In Tonsberg, Norway, we built Greenland Eskimo Sea Kayaks with the help of Friend’s Fred and Steiner. They pursued the study of Friluftsliv, a way of life in tune with nature. Based on the writings of Fritjof Nansen, the great Norwegian explorer and humanitarian, FriluftsLiv is a way of life, a value system. As we in America work to include the concept of “recreation” in our legislated society so too do the proponents of Friliftsliv work to make Friluftsliv, the Free-air-Life a part or their greater society’s consciousness. Fritjof Nansen learned from the Eskimo’s how to live as an Eskimo when in their inhospitable northern climates. Using the natural materials from nature, materials that can be reabsorbed into the natural world, Fritjof discovered he could live more comfortably and safely without destroying the natural world around him. The protégé’ of Fritjof Nansens, Roland Admunson followed this philosophy wearing the Eskimo garb and using sled dogs on his approach to the South Pole. He successfully reached and returned from the South Pole without loss of human life. At the same time the great English explorer, Robert Scott, was striking out for the South Pole. This was a race between adventurers seeking to claim the fame that goes with the first man to have done so. Scott reached the South Pole, but he didn’t make it back to the safety of his ship and homeland England. He did not live within the rules of nature and froze to death.

In any case I met Fred, Steiner and a number of other Norwegian’s at Red Mountain Pass in the San Jaun mountains of Colorado. There the group lived for three weeks skiing and exploring the tenants of Friluftsliv. A couple years later Todd Cameron, the amazing Utah, and I headed over to Norway to build Greenland Eskimo sea kayaks with the natural materials at hand. In another place I will talk about that process. For now let’s pick up in late November when we headed out onto the sea in our hand built craft.

The yule time decorations were up throughout town. It was 8:00 in the morning on November 19th 1983. The sky was soft grey initially, then the sun’s morning rays reflected vividly off the clouds. Though winter seems to have set in and frost is everywhere we were comfortable as there was not a trace of wind. I made my way out the back door of our much beloved house, down the street to the shop where the finest baker of bread I have ever experienced, even to this day, lived. This bread for 9 kroners or about $1.15 comes out of the oven at 10:30 in the morning. You get it warm at this time. A very secret recipe is acclaimed far and wide, or so we’ve been told. This bread is dark brown, heavy. The course crust is evidence of the many course grains in the bread. It is solid. Cutting the loaf does not alter the shape of this bread in any way. Instead our knife slices through bread cutting each grain rather than pushing it aside (must have been a sharp knife).

You may butter the bread as I usually do, then put one of a variety of foodstuffs on it. Berries from a quart container are a favorite. So too is honey or a wide variety of delicious Norway cheeses, some of them very pungent. My favorite - ready for this - has been a slice covered with a mussel and cheese mix squeezed out of a tube. Eating the slice is a marvel. The texture and enjoyment gained while moving each mouthful around with your tongue is unique with this bread so full and textured. And when you’re done you’ll undoubtedly have to go back for another. It remains the best I’ve ever had.

We took our time leaving to sea kayak. We had worked straight through four weeks building our kayaks. Friday, then Saturday passed. Todd made a canvas pouch; I read, relaxed and wrote. Sunday we prepared throughout the day deciding mid-day we wouldn’t leave that night. Monday morning I awoke late and Todd had done all of his errands. We went back to Trina’s for breakfast after which I ran my errands. Using a lanolan-laird mixture I coated all the hand sewn seams on my kayak. This worked well. Our Kayaks were built anthrometrically. The length of my kayak was five extended-arms length. The width was determined with a fist on each hip. The Eskimo would build their kayaks this way and keep the kayak for their lifetime. The Eskimos would rebuild their kayaks each year replacing broken or worn parts. Then they would restich the frame and replace worn skin.

I tied my spare paddle on top my kayak. Then Todd and I each brought our kayaks and hords of gear to the water’s edge to begin packing. Already much of the day had been spent and it would be dark soon. Trina watched us outfit our kayaks and we all laughed. Fitting all our gear in these small craft was not easy. Todd tied some of his gear on his deck and I held some in my lap. I figured we each carried about 60 pounds.

The sun had set and it was getting dark as we took our first strokes. After four weeks of building we were wherever bound. We crossed under Tonsberg Bridge and continued our way out of town. We choose to go left at the first waterway among the low islands. The sun was set but the red glow of the clouds could be seen reflected in the water.

Todd was feeling his way along getting to know his boat. His travels depended on the boat; whereas he lacked skill, he had the ability to concentrate on relaxing. The kayak would tilt to one side then return to upright. Not to overreact, that was the key. This was Todd’s first time in a kayak. Todd applied his rock climbing composure and nerve to the task at hand. We paddled under a smaller bridge. This channel was narrow and many wooden boats lined the shore water lapping on their hulls. In our laden Eskimo kayaks on a night of the November moon we quivered quietly inside ourselves with excitement. It was cold and already this part of the fjord had frozen over once. We both wore wetsuit booties, mittens and hats. I wore a paddle jacket and Todd had on a full wetsuit.

In a little while we left our narrow channel and began our first crossing heading toward a lighthouse. It was dark now and the moon wasn’t up. We referred to our map and used the light houses this evening to make our way. A green light meant it was clear between us and the light. A yellow beam signified caution and a red beam indicated danger. One large ship went by behind us. We paddled on through the dark using the light houses to make our way. We came close to a small island and very close to some rocks just above the water line. There was a marker but we couldn’t see it until we were on top of it. The water was calm.

The moon rose into view during this crossing. Clouds on the horizon then obscured the moon for awhile. When I realized it was coming up I watched a struggle between the moon trying to rise over the horizon of the clouds and the clouds not yielding. Now we could make out the shoreline as we rounded the point. We paddled into the first cove and landed to camp for the evening.

We ate potatoes, onions and cauliflower soup with garlic butter powdered milk. We also ate some cheese - good Norwegian cheese and crackers along with a bottle of French wine. The next morning when we woke the scenery was spectacular. Low islands were everywhere. I could see the sun shinning through the trees and the light working its way toward us. The day began calm and cloudy. We drank a good cup of tea and I cooked breakfast while Todd began packing his kayak. After some time during which Todd tried to ride a cow, I melted my water bottle. We ate a quick bowl of porage and continued our final packing. Todd had packed so well he forgot to leave some gear out to lean back on in his boat.

As I walked toward the boat with hands full of gear I noticed dense fog across the water. When I reached Todd he exclaimed, “It’s snowing! “”Well so be it, I responded.” But I hastened to pack to beat the snow which was getting our gear all wet. I shoved this all in till finally I still had all sorts of stuff about me. Now the snow was falling hard Todd had already launched his kayak. I threw the remaining gear into my boat; put it on the water and crammed myself into it almost tipping in the process. I mad a mistake when I built my boat. The cockpit cowling was flat on the deck rather than rising in the front. This made it really hard to get in as my knee caps couldn’t get past the cowling without a lot of struggling. Once I was in I was in and I knew a wet exit wasn’t in the cards for me. I also carried gear in my lap further making me part of the boat. Things were going weird for me today. After a little more time I paddled out to Todd. Both our boats had about an inch of snow on them and visibility was about zero. One hundred fifty feet away Todd was just a siloute - quite an outrageous one at that.

We were heading south straight into the snow. Our beards were covered white and the maritime snowflakes lashed into our faces. Our wet suit mittens were too tight and our fingers were cold. We laughed - it was so tense and there was so much beauty in it all. We approached a dock shortly and I asked that we pull in there so I could try and get my stuff together. Once there I pulled my gear from the boat and noticed that my bottle may have been leaking. Hmm, stove alcohol may eat through the linseed impregnated canvas. I was wet everywhere - even between the ears at this point.

“Todd, look, a sea lion” I exclaimed. Here in this blizzard a mustached nose and two small eyes were inquiring. What were we about he must have wondered. Todd paddled out while I fumbled with my gear and camera which was too foggy at the moment for pictures. After awhile Todd paddled back out of the blizzard into my shelter where I said “I’m just getting it together.” To which he replied, “That’s Ok we’ve got all day” as we looked at the snow piling onto our kayak.

On route again we looked for signs of where we were, but could only follow the shoreline. This was quite amusing. With cold fingers we approached a point. The waves were picking up and close to the shore Todd found rather than it being easier paddling the waves bounced back at us. These conditions Todd’s concentration and my concern intensified. His craft’s seaworthiness reflected centuries of Eskimo wisdom and ingenuity. I flanked his right side staying where Todd could see the bow of my kayak for the emotional support I hoped it would provide him. We said nothing. Easy now, keep breathing. Easy. That’s it, everything’s OK steady as she goes. Relax, breath, allow the waves to lift and pass under. Dense flying snow splattered our faces, built upon our kayaks and lifejackets. The whiteout defined our total world and being. Right here, right now, snow building thicker on our craft, waves constant. Two foot waves coming diagonally lifted our bows rhythmically raising and lowering each kayak making us both uneasy for Todd. The intensity of the moment was marvelous. I never said a word to Todd as I didn’t want to break his concentration. Yet I remained a few feet to his left and slightly behind so I could physically help him if needed. That alone helped him most. This was weird water. Soon we were going right around a bend in the shoreline. With the waves we surfed into a small cove. We parked the kayaks and pulled them a shore on four inches of snow.

We built a fire and I went for a walk. The sun came out and I spotted another sea lion. We were having fun in the absurdity of it all. We choose to camp here. The snow stopped, we dried all our gear and sat back to watch the moon rise. We talked about the day and our dependence on each other mentally - out on the water.

We camped comfortable this evening. Todd first, then I, went for short hikes in this years first snowfall. My feet stayed warm and dry in my wet suit booties as I walked. The moon was up now and I sat to watch reflected light glitter on the water. Islands in the distance appeared to float above the water rather than sit in the water.

The next morning we packed our gear into the kayaks which we first had to carry to the outer edge of the inlet. The day was sunny and clear. We set out Eastward without maps now. Fire ran up the rope of our map case and burned them last night. We hadn’t quite acclimated to the scale of the maps anyway. We didn’t know where we were headed now. Soon however we passed an island.

We headed northwest (we has compasses) until we reached a trade school for troubled kids. You would have thought we’d sign up there and then. Jorg, a teacher there, gave us coffee, a new map, and some insights of the school program. These kids, who had not gotten it together through other forms of counseling, built boats and sailed. In four years of existence this school had an excellent record of rehabilitating the kids. They would sail off and never be heard from again.

We left heading south. I was still not oriented to the scale of the map. Todd led the way, but as it turned out he also didn’t have the maps figured out. Map reading and finding one’s way is a process of knowing the map’s scale from continued use and experience. In three days we had it down. While we were disoriented, even for a couple of days, we were not lost. For example, I stopped by a dock to ask a red haired fellow where we were and where the channel before us led. Todd, in the meantime, paddled into a cove of rising steam. This fellow so happened to pass us earlier this day on the other side of the island called Bjerko (go figure). Showing me where that was put the maps into a much better perspective. We left confident now of where we were and where we were headed among the islands.

This was a pleasant day. The sun was out and the water was calm. Even though it had snowed the day before and you may think this is bad weather for kayaking, it is not. Only a few boats passed us in the course of the day. The snow laden shoreline was quiet and serine looking and the barren islands looked like ice flows. Being dry on top of the water sitting in our kayaks and sea socks we were warm. A sea sock is a bag, for us of canvas, that like a sleeping bag you sat in and pulled up to your waist.

We reached the bottom of the first island in about two and a half hours. At this point I had decided I would like to paddle to the end of the world that night. In Norwegian that is Verdens Enda. Todd too wanted to paddle but we thought we best make camp as it was getting dark. We investigated a fire south east from us so we paddled there. Upon coming near we smelled burning rubbbage. It was a warm thought anyway. We turned away from here and headed southwest to a point. Here in the woods, by a house, we set camp. For our fire there was cut wood. Roughing it eh?

Camp, as usual, was mighty comfortable; I soon began drying what I had, drinking tea and eating food (good thing) to prepare for my night journey. Before long I realized I was packing enough to care for myself if the worst should happen – whatever that could be. Todd offered me his bivy sack and escorted me with most all my gear to my kayak.

Here was the plan. I definitely would not sleep out that night. With plans to be back by noon the next day. If I didn’t show up by dark Todd would locate a phone and Fred and Ola’s to see if I had called explaining what my problem may be. If I hadn’t called or returned he would get a group together and come looking for me.

Hippity Ho, I lowered myself into my sea kayak with my sea sock on, stretched my spray skirt around the kayak cowling and paddled off into the dark. Todd watched until he couldn’t see me any more which wasn’t long.

I headed pats rocks just breaking the water’s surface toward the light house we had passed earlier. Around the bend a fishing boat’s massive lights glared down on and across the water attracting fish to be caught. Another boat lay hove to closer to shore. I passed between two ocean sized cargo ships secure in my toothpick of a craft.

The night clouds blocked the moon and snow seemed possible. The dark obscured any reference points I may otherwise have had. I looked at my map before I left the shelter of the shoreline for black open waters. Wind blew against me and small waves formed. In time I could see attractive lights off to my right. Even so I didn’t feel right about heading that way. My compass showed me south was strongly off to my left. I paddled south.

I passed an island on my left and kept south. A good distance straight ahead of me I could make out more lights. This time I paddled toward them, islands slipping by on either side of me. Sometimes land was close; at other times openings led to the open sea. Southeast overhead Orion watched over me. The moon hovered over my left shoulder providing me light. The North Star at the end of the little dipper followed above and behind me.

Occasionally I took pictures playing with my flash and the moon’s light. I felt comfortable now. The sea beneath me, the dark around me and the stars overhead weren’t as foreign to me as two and a half hours earlier. My singing, which for a reason I only do alone, came a little easier now, yet I still bubbled excitedly within for the beauty of the moment. Fabulous!

I paddled past a few houses, some with lights on. I pulled into a cove, ice and dead end. I pulled out my map, concluded where I might be and returned it and my flashlight to their place in my lifejacket. I backed out of the ice, swung the bow around and now paddled North along the East shoreline. After awhile I came to a cove which I figured was a connecting inlet shown on my map. No markings complimented my belief in the map. I ventured further into this cove when I spotted a small bridge. I passed under the bridge through a 30 foot wide channel exhilarated by simply where I was here in Norway.

Continuing forward I rounded a bend to see a boat dock brightly lit by a high class resort hotel. Almost midnight I tied my kayak to some rocks, grabbed my camera bag and went knocking on the kitchen door. “Hello, anybody home?” “Come in” a girl replied. Soon I knew my location – drinking espresso and eating chocolate cake compliments of the Haunoy, the islands plushest resort. Winter night sea kayaking has many rewards. I wasn’t looking for this one but I was warmly received dressed as I was in full paddling gear and a sixpence atop my head. November 23rd, midnight, I downed another cup of coffee then set off for Verden’s Enda – the end of the world. Paddling South I could hear the wind whistling further down the channel though the water here remained sheltered and calm. Under the moonlight I paddled out of the calm onto wind chopped waves and gathering swells.

I weaved my way among rocks evidenced by the breaking waves glowing moonlight white. A small cove provided me a respite from the growing wind. Hippity Ho I headed out onto the rough waters toward a wave break sheltering docked boats this cold evening. Old styled sailboats, rowboats and putt-putts lined the dock. Putt-Putts have one cylinder engines that go putt-putt. Wooden lapstrake boats warmly lit by moon and a solitary light post bobbed serenely in the midst of a cold winter’s night.

Back into the sea connecting places far and wide I went. I left the peaceful harbor for the scattered rock islands be lovingly known as the ‘end of the world’, to the vacationing Norwegians. Their seafaring decedents had traveled to the ends of the earth aboard their Viking ships, crafts seaworthy enough to stand the vicissitudes of Open Ocean. As in a dream the end of the world lurked out there somewhere in my slumbering sleep. If only not to awake and miss it.

Through two to ten feet of water the moons rays penetrated lighting the bottom. Under moonlight I could make out rocks and lichens, colors and textures. I traveled a channel among rocks and small islands sheltering the water smoothing the surface as a looking glass to the wonders below. Rocks, these small islands rose 20 to 30 feet either side of me. Similarly I worked my way south through a channel 20 feet wide. I paddled hard my progress held to a minimum by a funnel of wind in my face. Slowly I inched forward until the rock receded on either side of me and the dark open ocean engulfed me.

I bought the bow of my sturdy kayak about and returned to the safety of the docks, the gental harbor where tranquility lay lapping. I parked my kayak next to a wood-planked 12 foot boat with lines of grace. I set out for a couple of miles hike – the night so fine I didn’t want it to end. Upon returning a traditional lit phone booth beckoned me to phone a friend or family. Back home it was early evening. I thought; here I am at the end of the world, my little world, and two days past a full moon the elements of nature lifting my spirits. “Bless you all” I said as I walked past the phone booth, entered my kayak and headed north for a possible cup of espresso and bed. In the shelter of an A framed boat garage I made camp or rather a place to sleep. I shut my eyes sometime past 3:30 that morning - content.

Upon awakening the weather had become warmer. Snow rapidly melted everywhere drips and rivilets. I loaded my kayak and headed back to base camp. The wind with me now, I rode waves and swells the whole glorious morning.

I arrived while Todd was gone for a walk. When he returned we packed our kayaks to paddle for the day. Soon, heading west, we ran into strong winds between islands and though better of it. We decided then to retrace our route back to Tunsborg. Todd was upset that his ability limited him so. “Fair weather paddler” he grumbled more to himself than to me. I could only picture him two days before paddling in a blizzard with ice and snow covering his boat.

After we crossed the channel we turned north. The wind blew from behind. Nice wind, but still a little too radical for our comfort. We bought our kayaks together and before long were sailing after the fashion of Fritjof Nansen when they left the confines of their ship the Fram. The Fram lay on its side atop the polar ice cap where for two years it had drifted west a full crew living in close quarters. Since their boat had not drifted and broken free from it lock, Fitjof and a mate , built two Eskimo style sea kayaks and headed south across the open ocean and the Frans Joseph islands. They too hoisted a sail and sailed before the wind. They would return home, provision another ship and return to rescue Fram’s crew. It worked out differently for them.

With a garbage bag stretched between or paddles we sailed plying the waters with our wake. The few people who did see us smiled their approval and admiration at our audacity. Perhaps they thought otherwise all the same they smiled with us. We sailed to our last camp in a beautiful windless cove.

Now four days into our journey we had our system down. In a half-hour camp was set and we were drinking tea. Our evening’s discussion revolved around the virtues of our kayak designs, the ways we worked through our challenges as a team. We reflected on the beauty of nature as well as our society as a whole, a society in which so many people suffer.

The next morning a leisurely paddle bought us back to Tonsberg. On route I invited a snowman, Frosty I think, to ride atop my bow. I recognized a farm field we had passed on our way south a few days before. We looked over our map with greater awareness of scale. Getting oriented to the map, more efficient in packing our kayaks and quick in setting camp is a process. For Todd it was a beginning with only a few days kayaking of any kind under his belt. He would go on to borrow my East German Pouch, a tandem folding sea kayak, on journeys to other far away places. This seaworthy boat with many adventures to its credit was first used by newlyweds in the 50ths upon Glacier Lake in Montana. I bought it from the widow of that relationship many years later. For me the trip was somewhere in the middle.