Words & Photographs by Bronwyn Townsend
I’ve long been drawn to the wild. Rugged landscapes that have succumbed to the power of the elements. Harsh terrain that seems to belong to another planet. Distant places that look entirely different to the setting I’ve departed from. However it is delivered, it’s the wild that I keep returning to.
We landed at Bergen Airport beneath a heavy blanket of cloud cover, peering through windows at the inky waters of the island-speckled fjords below. We were destined for the sleepy lakeside town of Odda, set among the foothills of the hordaland region in Norway’s south west. Collecting our wheels for the next four days, a constant drizzle serenaded us as it landed on the windshield.
With hopes of an escape from the summer crowds of the bustling Mediterranean beaches, we opted for a social detox and a healthy dose of fresh air. Home to a population of just 7,000, the tiny town of Odda was our base as we explored deep lakes, cascading waterfalls and craggy mountains by foot. The idea here was to take things slow.
We planned little more than a hike for our stay, instead choosing to let the winding roads guide us to bewitching havens of solitude. Everything in this corner of the world is impressively green; deep emerald lakes reflect dense pine forests and blossoming apple trees almost kiss the road’s edge in the late summer. The turbulent waters of Låtefossen plunge 95 metres, diverging to create one of the most enthralling displays of nature as you ease across the bridge.
Our goal was to tackle Trolltunga, a hike that traversed more than 28 kilometres of sparsely populated mountaintops, clocking up over 43,000 steps. Despite the daytime temperatures hovering around 16 degrees in August, snow still littered dips and hollows along the path.
Taking time to decompress from the weight of London’s daily commotion, the silence while appreciating the uninterrupted views across Hardangerfjord was long overdue. No wailing sirens. No incessant horn-honking. No monotonous thrum of daily commuters. This was the soundtrack we escaped to; thundering falls, snow crunching beneath boots, gentle birdsong caught on the morning breeze.
You learn a lot about yourself when you take time to reconnect with the wilderness. Pushing yourself physically and mentally to discover something new about yourself. Hiking boots half a size too small are no match for the dopamine and endorphins coursing through your veins as you glance over the ledge towards the silky fjord 700 metres below.
Pure unadulterated wild, that’s what we’re rewarded with among the thickets of fir and moss of Hordaland. The occasional primary-hued wood panelled cottage punctuates the hillsides acting as a beacon for fellow wilderness devotees. After four days surrounded by the bottle-green scenes of Norway’s southern fjords we felt revived - fresh air and the gentle song of drizzle soothing our hunger for the wild once more.
