the mud-flats and shallows separating us from the neighbouring island (Photo 5 - Mudflats off Northern Vestvågøya) while on our left the mountain wall of northern Vestvågøya overshadowed the lane, its face scalloped by deep valleys. Passing the fishing hamlets of Kleivan and Kvalnes (see right), we saw the first fish-drying frames which we should learn more of later. Rounding the northern tip, we turned down the peninsula's western side and beyond the waters of Urvatnet reached the side-turning to Vestersand harbour. An unsurfaced lane led from the village across a causeway over low coastal flats to the scattered settlement of Sandøya where we parked to walk across the coastal grassland to the lane's end. In bright afternoon sunshine in this isolated and wonderfully peaceful setting, we photographed the distant mountains of the northern peninsula rounded earlier (see left), and closer to hand the wild flora colonising this open coastal terrain. Back along the dusty lane to Vestersand, we paused at the village's graveyard (kirkegård) spread over the headland overlooking the off-shore skerries, before looping back to the main E10 to find tonight's planned campsite, Lofoten Turistsenter, set behind a road-house opposite Steirapollen Lake. Contrary to our fears, the place was deserted, and with the indifferently unsmiling and non-communicative non-welcome at reception, and unkempt, uncared for camping area, with uninspiring setting, we could understand why! So far Lofoten campsites were proving unimpressive, but we booked in to use their internet and charge up ready for a Midnight Sun wild camp tomorrow night. Young back-packers provided interesting company on a warm sultry evening which brought the first signs of this year's swarming midges. The sub-zero overnight temperatures of just one month ago in the mountains seemed a different trip.

Vestvågøya's northern coast at Eggum and a wild-camp at Unstad:  rejoining the E10 the following morning, we paused at a viewpoint which gave a magnificent prospect across Lake Ytterpollen towards the indented, craggy mountains of the Eggum peninsula where we were heading today, and westwards along Vestvågøya's central valley with its scattering of red cottages against a backdrop of peaks. Beyond the isthmus between Inner- and Ytter-pollen Lakes, we turned off onto the lane leading out to Eggum. The single-track lane wound around the coast below increasingly severe mountains on the landward side ending at a bulky headland with cliff-face plunging down to the narrow coastal strip along which the road threaded. Alongside the lane by a small fishing harbour, rows of fish-drying frames were laden with this winter's catch, too distant for us to examine closely but seemingly too small to be cod. A tractor was unloading the dried fish into crates to transport over to the harbour wharf (see right). We had much to learn yet about the traditional Lofoten fish drying industry, and our as yet unanswered questions were piling up. For now we took photos of the drying fish, and continued ahead to the settlement of Eggum, which was mainly holiday lets billed as rorbuer but looking far more classy than straightforward fishing shacks which the term had once signified.

Eggum:  beyond the hamlet an unsurfaced lane led to a shore-side parking area by the remains of a WW2 German radar station; from here a coastal path led for some 9kms around the headland to Unstad. We set off inland on a track alongside the lake of Heimredalsvatnet which filled an elongated corrie carved into the surrounding craggy mountains (Photo 6 - Mountain corrie near Eggum). With its rich carpet of wild flora, this was indeed a superb setting which we shared only the sheep and lambs grazing alongside the path indifferent to our presence (see left). We followed the lakeside path into the dark inner recess at the head of the corrie where overflow water from a high tarn tumbled down the sheer face. At the foot of this, a small HEP generator-house was fed by a pipeline to provide local electricity supplies.

So impressive were the wild flora and fauna during our 2 weeks stay on the Lofoten Islands that we have included a photo-gallery of Lofoten Islands flora and Fauna

Unstad:  back along past the lake, we returned to E10 across the centre of Vestvågøya to turn off again onto another single-track lane leading back out to the north coast at the isolated hamlet of Unstad. The narrow lane wound through hilly terrain past farming settlements; with severe mountains seeming to block all forward progress, the lane gained height towards an apparently opposing mountain flank, turning at the last moment into a tunnel mouth. Just before the tunnel, we paused to examine road-side fish-drying racks and discovered that they were laden with row upon row of severed heads of cod fish, now brittle dry with gaping jaws and grotesque staring eyes (Photo 7 - Dried cods' heads). The only clue at this stage we had of their purpose was a reference in a brochure to their being exported to Nigeria as the basis of a popular spicy fish recipe. Seeing these strings of gaping jaws of cods heads hanging to dry on racks made this seem like a bizarre fantasy! We pressed on and the narrow lane turned into the darkness of an unlit, single-track tunnel, the only passing-places being bays cut into the rough tunnel wall; we hurried through peering cautiously for fear of meeting oncoming traffic. Relieved at being safely through, we rounded a bay but instead of advancing along an apparent valley, the lane climbed again along the flank of the enclosing mountains and turned sharply into another single-track tunnel. This one ran straight and narrow for 800m to emerge on a ramp which descended to a huddle of cottages set in the confines of a small valley cut off from the rest of the world by the mountainous barrier we had just penetrated and ending at the sea; this was Unstad. Just beyond the hamlet, the unsurfaced lane ended at a tiny bay, a perfect wild-camp spot at the Unstad end of the coastal path from Eggum where we had been earlier (Photo 8 - Wild-camp at Unstad Bay); an honesty box invited donations of 100kr for over-nighting here. We set out to walk part of the shore-side path which was lined with wild flora and hemmed in on the landward side by craggy cliffs. But the eye was drawn out to the sparkling sea and the conical peak which topped the southern mountainous headland enclosing Unstad Bay (see left). Breakers crashed in intermittently onto the sandy shore which attracted surfers to this tiny and isolated deep-set bay. We continued around the coastal path which gained height, narrowing to the point where it rounded the headland enclosing the northern side of the bay.

A peaceful wild-camp at Unstad Bay - but no Midnight Sun:  back at the deserted parking area, we set up camp looking out to the NW across the bay. Despite having been within the Arctic Circle now for over a week, we had not so far camped in a position which achieved the 2 requirements for experiencing the Midnight Sun - a clear, cloudless night, combined with a view of the northern horizon unimpeded by forests or mountains. Here at Unstad, the evening sky was clear of cloud, and we had a clear line of sight to the horizon looking out to sea. After a delightful wild-camp barbecue supper, we sat looking out across the bay in golden evening sunlight. But despite what earlier had seemed perfect conditions for seeing this year's first Midnight Sun, reconsidering the angle of the sun's decline, it now seemed frustratingly as if the northward enclosing headland would block our line of sight as the sun reached its lowest point towards the later evening. In fact by 10-45pm the declining sun duly hit the northern headland, passing behind it and out of sight to continue down to the unseen northerly horizon (see right). Despite the frustration of an unseen Midnight Sun, Unstad Bay had been a wonderful spot to camp on a sunny evening, and to enjoy the peaceful solitude of this magnificent setting with just the sound of bird song and surf from the beach below (see left).

Leaving the unmemorable town of Leknes to cross to Flakstadøya:  back to the E10 along Vestvågøya's central valley, we reached the island's main town and service centre of Leknes. Eventually finding the TIC hidden away inside a gift shop, it was immediately evident that 'Tourist Information' was a misnomer: the girl was incapable even of handing out street plans let alone helping us with our enquiry as to the location of the Rema 1000 supermarket. It seemed futilely cruel to embarrass her with further questions and we left having helped ourselves to a street plan. This just about summed up Leknes. We found the supermarket in the outskirts, but this was an equally frustrating experience: a huge place with enormous stocks of precious little, and we struggled to garner the contents of our weekend food shopping-list. Glad to leave this unmemorable urban sprawl, we continued west towards the crossing to the next island in the Lofoten mountainous chain, Flakstadøya. Across a narrow fjord inlet, E10 rounded a headland descending steeply into the 1,780m long undersea Nappstraumen Tunnel linking across onto Flakstadøya.

Vikten on north coast of Flakstadøya:  from the approach to the undersea tunnel crossing, the skyline ahead was dominated by the dramatic saw-tooth peaks of northern Flakstadøya, a largely uninhabitable molar tooth-shaped peninsula of mountainous pinnacles rising vertically from the sea. The E10 cuts through a valley across the molar's crown, then traces a tenuous route around the western coastline, clinging desperately to the narrow shore-line with spur-roads branching off to dead-end fishing villages on the southern coast. Emerging from the Nappstraumen Tunnel, the road passes around a high cliff headland with the mighty peak of Stornappstinden towering overhead above the fishing port of Napp. Across the peninsula's central valley, we diverted around the north-west coast on a single-track lane which clung precariously to a narrow shore-line shelf wedged between cliff face and sea-wall, leading around a headland for 4kms to the isolated tiny settlement of Vikten, set amid this mountainous-marine wilderness (see right). Trim little brightly coloured wooden cottages lined the village street at the lane's end, nestled at the shore-line below the towering bulky peak of Hustinden. This was no lifeless assemblage of holiday-lets but a working farming-fishing hamlet, with normal everyday life happening all around: a lady walked along to wait for the service-bus bringing local school children home (we were thankful not to have passed the bus partway along the narrow approach lane); younger children played on the beach, a garage workshop was busily at work on tractors, and one of the gardens was filled with newly born lambs. The only intrusion into this isolated haven of normality was a twee glass studio built as if from driftwood but probably as pseudy as its owner.

Flakstad church on north coast of Flakstadøya:  returning to the main road, the E10 now followed a long southward diversion around the vast inlet of Flakstadpollen enclosed on all but the narrow seaward side by fearsome mountains. A few farms nestled around the innermost landward end of the fjord inlet which we rounded to return along its western shore. Service buses passed us, their headboards wishing us God Pinse (Happy Whitsun). Where the road arched around the broader flat north-facing foreshore at the north coast, a side-lane branched off through the scattered farming settlement of Flakstad with its red-painted, onion-domed wooden church (Photo 9 - Flakstad Church). Said to date from 1780 but much-restored over the years since, the original church was built from driftwood washed up here by Arctic currents from the forests of Northern Siberia. We paused to admire this delightful and well-cared for little church, its graveyard filled with memorials to fishermen lost at sea and local men killed in WW2. Just beyond and set on a flat grassy headland alongside Flakstad beach's broad expanse of white sands, we found an unexpected campsite, Skagen Camping. Reasonably priced and in such a magnificent setting looking out over the deserted Skagsanden beach and backed by Flakstadøya's gloomy mountains, the site seemed appealing. We assured the welcoming lady-owner that we should stay on our return journey, to which she responded with the Nordic courtesy of Welcome back.

Fish-drying frames loaded with stockfish at Ramberg:  around the broad foreshore of Flakstadøya's northern headland, we reached the larger village of Ramberg, the island's administrative centre, with shops and Ramberg Camping which as expected was over-priced and filled to the brim with camping-cars, certainly not appealing! At the far end of the village just beyond the fishing port, the shore-line was filled with fish-drying frames which here were still laden with stockfish and dried cods' heads (Photo 10 - Stockfish drying frames). We paused to examine the stockfish more closely: the headless, gutted and rigidly dry bodies almost 2 feet long were much heavier than expected (see left). A JCB was busy at work transporting loads of dried fish carcasses along to the village, and this late in the season most of the frames now stood empty. We still had so many questions about what was clearly a major industry along with agriculture and tourism on the Lofotens.

Fredvang Camping, mercenary and penny-pinching:  we continued around the northern bay to turn off onto a side-lane which crossed 2 arching bridges and a causeway linking islets onto the northernmost extension of Lofoten's most westerly island, the much-indented, multi-armed and ultra-mountainous island of Moskenesøya (see right). Just across the final bridge, we reached the scattered farming village and fishing port of Fredvang where an unsurfaced lane turned off to Fredvang Camping on the north-facing coast. We were greeted at reception by one of the family which had kept the campsite since 1990. The wide, flat and rather featureless camping area was almost empty and ended at a white sand beach which stretched along the northern shore-line (see below left); we found a pitch close to the low dunes edging the beach from where we should have an unimpeded view of the Midnight Sun if the sky remained clear later in the evening. But here the positive features ended. The basic price including power was 230 NOK which was in itself more than we had generally paid, but additionally wi-fi cost 20kr/day, showers were 10kr each, and when we investigated the facilities, the ultimate insult was that electric rings in the kitchen needed 10kr coins for a half hour's usage. All this accumulated to a whopping 280 NOK for what was a straightforward no-frills campsite, other than happening to be by a beach with views of the Midnight Sun, fortuitous natural features for which we did not expect to pay. We felt highly resentful at this mercenary and penny-pinching attitude, but needed tomorrow's day in camp at what was a reasonably peaceful site with potential for Midnight Sun, and reluctantly settled in. When we left 2 days later, the women's attempts to justify the excessive costs were simply tedious verging on the offensively rude; her parting remark about welcome back was cut short with 'I doubt it!'. Today however the sun was still high and bright with a chill breeze blowing from the north over the sea, but by evening increasingly low cloud gathered totally obliterating both surrounding mountains and seaward northern horizon. The anticipated Midnight Sun was a non-event, and rather than wait up with sanguine hopes, we turned in early; perhaps we should have demanded a reduction for a non-functioning Midnight Sun!

A gloomy day in camp and unexpected Midnight Sun at last:  we woke to solid grey misty cloud down to ground level all around, the air still and stagnant with no movement to shift the cloud, for our day in camp. But at least the wi-fi signal enabled us to make contact with family in UK and to hear from our daughter in Adelaide about her latest impressive cycle-racing achievements in the South Australian State Championships where wins in both time-trials and 100km road race had made her State Champion! Parental pride knew no bounds. We interspersed our day's catching up with jobs with a wander around the grassy hillocks and dunes surrounding the campsite to photograph both the wild flora and the ground-nesting oyster-catchers as the male birds aggressively flew up or guilefully distracted us from the nest sites by limping away with down-turned apparently injured wing feigning easy prey (see right). The solid low cloud layer sat resolutely on the surrounding mountains all day, occasionally thinning to give glimpses of the sea but then closing in again. By evening we still hoped that the sun would emerge from below the cloud layer, but other than brief tantalising glimpses of the sun's faint outline as the cloud momentarily parted, the sun remained doggedly obscured. At 12-15 as we finally admitted defeat and prepared to turn in, the sun mystically re-appeared below the cloud layer. We rushed over to the beach, oblivious to the chill night air, taking our photos of this magnificent and long-awaited re-sighting of the Midnight Sun, albeit in a different form from 2 years ago, with the sun's ruddy-golden orb hovering high above the horizon and trailing a glimmering tail across the sea (see left) (Photo 11 - Midnight Sun). The light was such that even gulls were flying around (see below right). At gone 1-00am, after many photos and triumphant with success, we finally returned to George for sleep.

Moskenesøya's bizarrely mountainous topography:  on the day that we were to move on to the most spectacular part of Moskenesøya's mountainous and indented south-westerly corner, the solid cloud was down with a vengeance to ground-level. In this total cloud covered white-out however, we were unlikely to see much of the bristly, pinnacled ridge with peaks rising to 1000m protruding directly from the sea. A glance at a relief map of this narrowing archipelago shows it indented by both inlets of the sea, which penetrate deep into former valleys amid surrounding sheer-sided peaks, and by inland lakes to create a lacy topography of interconnected island-peaks. Moskenesøya's thread-like archipelago projecting south-westwards into the Norwegian Sea is a largely uninhabitable bare mountain-scape, with just the life-line of the E10 clinging precariously to its southern face, with interconnecting islets and bridges spanning the gap where the sea floods into the huge fjord penetrating its central mountainous region. But in this morning's murky light with cloud down to ground level, we should see little of this bizarrely stark topography.

Crossing to Moskenesøya:  returning over the bridges and causeway, we re-joined E10 on the Flakstadøya side of the Selfjord which cleaves deep into the interior separating this island from Moskenesøya. Down the length of the fjord and alongside the Sundtraumen channel, we diverted around a narrow lane down to the tiny fishing hamlet of Sund at the mountainous peninsula's southern tip. Here a ramshackle of cottages clustered around the little harbour with fish-drying frames still partly loaded with stockfish and cods' heads covering the rocks. At the lane's end by the harbour, a blacksmith's 'studio' (sic!) was at work turning heaps of derelict scrap into heaps of derelict 'artwork'. Re-joining E10, we crossed the bridge onto Moskenesøya with the road now running along a high shelf along the precipitous southern face of the island. Just beyond a modern, wide and well-lit tunnel, we were halted by major road-works: a 15 minute wait with traffic in controlled single-direction convoys passing through 3km long reconstruction works to blast out a wider shelf for the E10 across the mountainous face of the headland. The scale of the work was monumental, made eerily gloomy by the low cloud. Eventually, competing with diggers and contractors' trucks and bumping a way through the road works around the headland, we descended to the tip of the mountainous peninsula. From here the on-going E10 advanced heroically over a series of islets spanned by interconnecting bridges across the mouth of the huge Reine Fjord which penetrated deep into Moskenesøya's mountainous interior, not that we could see much of it in the gloomy conditions.

Hamnøya, Sakristøya and Reine bridging the mouth of Reine Fjord:  with traffic over the narrow series of bridges bunched into one-way convoys by the road works, we nervously pulled off into the hamlet of Hamnøya, a crowded cluster of red-painted holiday rorbuer (fishermen's wooden shacks) covering the tiny islet. Having turned back to the E10, there was then further delay as we waited for the traffic lights controlling the one-way traffic flow over the narrow interconnecting bridges spanning the next islets. Views all around of this mountainous sea-scape would have been spectacular in the extreme, but frustratingly the sea-level misty cloud obscured all. Crossing 2 further narrow arching bridges and an intervening islet, we reached the next islet of Sakristøya which was largely occupied by its fish shop, cod-drying frames and rorbuer holiday accommodation, as if to add to the bewildering topography. The fish produce looked and smelled tempting but prices of both fresh and smoked fish were as bizarre as the surrounding topography. We did sample their smoked whale steak and found it surprisingly tasty, and took the opportunity to ask about the Lofoten stockfish export trade. It was true that the dried cods' heads were exported to West Africa as a food-stuff and the stockfish mainly to Italy. The origins of this curious trade were Lofoten sailors who carried dried stockfish as preserved food for long sea voyages to the Mediterranean. The Italians took a liking to this unlikely product and traded stockfish for fresh produce, giving rise to the now highly lucrative export trade in stockfish. All the fish shop's stockfish recipe leaflets were in Italian for the benefit of Italian tourists. But so many of our questions about stockfish and dried cods' heads remained unanswered. Another narrow bridge linked E10 over onto a projecting spur of land encircling Reine harbour whose village we could just about see across the enclosed body of water (see right). Ahead a vast pinnacle of Moskenesøya's mountainous mass loomed upwards to unseen heights lost in the enveloping gloomy cloud. In such spectacular surroundings, the gloomy weather was such a disappointment (Photo 12 - Moskenesøya's mountains obscured by low cloud).

Moskenes and the fishing village of Å i Lofoten:  beyond Reine the road improvements had already been completed leading down as far as the port of Moskenes for the ferry crossing to Bodø, and passing through another modern tunnel, we reached the little harbour village where traffic was queuing for the Bodø ferry. The TIC was closed on Whit Sunday, but the café next door supplied us with the free walking guide for Moskenesøya. With low cloud still obscuring the surrounding mountain peaks, the E10 beyond Moskenes reverted to being a narrow country lane winding through the straggling village of Sørvågen with its minimarket. We continued on through the hamlet of Tind to reach the road's southern ending at the fishing village of Å i Lofoten. Despite its local economy relying heavily on tourism, the entire settlement of Å seemed still to be in hibernation over Whit weekend.

A memorable stay at Moskenesstraumen Camping at Å i Lofoten:  around the winding back lanes we found Moskenesstraumen Camping, its huts and little camping areas tucked among the rocks or perched on terraces overlooking the sea on a craggy headland. At this time of year it was deserted apart from one sturdy camper whose owners had travelled overland from Australia; in conversation with them, it turned out not only were they also from Adelaide but were related to a cycle-racing friend of our daughter. This small world of ours is full of such remarkable coincidences! The campsite owner suggested a pitch up on a high grassy shelf perched on a cliff-top outcrop from where we could look out across the grey sea, and we readily settled in. At 220 NOK/night including power, showers and Wi-fi internet, and such a memorable setting, Moskenesstraumen Camping, at least at this early stage of the year, was a wonderfully charactersome place to camp. After almost a week we had at last found an acceptable campsite in Lofoten, and we celebrated with an albeit chilly barbecue on our cliff-top ledge (Photo 13 - Cliff-top barbecue at Moskenesstraumen Camping). The following morning, we waved farewell to the Aussie couple, and moved over to the small sheltered rocky terrace which they had vacated. In splendid isolation on our rocky shelf overlooking the bay here on our world's end cliff-top camping spot, with just the birds for company and low cloud still covering the surrounding peaks, we enjoyed a productive working day in camp (see above left). Looking out across our little bay, eider ducks paddled around, terns flitted over, oyster catchers nested on the rocky headland opposite with the male bird standing guard or 'peeping' aggressively at any disturbance, and cormorants ducked and dived in the grey water; at one point we even spotted the black triangular tail fin of a killer whale and its spouting spray as it passed around the rocky inlet. Later in the afternoon, 2 fishermen stood gutting huge cod fish at the campsite's fish table; Paul asked to buy a couple of fillets for supper; 'we've had a good catch, you can have some' was the reply, so we ended our day with supper of locally caught cod thanks to their generosity.

The Å Stockfish Museum:  Å, the final settlement of Moskenesøya's fragmented, mountainous island (and coincidentally the last letter of the Norwegian alphabet), is described in the tourist literature as a 'living museum' - visit the web site of the Å i Lofoten Fishing Village Museum: the village and its significant port which was once home to a large fishing fleet now makes its living from tourism with its wooden houses, fish-drying frames on every headland, and red-painted rorbuer shacks. These once provided seasonal accommodation for the many visiting fishermen attracted here by the winter cod shoals spawning in Vestfjord but now serve the needs of tourists and make sizeable livings for their owners. In light drizzle the following morning, we walked down through the village, photographing the stockfish drying on the frames, the air filled with their all-pervasive fishy smell, and bought traditional dark bread and cinnamon buns (albeit at great expense!) from the village bakery. The harbour, at one time busy during the winter cod fishing season, was now a peaceful haven for just a few leisure craft. The once thriving fishing hall now stood derelict, all its ledges, sills and roof providing nesting sites for 100s of kittiwakes (see above right). The female birds sat on the filthy nests, and as we approached the male birds went berserk hustling around aggressively with their shrieking 'kittiwake' alarm-calls (Photo 14 - Kittiwakes nesting at Å).

Our first call of the day was the Å Lofoten Tørrfisk Museum, housed in a former fish warehouse on the far side of the harbour (see left) (Photo 15 - Å Lofoten Tørrfisk Museum). Here we had high hopes of getting answers to the many questions that had been building up during the last week about the production and export of stockfish, the traditional Lofoten dried cod. We were greeted with coffee and biscuits by the fluently polyglot owner, Steinar Larsen. A former stockfish producer and merchant himself, he is a true enthusiast on stockfish and passionately overwhelms his visitors with his knowledge of the subject.

Production and export of Lofoten stockfish:  for generations the catching and drying of cod fish has been the life blood of the Lofoten Islands, and nowadays is a major export commodity, so much so that Lofoten Stockfish is a protected trademark. The Vikings perfected the skill of drying fish as a means of preserving foodstuff for long voyages; stockfish remains edible for years, and is reconstituted for cooking by soaking in water. The fishing season traditionally peaks during the winter months from January~April when cod from the Barents Sea migrate from Arctic waters to spawn in the warmer Gulf Stream waters of Vestfjord around the Lofotens; this spawning migration gives rise to the Norwegian expression Skrei Torske (Wandering Cod). The quantity of cod caught each year is regulated by quotas but in a good year can reach up to 60,000 tonnes. Some 25% of Lofoten cod is traditionally preserved by drying in the crisp, dry winter air on frames seen by every Lofoten village harbour (Photo 16 - Stockfish drying on frames at Å). The landed cod are gutted, heads removed, tied together in pairs by size, and hung to dry on the frames (see right). During this dehydration by air-drying, the fish loose 80% of their weight, with the resultant stockfish having a residual 80% proteinous content (Photo 17 - Dried stockfish). At the end of the 3 month drying process, the stockfish are removed from the frames, sorted, graded and packed for export. Little of the cod goes to waste: cod tongue is a local delicacy with youngsters paid by the piece to extract the tongues; cod roe is used to make Norwegian 'caviar' sold in tubes and delicious spread on crispbread; cod livers are used to extract cod liver oil which was first produced in 1854 by a Lofoten pharmacist for its health giving properties by steam-boiling the cod livers in vats.

Whereas stockfish was once preserved by air-drying in pre-refrigeration days as a food staple for islanders' home consumption, today it has become a major export commodity particularly to Mediterranean Catholic countries such as Portugal and Italy where Catholic dogma forbade meat-eating on Fridays. This trade connection with Italy may have started with Venetian merchants visiting Norway or Norwegian sailors trading preserved fish for local fresh produce, but today it is big business with canny merchants driving a hard bargain for pricing stockfish and selecting the best quality produce. Stockfish has become a luxury exotic foodstuff called bacalao for which astronomical prices are paid in Italian restaurants. Not even the cods' heads are wasted: as well as the paired cods' bodies hanging to dry on frames, we had also regularly seen the bizarre sight of massed cods' heads hanging from strings on frames. We now learned that these were exported mainly to Nigeria where the heads are boiled with ground nuts to make a spicy cassava stew, again doubtless a luxury dish for the few who can afford it. This curious trade may date back to the days of British Empire when cheaper cods' heads were transported as a preserved foodstuff, but today this Nigerian export of dried cods' heads is as lucrative for Lofoten merchants as is stockfish to Italy. The Norwegian Fishing communities of the Lofotens are vociferously protective of this lucrative export asset: the Lofotens recorded an over 90% vote against EU membership in the Norwegian EU referenda to protect access to the cod and invasion of their inshore waters by Spanish fishing fleets if Norway were to join the EU.

This trade in stockfish (Lofotfiske) has become a mainstay of the local Lofoten economy through a coincidental chain of circumstances: in pre-refrigeration days before any effective means of preservation other than unacceptable salting, the winter cod migration created an annual glut in fish stocks needing to be kept over the year as a basic foodstuff; the unique Lofoten climate with cold dry winds produced the ideal solution for drying the Spring glut of fish; as fish stocks increased beyond the basic foodstuff levels, the surplus of stockfish produced a trading commodity; stockfish was also an ideal preserved foodstuff for seafaring merchants who traded their surplus in Catholic Mediterranean countries, creating a demand for dried fish which Lofoten merchants profitably met, resulting in stockfish becoming a principal export commodity long after other more effective means of fish preservation such as refrigeration had taken over for fresh fish.

We did indeed learn much from Steinar Larsen at the Stockfish Museum with his knowledge and enthusiasm which matched our quest for understanding of this unique commodity and its export trade. He showed us a couple of DVDs about Lofoten cod fishing and stockfish production, and we wandered around the museum examining the many samples of stockfish and equipment of display (see above left) (Photo 18 - Stockfish on display). This included a dried King Cod with its distinctive forehead lump, which every Lofoten fishing family hangs from a string on its porch both for good luck and for its alleged weather forecasting properties: as the string expands and contracts with air humidity, the monster fish rotates like a barometer - a weather cod (see right). If you visit no other museum in the Lofotens, the Stockfish Museum is a must to learn about this unique Lofoten product.

Moskenesøya's inaccessible SW corner and Moskenesstraumen Mælstrom:  still somewhat over-awed by all that we had learned about the stockfish trade, we walked back around through the village of Å. A short tunnel led through to a huge parking area which keeps the summer tourist masses out of the village and beyond here, a lane wound up onto the moorland cliff-tops. This headland was the furthest west we were going to get, but at least from here there were views of the inaccessible peaks which make up the remote southernmost part of Moskenesøya. Cloud covered the higher peaks and the sky was still murky (Photo 19 - Moskenesøya's SW tip), but at least we could make out the area of sea leading down towards the distant islet of Røst and the fearful hazardous waters of the Mælstroms surging through the Moskenesstraumen straits which inspired the legendary Mælstrom yarn in Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (see left). We wandered across the boggy headland and were soon finding botanic gems to tempt our eyes from the murky peaks stretching away to the SW and the distant Mælstrom. We were soon down on hands and knees photographing lacy-flowered bog-beans, lovely banks of dwarf cornel, chickweed wintergreen dotted among crowberry and bilberry, spotted marsh orchids still in tight bud, and patches of insectivorous butterworts.

Across Reinefjord to Vindstad and Moskenesøya's north coast at Bunes Bay:  Moskenesstraumen Camping, a sheltered little gen of a straightforward campsite and a haven of peace at least at this time of year, had served us well for our 3 day stay . Our final morning gave the first hints of sun in 5 days with the residual cloud just clearing the mountain tops (Photo 20 - Moskenesstraumen Camping); we were at last able to see glimpses of Moskenesøya's incredibly spectacular mountainous topography as we began the drive back northwards. Back past Moskenes, we turned off into the little port of Reine, its bay enclosed by a peninsula and islets spanned by the E10 bridges across the mouth of Reinefjord. This huge sinuous area of water penetrating deep into Moskenesøya's mountainous interior was our destination today. Our plan was to take the ferry across Reinefjord's length to the isolated settlement of Vindstad which has no road access, and walk over a low watershed to the island's north coast. The times of boats were one of Reine's great uncertainties; published timetables said either 10-00 or 11-00am, so we turned up early giving time to view the magnificent panorama from Reine's narrow peninsula over the red wooden cottages along the length of Reinefjord with its backdrop of jagged peaks (see right) (Photo 21 - Reine harbour and Reinefjord). Passengers gathered down at the landing stage and the boat eventually set off from Reine harbour, curving around past Reine village (Photo 22 - Passing Reine village), under the E10 bridge and across the main body of Reinefjord with starkly bare mountain peaks rising sheer on both sides and tiny isolated settlements clinging to the shore-line below (Photo 23- Crossing Reinefjord).

20 minutes across Reinefjord, the boat approached the landing-stage at Vindstad (Photo 24 - Vinstad landing-stage), an eerily isolated settlement of summer houses strung out along a trackway running the length of the inner recess of narrow Bunesfjord and enclosed by sheer-sided brooding mountains. As we began the walk past the deserted wooden cottages, we recognised among fellow boat passengers the French couple from near Avignon, Claudine and Alain Boulard, whom we had met 2 weeks earlier by the Cathedral in Bodø (see left); such remarkable serendipitous meetings are a noteworthy feature of our travels. Amid the rubble of a derelict building we paused to photograph a pair of oyster-catchers as they performed their usual parading antics to distract us from their nest (Photo 25 - Oyster-catcher). The trackway ended at the far end of Vinstad's line of cottages, and we turned off onto a narrow path which gained height steadily towards the watershed on the crest of a low ridge of sandy moraine bridging the gap between the 2 side-walls of craggy mountains (Photo 26 - Path over watershed). The views back into the sun down towards Vinstad showed the full extent of Reinefjord and its enclosing mountains. Across the flat top of the watershed, the ground dropped away suddenly to reveal the beautiful white sandy bay of Bunes Bay with the turquoise sea beyond off Moskenesøya's north coast (Photo 27 - Isolated beach of Bunes Bay); this magnificently isolated and deserted cove was enclosed by high mountains on both sides with the craggy massif of Helvetestinden faced with spectacular slabs dropping sheer down to the bay (see right). We paused on the sandy slope amid flourishing patches of mountain avens and tufts of purple-pink moss-campion to eat our sandwiches before dropping down the steep descent. Down at the beach, the depth of the bay became even more evident: it was some 800m from the foot of the steep slope out to the edge of the sea. It took surprisingly little time to tackle the steep climb back up the sandy slope to regain the watershed for the magnificent view looking south-westwards towards Reinefjord (Photo 28- SW view from watershed). The outward walk had taken just over an hour and we had to be back at the landing-stage by 3-30pm; there was time for a more relaxed stroll back down past the Vinstad grave-yard and along the fjord-side track-way. The best of the day's weather was now gone and increasing cloud gathered with chill breeze as we stood at the pier waiting for the return boat.

A miserably cold night and an inadequate campsite back on Flakstadøya's north coast:  back at Reine, the glorious views of earlier were now obscured by cloud as we re-joined E10 to cross the series of bridges threading a way over the islets across the mouth of Reinefjord. Squeezing past the Å service bus amid the E10 road-works, we rounded Moskenesøya's final headland to re-cross the bridge back onto Flakstadøya with the sky now dark and murky and low cloud again covering the mountains. Back along the shore of Sundstraumen and around to the broad foreshore of Flakstadøya's northern coast at Ramberg, we turned off into Skagen Camping which we had discovered last week. Our earlier impression of this campsite by the wide Skagsanden beach had been good, but disappointment now loomed. Facilities were minimal and the camping area spread across the foreshore's dunes had little level ground. We eventually found a flat corner and settled in with heater on full against the now bitterly cold wind. Low, gloomy cloud down to sea level covered the magnificent mountains that dropped sheer behind us down to the shore-line denying any possibility of a midnight sun despite the favourable north-facing position. Late in the miserably cold evening, a minimalist glimmer of late sun showed through the cloud cover to match a minimalist campsite (see right).

The over-commercialised tourist trap of Nusfjord:  with 100% cloud cover on a bitterly cold morning, we were glad to leave Skagen, to turn off E10 at the inner recess of Flakstadpollen. The single-track lane gained height to drop down to the dark water of Storvatnet with low cloud obscuring what would have been the craggy slabs of the lake's magnificent backdrop. Isolated rock pillars seemed to hover amid the misty cloud which covered this spectacular range with water streaks of snow melt-water trickling down the high slabbed eastern face above the lake. The lane wound down through the wooded lower valley leading to Flakstadøya's southern coast and the bijou fishing port of Nusfjord (Photo 29 - Nusfjord). This picturesque 19th century fishing village, shoe-horned into a tiny cove with its rorbuer clustered on stilts around the harbour hemmed in by towering crags, is now the jewel of Lofoten's mass tourism industry. Greedy business interests have also cashed in on this crude commercial exploitation, milking the tourists who flock here in the 100s of 1000s during summer. The setting is without doubt glorious, but the end result is a twee tourist trap costing 50 NOK entry to what the slick advertising flyer calls a 'living museum'. The only thing left that is living or genuine about Nusfjord are the kittiwakes nesting on the high craggy cliffs enclosing the tiny port; the only thing that is free surprisingly is the car park, where space in the upper area is limited given the aerial view down into the wee, twee settlement. One token fishing boat, which probably has not been to sea for many a year, is moored in the little harbour, and don't forget the cod liver oil factory on the quay or the stockfish frames (empty of course) on the headland. It was truly commercial yuksville, and tour-buses duly filled the lower car park. Naturally we declined to part with money for such a contrived tourist trap, and were content with photos from above and a free wander among the rorbuer, the largest of which now formed the offices of one of the investment interests that owns the place.

Working fishing ports of Napp and Ballstad:  leaving Nusfjord to the kittiwakes and gullible tourist hoards, we returned along the narrow approach valley and re-joined E10 along the eastern side of Flakstadpollen and over Flakstadøya's eastern peninsula to the very work-a-day, no nonsense, modern fishing port of Napp (Photo 30 - Napp fishing port). Gulls swarmed around over the waters of the harbour as today's catch was unloaded from the working boats at the quay-side into fish-processing factories which lined both sides of the inlet. Through the Nappstraunen undersea tunnel to Vestvågøya, we swung around the shore-line and across the mud-flats to the large fishing and ship-repair village of Ballstad on the island's south coast. By now a bright sun was shining through the broken cloud, but the price was a brisk, blustery and very chill northerly wind. The village spread across the island Ballstadøya and clustered around its busy harbour and huge ship-repair shed. Again this was very much a work-a-day port but backed by spectacularly jagged peaks along the skyline.

The sad port of Stamsund:  heading eastward from Leknes, Route 815 climbed steeply over a wooded watershed to descend even more steeply to where a narrow side-lane led around this bleak southern arm of Vestvågøya. Barren cliffs dominated the landward side with the seaward side looked out across bays studded with islets and the now bright afternoon sun sparkling across the waters to a skyline of distant jagged peaks (Photo 31 - Southern Vestvågøya's mountainous coastline). We continued down this deserted and picturesque coastline reaching the hamlet of Steine where a few rorbuer clustered around its little harbour. Around the southern shore-line where the cliffs of craggy mountains towered over the lane and rock debris littered the road-side, we approached what the map suggested was the larger port-settlement of Stamsund, the Hurtigrute's first port of call on the Lofotens northwards from Bodø. It therefore sounded an interesting port potentially full of charm. It wasn't. We arrived at a woebegone looking hotel opposite the even more desolate buildings of the Hurtigrute quay, and parked by a minimarket. The whole atmosphere of this working end of the town had a run-down, passé air: empty and semi-derelict port buildings, a forlornly over-optimistic art gallery, with even the unwanted and deserted rorbuer for sale; the DNB sign showed that the banks had claimed another bankrupt business. Further along a few fish-processing factories line the quays of what once might have been a busy fishing harbour, but now largely empty of all but a few leisure craft (Photo 32 - Leisure craft at Stamsund). It was a despondently desolate place, any glory or raison d'être long past. The Hurtigrute quay was empty and semi-derelict with just one transport lorry waiting the evening sailing. Along at the modern end of the town, at least the houses were brighter and better cared for, but we were left wondering what the future held for this end-of-world port-town and why the Hurtigrute still called here.

Brustranda Camping - a first class campsite:  around Skifjorden, the now narrow single-track Route 815 turned off around Vestvågøya's southern coast hugging the shore-line with towering mountain cliffs overshadowing the landward side and again huge chunks of rock debris lining the lane. At the head of the inlet of Rolvsfjord we reached tonight's campsite, Brustranda Camping. You know by instinct when a campsite is good and Brustranda had a very acceptable air about it: the owner greeted us with a smilingly helpful welcome and showed us round, the well-cared for camping area clustered around a small fjord inlet and surrounded by high mountains was delightful (see right), the facilities were first class with a well-equipped kitchen, comfortable common room and generously timed showers, and the good value price of 220 NOK included site-wide wi-fi internet. If only all campsites were as good as this; we gladly settled in. But tonight the northerly wind blowing down from the enclosing mountains was insistently chill, penetrating all the camper's vents with draughts which the fan-heater struggled to combat.

Vestvågøya's magnificent southern coastline:  after a leisurely morning here at Brustranda Camping enjoying the pleasant fjord-side mountainous surroundings, we continued around the inner fjord-shore around onto the southern coast-line of Vestvågøya. From this magnificent spot, we could gaze out across the wide expanse of Vestfjord, the straits separating the Lofoten archipelago from the Norwegian mainland, where the winter wandering cod migrate to spawn. The jagged peaks of Austvågøya stood out clearly to the east, and in today's clear light the distant serrated peaks of the mainland were visible along the south-eastern horizon. Behind us on the landward side, the craggy cliffs of Vestvågøya's southern coastal mountains towered overhead with spillages of rock debris fallen onto the foreshore. Through the farming hamlet of Valberg nestled into a broad bay with its white church visible from a distance against a dark mountainous backdrop across the shallows, the lane swung around the next mountainous headland enclosing the bay on the far side. Just around the headland's point, we pulled in to the shore side. Here the view across a small white sand beach, turquoise shallow waters and distant jagged mountains was simply breath-taking - a classic Lofoten photograph (Photo 33 - Vestvågøya's magnificent southern coastline). But equally glorious were the wild flora covering the shore-side rocks: here among the crowberry and juniper ground-cover, we found this year's first lingonberry flowers, some almost fully open with the outward-curling petals of their bell-shaped flowers, others in pink clusters of tight, elongated buds (Photo 34 - Lingonberry flowers). This was without doubt one of the trip's highlight moments.

Across onto Gimsøya:  the lane swung NW crossing lower farming land and the shallows and mud-flats of Malnesvika, and over rounded hills overlooking Henningsvær-staumen with the mountains of Gimsøya on the far side, we reached the bridge spanning the narrows separating Eastern Vestvågøya from its neighbouring island. We crossed to the Gimsøya shore passed last week on our outward journey, and turned north onto a single-tack lane around the flat farming lands of Western Gimsøya; the only distinctive feature was the conical hill of 368m high Hoven which dominated the northern tip of the peninsula. The lane led around the remarkably flat western side of Gimsøya under the towering cliffs of Hoven's peak to reach the tiny fishing harbour of Hovsund at the NW tip of the island. Here partly loaded stockfish frames covered the headland, and as we stood photographing these in the bright sunlight, a male gull guarding its mate nesting on top of the frames swooped viciously down with aggressive shrieks. Across the shallow bay, the mountains of Northern Vestvågøya's Kvalnes peninsula, which we had driven round last week, were silhouetted against the western sky (see right). A short distance along Gimsøya's northern coast we reached Hov Camping which overlooked the glorious white sand beach of Hovsvika (see left). This lovely, peaceful campsite, ranged along the roadside opposite the bay (see below left), looked out across a beautiful white sand beach and clear sea-scape to the northern horizon, a perfect, unimpaired vantage point for viewing the Midnight Sun (Photo 35 - Hov Bay). Hov Camping with its beautifully tended, close-cropped turf camping area sloping down to the coast was run by Hov Golf Club, the only golf course on Lofoten whose links spread along the northern shore of Gimsøya, the only flat land on the islands capable of hosting a golf course.

Midnight Sun from shore-side Hov Camping:  we booked in at the club house, settled into one of the wide pitches looking out over this magnificent coastline, and went for a wander along the shore to identify a suitable Midnight sun vantage point. The sun began its slow decline across the northern sky and, despite some gathering cloud, things looked promising for a Midnight Sun. We waited anxiously taking occasional late photos as the sun lowered across the sea around 11-00pm. At 11-40pm we kitted up fully against the cold wind and walked over to our observation point at a nearby beach-cove (Photo 36 - Sun approaching horizon at 11-54pm). A layer of dense cloud was spreading along the northern horizon, and we just managed to get photos of the declining sun at 'calendar time' midnight. But by 12-20 the sun had buried itself into the cloud layer with 40 minutes still to go before reaching its lowest point at due north on the horizon at true midnight (1-00am 'clock time') (Photo 37 - The sun at 00-05am). So close tonight but at least we some worthy photographs (see right).

A chill camp day at Hov Camping:  our day in camp was going to be a cold one, with low misty cloud covering the sea and a chill Arctic wind in this exposed north-facing location at Hov Camping. We turned the camper into the wind which had overnight veered to be blowing from the NW but, despite having changed back into full Arctic gear to keep warm, the cold draughts were so penetrating that the fan-heater was fighting a losing battle to maintain even 15°C inside the camper. With the weather worsening even more during the afternoon, with all-enveloping dense cloud obscuring both mountains and sea, with bitterly chill wind and driving drizzle, it was a miserably gloomy day, the worst of the trip only fit for a day of writing and trying to stay snug in the shelter of George. Despite a brief brightening of the northern horizon, the weather closed in again for a foul night of wind and rain with zero chance of a repeat Midnight Sun tonight.

Henningsvær:  the following morning we drove around Gimsøya's northern coast with the craggy mountains of Northern Austvågøya gracing the eastern skyline. The shore-hugging lane passed around the mountainous rump of Gimsøya along the island's eastern coast with now empty fish-drying frames covering the headlands. Reaching the Gimsøystraumen-brua, we crossed the high-arching 839m (2,753 ft) wide bridge (Photo 38 - Gimsøystraumen Bridge) to drive around the mountainous western tip of Austvågøya to the turning for the 8km shore-line single-track lane which winds down around the foot of the jagged peaks which make up Austvågøya's south-western tip. Our first goal for today was the walk along the shore of Dupfjord which fills the long narrow corrie penetrating 2km deep into the mountainous interior (see right). Parking at the causeway across the fjord mouth, we kitted up against the bitingly chill wind blowing down the fjord and set off along a faint fjord-side path. The path wove an uncertain way over boulders among the stunted rowans covering the lower slopes of the elongated mountain enclosed valley (Photo 39 - Djupford). In poor light we photographed the wealth of wild flora, but the path became more indistinct among a tangle of tumbled boulders covering the approach to the upper corrie. We picked a way across the boulder-field but this was no labour of love, and we returned to the road to continue down the shore-line.

Henningsvær, perched precariously on an islet-promontory projecting from Austvågøya's mountainous SW tip, is a working fishing port whose boats still catch the cod which migrate to spawn in the warmer waters off Lofoten. The headland on which the village is perched is approached by 2 ultra-narrow arching bridges which in peak summer must be a nightmare to cross with the hoards of tour-buses which Henningsvær's picturesque setting attracts. At this time of year the lane was still quiet, apart from the camping-car nuisance, and we walked from the parking area at the village's approach around the horse-shoe shaped harbour around which Henningsvær has developed. We ambled among the lanes of quiet wooden houses, avoiding the festering of art galleries, around the elongated inlet-harbour enclosed by the small causeway linking the 2 long islets on which the village was built. It was the sort of place where, even on a peaceful Sunday afternoon you kept expecting something to happen; and thankfully it never did. The size of the harbour indicated that clearly Henningsvær was until recently a busy, active fishing port with all its supporting infrastructure. But times have changed, and today there at most 8 working boats moored around the extensive quays, with a leisure-craft marina set at the causeway. Despite fewer boats occupying the harbour, the view from the causeway looking along the length of Henningsvær's harbour with its backdrop of jagged snow-flecked peaks was still classically Lofoten (see left) (Photo 40 - Henningsvær). The parallel islet which formed the outer side of the harbour inlet was lined with wooden houses and at the inner end holiday rorbuer, but all was quiet. Along the quayside wooden walkway, the few boats moored here were inactive and deserted, and the former fishing sheds were now converted to fish restaurants or trendy offices. We plodded back around through the village to return over the bridges and around the coastal lane to E10.

More unsavoury campsites:  the E10 passed through a tunnel at the foot of the mountain barrier which from a distance seemed to block the way forward, and 8kms east near to Kabelvåg we turned off to 2 coastal campsite options. Being close to the tourist centre of Svolvær, neither raised great expectations. Pulling into the neighbouring campsites of Ørsvågvær and Sandvika, it was clear that our negative feelings were well-founded. Despite, or perhaps because of, the attractive shore-side setting with panoramic views of jagged peaks westwards now shrouded in rain-cloud, both campsites were packed full with camping-cars; there was not a cm2 to escape from all the objectionable noise. But the worst was yet to come. The price was an equally offensive 290 NOK, and the owner's uncivil manner and indifferent take-it-or-leave-it attitude made our decision easy: we soundly rejected both, and at the expense of extra driving, we returned to Gimsøya's peaceful northern coast at Hov Camping. With George's nose pitched resolutely into the bitterly cold NE wind, we quickly settled in with fan heater on and a beer in a hand, thankful to be back in the peace and quiet of this welcoming campsite.

Storvågen :  the following morning, the weather was still blustery with squally Arctic showers that overnight had fallen as snow on the mountains surrounding Hovsvika. This had been the coldest trip undertaken, with scarcely an evening when we had not relied on the fan-heater for warmth; the only advantage was that the prolonged Arctic wind had delayed the start of this year's midge season! Our plan for today was to return to Austvågøya to visit Storvågen and Kabelvåg, do a provisions stock-up in Svolvær, and tonight camp on the NE coast of Austvågøya. Leaving Gimsøya and crossing the Gimsøystraumen Bridge for the final time, we passed around the chunky mountainous coastline of SW Austvågøya and turned east through the tunnel into the island's central valley. The E10 brought us to the turning for Storvågen, said to be the site of the original Lofoten medieval fishing township and harbour. It was here in 1120 that King Eystein Magnusson built the first rorbuer, tiny wooden cabins with fireplace and earthen floor for the seasonal fisher-folk who flocked to the Lofotens for the winter cod spawning season. But this was no act of regal philanthropy since by encouraging the cod fishing, Eystein took control of the rich tax revenues from fishing. By the 19th century power over the predominant fishing trade was controlled by local nessekonger, meaning privileged traders, merchant squires who bought up local property. These new land owners forced the tenant fishermen of their rorbuer to deliver their entire catch at prices set by the landlords. The 1857 Lofoten Act greatly reduced the power of squire-landlords, but not until the 1936 Raw Fish Act did they lose the power to set fish prices.

Storvågen today is nothing but a tourist trap with the Lofot-Museum housed in a former Merchant-landlord's residence, an art gallery-restaurant, and the Lofoten Aquarium, all places we should normally shun like the plague. We called at the aquarium however in an attempt to find more information about the whale whose black triangular dorsal fin we had spotted off the coast at Å. We explained our quest purely for information to the girl at the ticket booth who, readily trusting, allowed us to enter without charge. But the place was bereft of any staff or source of information about their tanks full of exhibits; perhaps their usual tourist-visitors had no need for information. Even the souvenir shop was unmanned and since we had no requirement for furry seals, we thanked the ticket girl for her understanding and continued round to Kabelvåg.

The little port of Kabelvåg:  down at the Torget, the wooden buildings of Kabelvåg village spread around what was clearly a large harbour enclosed by a sturdy cobb. It had once been a principle fishing harbour, home to a sizeable fleet, but those days were now long gone. There was now scarcely a boat to be seen in the empty port. We walked around past the harbour-side wooden inn where boats would once have been drawn up alongside. But now only the ghosts of those glory days lingered, with just a couple of camping-cars to disturb the peace of the place. A local girl had just got off the bus, and in halting English she proudly told us she worked at the nearby fruit and vegetable packing establishment; a straightforward soul she somehow endeared herself to us. The enormous harbour now stood empty; long gone was hum and bustle of yesteryear and the fishing fleet that once would have sailed from here for the Lofotfiske. With rain beginning again, we returned to Torget and bought some of our provision at the local Co-op. Back out at the E10, we paused at another indication of Kabelvåg's past greatness, the enormous wooden church set on a hillock overlooking the sea. It was built to serve the needs of the seasonal fishermen who flocked here in the early 20th century for the annual Spring Lofotfiske (Photo 41 - Kabelvåg Church). These days its seating capacity of 1,200 exceeds the total population of Kabelvåg. Gloomy clouds covering the surrounding mountains threatened rain as we had ambled around this peaceful and unpretentious little place. It lacked all the tourist razzmatazz we had expected, but with its unassuming and rather faded air, Kabelvåg was an appealing if rather sad place; we liked it a lot.

We drove on returning to the outskirts of Svolvær, passing the ferry terminal where we had arrived in Lofoten 2 weeks ago. Much had happened in the intervening time during which we had seen and learned so much. We completed our shopping for provisions in the town, and in gloomy light continued northward along the eastern coast of Austvågøya under the towering mountain pinnacles overshadowing Austnesfjord.

Appalling weather in North-Eastern Austvågøya and another excellent campsite at Sildpollnes Sjø-camping:  some 20 kms along the fjord coast we reached Sildpollnes Sjø-camping, a large site spread across the peninsula of Sildpollneset which projects into Austnesfjord and is tipped by a tiny wooden church. This was a magnificent spot looking across the fjord to the Trolltinden range's coronet of jagged, snow-covered peaks. And best of all the place was peaceful and almost deserted, with the few other visitors lost in the vast camping areas scattered across the peninsula. The campsite owner, a tall gangling Lofoten man whose family had owned the land and its fishing for some 50 years, gave us a friendly welcome and showed us around. The campsite showed clearly the care that had gone into its progressive development; never before had we seen such a varied choice of camping spots: a large, flat area on the northern side of the peninsula with multiple secluded bays and trees for shelter was temping but further from the services-hut; we selected a pitch close to the little chapel on a flat south-facing terrace with panoramic views eastward of Eastern Austvågøya's mountainous profile of jagged peaks (Photo 42 - Sildpollnes Sjø-camping). This was a wonderful place to camp: along with a hospitable welcome from the owner, the setting was second to none, facilities were good, and the very reasonable price of 220 NOK included showers and site-wide wi-fi.

The ever accurate Norwegian Meteorological Institute website forecast grey gloom and heavy and continuous rain for the next 36 hours driven by southerly gales. It made good sense therefore to bring forward our planned day in camp and sit out the bad weather at this magnificent spot here at Sildpollnes Sjø-camping. We pitched George's nose into the driving rain with the surrounding mountains hidden by misty white-out. The weather showed no sign of improvement all day, chillingly cold with all-enveloping, and soaking mist filling the entire valley and we huddled inside the camper with the fan-heater on full for warmth. Today we endured some of the coldest, wettest conditions ever camped in, testing even our stamina.

Austvågøya's northern coast and the isolated village of Laukvik:  in insidiously driving, misty drizzle, with dense, gloomy cloud totally enveloping the mountains across Austnesfjord, we set off the following morning northwards on the last section of E10 we should use. Rounding the head of the fjord, we passed through the farming-fishing village of Laupstad which looked woebegone in such dreadful weather. Continuing over the low col which just separated the southern Austnesfjord and northern Sløverfjord, we wondered how long it would be before this land barrier was eroded away to separating Eastern Austvågøya into a new highly mountainous island. In low visibility we passed 3 brave cyclists struggling against the soaking rain, and continued alongside Sløverfjord scarcely able to see across the width of the fjord to the mountains opposite. This was truly foul weather. Beyond 2 short tunnels cut through rocky headlands, we reached the junction where E10 branched eastwards to enter the long undersea tunnel connecting across the fjord's mouth to Eastern Austvågøya, and the lane to the ferry port of Fiskebøl continued north. We continued ahead as George's odometer recorded 2,000 miles driven so far in Norway. Before crossing by ferry from Fiskebøl to the Vesterålen Islands, we should spend one final night's camp on the north coast of Austvågøya, and followed the narrow lane along the fretted northern shoreline with its deserted white sand beaches.

Here along the flatlands of the northern coast, the weather had improved remarkably but looking back towards the mountains of the landward interior, dark murky rain cloud still persisted. Beyond the hamlet of Strømstad, the lane turned south down the shore of indented Morfjord which was almost bridged partway down its length by a sandbar across the mudflats. Across the flat meadows of the island's next projecting northerly peninsula, we seemed to have moved into an entirely different world from the severely mountainous interior. The lane crossed the shallow, sandy Grunnførfjord nature reserve on a narrow causeway leading to the isolated farming-fishing village of Laukvik (see left). The large port, which once would have sheltered many working boats, was now almost empty; the Co-op minimarket on which we had relied for supplies remained open, but only just - the 'Til Salg' sign announced it was for sale.

Skippergården Camping - for sale and in terminal state of dereliction:  back along the village street, we found Skippergården Camping; it was open but also up for sale. Despite indications of a run-down and passé campsite with woebegone, basic facilities, the price including showers was an expensive 240 NOK. The camping area stretched linearly for some 400m along a drive-way out to coast; it was deserted, and you could understand why. The place was clearly in a state of terminal dereliction, totally overgrown and uncared for with minimal power supplies. But at the far end we reached a flat gravelly area directly overlooking the shore-line, an open setting with north-facing orientation ideal for the Midnight Sun if only the cloud would clear. The owner admitted that the there was no longer wi-fi provision, and the facilities hut part-way along the drive-way was out of action due to a freeze-up last winter meaning a long trek back to reception. The fact that damaged loos were only being repaired 6 months later, together with the general air of decline, spoke volumes about the place's imminent closure; it would probably not last the summer season. But despite our reservations and excessive price, we booked in and pitched in peaceful isolation looking out to sea with the hope of another Midnight Sun.

A perfect spot for the Midnight Sun:The cloud along the northern horizon out over the sea gradually thinned and the sun broke through. As the evening wore on, the sun dipped in and out of the cloud (see right) (Photo 43 - Sun shining through cloud at 11-05pm). But approaching 11-30pm, it finally emerged, and we spent the next almost 2 hours down on the hummocky foreshore photographing a cloud-graced Midnight Sun, only finally turning in at 1-20am when the sun had dipped to its lowest point (see left); still high above the northern horizon it was now traversing horizontally through the thin cloud layer (Photo 44 - Midnight Sun).

For all its shortcomings, Skippergården Camping had provided a peaceful setting looking out northwards across the Norwegian Sea for us to enjoy the clearest Midnight Sun so far (see right). As we drove away the following morning, blear-eyed after our late night, we talked with empathetic sadness about the state of Laukvik's terminal decline: the fishing industry clearly was a shadow of its former scale, and being far from the main Lofoten tourist trail and the mountains, this remote NW corner of the island had little tourist industry to take its place. Both the village shop and campsite were up for sale, clearly no longer viable businesses; it seemed the place had little future.

Fiskebøl for the ferry to Melbu on the Vesterålen Islands:  we returned to the peripheral lane at Straumnes and turned south around the peninsula. It was still bright and sunny over the flat farmlands here, but ahead the higher mountains of the interior were still gloomily shrouded with raincloud with a fresh sprinkling of snow having fallen on the mountains overnight. The narrow lane swung eastwards along a central valley, overshadowed by craggy mountain faces, and eventually led back to the E10 at Vestpollen. Looking across the dark waters of Austnesfjord, the peaks of Eastern Austvågøya were scarcely visible buried in rain cloud. We headed north again to turn off to join the queue of vehicles at the port of Fiskebøl awaiting the 13-15 ferry over to Melbu on the southern coast of Hadseløya, the southernmost and smallest of the Vesterålen Islands for our onward journey. But that's a story for the next edition.

Next edition to be published shortly

Sheila and Paul

Published:  21 October 2014

 

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