What is it all about?
Two brave Frostpunk fans - Lars Andreas Melsæter and John William Baier Hofoss - set off on an expedition through the frozen nooks of Norway. This is a story of their journey.
---- Telegraph from New London ------------
Imperial Exploration Company is pleased to share the news about the final stages of our Scouts' expedition to Norway.
Administration of New London bows to the achievements of our Scouts!
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Days 64 to 70
Lost and found, a string of unfortunate events has me distraught over lost necessities.
"It was April. More than two months after the arrival at the far eastern port of Vardø. It is warm here, at the cabin in Breidalen, or the wide valley, a bit too warm in fact. A sharp sun peaks between the bouts of snow, and Gøril breathes heavily from under the table. The sun had been hard at work with the temperature at 8 degrees. Yet there was hope that as the sun dips below the horizon, the temperature could fall by 10 to 15 degrees. It may be possible to move at night.
On the night of the third day in Kautokeino, at 1:45, we set off for the second time, covering 100 meters before giving up. To reach higher altitudes and colder temperatures in this landscape I would have to trek well over 20 kilometers... Yet another day came and went, and we tried again. This time the snow had frozen harder, and we practically flew through the twilight of the polar spring night. But what followed would prove to be one of the most will-shattering weeks of our journey. On the first morning, after the first night of walking, I sat down and lit a fire upon a small hill, a long rest was needed for I had grown weary. As we were almost ready to set off again, the beams used to span up the tent went missing. Turning around and walking back the way we had come we found them 13 km away. After having been on the move for over 60 days, never losing a single item of importance, on three following days I was dropping something along the way. After the tent beams, our fishing line said goodbye, and the next day a large bag of dog food. The latter case would have boded badly for Mikey and Gøril had the local reindeer herders not found the bag by chance and kindly brought it to us."
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Days 70 to 86
A warning saves us from the storm.
"Some time ago I lost faith in the weather forecast I received from the satellite communication service. My father often watched the local forecasts and sent me a message - “storm coming, find shelter”. The storm was forecast with wind speeds exceeding 63 knots (118 km/h), and an arctic hurricane was moving in. I have since seen footage from others in the area displaying broken tents and hasted in-field repairs. But it didn't get me overly worried, as long as things were going to plan, and I was moving up the valley. And though I was cursing the difficult terrain, making sure to do so in a silly voice to avoid scaring Gøril, the weather was still kind and manageable, and I believed I had good chances to cross before the storm set in. On top of the valley, we found a few cabins huddled together. It was clear those who built were trying to be prepared for what might come. From each corner of every structure came out a rough metal wire fastened at an angle to thick steel bolts in turn drilled into the rock below. I had not stayed long, and yet not prepared supper before the winds began howling. Outside projectiles of wet snow and ice hurl themselves toward the walls at almost 30 m/s.
Ever since we arrived, Gøril has been delegated to the hallway, that is, the only other room in this tiny dog-permitting hut. The door into the main room has been open all day and at times the dog has been standing in the doorway, scratching gently at an invisible door, and with her most endearing eyes alternating between me and the floor. Gøril was most certainly not raised in a manor, but she has the same intelligent, thinking, awake gaze that I have seen in a few other dogs. Behind those eyes, you can make out more than simply food, and attention. In other words, Gøril did understand that she is not allowed into the main room. Today the structure has been growling and shaking so ominously that even I with my self-controlled, muted soul felt the shadow of doubt lurk in my bone marrow. Gøril, on the other hand, has been the embodiment of peace. In short, she really deserved to be let in…
Unfortunately, that dark, elegant, overgrown ball of wool has lost her appetite, much to my worry. Significant amounts of the olive oil meant for me have gone in the dog bowl to ensure that the little she eats is rich in calories. Otherwise, she shows no signs of being ill, luckily, and confusingly."
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Days 87 to 103
Digging out a buried cabin.
"Sometime later we were on the move again. I had just become acutely frustrated by the wind as I noticed black shapes coming in and out of view not far ahead, a little too square to be rocks. Whatever they were I would stop there and lay a plan to find the hut I was seeking. Not long after, one of the shapes turned out to be a chimney, and I was delighted to think I would soon be inside resting my bones in the heat of the fire. When we arrived, however, and Gøril without further effort simply stepped up onto the roof, it dawned on me that my work was far from finished.
The small hut, known as Måskan, was entirely snowed in. Only the chimney and roof were visible above the deep, featureless, and unchanging snow stretching in all directions. I had been there before and knew where the door was. I secured Gøril and my equipment, and dug, almost straight down towards the wall. Even so, it took me a good 90 minutes to excavate a shaft roughly 2 meters deep and wide enough for me to squeeze inside. To ensure the doors are watertight and solid it is not uncommon to mount its hinges to open outwards. Which brings great annoyance for individuals such as myself.
Stepping inside gave a surreal, but cosy sensation. Only a pale blue light came in through the dancing patterns of snow on the buried windows. Apart from this, the two benches, a table, a tiny shelf, and the black iron wood stove in the corner seemed to perfectly mind their own business as if they were not in fact in a cave needing to be slithered into. I noted the location of the ventilation lid and headed out to dig it forth so we should not asphyxiate in our sleep. Coming to my entrance shaft, however, I was reminded of a central concept of snow: wind moves it. Now the corners of my shaft had already visibly begun filling… and the door opened. I improvised a trapdoor using two of my sleeping mats and the bottom of my sled, which proved most adequate. Soon smoke rose from the chimney.
After day 91, winter started to end. The snow started disappearing in an instant, uncovering more and more asphalt rubs. I started to feel a sense of coming back home, especially in Ibestad, when, invited by people that I've met, I lodged at the old priest's farm. That time served as a moment of contentment on my journey's final evenings."
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THE END
Take care,
11 bit studios
