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A few notes on the coldest day
A few notes on the coldest day
Oppdal, 6th of January 2025
We’ve been hibernating, struggling to get out of bed. Outside, the cold is relentless. Inside, the diesel heater struggles to keep us warm even at maximum power. At night, when the heater isn’t running, condensation freezes above our heads in the tiny sleeping nook. Accidentally wiping the wet overhead with the duvet - which is barely avoidable - results in a cold and crusty layer that is hard to ignore.
Everything is frozen. Our water supply. The tea I had kept in my thermos. All the food in the fridge, which we had put there to keep it warm. Even my deodorant. The pack of milk on the table has become a solid block of ice. Much worse, the diesel in the tank has turned into slush puppy, leaving the engine unwilling to start. We're stuck.
Thankfully, the city of Oppdal is just a short walk away, so we walk into town and take refuge in a café, waiting for the temperature to rise enough to thaw the diesel. By 4 p.m., one of Ben’s friends helps jumpstart the Bobil and we're mobile again. The plan was to go ice climbing today, but honestly I'm unsure whether to be happy or sad that we couldn't go: the cold is just so utterly exhausting.
Bobil life looks romantic from afar, but remember: the Northern lights always look greener on the photos...
Lacking a photo of the actual situation: this was hanging from my bikini.
Indoor icicles
Indoor icicles
For a fleeting moment, we thought it was warm. We’d just returned from a few glorious hours of sauna and bathing (pure bliss). My bikini was drying on the bed ladder, the heater humming in the background. “Ha! It’s getting warmer!” we said, triumphant. But then I glanced at the bikini, now adorned with tiny icicles, formed in the ten minutes it had been hanging there. I guess -5°C inside feels positively tropical when it’s -20°C outside.
A little bit of frostnip
A little bit of frostnip
What more is there to complain about? Well, I haven’t felt the toes on my right foot for days. The tops of my pinky fingers have also turned numb then purple on a few occasions. A lack of blisters led me to believe that frostbite would be too severe a diagnosis but alas: I seem to have acquired a mild version of it. Secretly I feel tough and almost proud about it, but consciously I know it’s actually a product of my stupidity. Clearly I was underprepared for the hard conditions of ice climbing in industrial freezer temperatures.
I’m writing this on the coldest day of my two-week stay, and I’ll admit: it hasn’t been my favourite. The freezing temperatures are what make ice climbing possible, but living in a campervan to chase that magic? It’s harsh.
Thankfully though, this was the only day the Bobil refused to cooperate, and the diesel heater couldn't keep up. On all other days, Bobil life was actually very pleasant and comfortable!
I'll spare you the photo of the discoloration of my actual pinky fingers, but there are plenty of gross photos online if you're curious
The hardest climbing of the trip!
Fiiiiiine, we'll do some climbing
Fiiiiiine, we'll do some climbing
"Do you want to do something hard or something easy?" my friend asks, and I make the mistake of asking what he thinks we should do. And so we climb the hard line.
Hard for me, anyway, especially as a beginner. For my friend, the challenge isn’t the climbing itself but the lack of solid spots to place ice screws. After a few icy cold nights, the ice is brittle and breaks easily.
When it's my turn to climb, I feel a bit lazy and sluggish from a few days of doing nothing. I struggle to find my focus and my axe placements are sloppy. I don’t take the time to find comfortable positions to remove ice screws, so my arms burn out quickly. Every movement feels harder than it should, but somehow, I claw my way to the top. Standing there, I’m happy we ventured out today and did a bit of climbing before we take on the Kongsvollfossen tomorrow!
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