Å gå på tur i Østmarka

Making the most of the warm Oslo weather this week, I headed off out on Thursday into Østmarka, just east of where I live.

A short bus ride, surrounded by school children of about age 7 and their barnehage assistants, we all disembarked at Skullerud, their laughter and giggles and shrieks waning as I put a little distance between us through the car park. A short distance later an elderly gentleman greeted me in Norwegian, remarking on the weather. We swapped over to English and had a short, welcome conversation, and parted at an intersection where he could head up to Noklevann, whereas I wanted to head off over the icy, groomed slush that passed for the end of the Skiforeningen course area, and to follow the Flyktningeruta south west.

I walked slowly up the hill, avoiding the treacherous ice patches that the sun never reaches, aware this was really my first attempt at a proper-ish hike this year after all the hassles I've been having with my foot.

A woman in her 70s crossed the trail ahead of me, wearing a red jacket, capri pants, trail runners and shortie gaiters. She had a purposeful stride and no map, just a bum bag, so I guessed she was one of the very fit locals from hereabouts. Her stride was at contrast with mine though as the pain in my toe resurfaced and every other step became a battle of wills not to focus on the pain and instead to try to look outside myself. It worked for only a short while before deciding that I didn't want my hiking to be about forcing my way through pain; where's the fun in that? I took myself off the trail and found a sheltered spot in the sun, next to a large boulder, and made a brew.

Solbærtoddy (a hot blackcurrant drink) has miraculous properties, especially when combined with painkillers, although I wasn't sure if they were paracetamol or ibuprofen after the Sharpie marker writing had rubbed off the plasic bag I'd repackaged them in. I contemplated my navel, well, the boulder next to me, waiting for the pain to subside, airing my foot in the sun.
The boulder was interesting and as usual for me, the more I looked the more I saw; different mosses, lichens and even small lingonberry bushes trying to make a living, growing from it. Norway has an abundance of different shrubby berry plants and this year I'd like to learn more about them. There are plenty of wild raspberry and strawberry plants, and the blåberry plants are just starting to form their buds so I'm looking forward to lots of pickings in the summer and autumn!

Pain? What pain? Hurray, I thought I'd have another go. I packed the Minibull Designs Questionable Mental Health stove up, along with the other odds and sods, and got back on the trail. I enjoy this part of Norway, the trails along the humpbacked boulders, swinging around or planking over bog (if you're lucky), climbing up what look like long past river beds with boulders strewn about.

Thinking that the red ski trails would be well past their use for walking (I had a near death experience on one with a bog back in the summer which makes me shudder), I stuck to the blue trails. It's an interesting process getting used to walking in my new adopted country. No OS maps (gosh we are spoiled in the UK); I had a "Turkart Over Østmarka", a comparitively rare 1:25000 scale, and a whole different set of features and legend to use.


The footpath markings are also quite different. More like a totem pole affair, they are really useful with distance markings on and clearly signed. This is an area criss crossed with trails, so some of the totem poles become quite ornate!


Happily, the foot pain had abated and it was with some relish that I felt my stride lengthening out from a hobble into something a bit more respectable that I could meet some oncoming, sprightly pensioners with! A man loped down towards me, tracksuited and agile, his white hair giving his age away. He smiled through his panting and said "Morgen". A group of half a dozen women were not far behind, too engrossed in their chat to take much notice. All were incredibly slim, healthy, fit and nimble over the rocks. A while later I heard panting and a squishing noise as a guy on a mountain bike tried to make his way over the boulders, through the mud and up the hill. He didn't catch me but I think that was more because our paths diverged rather than my new found legs.

Wiggling over another blue path I rounded a corner to see Rundvann through the trees. A cold, matt, ghostly blue colour showed that the ice hadn't yet melted on the lake, in fact as I descended I could feel the chill coming off.

I popped down to the edge and could see indentations in the snow where people had walked, and further out the snapped off stalks of bull rushes looking like stubble after harvesting.

I could see someone over on the other side of the lake, probably having their lunch. They were sat on a big rock outcrop, commanding a view of the whole, small lake. I decided to carry on with a minor detour up to look at the cabin up at Østmarkkapellet, which was closed but to be expected at this time of year. Foxed by the Norwegian habit of combining words together to make one longer one I had a Homer moment when I realised there was a chapel here: Østmark kapell et (The Østmark Chapel). A transcription had been hung outside the chapel, "I lift up my eyes to the hills".

Rejoining the path I continued along the Flyktningeruta to Småvann, to a place where I'd camped with Thomas in the Autumn. It was cold and there wasn't much sun but my attention was hooked by small ice plateau at equal distances. In contrast to Rundvann where the ice and snow hadn't melted much and footprints were still indentations, here, just 5 metres higher and more enclosed the ice seemed to have melted away from the condensed, packed snow and ice, leaving these little islands.

Pretty though it was, it was cold in this depression without the sun. I didn't want to linger so reversed back up and over a small, steep hillock to Rundvann and made my way along the east shore to where I'd seen the man on the rocks. He'd left and I had the place to myself. Rundvann is very accessible so there was a marked out fire pit (it's even marked on the map), but which was surrounded with a moat of ice, and just on the other side of the rock outcrop someone had wrestled a small Yogi Bear pic-er-nik table. I'd never seen one covered with so much carving, but it made a great place to stop in the sun and to rehydrate my potato lunch, with sausage!

It was very tasty, as I'm sure the local pair of mallards wished they could agree too. The female got busy hunting for food under water and waving her rear at me, while the flashy male just pontificated around, trying to scare off another male and otherwise looking a bit aimless unless he thought he could wrestle my sausage off me!

It was a pleasure to see them both so close. The female's feather markings were exquisite. Normally attention is focussed on the male, and being able to see the two curled feathers under his back was a treat, but being able to examine the female up close showed how intricate her patterning was too.

By this time I'd been gone ages, and to be honest, this is a pretty short walk. I'd let Thomas know where I was going and how long I expected to be, but I'd gone way past that. I packed up and picked up the blue trail heading along the fringe of the vann, then veering northwards where I gained height such that I had a view out through the tree tops and over Oslofjord to the far bank. That's quite a distance and because of the trees, not a view you get very often, in fact you can't see it in this photo, but *I* know it's there ;).

I thoroughly enjoyed myself and made good time on a broad trail, joined by a red ski trail from the right. Turning left and west at a cross roads of trail I started downwards, past emerging Liverleaf flowers (Blåveis or Blåmyr in Norwegian, Hepatica nobilis; Thomas has a lovely photo here of one), remaining ice pockets and around upturned spruce trees, victims of recent winds, their mid air roots swathed in a carpet roll of moss.

At a crossroads I saw a pair of brilliantly blushing Bullfinches (Dompap in Norwegian), their colour startling in the subdued green of the conifers. Further down I also saw what I think must be a Yellow Wagtail (Gulerle, Motacilla flava); I can't think what else it could be that was such a vivid yellow green and of that size. Wood anemones (Hvitveis or Kvitsymre, Anemone nemorosa) were unfurling their buds into early white flowers, making the woodland floor lower down sparkle.

How is it that return journeys along previously trodden paths seem to take half the time? In no time at all I was back at the point where I'd seen the woman in red. Instead of being diverted by pain I was now in tune with myself again, and noticed the abundance of Coltsfoot (Hestehov, Leirfivel, Tussilago farfara) on the ground along the trail and track side. It's image has been used by Ruter to advertise the Easter timetable for public transport. Their image has these yellow daisies pushing up out of crinkled ice, but mine are slightly less pretty in dun scrub.

I felt contented to finish this walk. A test of my foot; not great but can be managed. Some overnighters are needed I think!