travels with janne

Winter
whispers in the wilderness,

Muffling
sounds and chilling breaths.

Snow falls
gently,

Settling on
stones and trees,

Softening
sharpness and

Transforming
angles to curves.

All things
look round and gentle,

Like tufts
of unbaked meringue.

Dawn
blushes pink,

Dusk veils the
day in a warm shawl of orange.

Leafless
trees stand in stark silhouettes against the sky,

Reaching
craggily upwards like bony hands.

A brook
babbles dark and cold

Under an
icy shelf.

An upturned
tree root

Becomes an
abstract sculpture.

We turn our
heads at the sound of a soft moomf of
snow

That falls
from a fir branch and

Scatters
sparkling flakes

On its
downward fall.

We catch a
whiff of sulphur.

We hear a
coyote yipping to its friend,

That yips
in comradely reply.

Bison break
trail in the deep whiteness,

Buried up
to their rumbling bellies,

As they
sweep their mighty heads

In their
search for blades of grass.

And wolves,
ah wolves!

Brainy,
social,

Charming,
controversial.

Tails wag,
ears perk,

Tongues
loll.

Like dogs,
but not.

Let us be
satisfied with a wander in this wilderness.

Let us
suffice with wonder.

Let us be
inspired, enthralled, enchanted.

Let us not
disrupt or change

Or believe
we can improve what Mother Nature,

The
ultimate artist and masterly scientist,

Has
created.

Just let
be.

In addition
to big, furry predator species like grizzly bear, black bear, bobcat, mountain
lion (cougar) and coyote, Yellowstone National Park is also home to about 100
wolves. At the same time, there are up to four million human visitors per year
including backcountry hikers and campers. This goes to show that people and
“dangerous” wild animals can live in harmony. We just need to understand how to
do it properly.

When wolves
were re-introduced to Yellowstone from Canada in 1995-1996 it had a dramatic,
healing effect on the landscape, which quickly found its old balance again
after 70 years of being wolf-less.

The return
of the wolf has had a cascade effect on a whole range of plant and animal
species in the ecosystem. The numbers of elk and coyote are kept in check. This
means smaller predators like owls, foxes and pine martens thrive because they face
less competition from coyotes. Pronghorn, which are coyote prey, are also
having an easier time.

Plants like willow, aspen and cottonwood are given peace
to grow because the elk no longer stay put for long periods and therefore no
longer chew them down. This in turn benefits beavers, which love willow. The
beavers flood land and create new ecosystems and this turn of events benefits
insects and birds. Wolves usually do not eat up, which benefits scavengers like
ravens, eagles and even grizzlies, who feed on the leftovers.

This is
such a heartening story of the resilience of nature. I only wish we humans
could be better at butting out and just leaving nature to do its thing.

Moose photo by Linda Thurston.

With its 8,983
km2 Yellowstone National Park is somewhat smaller than Cape Breton
in Nova Scotia (10,311 km2) but a bit bigger than the Danish island
of Zealand (where Copenhagen is) with its 7,031 km2. I hope these
facts and comparisons give my readers a feeling for the size of the park.

It has
mountains and valleys, rivers and brooks, and stinky, steaming geothermal
springs. Here in the winter much of the land is covered in fluffy snow. Red
willow branches give a bit of colour to the otherwise stark white, black and
grey landscape. Fragrant grey-green sage bushes stick up here and there.
Cottonwood trees stand leafless and naked against the horizon. Snow provides
its own soft and pristine landscape.

We go snowshoeing every afternoon in this wonderful winter wilderness. It is my first attempt at snowshoeing and I love it.

One day our guides Linda Thurston and Nathan Varley lead us to lovely Pebble Creek Canyon. After this easy and peaceful walk things get more challenging. We meet up with a hill and deep, virginal powder snow. Nathan calls it the Hill of Death and instructs us to take turns to break trail because it is quite hard work. After a short while he lets my friend Tove, who is right behind him, take over. Superwoman Tove breaks the trail the whole way up the slope, never faltering, never losing momentum despite the fact that with each step she sinks down in the snow to mid-thigh. Amazing! Her impressive feat is the talk of the group the rest of the afternoon.

Another day we visit National Geographic photographer Dan Hartman in the small town of Silver Gate at the park border. After a visit in his cozy gallery and private home, from which we spot a Clark’s Nutcracker at the bird feeder, he takes us on a snowshoe walk.

With great enthusiasm and knowledge he expounds on the nature we pass through while eagerly pointing out ermine tracks in the snow. He interprets the patterns of small footprints and explains where the ermine has paused to sniff for a mouse. We also see mouse footprints and those from moose, coyote and fox. At one point our jolly host breaks into a song about the Northwest Territories. As Canadian as that song may be I am afraid I am not familiar with it so I just hum along as best (and quietly) as I can.

Not a
morning of our Yellowstone adventure goes by without spotting wolves. How
wonderful to view these intelligent, social and resilient animals in their
natural habitat, just doing their thing.

The first pack we see does not really
do much of anything except sleep. We get excited when one of the wolves lifts
its black head. Through the spotting scope I can see its pointed ears
silhouetted against the snow before it drops its head back down to the ground
for some more snoozing. Another ruffle of excitement occurs when we spot two
grey wolves in the same pack wander in from the left before they plunk
themselves down to sleep. This particular pack (Junction Butte) consists of 12
wolves including six pups, but from our long distance we only see a few of the
animals.

The same
day we spot another pack. This is Mollie’s Pack, which consists of 16 wolves.
They are pretty sleepy too. Their most dynamic activity while we watch them
comprises getting up, re-grouping a bit and then lying down again. They lie in
a huddle, except for one that seems ostracized and lies at a distance from the
rest. This pack also includes animals with various colour shades. Although the wolves
in Yellowstone are grey wolves (Canis lupus), about half of the population is
actually black. They carry the K allele for melanism (opposite of albinism)
carried over from domesticated dogs. Interesting genetics, eh?

The next
day we see Mollie’s pack again. This time the wolves are busy eating. Sometime
during the night or early morning they have killed an elk. From a distance we
can see the antlers of the carcass and the wolves tugging on the meat.

In the above photo there are at least eight wolves, five of whom are black. If you look closely you can see the elk antlers sticking up in the bottom right of the scene.

One wolf liberates a huge chunk of meat – about the size of a good roast beef – and ambles over to a wolf lying a few metres away and not engaged in feeding. It is almost as if the wolf with the hunk of meat intends to share with its best friend and no one else.

Young,
light-coloured wolves leave the dinner table to play. They romp and jostle
with each other like domesticated dogs.

I took the photos of the wolves with my iPhone through the spotting scope. This involves standing so perfectly still that breathing is almost impossible. In the above shot there are at least seven wolves scattered here and there. Two black wolves are at the carcass and a light-coloured wolf is approaching. A light wolf sits to the far left and three black ones are behind and to the right.

We see wildlife every
day.

One day, a coyote sits unmoving in the snow, not far from our vehicle. It tips
and turns its head this way and that and cocks its pointed ears in various
directions, trying to tune in on the movement of a vole (rødmus in Danish) underneath the snow. Suddenly the coyote pounces
head first down in the snow, tail straight up in the air. Unfortunately for the
coyote, there is no catch. After several unsuccessful attempts, it howls and
yips. Its vocalisations are answered by a coyote buddy standing a bit further
away from us. Coyote number one trots over to coyote number two. There is
tail-wagging and bum-sniffing before they join a third coyote who serenely just
sits and waits for them. Then all three pals meander down to the frozen river
and out of our sight.

Herds of big, brown
bison are a common sight, forming a dark and wooly contrast to the clean white
snow. They sweep their massive heads from side to side to push the snow aside
and get at the grass underneath.

We also
see bighorn sheep balancing on a rocky slope while nibbling daintily on
winter-yellow vegetation. The rams have formidable horns that swirl backwards.

Another day we spot a
lone, shaggy, creamy-coloured mountain goat way up on a mountainside. And yet another time we see
three bull elks with majestic antlers – three hunky bachelors, at peace with
each other, lying in the snow, probably chewing cud.

We spot a
couple of moose lumbering through the deep snow. They are such strangely shaped animals
with their ridiculously long faces and odd dewlap thingy hanging under the chin
but they are nevertheless very endearing.

One of our guides, Linda Thurston, took
the moose pictures with my iPhone through the spotting scope.

Snowflakes
twist and glimmer like diamonds as they quietly fall, adding more white cover
to the already white landscape. Our steps crunch and squeak on the path that
leads to the cozy little log cabin that will be my friend’s and my home for the
next few days.

Tove and I are on a winter adventure in the northern section of Yellowstone
National Park. We stay at Buffalo Ranch in cabin number 13 – funnily enough the
exact same cabin my American cousin Janis stayed in last November.

The
wildlife viewing and landscape enjoyment began before we even entered the park
from the direction of Bozeman, Montana. We crossed the Yellowstone River
several times. Along the way, we spotted a soaring bald eagle, dainty pronghorn
antelope, and what we believe might have been a red-tailed hawk.

Once
ensconced at Buffalo Ranch, we fall into the daily rhythm: Sumptuous and
healthy breakfast at 6:15, drive out at 7:15 to view wildlife, hot lunch at
midday, snowshoeing in the afternoon, more delicious dining in the evening followed
by interesting and informative talks by wildlife experts. There is no time to
get bored, just pleasantly bone weary from all the activity, impressions and
fresh, cold air.

Now it is July 2015 and I am hiking the third stage
with my friend Niels. This part of the route is rife with nationalistic
emotions because the Danish-German border has been shifted up and down a few
times.

We begin where I left off last time at Stursbøl
Plantage, a pleasant, wooded area. We follow a narrow dirt path and enjoy the
stillness, birdsong and whisper of wind. We pass by meadows and fields, and
cross brooks and streams. After a while, we come to the edge of the town of
Jels where the lake Jels Sø lies. This is where Viking dramas are enacted every
summer. They take place outdoors and often include the lake as part of the scene.
As Niels and I rest on a bench a Viking ship floats silently on the water.

Later on, we arrive at the idyllic old mill,
Knagmølle. This mill was used to grind bones from dead animals. The meal was
then fed to pigs and chickens. Knagmøllen is situated by the historic river
Kongeåen.

This is an area that can stir Danish nationalistic feelings. Prior to
1864 Denmark stretched all the way down to Schleswig, which is now German.
Disagreements turned into a full-blown war, which ended in 1864 with a resounding
victory to the Germans. The result was that Denmark lost not only soldiers on
the battlefield but a good portion of its area and the Danish-German border was
moved north up to Kongeåen.

Then World War I happened, which did not go well for
Germany. This gave the opportunity for Denmark to regain some of its lost land.
In 1920, two years after the end of World War I, the people in the area had a
referendum that voted much of the former land back into Denmark. The border was
thus moved south again without so much as one shot being fired – although not
all the way back to the former days of glory when Schleswig was part of Denmark.

Niels and I stay the night at a herberg (hostel) by
the historic river Kongeåen. We have all 24 beds, two bathrooms, two showers
and large kitchen to ourselves, so we spread out and make ourselves at home. We
eat a heated up frozen dinner and drink a couple of glasses of wine. Then it is
time to rest our weary bones after having walked 22 km.

Next morning we are a bit tired but not seriously so.
Today we only have to cover 15 km. The first step of our journey leads us from
what used to be Germany into Denmark, as we cross Kongeåen. We cross on the
bridge called “Frihedsbroen” which means Freedom Bridge. The bridge is painted
in the Danish flag’s colours, namely red and white.

Between 1864 and 1920 Danes living on the “wrong” (south)
side of the border were very patriotic. One notable such person was the farmer
H.D. Kloppenborg. He built a house on the “right” (north) side of the border
and went up there on weekends where he brazenly raised the Danish flag to the
great annoyance of the German soldiers on the other side of the river. He
called his cute little stone house “Friheden” which means “freedom” and it is from
this house that the bridge got its name.

A few kilometres further north are more manifestations
of the Danes’ need to assert their language and national pride in the period
between 1864 and 1920. At a place called Skibelund Krat there are 22 memorial
stones in honour of some of the people who fought for the rights of South
Jutland. One stone is simply called “Modersmålet”, i.e. “Mother Tongue”, and
shows a woman flanked by two Danish poets looking longingly and steadfastly over
the Kongeåen river valley in the direction of the part of Denmark that Germany
acquired (but that we got back again).

History aside, our feet are getting sore and our legs
tired. Niels has blisters on his toes and my knee is not as good as it was
yesterday. Today most of the route is on asphalt, which is hard on our worn out
legs and feet. We trudge along, passing
through the town of Vejen. This is where Niels is a member of the town council,
representing the Social Democrats. That is not my party, so we often have
lively political discussions. In fact, I also lived here a few years back, when
I was breaking into journalism, so it all feels a bit homey.

A few kilometres north of Vejen we reach the church at
Læborg. Here there is a large granite stone with runes from the first half of
the first century – yet another reminder that this route has been in use for
centuries.
Another nice thing about the church at Læborg is that my car is
parked here. We hop into it and drive home to Niels’ house a few kilometres
away where his wonderful wife awaits with yummy, cool buttermilk soup and garden-fresh
black currants.

Many weekends later, I pick up where I left off in the
town of Rødekro. Rødekro means “Red Inn”. This is a rare example of a town
named after an inn instead of the other way around.

Anyway, this time best friend Åse is with me. Time
flies as we walk through village after village adorned with election posters.
We discuss the different parties and politicians, happily in disagreement with
each other because otherwise what would there be to discuss? How boring to agree on everything – who wants
to be in the company of clones? I am proud to say that votes are given to the
full range of political parties in Denmark by my friends and acquaintances.
It’s nice to know such a variety of people! Anyway, I digress.

The first part of the route leads us through flat
agricultural landscapes. Now that it is June the fields are a lush green. We
aim for the churches along the way because here we can always find a toilet,
fresh water, and a bench that we can sit on and rest our weary bones. Åse is an
expert walker and makes sure that we stop every hour or so to take off our
shoes and socks and cool down our feet. At the end of the day I discover what a
good idea that is. No blisters and no sore feet (well, almost not).

We pass by an Asterix-type monolith sitting on top of
a burial mound from the Bronze Age. The story goes that the stone turns in the
direction of the smell of newly-baked bread. I don’t blame it. Further on is
another big stone from around 900. This one has runes etched into it spelling
the name of Hairulfr. How wonderfully Nordic! Even back then this road,
Hærvejen, was a well-known road.

The next bit of history soothes our feet. We come to
the road’s oldest bridge, Immervad Bro, from 1786. The bridge is built in stone
but based on wood construction technique, in that the stone has been cut into
planks, some of which are four metres long. It is thought that all the pieces
come from the same block of granite. We
gratefully cool our feet in the stream while listening to the quiet babble of
the water. A nasty battle was fought here in 1422, colouring the water red with
blood.

At this point I am feeling seriously tired. Then, lo
and behold! In the middle of nowhere we happen upon a place where we can buy
quality coffee served by an Italian. Miracles never cease! Thus refreshed we
trudge onwards until we reach the traveler’s shelter (“herberg”) where there is
one big room with 36 beds. No private life here. It is still early in the
season so there are only two other guests. We have walked about 25 km and enjoy
sitting down to a bottle of wine and a dinner of canned spaghetti with meat
sauce before conking out on our beds.

Next day we get a nice and early start. More green
farmland and lots of verdant forest. The scenery just seems to get better and
better, but towards the end I am too tired to enjoy it. All I can think of is getting to our
destination, sitting down and drinking a cup of coffee.


Finally, around 25 km
later, we reach the spot where the car is parked. This place was a guesthouse
(“Stursbøl Kro”) for centuries up until the 1870’s. Now it is a folk music café
and a shelter with 32 beds for Hærvejen travelers. We enjoy a cup of coffee
before heading home, weary and footsore after almost 50 km in two days. Less
than 400 km to go!