Up the Mountain
After the rest and nourishment we were all feeling a little peppier as we headed down the lane to the narrow road which ran alongside the farm. The two Norwegians who came to the boathouse with Nilsen led the way, followed by the six of us with Nilsen bringing up the rear. The Norwegians were gambling that none of the "Quislings" living in the area would be up at three in the morning as this odd-looking group of three very tall, six foot plus, Norwegians in oilskins, and six other scraggly characters walked silently along a country road. Unfortunately, it had started to rain again, and I recall Nilsen removing his raincoat and placing it around my shoulders; however, it trailed on the ground as Nilsen was six foot six.
After a while we veered off the road towards a small stream which we had to ford. The lucky ones who had rubber boots did not have a problem, but a couple including Red had only shoes. When they balked about entering the water two of the Norwegians told them to climb on their backs and they would carry then over. After crossing the stream we continued to hike through a valley towards a long narrow lake which was set between two mountains. Arriving at the end of the lake we saw a large row boat pulled up on the beach. Taking off our backpacks we stowed them in the boat before pushing it into the water and climbing aboard. It was obvious from looking at the sheer drop of the mountain sides that the only way to get from one end of the lake to the other was by water. It didn't take the two Norwegian oarsmen long to cover the mile or so length of the lake.
On arriving at the head of the lake [MAP] we pulled the boat up on the beach, and then unloaded the various backpacks and helped each other strap them on. We then started to follow the two Norwegians who obviously knew the best route to take. As it was very dark and the underbrush and trees fairly dense, we were told to keep close together in single file. Initially we made fairly good progress, but in a little while we arrived at the bottom of a high and steep cliff. Nilsen indicated that we had to climb the cliff and that we must keep moving.
After a while we veered off the road towards a small stream which we had to ford. The lucky ones who had rubber boots did not have a problem, but a couple including Red had only shoes. When they balked about entering the water two of the Norwegians told them to climb on their backs and they would carry then over. After crossing the stream we continued to hike through a valley towards a long narrow lake which was set between two mountains. Arriving at the end of the lake we saw a large row boat pulled up on the beach. Taking off our backpacks we stowed them in the boat before pushing it into the water and climbing aboard. It was obvious from looking at the sheer drop of the mountain sides that the only way to get from one end of the lake to the other was by water. It didn't take the two Norwegian oarsmen long to cover the mile or so length of the lake.
On arriving at the head of the lake [MAP] we pulled the boat up on the beach, and then unloaded the various backpacks and helped each other strap them on. We then started to follow the two Norwegians who obviously knew the best route to take. As it was very dark and the underbrush and trees fairly dense, we were told to keep close together in single file. Initially we made fairly good progress, but in a little while we arrived at the bottom of a high and steep cliff. Nilsen indicated that we had to climb the cliff and that we must keep moving.
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Lake at L≠nningdal
We endeavoured to follow in the footsteps of the Norwegians using the same hand and foot holds that they used. We made very slow progress for what seemed like an eternity. Whenever we stopped for a breather Nilsen urged us on, saying we had not much further to go. The actual climbing wasn't too bad but the difficulty in clinging to the face of the cliff made it really tough. Every so often Nilsen or one of the others would assist one of us with our backpacks. I can recall at one time looking back down towards the lake and then looking up, but all I could see was the blackness of the night.
When we finally reached the top of the cliff we all stretched out on the grass completely exhausted. However, our time for relaxation was cut short as Nilsen said we still had a couple of miles to hike before arriving at our destination, and it was essential that we reach it before daybreak. Staggering to our feet, we again picked up our backpacks and followed our helpers, happy in the knowledge that the worst part of the night's work was behind us.
In about half an hour we caught our first glimpse of a small log cabin which was to be our home for the next week of so. To reach it we had to wade across a small stream which wound its way down the mountain. It had taken us over three hours of hard climbing to cover the approximate five miles from the farmhouse in Lønningdal to the mountain cabin. Upon arrival we were welcomed by Hans, a young, good looking Norwegian who was being sought by the Germans. He had been a member of the Bergen police department, but the Germans learned that he was very active in the underground so he had to go into hiding. When we showed up in Norway he was moved by the Milorg to the cabin to assist us.
When we finally reached the top of the cliff we all stretched out on the grass completely exhausted. However, our time for relaxation was cut short as Nilsen said we still had a couple of miles to hike before arriving at our destination, and it was essential that we reach it before daybreak. Staggering to our feet, we again picked up our backpacks and followed our helpers, happy in the knowledge that the worst part of the night's work was behind us.
In about half an hour we caught our first glimpse of a small log cabin which was to be our home for the next week of so. To reach it we had to wade across a small stream which wound its way down the mountain. It had taken us over three hours of hard climbing to cover the approximate five miles from the farmhouse in Lønningdal to the mountain cabin. Upon arrival we were welcomed by Hans, a young, good looking Norwegian who was being sought by the Germans. He had been a member of the Bergen police department, but the Germans learned that he was very active in the underground so he had to go into hiding. When we showed up in Norway he was moved by the Milorg to the cabin to assist us.
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Lake at Lonningdal; Little Canada up to the right.
Upon introducing Hans to us, Nilsen said that he would take good care of us during our stay in the mountain retreat and that we could trust him completely. He also told us that there were only two ways to get to the cabin - the difficult one which we took from Lonningdal across the lake and up the mountain, and the other one was another steep trail from the completely opposite direction. He mentioned that there were many members of the resistance who were located in areas covering the two approaches and it would therefore be unlikely that any German patrols could reach us at the cabin without being intercepted. He also said that it was essential that he and the other two Norwegians who accompanied us on our climb get back to Strono before day break in order to avoid any embarrassing complications. After saying good-bye and assuring us they would see us all again in a few days, they took off into the woods for the return hike down the mountain. After they left we emptied our backpacks which contained blankets, sleeping bags and various food items.
Before bedding down for some much needed rest, we each had a slice of bread covered by a thin coating of condensed milk. When I said that the bread tasted a bit like sawdust, Hans using sign language and the odd English word, advised that it was not made with flour but from wood. No wonder it tasted like sawdust! As some of the fellows smoked they were offered tobacco and cigarette paper to roll their own. I was thankful I didn't smoke because after the first puff they were all choking. Apparently the tobacco used was not cured and it burned their throats. The cigarettes that some of the crew members had brought with them had been used up several days earlier.
After the bedtime snack I struggled into a sleeping bag and curled up in a corner to catch forty winks. After about an hour I had a terrible dream that a German was strangling me, and I let out a scream, after which I woke up to find the rest of the fellows standing around me. I had somehow become twisted around in my sleeping bag and the claustrophobia really got to me.
After the commotion from my nightmare died down and I had switched the sleeping bag into a blanket, we all finally managed to get a couple hours of much needed rest.
Before bedding down for some much needed rest, we each had a slice of bread covered by a thin coating of condensed milk. When I said that the bread tasted a bit like sawdust, Hans using sign language and the odd English word, advised that it was not made with flour but from wood. No wonder it tasted like sawdust! As some of the fellows smoked they were offered tobacco and cigarette paper to roll their own. I was thankful I didn't smoke because after the first puff they were all choking. Apparently the tobacco used was not cured and it burned their throats. The cigarettes that some of the crew members had brought with them had been used up several days earlier.
After the bedtime snack I struggled into a sleeping bag and curled up in a corner to catch forty winks. After about an hour I had a terrible dream that a German was strangling me, and I let out a scream, after which I woke up to find the rest of the fellows standing around me. I had somehow become twisted around in my sleeping bag and the claustrophobia really got to me.
After the commotion from my nightmare died down and I had switched the sleeping bag into a blanket, we all finally managed to get a couple hours of much needed rest.