travels with janne

The days continue to grow shorter. The sun is a rare guest and darkness envelops us like a blanket. Forest, meadow and moor have gone into hibernation. This is a time when Nature looks inwards, a time to reflect and be introspective.

As the winter solstice approaches, I think back on the many wonderful hours I have enjoyed in nature in the year gone by. Short and long hikes, primitive camping, swimming in a forest lake, being with friends, and picnics and coffee breaks accompanied by a good book with nature as a backdrop.

Aside from the enjoyment of just being there, I have enjoyed observing and photographing the light in its various embodiments. In many cases light in itself creates the picture. At other times light transforms a mundane scene to one with drama, atmosphere or a burst of colour.

When the sun hangs low in the sky, the landscape often takes on a soft and dreamy look.

A gentle dream can change to a dramatic scene like in these two photos taken in the same place but at different times.

Sometimes wild clouds create suspense. Sometimes the absence of clouds directs your attention towards the infinite.

Sometimes the sky is heart wrenchingly blue; other times it is as dark grey as a war. Sometimes the light is strangely indeterminate; other times it breaks out in song, and sometimes the only light is from a silvery moon.

Light is more than absence of darkness, just as happiness is more than absence of grief. It is a source of wonder, amazement and admiration. Light helps us view things in different ways, dependent on its mood that particular day. Sometimes light gives rise to reflections, where things are repeated and turned upside down.
Sometimes light creates its own colours – in a rainbow, a leaf, a forest floor, a flooded field or ocean and sky.

The winter solstice will soon be upon us. We can use it to reflect on being grateful for what we have. In the midst of this dark time love, friendship and hope are the best illumination. The shortest day reminds us of the light we are missing, but is also the day when we look forward, where winter turns into spring. We will soon embrace a season that chases darkness away, where days reign victorious over nights, and nature awakens with new life.

Although I have spent many happy hours this year in South Jutland and North Jutland, most of my summer has been spent within a 50-kilometre radius from home here in West Jutland. As I look back at the many photos I have taken this year, I feel so grateful to have the time and freedom to spend hours outdoors, and grateful to be mobile enough to explore.

From spring to autumn Mother Nature has a full colour palette, from douche brown, green, grey and white to vibrant red, yellow, blue, purple and orange.

All the pictures are from within 50 km of where I live.

Since I was not able to travel to my cherished spot in Nova Scotia in Canada this summer, I intensified my explorations of Denmark, in particular Jutland. Happily, this part of the world also has a lot to offer.

In North Jutland a friend and I spent time in his favourite local hangout, a place called Lille Vildmose. The area used to be used for digging up peat but now it is given over to nature and has been rewilded with moose. It is no longer drained and the resulting wetlands attract many birds.

Later in the summer, the same friend and I spent another day in the west of North Jutland in an area called Thy National Park. What attracts us is the relatively rare flower Marsh gentian, which in turn attracts the relatively rare Alcon blue butterfly. We were lucky to spot both (my friend is an expert).

In between the national park and Vildmose lie the hills Rebild Bakker and the enchanting forest Rold Skov with an indescribably lovely lake. The water comes from many underwater springs that are pressed upwards through calcium-rich cracks – hence the turquoise colour.

 In between my visits in the north, I visited the so-called Seven Year Lakes in South Jutland with some other friends. These lakes only appear in certain years, which is a shame, because they are lovely to behold – and it is always an added bonus to see wildlife.

If there is one word that can describe the western part of South Jutland, it is “flat”. It is a land of endless horizons and big skies.

At the west coast the land peters out and becomes ocean in tidal flats known as the Wadden Sea, which is part of the North Sea. It is the largest tidal flats area in the world and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The Wadden Sea is an important habitat for birds and other creatures, and at low tide all sorts of interesting things appear. The wormy looking things are poop from lugworms. They vacuum their way through the sand, using bristles to pick up bacteria and other tiny things, then egest the cleansed sand on the surface. The screeching bird in the video is an oystercatcher, not at all pleased by our presence.

A couple of friends living in South Jutland and I spend some days on the tiny island of Mandø (8 m2 or 86 sq ft) in the Wadden Sea. The island population is a mere 35 people, and there is not much happening here. It is the perfect place to unwind, listen to birdsong, go for walks and gaze at sunsets.

Crossing over to the island is an adventure in itself because the road is only visible at low tide. It seems to disappear into the horizon as if leading us all the way to England (or Canada!)

A walk around the island is a pleasant 10 km excursion, but you need to time it right and walk at the right speed so that you don’t get caught by high tide. Along the way we find salt-loving sea-lavender.

The incoming water creates artful pools. As the tide flows towards land, we need to hop farther and farther to stay dry-footed. The fog lends a sense of mystery and infinity.

Dykes and canal prevent farmland from being flooded. Further inland, a variety of blooms lend colour to the landscape. 

One of the most impressive natural phenomena in southwestern Jutland is the gathering of hundreds of thousands of starlings at dusk in the spring and autumn. They settle down for the night in the marshes, perching precariously on the grasses. A few arrive at first, like the first random snowflakes at the start of a snowstorm. Dozens, then hundreds more arrive until there is a veritable bird blizzard. Up and down, back and forth they fly in an aerial ballet that aims to confuse raptors before they suddenly descend in unison, like one organism.

Aside from hiking the Gendarme Path in the southeastern part of South Jutland, I spend days exploring several other parts of South Jutland. From 1864 to 1920 this whole area was part of Germany.

Not far from where my friends and I hiked the Gendarme Path is the small town Augustenborg. It grew up around the castle Augustenborg Slot, which was built in the period 1770-1776. So, while the Americans were fighting bloody battles to free themselves from British colonialism, the Danish aristocracy was building castles and pretty houses, many of which have fancifully decorated doors.

Further west lie another couple of charming towns with amazing doors. The town of Tønder was mentioned already in the 1100s by the Arabian cartographer Al-Idrisi. In 1243 it was officially designated a market town, making it Denmark’s oldest with this official designation (next oldest are Copenhagen (1254) and Ribe (1269), the latter of which we’ll get back to shortly).

   
Just a few kilometres from Tønder is the town of Møgeltønder. Its claim to fame is the baroque castle Schackenborg Slot from the 1600s, which has been the home of royals and other blue-blooded types for centuries. The town, with its famous inn Schackenborg Slotskro from 1687, cobbled streets and picturesque houses from the 1600s and 1700s, has an ambience all its own.

Doors and drawings from the past
Møgeltønder also has incredibly pretty doors. I love these old doors and can’t help taking pictures of them!

   Walking further down the cobbled lanes past the castle, the inn, and the quaint houses brings you to the ornately decorated church that was built in the middle of the 12th century.

The fanciful paintings on the church’s ceiling are from the 1500s. They depict biodiversity in Eden, and barbarism, cruelty and judgment on Earth and in Heaven and Hell. Apart from the biodiversity these concepts do not sound very appealing to me.

As I mentioned earlier, the town of Ribe is one of the oldest market towns in Denmark. Although it was officially designated a market town in 1269, it is actually much older. Ribe was established sometime between 704 and 710, making it Denmark’s oldest town. This was the time of the Vikings! Its location by the river Ribe Å, which leads into the North Sea, made it ideal for trade.

The historic cathedral is from about 1150.

The half-timbered houses and cobbled streets have lasted well through the centuries, as have the colourful doors.

Even the door to the public toilet is picturesque!

Although the border between Denmark and Germany has moved north and south like fashion’s skirt lengths have moved up and down lady’s legs throughout the centuries, it has continually been necessary to patrol the border and collect customs duties. Until 1958 this job was carried out by gendarmes. During the periods when the border was where it is now, part of the route that the gendarmes covered hugged the coast of Flensborg Fjord. This route has now been turned into an 80-kilometres long hiking path called the Gendarme Path.

Three friends and I lace up our hiking boots and go walking on the route. It takes us four days to walk the 80 km. We start in the hilly, lush green, sun-dappled Kollund Forest.

We discover ponds, flowers and a Silver Y moth that unveil themselves like secret gems when we approach.

We also discover the controversial fence and cattle grids that presently separate Denmark from Germany. They were established to keep out wild pigs and, hopefully, African swine fever in order to protect the Danish pig industry. However, it obviously makes it difficult for other wildlife to migrate back and forth. Deer regularly get stuck in the fence and suffer miserably or even die. To add insult to injury, wild pigs swim quite well, and have been seen paddling happily in the fjord, so I don’t know how effective the fence actually is.

As we walk along the coast, we can see Germany on the other side of the water. So can the cows, that chill out in their hilly pastures with pleasing views. The villages we pass through have old but gorgeous and well-tended villas (expensive I bet!).

 
The scenery shifts from verdant forest to pebbly beach with trees angling towards the water to dramatic, eroding cliffs.

We ascend into an airy beech forest from which trees tumble down when their foundation slips away.

And on a windy day we discover a boat deck that buckles and sways on the waves – just too tempting for us to keep away from.

Finally, we emerge into farmland before reaching our final goal in the town of Sønderborg. This town was built up around Sønderborg Castle, which was built before 1200. Denmark has such a long and rich history!

Denmark is a small and peaceful country but it was not always so. A few hundred years ago, Denmark included Norway, some of Sweden and parts of what is now Northern Germany. Wars, intrigues, power struggles and politics ate away at Denmark’s borders.

In 1864, Denmark was defeated by the Austro-Prussian army and was thereby reduced to being one of Europe’s smallest nations. This final, humiliating battle was fought at Dybbøl Mølle, which is now one of Denmark’s important historical sights (photo below).

Instead of wallowing in self-pity, the Danes had a motto “What has outwards been lost shall inwards be won”. In other words, they set about consolidating what was left of their land. Moors were ploughed, bogs were drained and dykes were built to dry up marshlands and shallow sea – all to create more farmland (nature conservation was not a big thing back then).

The homecoming of the territory
The new wave of self-reliance and national pride also had sweeping cultural, social and commercial effects. All that is a long and interesting story, but this is not a history lesson. It is just an introduction to my summer’s exploits, so please bear with me a bit more. Let’s fast forward to the end of World War I in 1918.

Germany had just lost the war. In the northernmost part of Germany, Slesvig (which had previously belonged to Denmark), about half of the population spoke Danish and were Danish-minded. What to do? To make a long story short, a plebiscite was held. The result was that in 1920 the Danish border moved south and Denmark became at bit larger. The border was drawn through the middle of Slevsig so that primarily Danish-minded North Slesvig was reunited with Denmark.

That momentous event happened exactly 100 years ago this year and Denmark intended to celebrate it in a big way. All sorts of plans were laid but then the coronavirus appeared on the scene and put paid to most of it – except my personal plan of focusing on Southern Jutland in my summer’s excursions. So let’s get going! Stay tuned for the next blog article.

On the second stage of this year’s walk up through Jutland, I walk alone. I tend to make the decision about hiking at the least minute. That way I can be more certain of experiencing good weather. However, this makes it difficult to make plans with other people, who cannot always drop everything to go walking with me.
I start the journey in the beach resort Lønstrup. This is a town where I have memories. When I was a mere 17 years old, I worked at one of the town’s two hotels, one month as a lowly scullery maid and one month as a chambermaid. The less said about that job the better. The owner of the B&B I am staying at knows the woman who owned the hotel (she is now about 90 years old) and her two sons, so he brings me up to date on their activities and the fate of the hotel.

In those days, Lønstrup was a sleepy, peaceful and picturesque little fishing village, where a few German tourists came up in the summer. The local fishermen dragged their fishing boats up on the beach, the bunkers that the Germans built when they occupied Denmark during WWII dotted the coast, and the waves pounded the shore.

 
Things have changed somewhat. Now, as is the case with many other fishing villages on the Danish coast, Lønstrup is packed with tourists. There are restaurants, cafes, boutiques, artists and artisans, and accommodations of all sorts. Traffic jams the single main straight street that runs through town. Due to erosion, the German bunkers have moved down to the beach, and some of them are even partly submerged in the ocean.

However, Lønstrup is still picturesque. The dunes are still fragrant with the scents of wild roses, beach grass and salty ocean air, seagulls still patrol overhead, looking for something to eat, and waves still crash onto the shore and will do so in all eternity. The colour palette incudes the blue and turquoise hues of the sky, sea and ponds and the different shades of brown, yellow and green of the sand and grasses.

It is somewhat heartening to know that at least the waves are a part of nature that we cannot control, although humans do try, in order to protect summer cottages that lie too close to the edge of the dunes.

I trudge along for many peaceful hours, the wind and sun in my face. Much of the time, I skirt the coast and can see the sea; at other times, I am behind the dunes and walk through grassy areas filled with wildflowers or through woods where I am protected from the wind.

In Denmark, you are never more than 52 km from the coast. The coastline is 8754 km long – the world’s 17th longest. Hiking that would be a very long-term project!

The first day I walk 31 km and reach the town of Hirtshals, a busy commercial fishing harbour. Not the most interesting of towns, but it marks a milestone in that it is the official end of the Hærvejen. Following this route from the southernmost part of Jutland – where Denmark borders Germany – all the way up through Denmark’s mainland to the northerly town Hirtshals, I have covered almost 600 km on my “Grand Hike”.

However, I am not quite finished yet. My intention is to keep going until I reach the very tip of Denmark at the most lovely spot called Skagen. So, on day two, I keep going for another 23 km and end up in a place called Tversted, where my car and a pair of sandals await – and that’s all, folks, for this year with regard to the hike. The rest of the summer will be given over to travelling abroad, so Skagen will have to wait until next year. It’s only about 35 km more but there will be lots to tell from this beautiful and interesting part of Denmark. Stay tuned!