Signatur Massiv Trail: Day 16

Day 5 Massif-Ruta Hardangervidda from Litlos to Sandhaug (23 km) The day I lost my confidence "I can't!" I shouted over to Nathalie. My voice shrill with disappointment in myself. And with anger at the huge boulders that formed a natural bridge across the ice-cold river. Actually no problem. A few big, courageous steps and it would be done. But somehow everything was too much for me at that moment. My feet had been wet and soaked for days, the skin on my ankles had rubbed off and burned with every movement. I had just replaced the plasters, which didn't hold well on the damp surface. And then came this river. Nathalie had already gotten to the other side with dry feet. For my short legs combined with the heavy backpack, fording over the uneven stone blocks with quite high steps seemed impossible at that moment. Shoes off? No! I also just wanted to bravely jump over the boulders and not put on my wading shoes for what felt like the 100th time and get everything wet again that I had just so carefully taped off. But I didn't have any energy for it. And so I paced up and down the bank to find another, flatter spot where the stones were closer together and I could reach them better. Without success. Again and again I ran almost headlessly into the river, only to stop after a few steps in frustration and wobble back. It was raging inside me. Tears flowed. “Then just camp here!” I swore loudly and insulted the river and myself. Nathalie couldn't understand a word in the roar of the water, nor could she understand the world. Finally I did. Shoes off and on. My knees are washed by a strong current, like my mind. When I got there, I trudged on, crying and pissed off. Without changing shoes, all my anger flowed into my steps. "Leave me alone!" I shouted at poor Nathalie in tears. This all had to come out first. After a few minutes I found myself slowly calming down, this strange feeling of shame and guilt over my outburst making me mellow. Break. A hug, a handful of baking peas, a new bandage and I was restored to the point where we could move on. I was slowly able to perceive the environment around me again. Maybe even enjoy it. But I had left something behind in the flow of anger: my self-confidence. With every obstacle we encountered that day, I hesitated, began to tremble, and had to pull myself together. I never had a choice. I had to cross the vast snow fields, balance over rivers and crawl up mud slopes that had just been cleared of ice. Get on the horse. Security gradually returned. But the bottom line is that this day was a bit of hiking hell. The millions of mosquitoes on the banks of the Nordmannslagen didn't matter much anymore and we endured the bites and the annoying buzzing with gritted teeth. After we left the mosquito swamp behind us and reached Sandhaug's hut, it was clear to both of us that we would not spend the night in a tent but in a bed. With a shower and food and even a bit of internet reception - a big consolation for our battered bodies and wandering souls... I have rarely been happier to have arrived and at the same time more exhausted than I was that evening. Do you know such hell days? The feeling of “What am I actually doing here?” Feel free to tell us about it. It's not always peace, joy and hiking happiness along the way. And yet these experiences are also part of it.