Oh, how I’ve longed to pen that title.
Four years ago, as many of you reading have now heard, I wove a tale of tragedy through the mountains of Sogndal. I had accepted an invitation from Geir to take a walking journey up the steep slopes, fully unaware of the physical gauntlet it would entail. About half of our intended distance into the mountain, nearly gasping for breath, I had to ask Geir to turn back, and never got to see the full, majestic view waiting at the end of our tour. To make matters worse, my shaky legs then gave out while crossing the stones over a river (okay, it was a tiny creek) and I plunged waist-deep into the water before being plucked out by Geir’s rescuing hand. The failure has haunted me ever since.
I’ve had a redemption arc on my mind ever since the idea of a revisit to Sogndal was just a whisper on the wind. In the earlier months of this year, after we had confirmed our intentions to return, I immediately started a dedicated fitness routine that I hoped would help me vanquish my demons from the past trip. I spent hours–sometimes in single days–acclimatizing my body to walking up hills for long periods of time. To be frank, I worked very, very hard–harder than most people realize. Hard enough that, by the time I reached Sogndal, I felt an undeniable sense of pressure. What if I worked this hard just to fail again?
When I heard about the Hesteggi trail last week, it felt like the perfect setting for my redo attempt. The trail promised phenomenal views of the city of Sogndal below and had the added feature of allowing trailgoers to choose a difficulty mode: the trail starting at Kjørnes, with a steeper, more demanding route; or the one departing from the Kaupanger museum, with a longer overall walking time but a far more accessible incline. Ever eager to punctuate my achievement, I chose the former.
The first twenty minutes of the hike, as promised in the many descriptions I’d consulted, were brutal. The trail immediately throws you into a relentless upward climb at a staggering gradient. Too quickly for my own comfort, the affair became a psychological battle, my doubts overtaking my morale. Can I finish this if I am this tired already? Why did I eat so much cake last night? Did I really travel 6,000 miles to fail this again? In my head, I began to imagine how this blog post would become a story of gleaning positivity from failure. But, by sheer force of will, I continued.
The early onslaught of steepness eventually calmed, and for a good while, the challenge became less about the incline and more about the ground underneath my feet. I traversed over rock, mud, and tree roots so plentiful they looked like the veins of the earth below. The smooth stone that marked so much of the pathway became dangerous for my shoes that had become slick with water and mud. Despite the continuing challenges, through my physical preparation, I had learned that a second wind often came after an initial struggle, and mine had now come. I started to regain my footing, and my confidence with it.
I couldn’t have asked for a better checkpoint reward than the one I received at the first lookout over the city, about halfway up the trail. As I emerged from the wooded area to behold Sogndal from height, a majestic rainbow opened over the city. I took a long moment to soak in the vista I had so rightly earned. (It merits noting that, at this point, I very mistakenly thought that I was near the end of the trail. Not so.)
The route continued ever onward, crossing small rivers, opening into a grand flower meadow, twisting, turning, dipping, climbing again. At last, as if in dismissal of the effort already demanded of you, the final ascent tilts violently upward, requiring the use of all four extremities. By this point, I owed my perseverance entirely to my prevailing stubbornness. I had made it this far, and failure simply was not an option. As I walked to the box that held the turbok where I would sign my name into the record, at last, I wept. While many back home have been made aware of my intentions to take part in this climb, I kept my cards pretty close to the chest regarding how truly significant this achievement is for me. The sting of defeat from 2019 has been difficult for me to shake. With today, that shame is now erased, a great burden lifted from me, never to return.
My feeling of victory was brief. Fearing that my limbs would quickly stiffen and seize if allowed to sit for too long, I doubled back down the mountain with haste. Expectedly, yet almost unfairly, the descent proved even harder than the climb. Under typical conditions, a downhill expedition would be easier than the opposite. But a descending trek over glossy, wet rock on quavering legs already sapped of their strength was another matter entirely. When I say the totality of the experience took every ounce of mental courage and physical energy I could muster, I am not exaggerating. This was, simply put, the most difficult physical challenge I have ever endured. The pride I feel for having completed it is immeasurable.
After a short rest to collect myself and wash away the sweat and grime accrued on the mountain, I rejoined my dad for another eagerly awaited, but considerably less strenuous, tour. Since the last time we were here, the house that sits on the main Foss property–now owned by Erik’s daughter, Bente and her husband, Arild–was demolished and rebuilt with a modern interior. We’ve been excited to see the new house ever since our arrival, and that excitement, for me, was met and then surpassed. Bente and Arild have done a marvelous job not only creating a beautiful, functional interior for the home, but also honoring the heritage of the house with the choices made on the exterior. To the untrained eye, it’s the same house of yore from the outside; on the inside, it is a masterclass in Scandinavian minimalism, with spectacular wood finishes, thoughtful artistic touches, and ample space for a growing family to gather and create memories. It was wonderful to see Bente, Arild, Renate, Kristoffer, Marita, Øyvind, and Katrine again and I am so grateful we got to spend time with them. Tusen takk for alt.
Where the Waterfalls Mean Home 