Besseggen 2024: I Did The Whole Ridge And Saw Nothing
Quick Block
Fat Cat Scale: 8/10 • View Score: 0/10
If I could text past-me 10 words: “Bring more food. You’ll see nothing. Still worth it.”
Before (Expectation vs Reality)
First Besseggen ever. I’d stayed at Gjendesheim DNT the night before, sharing dinner with a table of cheerful Norwegians. When I mentioned the forecast said “light showers,” they smiled that uniquely Scandinavian smile and replied, “Normal weather. You’ll be fine.” I believed them.
The plan was classic: first boat across Gjende, hike the ridge, collect the iconic two‑lakes view. Instagram promised angles, YouTube promised drama, the tourism board promised glory.
Reality check: mountain forecasts are horoscopes—optimistic suggestions at best. The “light shower” morphed into fog, wet rock, and zero visibility. My first time on a real ridge—in a cloud—triggered full‑body panic. I clung to slick boulders, counting cairns like prayer beads, wondering if “moderate” was Norwegian for “good luck, rookie.”
Then a local strode past—calm as you please—with a puppy in a backpack, both of them enjoying the ascent I was white‑knuckling. Equal parts humiliating and hilarious.
What should have been a postcard hike became mental‑development training: trust the cairns, pace the breathing, and accept that sometimes you finish the whole route and still don’t see it.
During (The Beats)
Beat 1: The Boat Ride of False Hope
The 8am boat across Gjende Lake started promising. Clear skies, mirror-calm water, that crisp mountain air that makes you feel like you can conquer anything. Other hikers chatting excitedly about the views they’re about to see. Everyone has their cameras ready.
I’m thinking: “This is it. This is the hike that justifies all those Norwegian toll tickets.”
Beat 2: The Ascent Into Nothingness
The first hour of climbing is brutal but manageable. Standard fat cat suffering—breathing hard, sweating through my base layer, questioning why I enjoy this. But the trail is clear, and I can still see… things.
Then, around 800m elevation, the world disappears.
Not gradually. Not “oh look, some clouds.” One minute I’m looking at the lake below, the next minute I’m inside a gray ping-pong ball. Complete whiteout. Can’t see the person 10 meters ahead of me. Can’t see where the trail goes. Can’t see if there’s a cliff two steps to my right.
Beat 3: The Ridge Walk of Faith
Six hours. Six hours of following rock cairns and painted marks on boulders, trusting that the hundreds of people who walked this before me knew where they were going. The famous “knife-edge” section? I know I walked it because my GPS says so, but I could have been on the moon for all I could see.
Every now and then, the fog would thin just enough to reveal the vague outline of another confused hiker. We’d nod at each other like survivors of the same disaster.
“Great views today,” someone actually said with Norwegian sarcasm.
After (How Destroyed I Felt)
Eight hours later I shuffled straight back into Gjendesheim, just the relief of a door that closes.
Physically smoked (standard fat‑cat operating mode), but the emotional hit was worse: I’d done Norway’s poster‑child hike and seen… nothing.
In the common room, hikers who’d started later or taken shorter routes were scrolling through the turquoise/blue panoramas I’d missed by a few hours and a weather layer.
I had soaked layers, and a story about following cairns in a cloud. Technically a finish; visually a zero.
What I’d do differently: Start earlier? Bring better gear? Check mountain-specific weather forecasts instead of general ones? Actually, no. Sometimes you just get unlucky, and that’s the story.
The POV Experience
Warning: This video is mostly fog, heavy breathing, and existential questioning. Exactly as advertised.