Since I moved to Lund, it’s always been very easy for me to visit my parents. The comfort of Regional Bus no. 5 makes the distance in a little less than an hour. But when seeking more than comfort, the opportunity is always there to exchange the bus for a 9-hour walk.

I think both me and Katrin were quite excited, packing our rucksacks with leftovers from the gourmet dinner we had had last eve. We departed from my parents home a little after noon and trotted off on a narrow forest trail, headed for Lund.

Arriving at the east side of Sjöbo, we walked through an around-the-year camp site and we were amazed that some people were still living there at this time of year. For some it might have been a home away from home. But to some of the caravan owners this was probably their real home.

Taking the scenic route, we navigated our way into a military training area that belongs to the Southern Scanian Regiment P7. Katrin got a bit freaked out about the signs warning us not to touch any unexploded ordnance we might stumble upon. I reassured her that the odds were in our favour in this matter, and on we went.

For an hour we walked a long service road while talking like mad about everything and anything. About 15 kilometres into the walk we took a short break, watching the fog move over the water of Vombsjön. After some more kilometres we traded the sheltered forest for a breezy grey heath were the clouds lay low and the fog was quite thick. We had arrived at the edge of Revingehed.

Having walked deep into the heath, a sound was building up in the distance, coming closer and becoming stronger. What was that? A little later we realized that it was flocks of geese resting in the fields on both sides of the road. Quite big flocks of them judging by the level of noise. The fog was so thick that we couldn’t see them.

Katrin had stopped to take some stones out of her shoe. They came at us from the left.  It was a coordinated attack that took us by surprise. Splat-splat-splat-splat. It sounded like hard rain but we realized that a flock of geese had just flown over us while shitting collectively. We were so relieved that neither of us got hit. That would have been a demoraliser with about 20 kilometres left to go. We went on, leaving the geese be. Obviously we were not welcome in their neck of the heath.

By now the walk had grown tough for both of us, but for my part I really enjoy that kind of challenge and discomfort. Being a bit frozen. Cold raindrops on my face. Tired legs. Passing into and later through the mental low points. Due to the company,  my mood was quite high all through, but usually I go through many phases and moods, highs and lows, during a continuous long distance venture.

The only thing bothering me at times was my achy feet. I think they were quite filled with blood, due to both gravity and muscular activity that was going on down there. There were times when I felt the need to stop and flick my ankles, stretching them slightly before I could continue.

After a long patch of dirt roads through Revingehed,  we arrived in Södra Sandby with only 10 kilometres left to walk. The last part that went along the cycle path to Lund felt like forever. My feet were aching, but still going strong and letting me move forward. Last time I walked such distance in FiveFingers my feet got very tired and quite swollen. This time they felt fine.

We arrived at the east of Lund, we had already planned to take a city bus from here – the same one that we just missed by a minute. Luckily we caught another one in no time. Back home I walked into the shower, cold and stiff, but with a strong sense of satisfaction and happiness in my mind.

Thanks to Katrin for this shared experience.

(approx. 40 kilometres in 9 hours.)

Me and my friend Daan hitch-hiked to Fyledalen, close to where I grew up, to stalk some deer.

We left from our apartment at nine o’clock with rucksacks strapped to our backs and with headlamps on our foreheads. We were dressed to withstand any weather the mountain would throw at us and had slimmed down our gear to bare minimum.

Since we were a little behind schedule we had to run flat out to catch the bus that was going to take us to the foot of Mount Ulriken, the highest of the seven mountains that surround the city of Bergen. With hearts pounding we made it on to the bus and due to the hangover we both had acquired from last nights social interactions it was a delight sinking down in the seats of the bus after the sprint.

It was the last day of December and New Year’s Eve was upon us. This year I wanted something different from the last couple of celebrations I had attended and after pitching the idea to my friend Kristoffer we decided to see the fireworks from above for a change.

The bus arrived at the university hospital, from where we continued on foot to the base of the aerial tramway leading to the top. It was already dark and we struggled with finding our way. At last we found a sign with a big map of all the trails on the mountain. We studied the map for a while, mapping our route before leaving the street-lit road and heading onwards (and upwards) on dark trails — unsuspecting of the fact that we were actually walking down the wrong road.

We soon decided to leave the trail and instead follow the big deforested path under the tramway. That path appeared to be filled with debris and this in combination with the steep slope made me gasp hard for air with each step I took into the darkness. We decided to abandon this path as well.

After hiking sideways we ran into a trail that we then followed upwards as we were listening to the banging sounds from below echoing from the mountain-sides. If I hadn’t known that it was New Year’s Eve, I would have more likely thought that central Bergen had turned in to a war-zone being bombarded with heavy artillery.

As we followed the new trail we soon realized that we were losing altitude — quite the opposite of what we wanted to achieve. After studying our map and triangulating our position with the help of the power lines above, we made the decision to backtrack until we encounter the correct trail that actually would lead us towards the top.

Eventually we still ended up following the deforested path under the tram cable (not the path we intended). The terrain was now more easy and we gained meter after meter in vertical distance. When coming across the track designated for downhill cyclists (which I knew started close to the top) we once again changed our plans in the light of what we encountered in the now. We had now reached an altitude where the ice still lay thick on the ground and we had to keep our balance not to fall — risking sliding off the face of the mountain.

The landscape changed and we left the forest for bare rock. The big radio tower that from the foot of the mountain had looked very tiny and distant was now tall and proud, shining upon us with a strong red spotlight. We spotted the last of the poles connected to the tramway and went off the track to walk straight towards it. We walked through thick vegetation where the ground beneath it had spots of ice which made it very difficult to walk at a good pace without falling.

Although we were very close to the top, we were far from finished. We walked over a small crest and by then the wind had increased in force and in front of us was a section of thick ice over bare rock. We had to shift our weight and keep a low centre of mass in relation to the wall, almost crawling upwards. The foot-grips and handholds were few and I was very scared having the steep slope of the mountain behind my back. We slowly moved forwards. Step by step. Grip by grip.

We prevailed the climbing and now a stairway appeared above us, leading to the top-station. We walked it, careful not to trip and fall on this last segment of the ascent. Once we reached the top we walked out on the platform overlooking the city. While looking over the city lights below, I spotted from the corner of my eye a shape moving towards us. A man appeared and suddenly we were accompanied by a Norwegian named Arne who had also decided to spend New Year’s Eve on the mountain.

Our view was concealed by the rain-clouds moving in and we walked downwards a bit to clear the clouds and get a better view of the fireworks. When we got down our watches showed five minutes to twelve and soon the fireworks increased in strength. Suddenly the sky was covered in lightning bolts and colourful explosions. The three of us remained standing for a while before descending the mountain together.

It was an evening in the early summer of 2012 when I decided to go for a walk. I first finished my chemistry homework and then I put on the soundtrack from Rambo III. Maybe I was harbouring hope that I in my own adventure would reflect the tough and strong Rambo.

I started packing my rucksack with a sleeping bag, a change of clothes and a rain shelter. I also brought sandwiches, blueberry soup, chocolate, water and some parmesan cheese (apparently fat and salt are good for going long distances).

At 22:00 I walked out the door wearing light clothing and with Fivefingers on my feet. I was heading to the home of Kristoffer’s father, Peter, whom I had planned to visit for some time. I didn’t know if he would be home. I didn’t know how far it was to his house. But I knew down which road I had to walk.

I walked easy across the city and reached the countryside where I walked past city-limits of Lund marked with and old stone besides the road. It was a dark evening but the sky in the horizon was lit by cities far away. I tried to guess which ones. I hadn’t really figured out my route but I hoped that I’d find signs leading to Genarp, which is a small town along my route.

I tried to run for a bit, but instantly felt a taste of blood in my mouth. So instead I stopped for some chocolate and a sandwich. In case my motivation would suffer I had my iPod resting in my pocket. But for the time being I was just listening to the absence of the city sounds that usually are so hard to get away from.

I stopped right in my tracks when a run over rabbit appeared at the roadside, or maybe I should say run apart. Half the bunny was gone and all that was left was the internal organs and a bloody mess. I stood there examining the corpse, having a hard time imagining that it once was a living, feeling and hopping animal.

I continue towards Genarp and when I reached there it felt like a victory. I was on the right track and now entering the Häckeberga forest, which turned out to be filled with animals roaming in the night. Every now and then I spotted a roe deer in the weak light from my headlamp.

After a long time of walking both the forest and the sky opened up in front of me. Dawn was rising and I refueled in a wobbly old hunting tower. Fields of grain sprawled across the land, shining like gold in the light from the rising sun. I didn’t feel tired any more, the doubts I had in the beginning had been obliterated and the fact that I was going the reach my destination was as certain to me as that the sun was would continue rising. By now I had walked for six hours. The time was 04:30.

For a while I felt a small stiffness in my left foot and now it had developed into a strain that delivered a sharp pain from the inside of the foot. Heavy clouds approach from the west and I was really hoping to avoid being rained on. Asphalt turns into gravel and I felt happy that the end was near. The last kilometres of my journey I do with a limp. I consider putting up my hammock at the side of the road and sleep, but I chose to push on.

From over the top of the last hill Peter’s house appeared and from the looks of his car he seemed to be home. I took out my sleeping bag and laid down in a sunny spot on the east side of his garden. The time was 06:45 and I fell asleep immediately.

At 09:00 I woke up to the sound of raindrops hitting my sleeping bag. I crawled into my rain cover and stayed there for another half an hour before I walked around the house and knocked on the front door.

“Come in!”, a rough voice shouts from inside the kitchen.

I enter and Peter cracked up in a big smile when he recognized me. We took a walk in his garden, he showed me the guest house that he was renovating and he treated me to a nice (and well needed) breakfast. We talked for a couple of hours before I decided it was time for me to head home.

I was going to walk to Skurup and take the train from there. I soon realized that wasn’t going to be very easy since I had trashed my left foot leaving it completely useless. So I stuck my thumb out trying to hitch a ride. None of the passing cars stopped. Until Peter drives by that is, and picked me up. His neighbour had cleaned out his petrol supply and he was going to town for more. Or maybe he just wanted to give me a ride.

From Skurup I took a train all the way back to Lund.

Adventure: Check!
Distance: 40k
Time: 8 hours 30 minutes

Next time I think I would like some company. Let me know if you’re up for something like this.

I wanted to go fishing and made the estimation that it wasn’t that far to cycle to a good spot along the west coast. I packed minimal gear in my rucksack, warm clothes, a package of yoghurt (at this point my stomach was not in the most balanced condition) and I was off.

The eastern wind was pushing me and my bike westward towards the ocean with such speed that it felt like flying. The asphalt road beneath me was lined with rape fields that seduced me with their sweet smell, birds were chirping all around and the blue sky seemed never-ending.

After some borrowed smartphone magic, exploration (read wrong turns) and some more helpful people I shifted my direction towards Vikhög, an old fishing village in the middle between Malmö and Landskrona. I doubt there are many fishermen living there in these days though. The fancy houses speak of the social change that has swept throughout many (if not most) of the smaller fishing communities along the Swedish coasts.

I started exploring the coastline and discovered the ruins of and old pier which consisted of six concrete pillars standing in the ocean. Standing on top of these would not only give me the advantage of fishing in the deeper water, but also this side of the cove was sheltered from the wind. I waded out.

After a short walk in the surprisingly “warm” water I climbed on to the fourth pillar and started casting. It was still very windy but again I had it in my back which actually created perfect casting conditions. There was a special fish that I was after. The Garfish (Belone belone), which migrates past the west coast every year around May. It didn’t take long for me to fall into a trance of casting and philosophizing. I had nothing with me to keep the time, and I think that made all the difference.

While the wind was beating my back, the sun warmed me from above. Once every know and then I heard the cry of a male pheasant, reminding me of the solid land that still lied behind me. After an hour of casting I still hadn’t seen any signs of fish and I started to get more interested in the windsurfers who cruised the cove than the fly I was retrieving.
Then it striked!

It’s silver-coloured body was dancing across the surface of the water and I did my best not to let my line slack. After a short but intensive fight I threw my rod in the ocean and grabbed the line with my hands and started pulling it toward me. Soon I held it in my hands and I killed it with a swift breaking of its neck. I filled a plastic bag with seawater and put the fish there to keep cold. I so eagerly continued fishing that I forgot to take a picture of it. This is what they look like.

This strong wish to get another fish left me fishless from that moment and on. I did spot some fish spawning (it looks as if a small spot of the surface of the water is boiling) which helped me with my motivation. I don’t know for how long I stood there. Hours. I had some fish that bit my fly but unhooked themselves quickly. At one point I felt so hungry and then decided to go home. I had kept my eye on the windsurfers and was hoping I might be able to score a ride home with them. I was tired and wasn’t to thrilled about biking home twenty kilometres against the wind. When I turned to jump down from the pillar I saw them leave in their van. “Oh well”, I thought.

I made peace with the idea of cycling and I told myself that if I took it slow and steady It surely wouldn’t be to hard. I was packing up my fishing gear next to my bike when I was approached by a young man with a cap, Ray Ban’s and a thick, well kept red beard.

“Did you get anything?”, he asked me.

I told him about my day and where I had stood fishing. He had been on the other side of the cape and hadn’t caught anything. We spoke for a while and when he was leaving I asked him where he lived.

“In Lund”, he answered.
“Do you have room for a bike?”
“That should be possible”.

We loaded up my bike and made sure that my fish bag wouldn’t leak any smelly water in his car, and then we took off. We spoke about our day, about myths about the Garfish, about fishing in general. Although I’m not a fishing nut I really enjoyed the conversation. Sooner than I knew it we were back in Lund where I told him how grateful I was for the ride. I asked him for his name, and he told me it was Joakim. Then we went separate ways.

When home I stumbled in to a barbecue and after having a hamburger I proceeded to prepare the fish. With the help from my girlfriend, and after almost setting our wooden deck on fire, I had the fish gutted and cut in my small smoke-box and cooking. It tasted excellent.