Norwegian stories
by Wendy Wuyts

Sacred mountains in Norway, living mountains, thin places and folds where creatures can appear and disappear

“(…) in my house, there are shadows in the folds of every blanket and imperceptible tremors in every glass of water or bowl or cream set out on a table – and, some days, there are tiny, almost infinitesimal loopholes of havoc in the fabric of the given world that could spill loose and catch me out wherever I am. I know this – and I spend the best part of my time making such maps as I can, maps of the world as it is between one moment and the next, charging myself with the impossible task of finding, among the pencil marks and shading, some cold angle of meadow or fjord where old Bieggaålmaj, or some other restless and hungry god, gathers them all in, one after another, (…) and the huldra she became, hidden away in the folds of the wind, where only the most careful of storytellers could find them”.

(And while copying this passage from the book “A Summer of Drowning” by John Burnside, that I finished reading on the flank of a holy mountain, something invisible massages my right shoulder and the wind which was not present appears and plays with my hair.)

I can see that the narrator of this wonderful story, is the daughter of a painter and an explorer. She is a map maker, a geographer like I am, looking for thin places, after she witnessed something that could be called a sign of madness … or something more.

Walking, visiting, sitting, communing with a holy mountain

Today I hiked again on my own from Svukuriset to Stor Svuku, a holy mountain in Femundsmarka national park. As I had done this hike already, I did not feel the urge to rush to the top. I know the hike. And I wanted to return to especially enjoy the landscape.

I was having many sitting spots and had some inner dialogues with myself and the landscape. Or I listened to Taylor Swift’s folklore album.

I also managed to read the book “The summer of drowning” which I started to read some months ago. It took me quite some time to finish, partly as I was very busy, partly as this book is so magical and masterly crafted that I wanted to enjoy every word in the slowest pace possible. But yes, it felt right to finish the book at summer’s end.

John Burnside was a Scottish writer who loved Norway. The book was recommended by a literature professor who knew I was into the huldra and lived in Norway.

And wow… what an amazing match. When I started reading, I was surprised that the author has been using the same ingredients (motives like paintings and illusions and the huldra and this idea of thin places, where the invisible might become more visible and the boundary with other worlds is more porous) that I had readied years ago for my own next magical realist ecofiction book (kind of a sequel to Tussenland), but he let the story happen more in northern Norway and during summer. The story ended also at summer’s end.

Are not all mountains holy?

In the beginning of this hike, I passed the information board that reminded me that big Svuku is a holy mountain for some Sámi. It made me think about the title of a Substack article that I did not click, but stayed with me. Something that there is no such thing as not sacred places and not-sacred places, but more that all places are sacred and that many places got disenchanted.

Remembering Nan Shepherd’s book about the living mountain

This idea walked with me while I climbed higher and higher. I had to think about Nan Shepherd and her book “The Living Mountain” which I read many years ago. She detailed her intimate, sensory experiences walking the Cairngorm mountain range in Scotland.

She uses to wanna climb summits, but later in life she experienced the mountains as living beings.

Robert Macfarlane wrote a foreword for a reprinted edition. I had to think about him too. He will give lectures in Oslo next week, as he is the Arne Næss chair in Oslo University this week, and I had signed up to listen to him. I am a fan of his work for some years. While climbing Stor Svuku, I was talking to myself that he was a fervid mountaineer who took a lot of risks, and that I did not like his first books so much as his later books which echoed more wisdom and especially humility towards the mountains and other nature beings.

I observed reindeers, white mountain moths (did not need to know the scientific name), the humble bees drinking from the purple heather, the bloodred blue berry plants, and so many more beings.

Reading the air, wind and clouds

In the early afternoon, I was watching the air. There was no wind and the cloud above me was expanding, becoming more dark. This morning, the weather app did not predict rain, and certainly not a storm, but I trust my body and my gut feeling more. I do not have to go to the summit. I have been there before and I did not enjoy it there. I prefer sitting in the flanks and observing what is around me.

I descended.

It did not rain.

I made another stop and started to type this passage of John Burnside as the beginning of this blogpost. Something massaged my shoulder. It felt really nice.

I looked over my shoulder. There was nobody. The silence of this mountain is the silence of my breath.

I continued the ascent. Sometimes, in the corner of my eyes, I see shadows. The birch trees and the silver pines afar look like trolls. Sometimes I pause to sharpen my eyes to check if it is not a lost bear. There are bears here, mostly at the Swedish side of this park, but once in a while they wander at the Noorwegen side. No. They are trees, rocks who are covered with berries and moss and heather. Or perhaps there was something there.

This living mountain is clearly full of folds.

In Norway until September 11

I will be attending various public events in Oslo next week . Perhaps we can meet there?

P.S. I have some extra physical copies of Writing(with)plants with me. Send me a message if you want me to give them to you in Oslo during one of these 3 events. Saves you postal costs 😉

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