Snow-capped mountains momentarily crest luminous, cutting into the sky at magnificent (and dizzying) angles, set aglow in the momentary gaps between rushing clouds. Brilliant white, slate grey, a never ending northern twilight to saturate it all, and pine… these mossy, evergreen, forests a million shattered fragments of deepest emerald green.
I’ve counted hundreds of waterfalls, navigating these twisting, norwegian roads – rough cut narrow roads, carved into countless mountainsides, the type of roads that tend to leave you guessing as to what you’ll find around the corner, heading your way.
Anyway, some of these waterfalls sprinkle fine vapour, sort of shimmering, spectral patterns brought briefly to life in the sporadic springtime sunshine. And some roar, swollen, feverish, fearsome with a hard winter’s snow melt. We’ve driven those roads, too – the snowy, mountain-pass roads. the ploughed roads only opened a week previously, looming walls of snow metres-deep on either side.
And all of this water, the torrential rain that’s been a feature of the past couple of weeks, the waterfalls, all of the snow melt, it all ends up in these fjords – from the shores of which people in their grass roofed pastel-painted wooden cabins, and us, in our van, can sit and watch, eating blueberries for breakfast, as the water froths white and angry, and little red fishing boats tumble, and sway, on the rolling waves.