Day 3

The slow journey by Hurtigrute had been a splendidly relaxing way to start the holiday. But now I was champing at the bit, frustrated by seeing so much beautiful scenery and yet being able to do nothing other than watch it go by. I resolved to take advantage of the unending evening to get some proper cycling done before bed.

I left Svolvær heading east - the "wrong" way since my ultimate destination on the islands lay to the west, but I had plenty of time and was keen to explore the northern end of Austvagøya as well. The weather was still idyllic. No wind, a clear blue sky with the sun still shining warmly, albeit that it was now quite low and golden in colour away to the northwest. The road heads first to the east, following the coast before turning north to trace the shores of the deep Austnesfjorden which, with its partner in the north, almost splits the island in two. I was at first dismayed by the traffic density, as car after car sped past me in the opposite direction. However, oddly it soon fell quite quiet and it wasn't until the second column of 20 or thirty vehicles came past about half an hour later that it dawned on me that this was how they were coming off the car ferry at Fiskebøl, 20 miles to the north. I was relieved, and celebrated a quiet spell with a deeply refreshing swim in the fjord by the side of the road! Eventually even this intermittent traffic fell away and for the last hour or so until midnight I followed a deserted road northward, the most incredibly huge, rocky and jagged mountains climbing skyward out of the sea in the low evening sunshine. Eventually I stopped, impetuously, on a headland overlooking the northern fjord only a couple of miles from Fiskebøl. It was a beautiful situation if not perhaps the wisest of choices - the midges were onto me as soon as I'd got the panniers open. I hastily laid out the bivvy bag and dived in, praying that the mosquito netting at the entrance would keep out unwelcome intruders - which thankfully it did.

The following morning was idyllic, even if (or perhaps because) it started rather unreasonably early. My camping spot had indeed been chosen on looks alone, for by 6am the sun was shining full on it and it was becoming uncomfortably hot. I packed up and cycled away, the air still, the sun shining from a deep blue sky and the glassy fjord to my right reflecting the high rocky peaks on its far side, still cleft by blue shadows.

I soon turned off the main road at Fiskebøl and took a minor road heading west along the northern coast of the island. This was in fact more minor than the map suggested - it clearly had once been surfaced, but now was little more than a gravel track. The sun was warm, but the air still cool as I found when the road took me along the dark, shady side of a fjord. The sunlit snowy peaks on the far side were reflected in the blue water, but ahead of me everything was monochrome and the air rushing past my face had a chill freshness about it.

I stopped where the road ran across a causeway, cutting across the entrance of a shallow fjord. It was about 9am and, although I'd had a bite to eat on getting up, here on the white sandy beach I made a second breakfast. I tucked into my porridge and sipped my coffee while admiring the incredible views. In many ways the mountains were similar to the best of the Alps, but coming down to sea where the valley floor should be. Sea which not only provided, when as still as this morning, two mountains for the price of one but also served for a thoroughly refreshing swim after breakfast!

I cycled on, and for the rest of the morning followed the road round the northern end of the island, turning south to head back in a large circle and meet the main road that I'd come along the night before. It continued a tranquil route, with no more than half a dozen or so other vehicles per hour. I lunched at the junction with the main road, snoozing for a couple of hours while the tide ebbed from the beach in front of me. Then it was on along the now familiar route to Svolvær, where I stopped to buy more film(!), some postcards and a few extra provisions.

I was not hugely impressed with Svolvær, which was not a particularly pretty town, and which couldn't even manage any especially stylish postcards. I cycled on, following the main "E10" west towards Henningsvær. This was, by comparison with earlier, rather a dull section. The road ran through a wide valley, so the mountains were more distant, and the road itself was busy, with a near constant roar of traffic. The only excitement was provided by a kilometre long tunnel through the end of the valley. It was only partly lit, and the dark sections, even with some rather feeble standby bicycle lights, were very dark!

Once through the tunnel it was a coast downhill to the turning to Henningsvær, but this road too, while scenically more exciting, was also busy. Henningsvær itself is quite pretty, its brightly painted wooden houses lining the sides of the long, narrow harbour. But by now I was feeling generally discontented, and it was getting quite late. I diagnosed hunger and tiredness, and withdrew a little way down the road to a sheltered spot by the sea to see to the former. While the paella was bubbling, I totted up distances on the map and felt that the latter was well justified too - my early start was some 55 miles behind me. After dinner I quickly found a pleasant spot between the road and the sea, and turned in - well content with my first full day on the islands and hoping that the weather might stand a chance of lasting.