Sondag 11. August 2002

Elverum Blades

Today is the day everyone is looking forward to - the Hunting Festival - full of knives, guns, girls and more. Only at the moment it doesn't look that way. Nobody's woken up yet.

And so it was a belated 10 o'clock leave and an hour's journey that got us to Elverum eventually.

The place looked fairly full, so we had to park a good mile from the entrance in a grassy field. It had the feel of Fairford about it, the sense that many people from many places viewed this festival as a significant annual event. Should be good then.

Having been stamped on the hand with ink, like cattle, we were set free to explore the sights. We all went our separate ways but Rich H, Jon E & myself chose the hunting museum for starters. This housed a variety of exhibitions, mainly focusing on wood (timber & forestry), fishing and shooting. It was alright and featured an interactive forestry machine simulation - the one that cuts, strips, sorts and stacks trees - which proved several seconds of entertainment. Altogether though, the museum had too many stuffed animals for our greenpeace souls.

The remainder of the morning was spent looking at knives; something Rich H and I had planned to get in Norway to aid our Ray Mears impressions. Knife craft is a big thing amongst Norwegian men. Many Norwegians still live and work in what can be considered wild country and the knife is a useful, if not essential tool. Many have taken the skill of knife making into the field of earnest hobby craft and there were many kits available of knife blade and bone, leather, metal, etc for creation of the handle and sheath. We could see the blades being forged at one of half a dozen mobile forges, where wizened old men sat discussing the essentials of forging the finest blades. All around were tables displaying the finished article. The range and quality were highly extensive. Thin, fat, long, short, ornamental, working, sawed, polished, rusted - it was all there. Unfortunately the prices did not vary: they were all extortionate! We spoke with a man who claimed to have worked with our idol, that man Ray Mears, and his range of knives went from £200 to £1200, though none of the higher priced ones were on show.

Slightly annoyed, it seemed one of our Norway aims would not be achieved, so we regrouped for a light lunch; then bought a burger (£4!) to substantiate it.

Things were looking up after lunch, however. We found a new stall which sold Bruletto knives for around £40 and under. They appeared the right length, shape, style and weight. Being indecisive creatures, Rich and I left the stall for a while to ponder.

Thereupon we met Pete, who shared our feeling that another 3 hours in the festival was stretching it a bit, since there was little to actually do.

A bench was unanimously decided as the best way to spend some time in the sun but our plan was interrupted. What follows is of little, if any, interest to anyone, so you may wish to skip over the next few paragraphs.

"Hey Rich, look at her. She's fit."
"Nah, her shoulders are too broad."
"I like that." Pause. "I have to see her face."

And so off I trundled, at quite a pace, only one thing encapsulating my view and not much else going on in my thoughts.

Overtaking .....
Overtaken.
Three, two, one ... turn.

"Ye Gods!"

Rich trundles up at a slightly more sedate pace.

"Rich - she's amazing; well, fit; really, really fit!"
"Oh"
"No. She's something special. Go look; go on!"

Repeat process.

"Blimey!"
"Told you so."

Pause. She, the figure who's absorbed our gaze, continues onwards. Unaware.

"I'm going to follow her", having nothing even remotely better to do.

So we set off, eyes fixed, mouths not.

Through the crowds, down the steps, past a crazed bagpipe player, through some trees, over a bridge and into the wood beyond.

By now there was little cover, people being the object of our sheltered landscape. Here there were only the trees, us and ... her.

A decision had to be made; press onwards or go the round route in hope of a full frontal attack. We took the latter.

Heart slowing down, with nothing now to sustain its rate, we aimlessly wandered through the wood, feeling rather stupid.

"Matt, don't look round, but she is tracking us!"
"You're joking."
"No, I'm not. She's definitely tracking us."
"Wow!"

I've never been tracked before. So this is how it feels. This situation, I felt, had to be reversed. An information sign provided the focus for our fake attention and a good excuse to stop.

She rounded the corner, her beauty more apparent now, and .... continued straight on.

"Bugger. I didn't say anything. I didn't say anything. I had it all in my mind but my mouth didn't do anything - why does that always happen to me?" The information sign now became the focus for all my genuine attention, it being briefly attached to my head in an expression of frustration.

"She saw that Matthew."
"Bugger."

All apparently lost, we continued to track her anyway, over another bridge, which only had us and her on it.

At he end of the bridge for her, something amazing happened. She turned round.

"Ye gods."

She walked passed Jon (sorry, I forgot you were still with us);
She walked passed Rich;
She walked passed meee ....

"Hi," I said. She stopped and turned.
"Kan Du hjelpe mej?" (said in my finest Norwegian)

Keep going Matthew ...

"Snakke Du engelsk?"
"Yes, I speak English," she replied in good English, through a fit of giggles.
"Fantastic!" Pause. "Can you tell me where the climbing pole is please?" I blagged. "Er, that way," not really knowing what to do with herself, continuously looking around to her friend (sorry I didn't see her either) and laughing.

"Thanks very much." So I ran away; Rich, Jon and the two girls following me.

That was amazing, I thought; I want to do it again.

"Get your camera out and take a photo," whispered Rich.
"Genius. I love you!"

Here was the situation: twenty metres of wobbly bridge, one camera (attached firmly to the bottom of my bag), one aim - her.

Bag off shoulder. Find zip. Catch various items as entire content of bag, except camera, disgorges itself onto the bridge. Rip out camera. Stop. Bag down. Rich in position. Three. Two. One. Perfect.

"Would you like to join our photo?" I inquired innocently.

Giggles and confusion on her part. Let's take that as a yes.

"Everyone in a line, looking beautiful."

Click.

With that, it was sealed.

She, the object of our desire, has a name. Ronja.
She has a home, Nord Kapp; the most northerly point in Europe; a place where 10ft snow, 24 hrs darkness, no trees and spectacular northern lights are the norm.

Over next few hours I learnt a number of fascinating facts about Ronja, and she heard something about our lives too.

An interesting question here: how much do little facts make up a person? I mean, I could tell you that Ronja is 17, is going to move to a new school in Hammerfest, she loves painting (particularly using black), has a very large family which extends all over Norway, has visited Newcastle, doesn't like George Bush but thinks Tony Blair and Colin Powell are alright guys and she reckons Norway is a fairly cool kind of place.

Does that help?

Or what about the stuff we didn't talk about, the information I implied from her. I could, with some confidence, say that Ronja has Sami blood running in her (it's the gorgeous skin you see). Other interesting implications are that there aren't many blokes in Nord Kapp (I mean, she tracked me), sport wasn't particularly important (they see snow as a nuisance) and, although this is a part of her bubbly nature, she has little direction in life.

Any better? Who am I to say?

It's getting dark now as I write, high in the mountains. I am further north now but still 3 days travel from Nord kapp. Perhaps one day I will visit there - fair play, it seems a well interesting place whatever your motive. It would have been useful to have a contact address; or e-mail address; or telephone number. Doh!

Never mind.

Perhaps one day I will meet her again, one sunny day. If not, so long and thanks for all the fun.

We retired to our sleeping bags. Dreaming ...

MATT

It wasn't long for Matthew to pick up another young Norwegian lass! Literally, as our photo shows! One of the museum workers, spending time during her summer break from Drama Studies at John Moores University in Liverpool, offered her tee-shirt to the VSL who collects such things. The net result was this happy photograph - altough somewhere along the line the tee-sirt offer was over-looked!



Thanks a million - Kat!

Norsk Skogbruksmuseum, Eleverum

Taken from Daily Log Book Entries