CAMERONIAN NORWEGIAN EXPEDITION, MARCH-APRIL 1965

Lt. J Murray, Leader (H.Q.) Coy, 2/Lt. R. Mason, A/Leader (B Coy), Sjt. A. Donaldson, Ski Instructor (D Coy). Sjt A. McDonald, - Mountaineer/Photographer, Cpl McLaughlan, Rfn McGuire, Rfn. Gillan (A Coy), Rfn Cairns, Rfn Hamilton (B Coy), Rfn Kane, Rfn Barrie, Rfn McDowall (D Coy), Cpl Fox, Rfn Cryans, Rfn Reid (Pipes and Drums), Rfn Green, Rfn Morrison, Rfn Boyle, Rfn Houston (H.Q. Coy).

"Oh to be in England, now that Spring is here" — no thought could have been further from the minds of our little band, looking- very professional in bright-red anoraks, with bergen rucksacks and ice-axes on our backs, as we boarded the S.S. Leda at Newcastle on 23rd March on the first stage of our expedition to Norway. This expedition was by way of a follow-up to an extremely successful one carried out by 1st Bn. The Cameronians (Scottish Rifles) in February of last year and we were determined to out-do the previous party in every way possible. The expedition was to be a culmination of the Battalion's skiing and survival training and was to be the adventure training highlight of the year. It's purpose was to instruct the soldiers in the finer points of Arctic survival; to learn how to move, fully equipped, distances of up to 20 miles per day across high mountain country, frozen lakes and glaciers; how to adapt themselves to this rugged type of country, even in the severest Arctic conditions and to live out, feed and keep warm in a sub-zero climate.

The theme of the trip was based upon one of Captain Scott's training expeditions prior to his famous Antarctic venture of 1912, and what setting more fitting than the actual area used by Scott, the Hardanger Glacier, high in the mountains of Western Norway.

The administrative problems of such a trip were indeed numerous but once the financial O.K. had been received from Scottish Command. Major Walton, who in fact devised the whole project, was quickly in touch with friends in the Norwegian Army and the Norwegian Tourist Board, and things began to take shape. Meanwhile, the 16 chosen for the expedition were sweating it out on the Cairngorm Mountains endeavouring to achieve the standard of fitness and endurability required for such a hazardous and demanding venture. At last the great day came, the final details had been arranged and off we set feeling very fit, slightly apprehensive but determined to successfully carry out the task we had been set.

We travelled by train to Newcastle, by ship from there to Bergen and the final stage of our journey on the Bcrgen-Oslo train into the mountains; and at last some 36 hours after leaving Newcastle, we stepped out of the train at the little station of Finse lying at the foot of the Hardangcr Vidda.

"Forbidding" is the only word I can think of to describe the scene. The air was bitingly cold, 20° below zero; the wind sweeping along the platform seemed to bite through us completely and the driven snow cut visibility down to about 10 yards. Before we had time to feel depressed, Major Walton, who had travelled across from his exchange visit to Sweden, was beside us, closely followed by a tracked vehicle of the Sno-cat species and literally within minutes we were tucking into enormous helpings of Norwegian stew washed down by scalding coffee in the Norwegian Tourist Hut which lies adjacent to Finse station. After supper an introduction to our Norwegian guide Bert Halversen, an enormous man of 6 ft. 6 in., secretary of the Norwegian Trekkund Association, and a person of vast experience in mountain skiing and survival, then off to bed.

The next morning the sun blazed down and the whole scene appeared transformed. The frozen lake on which the hut stood formed a saucer surrounded on all sides by spectacular mountains and opposite the hut towered the huge Hardanger Vidda (or glacier) a large flat sea of ice some 8 miles in diameter with its glinting blue ice-rivers tumbling down to the valley floor. The lake itself was 4000 ft. above sea level and surrounding mountains rose to a height of some 6-7000 ft.

In spite of the strong sun the temperature was well below zero and we soon had our skis on in an attempt to keep warm. With a dramatic flurry our guide came shooting along the valley accompanied by 5 enormous, friendly Greenland sleigh- pulling Huskies who were to prove invaluable in the transport of our heavier equipment. A quick run across to the monument which had been erected in the valley to the memory of Captain Scott and his party; was followed by a rather gruelling slog up to the glacier itself; Major Walton's idea of testing the condition of the party. Thus we spent our day getting accustomed to Langlauf skiing in high mountain conditions, and trying to teach our lungs how to breathe in the rather rarefied atmosphere. At 2 a.m. the following day Major Walton had to leave us for Edinburgh and duty and leaving us in the hands of our guide who was indeed a hard taskmaster.

The next day saw us pushing off on what he termed a short training run; this proved to be a fifty-mile trek right round the glacier and down to the lower country to the South-East. The weather, though cold, was extremely bright and there were no complaints. At the end of this first trek we all felt extremely pleased with our efforts and, I'm afraid to say, tended to boast just a little.

Pride goeth before a fall, however, and as foretold by Bert our guide the following day, the weather broke with a vengeance; a blizzard with a gale behind appeared from nowhere and our pace got slower and slower. Visibility was almost nil and the greatest caution had to be observed in choosing a path. In the absence of sun it was impossible to distinguish between a 3 foot drop or a 300 foot drop because of the even whiteness of the 7 foot deep snow and the lack of shadow. Eventually however we stumbled upon one of the huts, built by the Norwegian Tourist Association in remote areas for the very purpose of survival, where we were able to hole up for 2 days until the gale abated.

Our next stages over the following four days proved fairly straightforward and the weather having improved, we were once more able to spend our nights in snow holes. These proved much more comfortable than first expected and were of a simple construction being merely a hole dug into the side of a deep snow drift, with skis on the ground as a floor and a large block of frozen snow as a door. No problem at all when the temperature is 28°C.

And so we- come to the final day's trek, a long uphill climb of 20 miles and then a swift downhill run over to Finse. We had finished. Since originally setting off we had covered a distance of some 140 miles fully independent and our party was complete. We had followed Scott's footsteps across the top of the glacier, pitted with crevasses some 3 feet, some 300 feet deep. We had crossed frozen lakes and sped down frozen rivers: we had been burned by the fierce sun, almost blinded by its glare; we had also been attacked by intense gales and had to plough our way through blinding blizzards. We had accepted everything that this rugged country had to offer and yet we had won through. We had completed the task we had set out to do and left feeling rather proud of this achievement.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful and having taken a rather sad farewell of our guide, Bert Halversen, we boarded the train for Bergen and home. A quick look round that famous old Hanseatic Port which seemed to combine all that is best in the old and the new, and we were once more steaming slowly down Bergen Fjord to the plaintive note of the bagpipes played by Rfn Cryans, the piper in our party; everyone feeling rather sad but each making a secret promise to return soon to that fascinating country of challenge, Norway.

Source: 'The Covenanter' published by The Regimental Trustees