Lofoten Islands, Norway
Our geographer stated this morning that “All places are not created equal.” As we creep ever northward we can definitely agree with that statement. The Lofoten Islands are a treasure situated off the western coast of Norway. Their quiet natural harbors have sheltered generations of fisherman and still embrace any vessel entering within. Fertile soil in a land with no night provided a venue where women and children toiled in the fields to supplement the income of the man of the house. Some things have changed since the early days but as our minds strip away the modern features of our age we can understand why settlers came.
Tiny Røst sits alone like a tiny eider duckling that always lags behind the rest of the clutch. In late evening light the night before this we slowly encircled its base, each Zodiac a community of ten sharing the memories of the night. Kittiwakes called from their favorite sheer-faced cliffs. Where the slope was less and grasses grew in accumulated soil, handsome puffins stood guard outside their burrows. Hundreds of their kind bobbed upon the sea enticing our Zodiacs to follow behind. White-tailed eagles soared high, their long broad wings supporting them in their wheeling glides.
We awoke this morning embraced by sharp mountain peaks. The red and white houses of Reine made the greens of Moskenesøy Island seem even more intense. We strolled through the town with our local guides pausing to marvel at the colorful flowers, both cultivated and wild. Fish drying racks waited for the harvest to come and fill their empty spaces, the first step before packing and shipping to far away markets. Even the dainty Kittiwakes seemed to be enthralled by the perfection of the site for many had given up the life of cliff-dwelling residents and taken to nesting on window ledges in the town.
Vestvågøy Island, shaped like the foot of a lynx according to Viking lore, was only a brief sail away. The land was more open here and traditional farmsteads dotted the terrain. A young and flourishing forest grew in the higher altitudes. A glass of mead in the Lofotr Viking Museum assisted our transition back to the days when a wealthy family had occupied this site. This living museum was an excellent introduction to the handicrafts necessary for not just survival but life in the northern climes.
The day ended in glorious beauty the way it had begun. Trollfjord, compressed by mountain walls that rise straight from the water’s edge is crowned at its head by perfect glacial horns. But maybe we can say the day did not end for we are after all in the land of the midnight sun.
Our geographer stated this morning that “All places are not created equal.” As we creep ever northward we can definitely agree with that statement. The Lofoten Islands are a treasure situated off the western coast of Norway. Their quiet natural harbors have sheltered generations of fisherman and still embrace any vessel entering within. Fertile soil in a land with no night provided a venue where women and children toiled in the fields to supplement the income of the man of the house. Some things have changed since the early days but as our minds strip away the modern features of our age we can understand why settlers came.
Tiny Røst sits alone like a tiny eider duckling that always lags behind the rest of the clutch. In late evening light the night before this we slowly encircled its base, each Zodiac a community of ten sharing the memories of the night. Kittiwakes called from their favorite sheer-faced cliffs. Where the slope was less and grasses grew in accumulated soil, handsome puffins stood guard outside their burrows. Hundreds of their kind bobbed upon the sea enticing our Zodiacs to follow behind. White-tailed eagles soared high, their long broad wings supporting them in their wheeling glides.
We awoke this morning embraced by sharp mountain peaks. The red and white houses of Reine made the greens of Moskenesøy Island seem even more intense. We strolled through the town with our local guides pausing to marvel at the colorful flowers, both cultivated and wild. Fish drying racks waited for the harvest to come and fill their empty spaces, the first step before packing and shipping to far away markets. Even the dainty Kittiwakes seemed to be enthralled by the perfection of the site for many had given up the life of cliff-dwelling residents and taken to nesting on window ledges in the town.
Vestvågøy Island, shaped like the foot of a lynx according to Viking lore, was only a brief sail away. The land was more open here and traditional farmsteads dotted the terrain. A young and flourishing forest grew in the higher altitudes. A glass of mead in the Lofotr Viking Museum assisted our transition back to the days when a wealthy family had occupied this site. This living museum was an excellent introduction to the handicrafts necessary for not just survival but life in the northern climes.
The day ended in glorious beauty the way it had begun. Trollfjord, compressed by mountain walls that rise straight from the water’s edge is crowned at its head by perfect glacial horns. But maybe we can say the day did not end for we are after all in the land of the midnight sun.
