travels with janne

My project of walking from the southern border of Denmark all the way up to the northern tip of the country continues in 2019. On the first stage of this year’s walk, I am joined by my girlfriend Tove.

We begin our journey on foot a sunny day in June in the seaside resort Blokhus. This is where my grandparents once had a summer cottage with a direct view to the sea. Now the area is covered with summer cottages.

Tove and I follow the signs for the Hærvejen route. Nevertheless, we manage to get lost right from the start.

After going in circles and ending up at our starting point twice, we ignore the signs and strike out in what we believe must be the right direction: north. This works better but leads us right past all the summer cottages and adds about seven extra kilometres to the first day’s walk. We end up walking 23 km the first day (and almost 18 km on the second day). Eventually, we are fortunate enough to meet someone who knows the area. He points us in the direction of the right footpath.

After re-discovering the path, over two days of hiking, we walk through quiet, scrubby woods that smell of pine and heather, pass through flowering meadows, wander high up on wind-swept dunes that skirt the shore, and trudge along the windy beach where the waves pound the sand in eternity.

Along the way, we see half-buried bunkers (remnants from the German occupation in World War II – photo below), hardy little flowers, and the 90 m high dune Rubjerg Knude (above photo), where the sands shift constantly due to the wind. The wind erosion eats two to four metres of the coastline every year, so the lighthouse at Rubjerg Knude, which was built in 1899, became dangerously close to falling in the sea. When we see it, it is only 20 m from the sea. Today, October 22, 2019, as I write these lines, the lighthouse has been moved 70 m inland – all in one piece. Quite the engineering feat!

We see a cuckoo up in a tree (usually only just heard, not spotted), hear larks warbling their merry melody in the sky and come very close to one sitting on the ground – also a somewhat unusual experience. Sand martins (bank swallows) fly busily back and forth in their swallow society in the dunes, the cuckoo sounds like a Swiss clock, the surf beats its eternal rhythm, and butterflies and other insects flit quietly about.

I catch my first glimpse of the North Sea and think ofthe pilgrims returning from Jerusalem or other holy places after years of travelling by foot or wagon before their final journey back to Norway or Sweden. It must have been very heartening for them to see the sea!

Further on, there is a spring, Our Lady Spring, where travelers would quench their thirst. Many people passed this way. A church was built (Lerup Kirke), and a market developed. Then it started becoming bawdy and raucous, and the merchants brought their livestock into the church. A priest finally got fed up, complained to the bishop, and the market was closed.

The next day’s walk, according to the guide, is 23 km. Not true! I end up  walking 30 km in nine hours, exhausted again. However, the landscape is very pretty and I have it more or less all to myself except when I pass through summer cottage areas. I see two kinds of orchids and some butterflies.

The walk ends in the beach resort town Blokhus, which is where my grandparents had a summer cottage many years ago. I still have fond memories of visiting them there when I was two years old going on three and again when I was six going on seven. Those were my first two visits to Denmark – but that’s another story. I remember the smell of heather, the feel of the North Sea wind, the warmth of the sand in the dunes and the new potatoes. And of course my wonderful Danish grandparents.

And so ends this summer’s hiking on Hærvejen. I walked a total of 150 km in the most amazing summer weather we have had for years and look forward to next year, where I will hopefully be able to complete this crazy project. Just another 100 km and I should be done.

Jutland is the peninsula that sticks up from Germany
and is mainland Denmark. However, it is not all in one piece. The northern part
is actually unattached to the rest because the fjord Limfjorden cuts through
the peninsula all the way from west to east (or east to west if you prefer).

So when I cross from the main part of the mainland to
the northern part of Jutland over the bridge at Aggersund one fine June
morning, it is a milestone for me. Northern Jutland is the last leg of my
journey up through Denmark from the southern border to the northern tip!The landscape is nothing to get too excited about on
this leg of the trip, and the going on the asphalt road is hard on the feet.
This leg of the journey is just something I have to get through.

A couple of weeks later I return to North Jutland to
resume the hike. I start early in the morning, feeling fresh and perky, and
make good time. In the guide it says the next hostel is 22 km from here. Not
true! I arrive nine hours and 32 km later, totally knackered.

Tired body aside, as I expected, this is the loveliest
part of the whole hike through Denmark. Still and shady woods, and wild and
windswept heaths are punctuated by checkerboards of farmers’ fields. They are
all at their best on this warm and sunny, perfect summer weekend. For hours, I meet not a soul. I pass by a Common
European Viper sanctuary (as quickly as possible. Yuk!). Fortunately, I do not
see any snakes, but just the thought of their presence in the vicinity makes my
skin crawl.

Later on, I pass though summer cottage area and meet
people, many of them Germans, which is quite unhelpful when I get lost. The
signs showing the Hærvejen route seem to drop out of sight so I take a few
wrongs turns adding to the already rather long walk. I see Denmark’s only
heather-covered windmill at Grønnestrand, but am too tired to walk closer to
take a picture.

Leaving the town of Skals in the spring of 2018, I
follow the old railway, which has been turned into a hiking path. When it was
still an active railroad, the rail company planted woods on the east side to
avoid snow on the tracks. I do not know why on the east side because the
prevailing winds come from the west, but that is what the sign by the path
says.

FACT CHECK: One of my readers has told me it is because when it snows the wind usually comes from the east. That makes more sense. Thank you Bjarne!

Anyway, later on there was a shortage of firewood, so many of the trees
were sacrificed.
During World War II, more trees were felled because
the German occupying force did not want Danish resistance people hiding in the
woods. Since then, it seems that no one has bothered to plant new trees so all
that is left now is a tiny wood, with the emphasis on “tiny”. Nevertheless, the
birdsong is markedly more active than when I reach the open, agricultural
landscape. What a difference trees make!

I hike for three days, covering 70 km. The first
couple of days are mostly on asphalt roads, through agricultural countryside,
which is hard on the feet and a teensy bit boring. I see a few deer and
pheasants, but otherwise just cultivated fields, windmills and other signs of
human influence on the landscape. On the third day, some of the route takes me
over gravel roads – easier on the feet – and through woods, where I see a
lizard, a hare and a (dead) shrew. Ho hum. However, it is hard not to be in a
good mood when everything is fresh, new and green and the sun is shining.

The summer of 2017 starts out okay with sunny and dry
weather in May– perfect for hiking. I don my new hiking shoes and start walking
from the woods around the old town of Viborg to the chorus of early summer bird
song. Such a symphony of happy chirps, tweets (not the Trump kind; the nice
kind) and trills! All the little birds vying with each other to catch the
attention of a mate while all I have to do is listen. The beech leaves are
unfurling in a refreshing, almost luminescent light green. I pop a few of the
fresh leaves in my mouth and enjoy the lemony taste. The agrarian landscape is
also greening with grain or bursting in dazzling yellow rapeseed flowers.

Walking in my own thoughts I meet a deer who is also
in its own thoughts – so much so that it does not even notice me so I get quite
close. I also spot a hare, a colourful Eurasian bullfinch (dompap in Danish), herons, swans, swallows, Northern lapwing (vibe in Danish) and a pheasant cock
lying down and chilling out. Denmark is so life-affirming in May.
I pass through Hjarbæk, a cozy village by a fjord.
After a break to remove shoes and socks and cool my feet, I continue onwards.
The landscape becomes hilly and affords great views over the fields and fjord.
Following a now defunct railway, I reach the town of Skals. This town had a rather
curious production some years back. They used to gather up the seaweed that
washed up on the shores of the fjord, rinse it in rainwater or river water to
get rid of the salt, dry it and bale it. The resulting product was used in
mattresses. It was exported to France and Germany during World War II and was
quite the industry – hence the establishment of a railroad.

The town of Skals was my goal for today – a mere 20
km, but a nice way to start the hiking season. It turns out that this is the
only hike on the Hærvejen in 2017 because the summer of 2017 turns out to be
really crummy with cold, rainy and unpredictable weather.

This morning is the final leg of the 2016 journey.
Just a hop, skip and jump through some more woods before I reach Viborg. To be
more precise, I need to walk about 11 kilometres before reaching my goal for
2016: the town of Viborg.

Viborg is one of Denmark’s oldest towns. The name
means “holy place on the hill”. It had its beginnings as a town somewhere
between the end of the 900’s and the beginning of the 1000’s and was already in
Viking times a religious centre in Jutland.

When Christianity came along the religious goings on
in Viborg continued. The town became an episcopal residence and the building of
the first cathedral began in the 1100’s. Not long after, because of strife
between several pretenders to the throne, the town was fortified with a rampart
and a moat and there were five city gates.

During the following centuries, no less than 12
churches and five monasteries were established. With the advent of the
Reformation things changed. Viborg was actually the place where the Lutheran
Reformation in Denmark began, in around 1529. During these years of
reformation, the citizens of Viborg tore down all 12 churches, closed most of
the monasteries, and the munks and nuns had to flee. So much for religious
tolerance.

Viborg was also a power hub in other ways. It was one
of three Danish towns where homage had to be paid to a king before he could make
a legitimate claim to the throne. This was carried out for every single Danish
king from 1027 to 1665. Viborg was also where the political assembly (“Ting” or
“Thing”) for Jutland was located. Despite the fact that a major fire in 1726 destroyed the cathedral, city hall and the major
church, Viborg today still oozes history with its cobblestone streets, old
houses and rebuilt cathedral.

Well, folks, the 2016 leg of the hike up through
Jutland is over. In 2015 I walked about 129 km and this year I managed 209 km
for a total of 338 km from the border in the south to the town of Viborg smack
dab in the middle of Jutland. My plan is to continue northwards next year and walk
towards the very tip of Jutland. I think I am approximately halfway there. I
have already bought a new pair of hiking shoes and am looking forward to new
adventures in the Danish landscape.

I continue the rest of the journey on my own. I hardly
meet another soul in the final stage of my 2016 ramblings. Four days of almost
no people! The weather is incredible for a Danish September. At one point it
reaches 27°C. Fortunately, most of the hike is in the shade of oak and fir woods.

Acorns litter the forest floor. At intervals I hear
more acorns falling to the ground and wonder when one of them will land on my
head. At one point the silence is broken as I pass under the highway. I can
hear it several kilometres away.
Later on, I meet a wild deer and then a
fenced-in elk that bellows when I approach.

My feet get swollen, my back gets tired, and I feel hot
and bothered. In the deep of the woods I decide to take a break. I prop my
backpack up against a tree, eat my lunch, drink some water, and read my book. A
headache bothers me, so I curl up and sleep on the ground under the tree, like
a forest animal.

Waking up much refreshed half an hour later I trudge
onwards, hour after hour, day after day. More misty mornings with dew-laden
spider webs that make me think of fairy hair.
Sunny days with dappled light
sneaking through the trees. The forest smells of fir trees, autumn leaves and
mushrooms. It is so quiet around me I can hear the leaves fall. I pass through landscapes with lakes, and through farmland.

One foot in front of the other, again and again and
again. Finally, on September 15, I unfold the last page of the last of the three
maps that have guided me through the first half of the walk through Jutland. An
event! Hurray! An end to the first half of this crazy project is in sight!

Before I reach my destination I have one more
challenge. I have arrived at Dollerup Bakker – the Hills of Dollerup. They are
beautiful, heather-covered hills with lovely views of the lake Hald Sø.
To
follow the route to the hostel where I am to spend my last night I need to
clamber up a very steep hill. There are steps, but the risers are so high that
I can hardly lift my weary bones and backpack up each of them. This is not the
kind of challenge I was looking for after having walked about 80 km in three
days.

Not much further on is the hostel. It is housed in one
of the buildings of the manor Hald Hovedgaard from 1787. With the meagre energy I have left I wander around and look at the buildings, enjoying the details of the masonry and ironwork. They knew how to construct lasting buildings in those days!

I continue my ramble northwards, passing by more burial mounds and through oak forests, moors and farmland.

At one point I stop
at the church Øster Nykirke, which is the church with the highest location in
Denmark (127 above sea level). Okay, okay, not exactly an impressive height
compared to so many other countries, but throughout the ages it has afforded
good views and a marker for people on the Hærvejen route.

I also come close to the spot where Denmark’s two main
rivers have their source. Skjern Å, the river containing the most water, flows
westward to the North Sea, while Gudenå, the longest river in Denmark (about
158 km) flows eastward to Randers Fjord. I have canoed on both of them –
wonderful trips!

The stages of the walk described above and in the previous two blogs
were undertaken in May and June 2016. Then along came a very rainy summer that
took care of most of July and August until I went on holiday in warm and sunny
Nova Scotia. When I came back to Denmark from Nova Scotia it was still raining.
Then a wonderful thing happened: September. This was the year’s warmest month
in Denmark, so I laced up my hiking shoes, packed my backpack and walked as
much as possible before the “normal” dreary autumn set in.

On the next stage of my journey up through Jutland I
have convinced Niels to accompany me on the first little bit.
The route changes
character and becomes quite beautiful. We do not see as many churches, burial
mounds, rune stones or other historical monuments as before.
We leave the farm
country behind (except for a wannabe zebra). The soil is too poor for farming,
anyway.

Instead, nature abounds. We marvel at the large areas
of inland dunes. We pass through oak forests. We walk on moors covered with a
purple, fragrant spread of heather.
We wander through cathedrals of pine
forests with soft moss floors. We see elk, deer and kestrel, and dewy grass
decorated with spider webs that sparkle in the morning sun.