Dovrefjell

In the summer of 2022, I travelled in Norway to walk train station to train station between Oppdal, county Trondelag, and Hamar, Innlandet county, taking a high line across 3 mountain regions as well as National Parks/Protected Areas, Trollheimen, Dovrefjell and Rondane, and the high moors in the less renowned Hedmarksvidda region.

The second leg lasted 3 days during which I crossed Dovrefjell. Compared to the previous section, Dovrefjell is higher and drier ground, it is also further inland. Other than the deep, glacial scars, Dovrefjell feels like a high plateau dotted with lakes and criss-crossed by rocky hills with the occasional vertical wall wherever there had been a glacial body.

I started this section at the lowest altitude point in the trip, just below 100 m, then climbed to the highest at nearly 2300 m at the top of Snohetta two days later. The story resumes from day 5.

Day 5

Still overcast with low cloud hiding the highlands but it’s stopped raining and that changes everything. I close the lock in Eiriksvollen hut and climb down the final 50 vertical meters to the Sunndalen valley floor. Here I cross the same road that I hiked on day 1 of the trip out of Oppdal and find a bridge over the mighty Driva.

Getting out of Sunndalen is something to take with patience, it’s 1000 vertical meters in 3 km. The same as the way down on the other side of the valley, it’s a rough, steep trail through the wooded, steep slopes. Everything is wet.

At about the mid point in the climb, I find a trail register. It’s interesting to see how little people come this way, even if not everybody signs but by July 27th there’s only a handful of entries for 2022 and the last one is already two days old.

Past the tree line and before entering the cloud, I have one last view of Sunndalen showing the valley floor and the slope that was my way down the previous day. I turn my back to such scene to face the last part of the climb.

Up in the highlands, it’s misty but the Norwegian signaling is good enough to make it easy to follow the trail. The clouds eventually lift and the day turns to just overcast. The highland crossing is relatively short and I soon start going down with a view to a lake basin where I’ll meet a trailhead, a dirt road and several cabins, one of which a stuffed DNT¹ hut.

The trail keeps me off sight of the road and cabins and I skip this brief contact with built-up things almost completely as I take a right and start climbing up the next highland section.

For the first time in the trip, I get this high plateau feeling with a gently sloped, rocky plain and the snow-patched hills in the far background. It’s a barren, spectacular scene. The clouds thicken and I get some drizzle, then brief sunny spells, then some more cold drizzle. It’s gloomy and somehow glorious at the same time.

I need to go over a secondary peak to find the way down onto more rocky flats while the rain stops.

I’d have a hut option by taking a 2 km detour that I’d need to backtrack the following day but the weather has gone quiet and the clouds have started breaking so I find a dry, grassy spot and set up the Khufu for only the second time in the trip. Similarly to the previous one, it’s breezy and unwelcoming cold but once up and tight, the tent feels as solid as the rocks around. It’s also a very similar color. Inside, it’s home.

Day 6

Another first in the trip, I wake up to spotless blue skies and no wind and I feel welcome. It’s all quiet, peace and solitude and the most relaxed I had felt since trip start. I pack up and get going.

I walk downstream where only the water seems to know which way is down. The terrain will drop eventually but well before that the route takes a turn towards the hills on the true right.

Some ups and downs as the trail crosses different headwater areas, all draining to the Driva that I had crossed the previous morning. It’s barren and beautiful in these uplands. The streams are wide and shallow, ford anywhere and stop for a pic midway.

Next is going down to glacial-carved Grovudalen, a beautiful valley, low and sheltered enough to hold trees.

I’m glad the route doesn’t mean to climb on the opposite side, instead following the valley floor all the way to its headwaters. It’s a beautiful hike through birch woods, flanked by massive rock walls. There’s always something magical about following a valley all the way to its birthplace while seeing the scenery change at the pace of the human footprint.

A final push up through a steep bouldery section to get to the pass area, a lake basin sheltered among rock walls. It’d be lovely to camp up here as well as a challenge to find a big enough grassy spot in this stone world. It’s too early for a day end for the committed long-distance hiker but I almost welcome the slow progress that comes naturally with the rough ground so I can enjoy this amazing place in the best conditions imaginable as well as in overwhelming solitude.

Right before I start coming down from the pass area, I cross paths with a small group of hikers, a very uncommon happening in my trip so far, made it the most charming being a family with very young kids. As much as I was enjoying the solitude, I welcome the brief encounter and I find particularly nice to see the young ones in this magnificent place, I’m sure they’ll love it and understand its intrinsic value.

The trail spits me off the relative enclosure of the pass onto a much more open and bleaker scene, a rocky, later grassy highland flat dotted with shallow lakes where I feel exposed and vulnerable, the feeling helped by a steady breeze.

I walk past a tent strategically pitched taking the shelter from the spur on the true left before the valley opens for good. I keep hiking, expecting to put on a few more miles before dusk and hoping to find some similar shelter in the terrain further on, there’s always something, right?

It’s breezy, it’s getting cold, the only visible relief seems to be miles away in any direction and there’s an outstanding lack of running water in these highland flats. This latter is an odd feeling, as used as I am to take water universal availability for granted. It’s not that I should worry, the weather is as good as it gets, given the location, but I can’t help feeling small and helpless. I locate in the map a series of streams that I should cross before camp time and keep hiking while scouting for a protected pitch. I find the streams running, fill bottles and backtrack for a few minutes to a very minor undulation barely higher than my tent that provides a bit of shelter from the wind but mostly from the feeling of being the only thing sticking out of the ground. It’s probably more psychological than physical but I truly welcome the company.

I should not fear though as long as there’s no real stormy weather. The Khufu pitches tight and feels solid. It’ll be a comfortable night.

Day 7

Morning is clear, still and cold and I get my fair amount of condensation in the inner walls, where is that breeze when you need it?

I can’t wait for the weak, early hour sun to do its thing so I pack a wet tent and resume hiking. A quiet, brilliant start for the day brings me peace and confidence as I head barely downhill towards Amotdalshytta, which I reach less than 2 hours later.

So far I had met hikers mostly near trailheads. Here, for a change, I pass by a couple of camping parties by the shore of Amotsvatnet and eventually find a busy hut. Amotdalshytta is a self-served DNT hut, meaning there’s no staff but all sorts of facilities, including kitchen-grade gas stoves and a well stocked pantry room. Hiker hunger is starting to strike and I feel like eating again even if it’s only been a while since breakfast so I help myself to a big, 2 pax can of stew from the pantry.

It hurts a bit to spend the time to gobble it all down in such a lovely weather window when I could be making progress but I still leave Amotdalshytta with the feeling that it was the best use of my time. Thru-hiking is merciless about this: if your body asks for the calories, you need to oblige. Anyway you look at it, it’s the best investment.

My initial plan from Amotdalshytta was to exit Dovrefjell by going straight down after a minor rise to change watershed but I take the clear skies as an equally clear message from the weather gods to offer me a climb to Snohetta, highest peak in the area at 2286 m. It’s actually a more direct route in the grand scheme of my trip, never mind the 1000 meter climb. After the double run of stew, I feel strong enough to go for it.

The climb from the north is a tough but otherwise easy walk-up over rocky ground. The last part of the climb skirts the small, hanging glacier on the north side. Then there’s the summit ridge, offering views of the odd building at the top.

The summit proper is an oddly busy place. Apparently, it’s a very popular climb, done as a day hike from the trailhead down the southeast ridge that I will pass on my way down. The building is a massive concrete structure whose purpose I don’t know. All of a sudden and after so much solitude, I feel like in any other accessible Alpine or Pyrenean top.

The best views are to the coastal ranges as an endless see of snowy summits to the west or, if I open the frame and point northwest, the same ranges as a backdrop to the bleak uplands I just climbed from.

The climb down is over the main route on the southeast ridge. It’s just as rocky as the north access but far more travelled, with 1.5 m high metal cairns to mark the way. It’s easy to guess how useful the cairns will be in low vis conditions. The far away views, inland towards Sweden, are less spectacular but very interesting as it’s what comes next for me, the peaks of Rondane just visible at the far right of the frame:

I could rejoin my planned track right down from Snohetta but it’d mean some meandering around. I decide to keep the most straight course instead and head for the trailhead at Snoheim hut at the price of exiting Dovrefjell on a dirt track instead of a trail. I see the chance to reach Hjerkinn Fjellstue, a mountain-bound lodging area with camping facilities that’s close to the mid point in my trip and emotionally feels like the mid point. I’d be there late and tired after a big push but it’d be great timing for the trip and I decide to go for it.

I take a break in Snoheim, a big, stuffed hut that’s actually more a hotel than a hut and can be reached on a bus service over the dirt road. Snoheim is the base for the main route to Snohetta and there’s plenty of hikers hanging around. I leave Snoheim without looking back except to capture the location with Snohetta behind:

I avoid the dirt road for the inital 4 km, then it’s 10 km on it plus a final 2 km on tarmac to reach Hjerkinn. Quick progress but lots of steps, which is an issue when every one hurts due to my ongoing blisters. I try not to listen.

I reach Hjerkinn late and tired but somewhat happy for the good progress. Now, let me just crash peacefully.

1. Den Norske Turistforening, The Norwegian Trekking Association