Last Tuesday in September started sunny and promising.The girls were headed 80 kilometer eastwards. A meeting with Tilly's paradise from the seventies The place where she and her children spent their summer for eight consecutive years, in a camping wagon. Her husband was busy working in the town, and would only come out for the occasional week-end.
The lake was made for swimming, and the long, quit valley with its river of swirling trouts, a gift for young and old fishermen. Playgrounds for active children an oasis for mom. As the children grew elder, they would also tag along for hikes to the mountain peaks.
We drove as long as the bumpy roads allowed.
Then; across the river and into the trees.
Small shackles along the paths, open to everyone, but foremost to the hunters.
Ops! We had forgotten hunting season had just begun. We laughed and scrambled, scaring both deer and fusiliers away..
We went along enjoying the song of the river and the sweet smell of decaying leaves.
Tilly told us that the water here was said to be the cleanest in Norway. We filled our bottles and drank the crystal clear, gravel filtered champagne of the mountains.
The five of us are all stone mad. We sat down and started gathering rare stones almost before lunch.
The trick is emptying our rucksacks of food and coffee, and then fill up with whatever nature gives.
On our way down Tilly wanted to say hello to the owner of the camping site. Old grandma remembered Tilly and all the members of the family, except for the grandchildren, who she had not met. We were welcomed like long lost family, though four of us had never met the Granny and her daughter before. This is how people used to be in the country side. Not many left these days.
On the opposite side of the valley is a rare view over the lake, Tilly remembered. We huddled in Turid's mini van and set off.
There were S curves all the way to the top, no point of return. The view was amazing so were the curious sheep.
How were we to come down without burning the brakes? Liv, Tilly and Elbjoerg took their walking sticks and stone-heavy backpacks and went.
While Yours Truly climbed into the map-reader front seat and prayed God's angles help us make it safely downhills.
Of course they could be trusted to make their job.
The smell of burned rubber stayed with us all the way home, though.