Chocolate boxes and keeping warm camping, with views

Sometimes walks don't turn out to be the chocolate box attractive trails you hope. This weekend didn't start too promisingly, a bus ride out to the northern suburbs of Oslo followed by a 4.5 km walk on tarmac (ok, this is not such a big deal, but I still hanker after having a car sometimes) before the 'proper' walk started.

Forest roads sweeping past a saw mill and a gushing stream beyond, led us to a war memorial and a spot from where people were taking canoes out onto the numerous connected lakes. The landscape reminded me a bit of the forestry commission in the UK where pines had been cut down and unwanted branches left at the side. Not auspicious! But the warmth of the spring day released the pine oil scent, reminiscent of warm days in Austria. A nursery of Christmas trees brought some relief, and us singing to each other to create a rhythm and pace to walking helped immensely!

Our initial goal was to reach the DNT hytte, Røyrivannskoia, on the edge of the southern nature reserve in Østmarka. A short turn off the forest track led down a path, obviously still managed forestry, but crossing the beck at the bottom the ground on the other side was clearly managed in an entirely different fashion: this is the Østmarka I love!

Immediately, mossy green troll heads appeared from rotten tree stumps. Lichen and moss covered limbs, stones, rocks, almost whole trees, told the story of old wood, gamle skog. The closest area I can think of in the UK that resembles the old nature is around Padley Gorge on the Longshaw NT park, when the stunted oaks bend misshapen forms around stones and wind. But this feels old, as if it carried memories.

Røyrivanns koia was occupied when we came across it. Neither of us felt inclined to intrude, so after a short look around we continued on the blue trail around the bottom of Røyrivann itself, enjoying some mirror reflections of the banks opposite, and away into the distance.

After climbing along the backside where we were the trail broadened out into something that looked like a Roman road ruin. The sound of powerful water drew us over to another troll and the rusty remains of wood chutes – used to float timber down from one body of water to another. In fact this chute transported wood down almost a 50 meter drop. I didn't mind seeing the remains of earlier industry, but wonder whether the proliferation of wind turbines will be seen in the same way in the future. What will happen when they reach the end of their lives?

We crossed the head of the stream, continuing on the blue trail, which writhed up and onwards through birch and pine forest, over roots and rocks, the ground pretty dry underfoot with moss looking spent of moisture already, and it's just the start of May! By now though our thoughts turned to sleep; where to camp? We knew from the map that there was a lot of mire around the lakes, but there were also spots, hopefully, unmarked by mire. A small peninsula into North Krokvann (no, sadly we don't have crocs in Norway) was recced by Thomas who was jubilant on his return to me, guarding his ULA pack (ok, I was shattered!). Rain threatened so I followed him to the chosen lair with haste!

It was a wonderful spot, and Forrest Gump's words resonated with me. The kilometres of forest track were definitely worth it for this gem! It was obvious people had been there before, but the ground wasn't trashed, there weren't the tell tale signs of amateur arbor craft: only the professionals had been at work and beaver felled trees fell away into the water on the East side of the peninsula.

It started to rain. Thomas started to put his tarp up to shelter us while it lasted. He was going to hammock rather than use a ground shelter (if you want to find out more about what he used you can ask him on Twitter (@Gauperaa) or badger him on his blog - it's about time he updated it!). I have inherited his old Akto, a rite of passage I missed. This is the second time I've used it and I have to say I really like it – it feels so in keeping with the surroundings here.

Anyway, the rain abated, we selected where we wanted to pitch and got on with it with only minor faffing. Dinner was to be an ultra lightweight affair of disposable barbecued sausages left over from the day before, with mashed potato. Yum! The disposable barbie wouldn't light so Thomas sprinkled it, Jamie Oliver style, with some crushed esbit. After determining the correct amount of crush necessary to light a barbecue we got the pølser on, I brewed some tea on my caldera cone and finally we got to eat.

Already in Norway (or at our latitude - just over 59 degrees north) the sun doesn't set until about 20 past 9, so we still had some time to enjoy the view of two men fishing in a canoe on the lake, before a stunning sunset. The sun's last glow hit the trees on the far side of the lake, burning them to their tips as the sun left for the day.

And then, my evening battle commenced.
For my battle this time I had:

• 2 hot water bottles,
• lovely Woolpower socks (400, cheaper in Norway than in the UK, faint!),
• Smartwool base layers and a Choc Fish Merino T,
• Smartwool liner gloves and wool Devold mittens,
• Exped Down Mat 7 (heavy and bulky but I can feel the warmth),
• Western Mountaineering Alpinlite,
• an Aklima balaclava and a possum wool beanie

Oh, and a hand warmer Thomas found in the closet that had a best before date from 2 years + ago...

Initially it was all lovely, I was cosy and warm in the Akto, but around midnight I got too cold. Remembering Joe Newton's fab email to me from about 2 (or is it 3) years ago, I decided to go to the loo, make a Real Turmat (real camp food) dehydrated meal, have something hot to drink and try again. I also put my Rab Photon on which I'd had covering my legs. About 20 minutes after zipping the place back up and no longer seeing my own breath in the cold night air I was unconscious. Success! I slept until about half past 7 and then again until I got way too warm in the sun.

Lessons for next time: do the above but a lot earlier!

After an alpine start of almost 1 o'clock we hit the trail!

In such a small area we covered lots of different terrain. Bog, birch woodland, round boulders, sharp stones. Pine trees, mire, lakeland, moss. It takes me ages to walk anywhere because I'm always gawping at the next thing, looking, taking snap shots, imagining, discussing. One mans trail run is another mans adventure.

One of the reasons I like Østmarka is because of the variety, particularly in these more protected or out of the way areas. It feels like a living place but one of very slow pace and of great age – that we are all just passing through as it slowly morphs through seasons and years. I could quite happily spend days, or weeks at a time in Østmarka, and that's just on the marked trails – veer off the trail and you're up to your armpits in water or having to cross terrain or through woodland that hasn't had human contact for years. That's quite hard going!

All too soon for my liking we rejoined the forest track back towards the north. We made the best of it; it's useful for me to get some fitness or speed up, and there are still plenty of things to look at. A wren sang beautifully at the edge of the forest, a bird I rarely see now. Great Tits however are abundant, as are Pied Wagtails which swooped down to rough ground.

We paused for 5 minutes on the side of a large lake, just before a turn to Finnland. Fish were rising all around us and we even managed to spy the dark shape of a trout in the water. The rest of the walk was, frankly, unremarkable, save for passing derelict buildings or productive farms. In the distance we saw the church tower of Hammer Kirke – the style of churches in Norway still feels rather alien to me (though less so than the sand pits bunkers on golf courses). A green bus drove by about 500 meters in front of us. Half an hour wait until the next, but we got lucky with a different bus ten minutes later and made our way home via the city.