The Østmarka Mil

It is said that the "Østmarka mil" is worth two anywhere else.*

It doesn't really look that different on a map, but the reality is something quite different, and sometimes the contour lines you see on a map don't really describe the true story. Østmarka is often accompanied by the word, "kupert", effectively meaning up and down. These ups and downs can be quite small; small enough to not register on most mapping scales, unless it's an orienteering map, which is a whole other story. So just because it doesn't reach the giddy heights of 700+ m in its cousin Nordmarka, doesn't mean that walking in this particular marka is a walk in the park.

Winter this year has been gentle with only a couple of months of snow. The melt in this region has started early this year; it's early March and the snow is melting on the hills in the forests and creating early indication of what will soon be impassible mire (or myr in Norwegian).

With that in mind I wanted to see if I could walk some of the red trails that are usually only the province of skiers, but the trails I had in mind were engrossed, that it, they are far too small for a tractor-like plough to drive through and create the pairs of grooves either side of the track. Looking at my map I wanted the relative comfort of walking on a trail I knew, albeit in its winter plumage so helping me to broaden my fair weather walking skills, but I also had a hankering to walk down the intriguingly named "Trolldalen" – yes, the troll's dale. Who can resist that?

So off I set, crossing the Skiforegningen's groomed plain with carefully constructed moguls, and up and into the woods. The sun is still quite low, but each day measurably spending more time warming us. It glanced through the trees, hitting the snow in shining glimpses. Up onto the rocks which poked through melting snow in the light, and onto the ice and snow in the shadows. Being "late" in the season the opportunity to use red trails becomes far more limited. The later in the winter it is, the more the snow melts, fast revealing dank bog underneath as the land thaws. Rivulets grow in enthusiasm as they eat the snow, sometimes from below leaving small cornices floating over the water before treacherously giving way. This is the red trail, ready to fool unsuspecting walkers until it is too obvious to ignore that you just can't go there. I wanted to make the most of it before it again was closed for the summer.

It was interesting to see how the huge icicles and frozen waterfalls on the rock faces on the east side had changed in the past two weeks. More opaque now, maybe after a couple of thaws and re-freezes, with some spectacular ice sculpture that my camera (or me) just couldn't capture. The sound of running water permeated everywhere, coupled with hollow steps and cracks from below as I advanced up the hill.

It is also said that if you find yourself on a flat piece of ground in Østmarka you will soon be uttering profanities...

Flat ground equals bog, mire, sump, marsh, slough, swamp. If it's on a blue trail then often the trail will be planked across the mire - on the maps of Østmarka you'll see some of the larger areas labelled as "plankeveien". Here though the planks were just small links, to avoid people whether on foot or bike from widening the paths further.

Further on I was disappointed to see how much the area before Rundvann had been changed by "skogsdrift" (forestry). I don't remember being that way at all. It was obvious that large machinery had been up there, their caterpillar tracks still evident and the trees being markedly less dense. The pop over the hill to Rundvann, however, was a breath of fresh air, the snow covering the lake looking quite pristine with cerulean sweeping the sky. I didn't see a soul.

To reach Trolldalen I faced another challenge impassable in warmer months; a challenge that had thwarted me before! Following the path around the lake and taking the red trail along the eastern shore the rocks on the edge of the lake, that you can see on the opposite shore in the photo above, were alongside me. The blue trail that had accompanied the red one so far headed firmly west while the red trail continued its NW bearing before straightening up towards the North. And into Rundvannsmosen.

This trail, which had got the better of me before, was now passable, although reminding me of the season's warmth by occasionally making me follow in one of the few other people's footsteps to avoid postholing at best and a dip at worst. The snow away from the trail was quite fragile underneath and crumbled away under the crust if any weight was put on it. I decided I didn't want a cold bath unless I could help it.

Elg (moose) hoofprints were abound and made the walk even more interesting. A couple of areas heading into the narrows had been much more effected by the warm temperatures, and a couple of hops were needed in places, particularly in the narrow areas between rock faces. I emerged shortly after to a sign in at the crossroads in the middle of the skog.

Trolldalen was calling and I intended to heed its cry!

Apart from the name, and probably one of the reasons for its name, this trail looked from the map to be relatively deep, with Trolldalsåsen rising up steeply to the west of the valley ("ås" is one of the words for hill in Norwegian). It looked so inviting, with the lovely, shining red stripe, so I unwittingly ignored the early indications of broken, rotten snow and headed further down, into the dale.

Perhaps I was bewitched – the word troll can also mean wizard in English – but it wasn't long until I fell out with the troll and was halted.

I'd already hit rotten snow, and twice had to get back up onto the snow on my knees. I didn't fancy more of the same. With my long jump abilities in doubt, and those blocks of snow being in question, I pondered for a couple of moments before deciding that discretion was the better part of valour. I'd have to leave this challenge until next winter when the land would freeze up again. This is a whole new experience to the walking I had in the UK with most areas being accessible unless the weather was inclement. I guess there'll be exceptions to that, but it's often not the case that it is here, where it's a matter of whole seasons, not just days, that impact where you can walk.

Pretty disappointed that I'd left it too late in the year, I headed back to the crossroads and had something to eat while I decided what to do. Thomas mentioned to me later on that evening (see, I made it back alive!) that having something to eat before making a decision when you're outdoors is a pretty good thing to do. I guess it feeds your brain or something. I didn't want to go back the way I'd come which would feel too much like a retreat, and I didn't fancy the broad expanse of Karismyr, even though it would be planked, and snowed, and would take me back onto trails I knew too well.

Looking at the contour lines on the map I could see that if I took the easterly path I'd cross Smalvannsmosen but not over such a large stretch – in case it was dodgy – and it was at the same, or just slightly higher, altitude as Rundvannsmosen so would probably be ok.

Not so much further on was the mire itself, planked under the snow, and this time the planks not being so visible so it was a case of feeling your way in places. From the footprints it seemed as if the elg had used the planks too.

The two photos above help to show how kupert the landscape here really is. The photo on the left is looking ahead on the path where the photo on the right is from the same point, looking back over the mosen. Fun! This place really packs the interest level in, and is never dull!

Into and out of the forest, into dips and up over hillocks I encountered this interesting little swamp. It was planked and obviously people had been over it before with all the footprints. What made this extra spicy was that the footprints created a narrow ridge of compacted snow to walk on – step too far on the ridge and it is very easy to just slide off, into sogginess... I was glad of my walking poles on more than once occasion.

Not far up the hill I reached Breiåsen and had the rest of my lunch and a hot drink while sitting under the beautiful spruce roof. The paths branched off here with a smaller trail heading along the shoulder and down into Lauvdalen. The food and drink did me good and it was nice to chill out with extra layers on. I hugged my kupilka with mittened hands, drinking hot chocolate and feeling quite contented listening to the Orrfugl or Black Grouse (Tetrao tetrix) calling.

Feeling reinvigorated I packed up and started down Lauvdalen, at which point I wished that I'd brought my snow shoes. I postholed time and again up to my shins; measuring the depth on my poles revealed a good 40cm of snow, so I wasn't hitting the deck each time I sank down. Maybe being North facing the melt hadn't hit so hard on this side, yet.

Elg prints which were everywhere, in fact there were only about 4 sets of human footprints in this photo, almost made the going worse, creating deep holes, some very old. I wish I'd brought along my snowshoes! It was frankly exhausting (which I secretly almost enjoyed). Arriving into the woods towards the bottom of this photo I saw mountain hare tracks quite neatly on the snow. And I rejoiced in having almost 6 steps on bare, springy ground! It was lovely!

Once down to the forest road just next to Øgården the rest of the walk could be viewed as a bit of a trudge, but after having a walk with so little opportunity to form any sort of rhythm it was actually quite nice. I followed the path along the south side of Nøklevann, going down to the edge at Katsia where a man was ice fishing, his massive ice screw laying alongside him. It always seems curious to me to have signposts in the middle of a lake in winter, too. Perhaps it's a cultural thing that I'll just ignore in years to come, but they're for the skiers and skaters who cross the lake. It made me smile.

The only remaining event of the walk apart from the steely blue melting ice on the lake, was saving a Norwegian man with a pushchair from sliding down an ice covered road. He was quite grateful when I hung onto his jacket as he started sliding across the road and towards a ditch. Just think, an English person saving a Norwegian from their natural environment!

In a more personal recollection, this was a good walk for me to learn more about hiking in winter and what to expect on the hills and forests east of Oslo; the Østmarka mil. In these conditions I'd definitely bring my snowshoes, and probably more to eat. It was a great trip for me, maybe a bit tame for some of the seasoned Østmarkas Venner but it's all learning for me, improving my fitness and expanding my skills.

For more photos of my "tur", view the album here.
*1 mil = 10 km