So we pack our things and we make for another hard day. We go in silence again, there is not much to say. We talk only when we need to discuss where the possible path is and to decide where to go. We are proceeding terribly slowly. We are sinking into the fresh wet snow; we are falling losing our balance; pulling the sled seems to me like a dragging a huge fridge over the stones. After an hour I let Zuzka go first, it is slightly easier for me to go in her track than to go through the fresh and deep snow. Unfortunately it doesn’t help if I go up the hill. Dragging the sled is pretty hard work and neither the sun nor the fact that the weather is getting slightly better help us a lot. We see at least what is around us and where we are going but we do not move ahead any faster. We are slowly realizing that we are not going to make those 10 km we need to make today.

Last try – we unload all food from the sled except three dosages for next three days which we have till the end and we hope to reduce the weight of the sled so we will manage to keep going. It is pretty risky; in case of a storm we might get stuck in the tent for couple of days and we wouldn’t have any other chance but starving. We know very well that it is not the best solution but we have no better idea. In the end we find out that it did not help us in any way. To drag the sled is not really easier and furthermore, the weather is getting worse again. We are done. We won’t get anywhere under these conditions – in this dreadful weather and at this slowly pace. Nor we have enough time to sit around in a tent and wait for better weather. It is just damn bad luck.

The way back, down to the valley, was not very interesting. Another binding completely fell apart and thanks to my foolishness I was near to break all my bones when I fell down with the sled from the 6 meters high slope and alighted right between stones and trees. There down in the valley was total thaw and muddy slush but we did not really care anymore. We spent two days in Voss in a hostel drying up all our things and then we moved to Oslo for the last two days we had. We had to go by bus; the trains were not going because of the intractable overflow of a new snow on the plateau. Then the flight back home, critical commentaries on the web….but also for example a phone call from Vasek Sura which was tremendously encouraging, he told me to scrub round all those critics and he encouraged me not to give up. Thank you, Vasek!

Also I give thanks to Antonin Kusbach from Humi Team for his great and heartening email, to Humi Outdoor, to Ceskenoviny.cz, Hedvabanstezka.cz, bavte.se and to all those who kept their fingers crossed for us.

Anyway, I thank even to those who criticize me – whether you do it rightfully or not or whether you do it for any other motive – you give me the reason to try it again and be better.

Before leaving the overhang of rock under which we spent last night in relative safety, I explain to Zuzka our new plan. I will go first without sled, only with my bag, to examine what is there in front of us. The fog is so thick that there is no way of recognizing whether I’m standing on overhanging snow or at the edge of big rock. I feel like human guinea pig – this is freaking danger. Iquickly explain to Zuzka what to do in case I am swept away by an avalanche. Then the last question – I make sure that Zuzka knows where the locator beacon is – and I am ready to go. I have a hiking pole for better stability in one hand and in the second hand I have a three meters long avalanche probe which is used for searching for people buried in avalanches. Like a blind man I am examining the surface in front of me. I need to make at least a small notch in the snow, something…something that creates at least a small shadow which helps me to recognize which way to go. I am moving ahead terribly slowly but at least I am moving. We could not stay in the tent any longer. We would get overpowered by depressing thoughts of loss, boredom – it is not possible to play crisscross, and so on, forever.

When I feel a slight tug, I know I reached the end of the rope tied to my bag; Zuzka holds its other end. I moved on for 30 meters, only for 30meters. I turn back and there is nothing…I see only deep white nothing. Everywhere I look there is only the same whiteout all around me, the same feeling of disorientation, the same fear and the strange nervous tension down there in my stomach. This rope, eight millimeters in diametre, is the only connection between us. It is the only thing which gives us the certainty that we will find each other in this awful weather. When I reach the end of the rope, I put my avalanche probe into the snow and I go back to Zuzka, following the rope. There I hitch myself up to the sled and go back to the probe. The rope is this time tied to the sled so Zuzka can help me to hold the sled and prevent it from toppling over and falling down the slope. We move 30 meters, I unhitch myself from the sled, Zuzka switches the rope from the sled to my bag and I take the avalanche probe again and I make for to explore the next 30 meters. In this manner we are moving ahead for a whole day. We are both quiet. There is nothing to say. There is a danger in the air; there is a misgiving that we are just straying at the bottom of the huge valley. We know we are terribly slow, we feel depressed because of the hopelessness of the situation we are being in. Only the heaviness of our bags and the extent of exertion necessary to carry them give us a hint whether we are climbing up a hill or whether we are on a flat land. There is no path to be searched, there is only white nothing. Not even the compass gives us some help. It gives us only the straight direction to the one point somewhere on the plateau but it does not tell us how to get there through the labyrinth of rocks, steep slopes, snowdrifts and all the places which we cannot pass through with the sled. In one moment I am so disorientated that I come back to my own traces. I do not understand and I am confused for a while; whose are these traces, has anyone been here before us? But the imprints of the sled are unmistakable – I have made a perfect circle. We are back to the place we had passed some thirty minutes ago. That is too much.

I follow my traces for a while to the point where I probably began turning back a moment ago. Then I try to go little bit to the left hoping it is the right direction. We are lost; we are scrambling up a steep hill. I am raging. I do it discretely or in the moments when I am far enough from Zuzka, so she cannot see me. I do not want her to see me like this; I do not want her to think that I have lost my self-control; that I am so angry because of we are not doing well. I do not want her to think that I do not have enough strength to drag the sled up the 45° hill; that my legs are burning hot from strain; that I do not almost feel my backs because I have to go bend forward all the time to even move the sled in this wet and heavy slush.

At about 3 p.m. we are finding ourselves in some saddleback. The surface is markedly straighter and even the snow is different – it seems to be strengthened by wind in comparison to the wet and heavy snow in the valley. We make a tent and immediately fall asleep right after our everyday duties – cooking and so on. We are tired and in a bad mood. We do not hold out much hope of better weather anymore. We just want to move forward as long as possible and as long as we have time. We want to fight for it; we do not want to give up even though we know that our chances are small.

Packing a tent and sled became a routine. We don’t even need to talk. We both know what to do and so within less than an hour and half (we had breakfast, made tea and drinks for the day too) we’re on our way. We’re covering some distance for the first hour. Now and then we can see at least a bit what’s ahead and although the sled doesn’t go very well in the deep snow it’s not too bad. However, we cannot avoid falling down. It’s starting to be harder and harder to see difference between the sky and ground. It all appears the same grey. Even the smallest bump lacks any outlines. It seems we are moving as we were leprous, we don’t look like two adventurers who are attempting Harda traverse. It might sound funny now but at that time we didn’t find it amusing at all. It feels like crossing a very narrow bridge with your eyes shut. All we could see were our skis, nothing else. Even the snow which we were skiing on appeared non existent. Everything is so blended in the fog that I feel as if I were inside a tennis ball. No matter where I look all I can see is milk. I have no idea where I’m going where the easiest route is, cannot see snowdrifts, slopes nothing at all… Zuzka is doing a little bit better. She’s following my tracks and so she has at least a slight idea about the terrain ahead. On the other side, she has to help me with the sled which tends to tip over more often now. I feel sorry for her. She is quite strong but with a heavy backpack on and on skis… it’s tough to straighten up the heavy sled every thirty minutes or so. It involves getting under the sled, putting the poles away and from kneeling position trying to find something to grab and then pull the sled back up. It usually happens on the side hill which means that the sled tends to flip back over again. I cannot help her. If I had taken the harness off the sled would have plummeted down into the valley. And so I’m standing there doing my best to prevent the sled from sliding even further down watching her quietly to struggle.

When I succeed (a few times!) in getting onto a snowdrift above the rocks or on really steep slope where I feel that it’s a matter of seconds when it all comes loose and we will be swept down into the valley by an avalanche I command to call it a day. I feel so bad. I have no idea what Zuzka is thinking, but I’ve been sensing that we’ve been risking a lot for a while already! I don’t want to be the one who gives up, I hate to be in the spot, being the one who says out loud “we cannot go any further”. However, I don’t want anything bad to happen. It’s not worth it. I have responsibility not only for myself but also for Zuzka. I’d rather appear as a coward then try our fortune. Beside, we still have about two days to spare to try it. We would not complete the whole traverse anymore but we still have a chance to reach Finse – the train station on Hardangervidda plateau. All we need is a couple of days with good weather and lower temperatures. In the fog with snow up to knees – no way!

We backtrack a bit and set up a tent on a spot below a small rock. I pray that there are no big snowdrifts hanging above us which could bury us alive. I don’t mention anything to Zuzka. It is perhaps better for her not to know about certain things.

Back in tent I have qualms of conscience that we made only three, max. four kilometers today and that we’re starting to be pressured by time. I’m also starting to feel really tired. The sled hardly moves through that slushy heavy snow falling constantly from the sky. For thousandths of time I’m trying to think what we’ve been carrying extra. Except for some spare food I cannot really find anything else. Second sled would surely help, weight and load would be divided into two but we don’t have the second sled. Plus even though I consider Zuzka being in a great shape if you don’t train pulling the sled before you would probably just strain your back or hips. The fact that it’s been very warm last few nights doesn’t help my “good” spirit at all. Even though we try to vent, everything in the tent is damp. Vapour from cooking, air we breath out or water on tent walls from the temperature difference between outside and inside – this all is getting everywhere. Sleeping bags, our warm clothes, underwear, even stuff in plastic bags – water is everywhere. We almost feel it would be better to sleep outside.

At least we’re getting along well. We play games or guess who is what character. We’re also hoping quietly, without saying it out loud, for better weather.

To be continued…

As I promised I put together a few photos from last days of our trip. Here they are:

Here everything is ok so far. The snow is hard packed and although we have to get over quite high col, at the end of the day we are 14 km minimum closer to the Harda plateau. Everything is going according to the plan and, above all, we are in a great spirit and after spending a few days together we make a good team. Our only worries are overtipped sled every now and then or finding the right route. At times the view opens up and allows us to see snow covered plains of Harda. We cannot wait to get there! We’re very excited…

Next day we’re starting to go up to the plateau. The weather is beginning to get worse. Now and then we cannot see one step ahead and wind is picking up. The moment I’m trying to get over a big snowdrift a strong gust of wind comes and I’m losing my balance. I manage to jump a bit and get ready my right leg but I’m knocked down anyway. With me goes the sled, of course, and I’m rolling in the snow on a steep slope which ends god knows where. I can feel that with every move I’m sliding further down. I’m being pulled by the sled. We’ve been zigzagging through cliff bands rising five or even twenty meters high. Unfortunately it’s snowing so heavily that we don’t have an idea anymore where exactly we are and I’m scared I may be close to one of the cliff bands. Luckily Zuzka is right behind me, takes off her skis in a flash and trying to pull the sled back onto more flat spot. If I had been there alone I would have had a few really trying moments figuring out how to get out of it. Once on flatter surface we find a shelter behind some rocks thinking for a while what to do next. It’s already afternoon and the wind is getting stronger and stronger. We still have time so we decide to call it a day and crawl into the tent. If had known how the weather next day would be, or more precisely in the following days, I would have pushed on until the dusk. Despite gusts of wind we could still see at least now and then.
There’s a rope on this picture. We had a rope in case I was swept down by an avalanche. Perhaps Zuzka would have a chance to find me that way…

We wake up almost covered in snow. Although we set up our tent under a big overhang it was snowing so much overnight that after opening the door a big pile of snow tumbled out right at me just like a little avalanche. And at that point I still haven’t seen how it looks all around us. Huge snowdrifts everywhere, perhaps over a meter fresh dump of snow and foggy. The air looked like milk. It is not that bad under the overhang as we can still recognize outlines of things. On the plains, however, one must be lost. It seems as the fog spread the light evenly to all directions, there are no shadows no lighter or darker spots, no angles or rims can be seen. It’s like having your eyes shut, the only difference is that you don’t see everything black but light gray.
We don’t want to stay in the tent so we pack up. We don’t speak very much as it’s obvious that this is not fun anymore. We still have a big uphill ahead and in this weather with all the freshly snow-covered rocks and slopes it means one thing – avalanche danger.

To be continued…

We waited for four days and then simply decided it’s not worth the risk. That is all I can tell…

We still have three days so we will try to send onto the website more details about what made us turn back. As I said before, I’m hoping to download at least some photos.

I would like to thank you to all who supported us, wished us luck and kept their fingers crossed for us. We really appreciate it!

As well as couple of previous ones, this message was also transmitted through a phone call and written in CR.

We are coming back. There’s no point. It’s raining and raining and everything is soaking wet.

We turned around and went back down. The weather didn’t let us finish our adventure. We’re back on the road and had to walk on asphalt. The road that was covered with snow only three days ago has now only traces of slush. Binding on other ski broke too and I’m not able to pull the sled under these circumstances. I’m simply exhausted.

We camp a few meters from a bus stop. We’ll get to town by bus tomorrow morning and dry in the hotel. We will travel to Oslo and see what we will do next.

Pavel’s unhappy phone call was transmitted by V.

It’s been snowing so much in last couple of days that we have at least two meters dump of snow. Unfortunately it’s also foggy now and visibility is so poor that the air looks like cream. It’s so bad that you can barely see one step ahead – we cannot even see our ski tips. We tried to push on today but after a couple of kilometers, around 2pm, we decided to pitch a camp. We are already on the plateau but still going through a narrow valley. With the persistent thick fog we can see neither what’s up above us (possible avalanche hazard) nor what’s down below (possible precipice) We were even lost at one point going in circles.

We have some common sense and know that staying in these conditions is not quite safe so we just stay inside the tent and hope for better tomorrow.. :)

Oh yeah, what’s more.. binding on one ski broke and the sled worked harder than usual!

Most important thing: we are alive and OK! Our spirits are a little bit down though as we haven’t managed to make more than 6 km total in last couple of days. Hopefully we will wake up tomorrow with the blue sky…

Written by V.

Ivana

We’re OK!! Don’t worry about us. We can’t continue because of heavy snowing, so we have to stay in the tent – without signal. We are not cold, only a bit bored.

The same amount of will is necessary for keeping the spirits high, smiling, being for ever positive and not showing your personal emotions when the other person is not feeling quite alright. We don’t give it much thought in our every day life but it seems imperative here. I feel it and belive Zuzka feels the same way. It’s obvious to us that expressing our weakness by for example improper comment that something is not as it should be, will not get us to the other side of Hardangervidda. Enough of philosophizing though. We make a good team and I don’t think I could have never chosen better expedition buddy!

Morning….routine. Get up, cook, pack, head out. We spent first 20 minutes following the route which we went down the saddle yesterday. Soon we reach the road which according to the map is supposed to turn into a path and take us through the wide valley all the way up to the plateau. There’s no sign of a path. After twenty minutes we agree on following what looks more like an animal trail than the path. We’re lucky. The route opens up a bit after a while and we see some tracks in the snow, probably from a snow mobile. We’re going uphill. I’m harnessed up in the front, Zuzka leaning on the poles hooked up in the back of the sled. She is helping me to push and I’m not complaining. The sled is so heavy that I could barely push it up this hill myself, especially in this deep snow. We spent all day like this and we have at least two days alike ahead. The plateau is app. 1200 m high and the altitude we’re in right now is 300 m.

By two o’clock we have enough. Our bodies ache, we’re hungry and thirsty. We’re in the perfect spot for camping – a huge valley with a lake. We call it a day without a word of objection. We didn’t cover the distance we had intended to but tomorrow is a day too. We can definitely use some rest. Some minor repairs must be done on equipment and we do that in the tent. We cook a lot of food and drink and just rest. We have another 500 m of elevation gain ahead of us tomorrow in probably much colder weather. We are entering the world of ice and frost…

Pavel