Wilderness Waltz: Trekking from Varphaugen through Dovrefjell on the Gudbrandsdalsleden Trail

theweatheredsole
Sep 12, 2023
6 min read

In the serene hamlet of Kvam, where cobblestone streets meander through centuries-old Norwegian architecture, an unassuming church stands as a silent sentinel of history. Kvam Kirke bears witness to a tale etched not just in stone but in the very souls of those who’ve trodden this path. It was here, just beyond these hallowed walls, that the “Battle of Kvam” raged during the tumultuous days of World War II. The weathered plaque outside the church explains the dark chapter in Gudbrandsdal’s annals. It proclaims that within these serene valleys unfolded the fiercest battle ever fought ⚔️, a clash that spanned two grueling days and nights, a maelstrom involving a staggering 1500-2000 military souls locked in a deadly dance between British 🇬🇧 valor and German 🇩🇪 resolve.

The battle’s ferocity left an indelible mark, not just on the hearts of those who fought but on the very landscape itself. Some 70 buildings, including the venerable 1777 church, were reduced to rubble 🔥, and over a hundred lives vanished into the annals of time. On the hallowed grounds outside Kvam Kirke, a silent monument and a communal grave now stand as mute tributes to the British warriors who met their fate on this forlorn battlefield ✝️. Nearby, a museum, though closed during my visit, keeps watch over artifacts that bear witness to that fateful clash. It was here, within the somber confines of this church, that I learned a surprising truth: Peter Gynt, a character briefly mentioned in a previous post, was not a figment of folklore but a real-life figure who had traveled the Norwegian countryside and adventured beyond.

With the echoes of history still haunting my thoughts, I set forth once more on my journey. Sjoa Rafting beckoned, an adventurous riverside haven where thrill and tranquility converged. Nestled beneath the serene forest canopy, I traversed winding paths to this wonderfully charming retreat nestled along the river’s edge. Here, amid rustling leaves and the symphony of murmuring waters, I chose to linger for two nights, resting my feet 👣 and enjoying the mountain scenery ⛰️, before venturing further north.

Nord-Sel Kirke emerged on the horizon. This architectural marvel, with roots tracing back to the 12th century, epitomized the traditional Norwegian stave church design. Vertical staves and robust wooden construction told the story of generations who’d come to worship within its hallowed halls. Alas, a recent bout of adverse weather had temporarily closed the trail from Nord-Sel to Dovre, a setback wrought by the same tempest that had earlier dashed my plans for a Skidbladder journey to Hamar, courtesy of flooding. Thus, I took a short bus ride 🚌 to my next place of stay.

Pressing onward, I arrived at Dovre Kirke, a medieval stone sanctuary rooted in the 12th century, its walls impressively heavy with not just the weight of time, but the large stone plates that make up it’s walls 🪨. Built predominantly from locally sourced stone, it mirrored the rugged grandeur of the mountains that surrounded it. As I gazed upon the very rocks that graced the church’s façade, their shale sheets lay scattered all across the mountainside along the trail.

The road ahead beckoned, leading to the Kings Road 👑 over Allmannrøysa, an ascent that would thrust me to the highest altitude of my pilgrimage. Dovre Kirke loomed behind me as I embarked on this formidable stretch. The path began with a steep incline, clouds shrouding my ascent, obscuring the distant horizon ☁️. Amidst this ethereal realm, I strolled amidst the clouds, a lone pilgrim with only the occasional sheep and cow as my company. Along the way, I stumbled upon a relic of a bygone era—an old wolverine trap, constructed with weathered wood.

As I continued to ascend, the sun’s relentless rays pierced through the dense cloud cover ⛅️, revealing Norway’s breathtaking panorama. The peak of Allmannrøysa, soaring nearly 4000 feet above sea level, emerged as a spectral figure on the horizon. Here, pilgrims, both past and present, had left their mark by adding stones to a mound, each stone gathered from the surrounding terrain, concealing an ancient cross beneath. It was a poignant moment, a tribute to those who had traversed this path and left their spirits to guide those who would follow 🙇‍♂️.

Descending toward Fokstugu, an ancient resting place born of King Eystein Magnusson’s vision in 1120, decreed for construction to give the first pilgrims who were on their way to Saint Olav's grave in Nidaros, a chance to get across Dovrefjell alive. I resisted the allure of lingering, for there were still miles to traverse 🚶before I’d rest my weary bones for the night. The journey across the marshland proved slow, a taxing endeavor of rock-hopping, mud-dodging, and precarious log balancing, all necessary to traverse this wet terrain. Despite the knowledge that “Musk Ox” territory lay nearby, I passed without a glimpse of these territorial giants.

My evening respite awaited at Furuhaugli Fjellhytter, a secluded cabin nestled amidst the cradle of nature. Here, I savored locally caught trout and indulged in the exotic flavors of moose 🫎 steak, a culinary experience that mirrored the diversity of my journey.

With renewed vigor, I embarked on another day’s trek across Haukskardmyrin (marsh), traversing a marshland adorned with peculiar “palsas.” These permafrost formations, with their icy cores, created ephemeral ponds and muddy wetlands to navigate on warmer days. Crossing a lengthy wooden bridge over a meandering river, I reached the base of Hjerkinnhø ⛰️ , where the modern marvel of “Eysteinkyrkja” church lay beneath a gentle mist that had painted a rainbow, a poetic interlude in my pilgrimage.

A warm welcome awaited me at Hjerkinn Mountain Lodge, a centuries-old establishment lovingly tended by generations of the same family. As evening descended, tales and laughter filled the air over a sumptuous meal of reindeer delicacies 😋.

With a sense of anticipation, I commenced my ascent of Hjerkinnhø, a brief sojourn to the peak before descending toward Trondheim. The changing weather heralded the approach of winter ❄️, a reminder of nature’s ever-shifting moods. The trail, though damp underfoot, stretched wide before me, a gravel path leading to the storied Kongsvold Mountain Lodge.

Kongsvold, a sanctuary for weary souls and a bastion of history, welcomed me for a two-night stay—the final multi-night respite before the culmination of my Gudbrandsdalsleden pilgrimage in Trondheim. Gazing outwards, it is a 200-kilometer journey to the illustrious Nidaros Cathedral, a grand finale to this journey through time 🏁.

Kongsvold Mountain Lodge, with roots dating back to the 12th century, stood as a testament to resilience 💪 . From its origins as a royal farm to its role in sheltering resistance fighters during World War II, this lodge had witnessed history unfold within its ancient walls. As I contemplated the rich tapestry of Norway’s past, I couldn’t help but feel a profound connection to the generations of pilgrims, travelers, and warriors who had tread these paths before me. The air was thick with the echoes of their footsteps, and I knew I was part of something far greater than my solitary journey.

From Kongsvold, my path stretches ever northward 🧭, a roughly 125-mile journey to the grand Nidaros Cathedral. With each step, I have uncovered the rich tapestry of Norway’s history, a story being woven through the landscapes and landmarks that had borne witness to centuries of human endeavor.

As I prepaid to set forth on the final leg of my adventure, the road ahead promises both challenges and revelations. The weather is taking on a wintry chill 🥶, and the forecast hinted at the impending embrace of snow. But undeterred, for the call of Nidaros Cathedral beckons like a siren’s song. I have felt a profound connection to those who had journeyed before me. I have the privilege of walking in the footsteps of ancient pilgrims who had traversed these very paths, seeking solace and spiritual fulfillment. Their stories, like whispers on the wind, continue to accompany me on my solitary trek.

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