Vagakallen is a mountain with a strong gravitational pull. As one of the tallest peaks in Lofoten, it’s pretty hard to miss- but for whatever reason- it felt especially substantial to me. I camped near a beach called Silsanden (an area with a direct view of the mountain) for 3 days a few weeks ago. The weather was iffy, so I happened to be solo most of the time. I spent hours staring at Vagakallen. I watched the way it ebbed and flowed through the various hours of the day- the sun exposing its complexities by providing different angles of light, the fog seeping up and around the mountain like the mystical creature that it is. I was enthralled. There was one night in particular where the clouds cleared and the wind came to a halt, providing the most pristine mirror of the mountain in the ocean. The image was the epitome of balance- two of the most powerful entities coming together in complete harmony.

I had heard that the hike to the top was long, somewhat strenuous, and more scrambling/climbing than it was walking. I was also warned that it was one of the most mentally challenging hikes in Lofoten, just because of the amount of sheer exposure. I knew that I absolutely needed to do it, but it wouldn’t have been safe or smart to do it solo, so I had to put it off until I found someone to do it with. My 5 weeks were quickly coming to an end, and I had accepted that I'd have to do it another time, until I got a message at 8pm the day before I was to leave. There was a crew of people who were going to start the hike at 10 pm and hike through the night. I had taken a run earlier that day and was completely wiped, but I knew I would’ve kicked myself for saying no. So I didn’t. And holy shit, thank god for that.

I knew one of the people going in and the other three- who I could immediately tell were kind, cool, & genuine- quickly became friends. We set off at around 10:30 pm, making our way up- hiking, chatting, and together, absorbing the absurd landscape surrounding us. Luckily Max had done it before and was able to guide us through the sections where the trail ceases to be a trail, and instead becomes a giant pile of boulders.

Once we got about two thirds of the way to the top, we reached the sun, getting blasted with an otherworldly orange, yellow light. Each of us dripping with sweat, glowing and grinning, we basked in it.

The top section was majority climbing/scrambling and as expected, excuse my language, exposed as fuck. As we approached that part, I looked to my left and saw the midnight sun then looked to my right and saw the moon rising over the ocean with a pink & white backdrop hugging the foggy sealine. The sheer beauty seemed to ease the fear of taking a wrong step and falling to one’s death. There’s one part where it’s just a slanted rock that falls into nothingness. It’s the section that is notoriously the scariest. Once we got there, all of us who hadn’t done it kind of looked at each other with wide eyes- it didn’t necessarily look appealing to cross. We had a group check in and decided we all wanted to continue on, then made our way across. Ebba was right behind me giving encouragement as we did it together. The group camaraderie and support was so present, and that truly made the experience what it was.

After that, the rest is pretty much a climb/scramble to the top. It felt surreal to be making our way through these rocks while being so absurdly high up above the world. I had only just met these people, but what we were doing felt true to who we were, each in our own way.

We made it to the top around 2 am. It was even more striking than I knew it would be. There was a layer of fast moving fog weaving its way through the mountains below us, the sun peaking just above. The clouds looked like a rushing whitewater river frozen in time, creating an image that didn’t look of this earth. On the opposite side, the moon shone above the arctic and the fog created this mystical shape that exactly paralleled the mountain we were standing on top of. It was a spiritual sight.

On the way down, we had the most interesting of conversations. I was talking with Ebba and Friede about the unique and intimate nature of bonding with people through doing challenging, high consequence activities together. Like all of us had just met that day, but within the 7 hours we were together, we talked about cool shit, we laughed, we climbed, we sweat, and ultimately, we moved with the mountain together. We saw each other in the type of vulnerable state you just don’t see in everyday, mundane life. I think that experiencing simultaneous adrenaline with other people creates an unspoken, magnetic connection, and it doesn’t really matter if you’ve only just met. “This sounds kind of strange, but I feel like even though we just met, I know you guys better than some of my close friends,” said Ebba.

On the down climb, there was this undeniable joy that radiated the group. Our backs drenched in sweat, we chatted and laughed as we occasionally fell to our asses slipping on the steep loose rock. The adrenaline eased, and without even realizing it, I had shed a layer of the wall I often shield myself with and was able to just be with these new friends.

I made it back to camp by a ripe 6:30am, just in time to get a solid hour and a half of sleep before the sun boiled me out of my tent. I jumped in the arctic sea then laid out on the warm granite. My feet ached, my salty hair was knotted to the point of no return, I had dirt all over my skin, and the only food I had left was half a jar of peanut butter. It was officially my last day in Lofoten (day 37) and it felt like a necessary full circle mission (dare I say, calling) to do Vågakallen the night before.

As I lay there in that sleep deprived haze wallowing under the arctic sun, I realized that this was one of the happiest moments of my life.

Vågakallen

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