You know when something feels right and then it feels wrong and then right again, well that's just where I'm at right now and also maybe where I was at this morning albeit in a very different manner.
I set out to try to find the walk to the storm petrol colony that runs alone the east coast of the island but find my way barred or the whimbrel telling me madly that I may not pass his way.
Instead I wander paths that do not seem to distress the locals and before long realise that I am on the beginning of the reknown six hour there and back hike, the one I said I was not going to do. Finding myself on the path, it seems churlish not to give it a go. I know that the worst section, the steep climb is at the beginning, maybe I can just climb to see what it's like from the top and then descend again, just to see how challenging it really is.
At some point I remember that my other plan had been to walk to the puffin colony on the flatter, north of the island but I'm here now. Several large container ships and tankers sit in the water outside Tórshavn harbour, I'm told the shipping industry is in a bad way and they sit here for months. With a leisurely approach I climb steadily looking at the steep rocks immediately above, unable to see a path through. Slowly, section by section, just as I think there is no path, the way becomes clear. I turn to look back at Nolsoy before I commence the steepest section.
At times I am on my hands and knees, I dare not look up nor yet down but can only focus on the small trail ahead. There is see a path of sorts, but footholds are not clear and loose surfaces or peaty bog make the challenge more than just the ascent itself.
I cannot now begin to describe with any clarity, the intensity of emotions I went through, determination, fear, wonder, surprise, bemusement. The thing that kept me scrambling was that soon after each scary, scramble there would be a flatter respite. I kept telling myself I could stop at any time but at the same time knew I would not do so.
I found an easy pace where I did not exhaust myself and ninety minutes after beginning, found myself at the top of the climb, skirting the side of the mountain, now just an easy walking descent to reach the lighthouse at the other end of the island.
I walk along the flat track, cairns now clearly marking my path and watch the sky carefully. This mornings early clear blue has been replaced with layers of cloud that have begun to descend on mountain tops around.
The light is no longer bright, the wind picks up. I walk on for a further half hour before decide to pick a cairn in the distance and no matter what, will stop and turn. I've seen no one ahead or behind me while out. if the clouds descend there will be no way to make it down the steep section, I will have to sit and wait it out. I recall that my waterproof leggings are not in my bag.
I feel slight alarm as the big cairn announces that my steep descent is about to commence but it turns out shorter and easier than I expected, tamer. Sitting on my butt and shifting down a ledge easier than holding tightly and pulling myself up, much less nerve wracking than I expected.
The rain sets in about an hour after I return.
I write some hours later. I can't believe I didn't do so at the time. My writing now feels flat and unreal. I felt full of joy, anticipation, fear, achievement, amazement, my head was full of running commentary on my steps and now I'm, so what, yeah. I anticipated finding a spot to sit at the top and record my ascent but with clouds drawing in, no opportunity appeared. I thought then that I would find a spot once I'd descended the steep bit but again no such spot appeared. As I neared the village, I was sidetracked by the enormity of the ferry dwarfing the village as it pulled in to harbour. I sat on a log and just watched, eating rye bread and smoked mackerel as hoards dispersed. Some were greeted and a large band of tourists gathered to be addressed by a leader. I was unusually not tempted to get closer to listen in. I swung my legs, very much feeling the local watching the world go by
I now know the trek is not beyond me, I could master it if I were to start early enough in the day and walk with others, I now know I can do the most challenging bit. If only I were staying here longer.....
Which brings me back to my opening paragraph.....You know when something feels right and then it feels wrong and then right again, that's where I'm at right now.
I leave here the day after tomorrow ... Or do I? .....i have negotiated a £15 a night bed in Levis little room if I want it, the bed with the uncomfortable mattress. It's available until the 12th August when Levi comes home. It seems I am in the equivalent of norwichs golden triangle, a tiny island community of teachers, artists, musicians and craftsmen. This afternoon I've eaten angelica jam, nettle tea, been given the recipe for pickled rhubarb, joined the secret swimmers group, been shown a book of poetry by a twenty two year old and a book of ancient Faroese plant uses written by her mother, seen a Hammond organ (with more pedals than I thought possible to exist) being played and sat in a very quiet pub, listening to the stories of my German host. I've had more conversation in three days than in the past three weeks.
