Scandinavian Socks

On a whim to go hiking to the famed ‘Trolltunga’ I road tripped from Sweden to Norway with several other students. Now let me warn you, it is never a good idea to do a ‘Red Level Difficulty’ hike when you have spent the last few weeks eating Swedish meatballs and the last several months using ‘Fika’ as an excuse to eat Kanelbulle several times a day.
After arriving in Norway we set off at about 5am to a town called Skjeggedal where the trail for Trolltunga starts. The road there was inset with the most astonishingly beautiful waterfalls that were lit by tiny little lights and in the 5 am haze appeared to be magical, we couldn't help but stop transfixed in the middle of the road. Having arrived at our destination and were stood at the foot of the trail, we started to realize what an insane idea this was. It was about a 900 meter ascent up the side of the mountain and the only way up had obviously been some kind of small dilapidated train track. This meant we had to climb up essentially an almost vertical track made from small wooden slats, which were half broken from age with only a thick length of wire to hold on to on our right hand sides. Underneath our feet was a stomach churning drop of about ten meters consisting of huge rocks and boulders at the bottom, it. Was. Horrible.
It took over an hour to get to the top with multiple stops, cursing, heavy breathing and regret, not to forget the death stares we exchanged at death stairs. One foot wrong and we would tumble to our deaths…! Once we made it to the top, relief and elation surged through us and we were so happy to have made it in once piece we all decided to eat an apple and take selfies overlooking Lake Ringedalsvatnet.
This elation and excitement continued as we moved on to the next part of the hike and within two minutes we reached an expanse of freezing water and boulders we had to cross. Full of my new found energy I decided to spring gracefully across the boulders which was incredibly stupid because I am not graceful and I cannot spring. Next thing I knew I was ‘turtling’ (yes they invented a word for my miserable achievement in icy Norwegian waters) legs flailing in the air, stuck on my back and laughing uncontrollably. Fortunately two passers by hoicked me out and supplied me with dry socks so with a big grin on my face, I continued my nine hour hike, dripping wet but with new found woolly inspiration. To this day, every time I wear those socks I remember my victorious Norwegian adventure.