The Lofoten Islands

The Lofoten Islands extend along the coast of Norway more than 200 km north of the Arctic Circle. This scenic chain of islands is all the rage online at the moment. I’ve seen it popping up again and again on Instagram feeds and in the travel pages of the Sydney Morning Herald, Australia’s largest daily newspaper.

I can personally attest to their natural beauty, having visited them while backpacking in Europe in 1990. We spent several days exploring the islands by sea and by land. My travel buddy, Dean Keiler, and I took a train from Trondheim to Bodø, a distance of 729 kilometres, on 22 August. We then caught an evening bus (which included a scenic ferry crossing at Bognes) to Narvik, arriving shortly after midnight.

I vividly recall getting off the train, along with a small contingent of fellow backpackers we’d met on board, and standing there in the dark, wondering what we’d do for accommodation that night. After some debate, the group decided to head toward town and find a discreet place to camp for the night.

We eventually stumbled across an elevated bandstand in Parkhalltaket, a nearby park, shrouded by a concrete shell. Here we rolled out our travel mats and sleeping bags around 2:00am and spent the night sleeping on the stage. Dean was enthralled by the twilight sky at such a late hour. We’d arrived in Narvik just weeks after the midnight sun started setting again. As a result, we experienced less than two hours of dusky darkness before the horizon slowly lightened once again.

The image above was pulled from Google Maps. It's remarkable to see that the bandstand is still there, more than 35 years later. However, the stainless steel Trinigon 3 National Freedom Monument for peace and freedom is a new addition. It was erected in 1995 to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Allies' liberation of Narvik during the final months of World War II.

The following morning, Dean and I caught a local bus to Harstad, a coastal town about 100km further north. At the time, Harstad was considered the gateway to the Lofoten Islands. Once a week, the Hurtigruten, a postal ferry, docked here before sailing to Svolvær, the island chain’s de facto commercial hub, and onward to Bodo.

We booked ourselves into the local camping ground, a relatively simple affair located on a small promontory about 5km from the centre of town. Decades later, I still marvel at the fact that we walked into town and back without a moment’s hesitation. Although the following day, I decided to hang out at the campground while Dean ventured back into town. He returned late afternoon with fish fresh off the boat, which we cooked for lunch and again for dinner.

Harstad was the farthest north we ventured when backpacking in Europe. I still recall our excitement as our train crossed the Arctic Circle south of Bodo. The milestone was made all the more memorable by a herd of reindeer who broke from the trees shortly after and ran along the tracks for more than a hundred metres.

Our ferry ride through the Lofoten Islands on Saturday, 25 August, was relatively uneventful, and the scenery somewhat dull. That is, until we entered the spectacular Trollfjord, a narrow fjord framed by soaring cliffs. The ferry carefully manoeuvred its way along the rocky passageway before being skilfully turned within its own hull length and sailing back out into Tengelfjord. It ultimately proved to be the only truly noteworthy fjord we saw in Norway. I hope to return one day and drive the fjord-filled E39 coastal highway.  The image above was pulled from the web. It barely does justice to the scenery we enjoyed.

Dean and I disembarked for the night at Stamsund, a picturesque fishing village, located about two-thirds along the Loften archipelago. It was the ferry’s final port of call in the islands before making its way to Bodo on the mainland. Stamsund’s Instagram-worthy waterfront, lined with red-walled rorbuer, or fishermen's shacks, is the mainstay of many a Norwegian postcard. The buildings are constructed on land, but with one end on poles in the water, allowing easy access to vessels. The image above was also pulled from the web to illustrate this post.

The following morning, we joined backpackers from our hostel on a hike up the Steinetind, a 509-metre peak, and neighbouring Mannfallet, a mere 308 metres high. The views along the ridge line trail were simply breathtaking. The photo that opens this post was taken near the highest point on our trek, while if you look carefully at the photo below, you'll find me perched on a grassy knoll. A diary entry I made that evening noted that we picked blackberries growing wild across the mountains and enjoyed locally smoked fish for dinner.

Later that evening, we caught an overnight ferry back to Bodo. We slept on the deck along with other backpackers. Dean and I were quickly learning that there was safety in numbers wherever we chose to sleep in the open.  According to my travel diary, we docked in Bodo shortly after 4:30am.

In Bodo, we met a retired air force serviceman. He’d been stationed in Bodo during the Second World War. The old man happily regaled us with wartime stories of the bombing of Bodo before recommending a visit to the local air force base, located on the edge of the city's airport.

For many years, the base has been home to NATO’s Quick Reaction Alert Aircraft. F-16 fighter jets of 132 Luftving are based here, ready to respond at a moment's notice to unidentified aircraft in or approaching NATO airspace. Dean and I watched the military jets taking off and landing from the edge of the airfield. The roar of jet engines and their spectacular drone-chute-assisted landing kept us enthralled for more than an hour.

Later that day, we ventured out to Saltstraumen, an impressive maelstrom. Four times a day, a huge volume of water forces its way through a 150-metre narrow strait, generating chains of powerful whirlpools in its wake. Dean decided this was also the perfect opportunity to enjoy a swim above the Arctic Circle.  I kindly declined an offer to join him in the frigid Arctic waters.

That night, we caught the train back down the coast, stopping briefly in a town called Hell the following morning. Yes, it’s true. I’ve literally been to Hell and back. Here we transferred to another train that took us through scenic Arctic pine forests to Stockholm. I’ll share more about our time in Sweden in another post.