Dear God, if you get me out of this one..
…I’ll never do this again. So many times, I’ve sworn that would be my last time for stupidity, but I did it one more time. And, I am so glad I did. What a view. What a fantastic experience, standing on an ages old glacier that is melting at 4 meters per year. Looking at the picture, just imagine that only 200 plus years ago that the entire valley was covered in ice 300 meters deep and extending one kilometer further than what is showing. The snow covers the area in winter and rebuilds the glacier, but the summer melting and global warming is exceeding any growth.

From a distance it looks like a painting rather than a real substance. As I looked closer, I could see lines of little dots strung together—other climbers connected with safety ropes. I would soon be one of them.
When we got to the parking area, we had to put our warm clothes on in the car because this late in the season the dressing rooms were closed. So, I’m wallowing around in the back of the car trying to pull off my cargo pants, putting on my Goretex weatherproof pants, then pulling on my boots I bought especially for this trip. One girl was over by the dressing room with her back to us naked as a jaybird on top as about 15 other people were standing around in various forms of undress. Ruth (Becky’s former exchange student) said that was nothing unusual here in Norway. Go figure!
Then, I found out that Becky is sending me, alone, up that glacier while she lags behind reading a book!!! I nearly died. She said her leg hurt! But, she had arranged for Ruth to go with me. I still don’t know how long she was plotting that one. So, Ruth and I hit the trail in spite of my wishing to drop dead in the parking lot. But, Ruth proved to be a lifesaver. Had it not been for her, I truly might have died, had she not had a good hold on the rope when I tumbled forward at a height of about 300 meters up the side of that ice mountain.
But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Because it was so late in the season, after we dressed, we had to trek our way to the glacier instead of taking the ferry—a one hour hike over rocky coastline along the fjord. In the first 5 minutes I’m puffing and blowing and stopping every 5 minutes to catch my breath and we are not even to the glacier.
Once we got to the base of the glacier we had to put on our spikes and tie them tightly around our ankles and feet and have a lesson on how to walk in them. “Always walk flat footed and put all the spikes into the ice. Coming downhill walk in cowboy style (slew-footed) with short quick steps into the ice.” So up the hill we begin—the guide in front, followed by Grandma Jane with Ruth bringing up the rear. We were tethered by a rope and we each had an ice pick in hand. All I could think at that point was how long it was going to take me to plow that pick into my thigh!
Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! My steps echoed across the ice, my heart began to beat faster from the anxiety and it was a struggle to keep my limbs moving. The guide said we would stop several times as often as we needed and we could eat our snacks near the top. I think I may have counted 20 steps between stops. When we would stop, I would look around, and wait for the dizzy spell that would send us all tumbling to the bottom. Look up the glacier, don’t look down. We crunched on. I kept waiting for the level spots the guide said we would come to near the top. But, every time I thought we were near the top, another top came into view.
Repeating the same 15 or 20 step pattern, then stopping to breathe, I would look around at the most spectacular view I had ever seen. Blue ice speckled with black compost from leaves blowing across the ice spreading for over 400 meters square along the skyline, down both sides of the mountain and along the fjord, water trickling from the melting ice and running into the ominous looking crevasses that the guide said had not been there last week. I wanted to see more, but in order to not lose my mind at knowing where I was, I could only look at the ice in front of my feet as I placed them as closely to where the guide had been as possible. I wasn’t going to chance falling into a crevass. I have a birthday party to go to on the 26th. But, after about an hour zigzagging up the glacier, stopping to breathe every ten minutes the guide stopped for our snack break.
She began to spread canned cheese on her little slices of bread for herself while I’m gasping for breathing and cursing the fact that I’d hogged down my peanut butter and banana sandwich before we even left the parking lot! My mouth was dry and I was shaking inside—hunger or fear, I’m not sure. I ate a plum (by the way, these were the sweetest plums I had ever eaten. Right off a tree in Ruth’s parents yard.) and drank some water. I noticed my ½ litre bottle was nearly ¾ of the way empty and we weren’t even to the top. What was I going to do for the trip down? When were we going to begin the trip down? How in heaven’s name were we going to get down? How do they rescue someone from the ice? Where are the flat spots? As I stood there with these questions swirling around me, other walkers crunched by us on their way down just like they were strolling along the beach. Please, someone, hold my hand. GET ME OFF THIS MOUNTAIN! my mind screamed.
The guide called an end to the break and we headed on—up! On we went, the same pattern, me taking 20 steps and calling for a breathing break, sipping at my water, the guide and Ruth patiently waiting for the old woman to get another surge. After another half hour, I decided that my legs just might not have enough strength to get back down the mountain so I asked if we could begin our descent. Sure, the guide was ready to go as high or not as I wanted. So at 300 of the 400 meters of the glacier we could see, we began to head for the bottom.
Dear Lord, I thought my front thigh muscles would snap away from the bone. My feet were in the tips of my shoes as I began to crunch cowboy style into that ice as I looked at the bottom of the mountain so very far way. There was nothing but down, no flat until the rocky beach between the glacier and the fjord.
When I looked 20 feet ahead, the glacier looked slick as glass. I wanted to scream I can’t do this, I’ll slide, but I would force my eyes back on the ice immediately in front of my feet and trust my spikes. When I was “trusting my spikes” I had good balance and could feel my feet cling to the ice. I felt safe. But that feeling lasted only nanoseconds at a time as my mind reverted to a natural resistance to walking on ice, expecting to slip and, worse yet, slide. And then I did—I tripped, slid, I don’t know what, but my head was going forward and I was screaming, “I’m falling.” Just before my head reached knee level headed into a somersault down the mountain, I was flat on my back with my head pointing up the mountain 300 meters from the bottom. Ruth had a hold on that rope that would have brought down a reindeer (which, by the way, she had been hunting just the day before.) So here I was, on my back on the glacier. How in God’s name was I going to get up? The guide said to just lie still until the adrenalin settled (until I got my mind back or totally lost it one.) I’m thinking, “I can’t get up, if I pull my feet out of the ice, I’ll slide.
But, no. Ruth held tight and the guide held out her hand. She pulled me upright and asked if I was ready to go. I knew I had to move. No one was going to helicopter me out of there. I had to walk. No other way. No option. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, although I would have given $million kroner to have blinked myself to the bottom. But cowboy crunching we went. Zigzagging our way to the bottom.
We plodded on to our next break. Ruth asked if I wanted to refill my water bottle with glacier water. Aaahhhh, I had wondered if I would be dehydrated by the time we finally got to the bottom since I had drunk all my water on the way up! So she filled my bottle with some of the cleanest water in the world from one of the trickling streams on the glacier surface. It was cold and refreshing as it bathed my dry mouth. After the water break, we moved on.
All of this zigzagging 20 steps to a break, took us about 2 ½ hours up and back down to the base. We passed several climbers on the ice learning safety rescues. We paused at an ice cave that had formed and was slowly melting. Ruth who had been up the mountain two weeks before, said the daylight showing through the roof was new. Probably before winter that cave would be a huge ditch. We continued slowly plodding toward the bottom. I was feeling better with each crunching cowboy step toward the rocks at the end of the ice. As we reached the bottom, I collapsed onto the first rock I came to and began to unbuckle the spikes and unharness myself from the ropes.
By the time we unbridled from the climbing gear and trekked back over the rocky coastline, we had used the better part of 4 hours. About 15 minutes before we reached the car, it began to drizzle. We walked on, the drizzle fell. I didn’t care. I was off the ice, I could take a little rain. When we reached the parking lot, I sat on a bench just letting the rain hit my face. I was exhausted, exhilarated, jibbering like a madwoman, giggling like a schoolgirl. What had I just done? Would I do it again. #@#$e NO. That is one bargain with God I’ll keep.