Difficult camp site search and disastrous gust of wind

(Photos of the diary entry can be found at the end of the text).

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To cross the many fjords and mountains, we cross 10 bridges and drive through 5 tunnels today. It’s already starting to get dark when we end up on the Fv293, a single-lane coastal road on the 49 km long Balsfjord, looking for a place to spend the night. “There’s a spot!” I call out, pointing to a small open area right by the water. “Have you seen how steep it is down there? The path is also very narrow. I wouldn’t go down there under any circumstances,” warns Tanja, which is why we carry on. “There’s a place next to the fisherman’s hut,” I say a few minutes later. The access road is just as narrow as before. If earth breaks out there, the Terra will tip over.” “No earth will break out there and the Terra won’t tip anywhere. The terrain is far too flat,” I reply. A little exasperated, I let the Terra roll on along the narrow coastal road. “If you’re so picky about your choice of camp, we’ll never find a place to stay here.” “I’m not fussy, but I prefer to play it safe. Apart from that, there was nowhere to walk Ajaci apart from the last two places. We’ll find somewhere.” “It’ll be dark soon. Maybe we should stay in the alternative bay up ahead.” “Right by the road?” “It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing.” “Let’s keep looking a little longer. I’m sure we’ll find something,” Tanja remains confident. “I’ll drive down there,” I say five minutes later. “It’s far too steep again!” “It’s not. It’s a piece of cake for our four-wheel drive vehicle,” I say and put the gear down. We roll into a tight bend at walking pace and land on a relatively wide gravelled area right next to the fjord. “Looks great, doesn’t it? We’re right here, we’re off the road, the ground isn’t boggy and you can take Ajaci for a walk,” I cheer. “I told you we’d find a good place to spend the night,” says Tanja happily.

As the last rays of the sun set out to visit the other side of our Mother Earth, the horizon line is illuminated by a golden-orange light. Rising bands of dark clouds soak up the remaining daylight with all its colors. A fisherman casts his line to catch dinner at this hour, while we devour fried potatoes and fresh salmon with remoulade sauce.

“I’m going to go outside. Maybe I can catch one or two northern lights,” I say at 10 p.m. “Uuuahh,” yawns Tanja sleepily. “You are tireless.” “I don’t really feel like it, but maybe I’ll be lucky enough to discover something. As you know, every aurora is different.” A cool gust of wind greets me. I set up the camera on the tripod and take a few shots of the impressive mountains that sink their rough, rocky flanks into the dark water on the opposite side of the fjord. The headlights of a distant car eat their way through the darkness. It wanders along the rocky coast, is briefly reflected by the water surface of the fjord, jumps high into a rock face and disappears into nothingness. Above the fjord, a few northern lights suddenly shimmer through the clouds. “There you are,” I say happily, setting the camera back to time-lapse so that I can edit a movie of the dancing auroras from many individual shots. To warm up, I get back into the cabin and pass the time by reading a few pages in my Viking book. 30 minutes later, I walk into the moonless night again. “Noooo! That can’t be true! This is bullshit!” I curse out loud. A gust of wind has obviously caught the tripod and camera. She is lying in the damp sand with her monitor folded out between the small pebbles. I immediately pick it up, blow off the sand, bring it to my eye and press the shutter release. “I don’t believe it!” I shout, because nothing is happening. Nervously, I switch the camera off and on again to reset it. A click sounds. After a further check, everything seems to be working again apart from an unsightly scratch on the lens. Back in the Terra, I subject the camera to further tests. “Crap!” I huff again indignantly. “What’s wrong?” asks Tanja, who I’ve woken up with my swearing. “The lens has taken a hit. It jams sometimes,” I say and tell them what has just happened. “Can we still take photos?” asks Tanja. “That should work, except that the autofocus of the lens is now spinning.” “Luckily we still have the spare camera.” “Fortunately. Still, I shouldn’t have left the camera outside on its own.” “If it was a gust of wind, it would still have fallen over. Things like that happen. Where there’s wood, there are chips. We’re lucky it’s still working at all. Now come to bed. Tomorrow is a new day. Everything will look completely different again,” she finds the right words of comfort…