Hellemobotn, Tysfjord, Northwest Norway
We left the exposed waters of Lofoten, home of the legendary Maelström, and entered the five-fingered fjord of Tysfjorden, which pokes deep into the coastal mountains until it almost touches Sweden. Round the last bend of the fjord we came upon Hellemobotn, whose name lists all its choice features: ‘Helle’ is a huge sloping rock which affords shelter. ‘Mo’ is a meadow: we landed by Zodiac on the grassy plain where a racing glacial river debouches into the deep water of the fjord. And Botn is a huge, round-bottom kettle, the vast amphitheatre of polished rock in which the sheltered Sami hamlet has been so cleverly located. While various intrepid souls made their first forays in the ship’s kayaks, the rest of us set off to explore the hinterland. The long walkers struck out for the Swedish border, climbing up the 100’ slope of the huge moraine which shelters the Sami houses around the meadow, spangled blue with harebell flowers. From here we took a path through Scots Pine forest, pausing to look at one of the giant boulders as big as a house, tumbled from the cliff above. The remains of a wood fire under its overhang showed that the locals use it regularly as a shelter from rain or blizzard. Then across an arched bridge which spans the blue-grey pools of the salmon river. Up again through pines, past red and purple mushrooms, the telltale scat of red fox, the forest floor covered in the ravenblack fruits of crowberry. We could hear rushing water through the trees, revealed when we burst out into a clearing to be a white cascade snaking down across a huge bare black dome of rock. Up again into birch woodland carpeted in ferns. Treading carefully between rounded boulders we climbed higher and higher until we suddenly found ourselves on a natural rock shelf high above the forest, perched like eagles on the flank of the mountain. We had found our spot, and settled quietly to gaze back out to the fjord, three miles away to the west.
Our rock eyrie was upholstered with a lush green sofa of heather, bilberry and moss. As we settled back into the deep, mossy cushions our beating hearts calmed; we breathed the clean air and listened to the silence. And then we noticed that we had plumped down in the middle of a Sami supermarket: we were surrounded by all the fruits and berries of late summer. The bright red of cranberries, the smoky blue of the northern bilberry, the midnight blue of the southern blaeberry, and winking amber among its pleated leaves, king of the berries, the Cloudberry, prized by all the native peoples of the north. We tasted, we nibbled, we picked, we plundered, we gorged until we were all stained blue like scrumping schoolboys. What a real Sami experience: these, the aboriginal people of northern Norway, knew that to survive they must harvest the fjord fish, the river salmon, the migrating reindeer and the burgeoning berries when the time was ripe. Today was that day, Sami season “of mists and mellow fruitfulness”. For a moment we shared the joy of warm air, the tang of wild fruits and the ancestral glory of individuals in tune with a pristine wilderness.
We left the exposed waters of Lofoten, home of the legendary Maelström, and entered the five-fingered fjord of Tysfjorden, which pokes deep into the coastal mountains until it almost touches Sweden. Round the last bend of the fjord we came upon Hellemobotn, whose name lists all its choice features: ‘Helle’ is a huge sloping rock which affords shelter. ‘Mo’ is a meadow: we landed by Zodiac on the grassy plain where a racing glacial river debouches into the deep water of the fjord. And Botn is a huge, round-bottom kettle, the vast amphitheatre of polished rock in which the sheltered Sami hamlet has been so cleverly located. While various intrepid souls made their first forays in the ship’s kayaks, the rest of us set off to explore the hinterland. The long walkers struck out for the Swedish border, climbing up the 100’ slope of the huge moraine which shelters the Sami houses around the meadow, spangled blue with harebell flowers. From here we took a path through Scots Pine forest, pausing to look at one of the giant boulders as big as a house, tumbled from the cliff above. The remains of a wood fire under its overhang showed that the locals use it regularly as a shelter from rain or blizzard. Then across an arched bridge which spans the blue-grey pools of the salmon river. Up again through pines, past red and purple mushrooms, the telltale scat of red fox, the forest floor covered in the ravenblack fruits of crowberry. We could hear rushing water through the trees, revealed when we burst out into a clearing to be a white cascade snaking down across a huge bare black dome of rock. Up again into birch woodland carpeted in ferns. Treading carefully between rounded boulders we climbed higher and higher until we suddenly found ourselves on a natural rock shelf high above the forest, perched like eagles on the flank of the mountain. We had found our spot, and settled quietly to gaze back out to the fjord, three miles away to the west.
Our rock eyrie was upholstered with a lush green sofa of heather, bilberry and moss. As we settled back into the deep, mossy cushions our beating hearts calmed; we breathed the clean air and listened to the silence. And then we noticed that we had plumped down in the middle of a Sami supermarket: we were surrounded by all the fruits and berries of late summer. The bright red of cranberries, the smoky blue of the northern bilberry, the midnight blue of the southern blaeberry, and winking amber among its pleated leaves, king of the berries, the Cloudberry, prized by all the native peoples of the north. We tasted, we nibbled, we picked, we plundered, we gorged until we were all stained blue like scrumping schoolboys. What a real Sami experience: these, the aboriginal people of northern Norway, knew that to survive they must harvest the fjord fish, the river salmon, the migrating reindeer and the burgeoning berries when the time was ripe. Today was that day, Sami season “of mists and mellow fruitfulness”. For a moment we shared the joy of warm air, the tang of wild fruits and the ancestral glory of individuals in tune with a pristine wilderness.
