Over the Edge, Norway Unfolds

By Karen Samelson
Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
Sunday, November 2, 2008

Most tourists look at Norway's breathtaking fiords from cruise ships, glancing up at the cliffs on either side. For a really intimate experience, I chose to see a fiord from a cliff, staring straight down 2,000 feet into the azure water.

Standing atop Preikestolen, or Pulpit Rock, on the southwest coast of Norway on a sunny day is unforgettable.

Indeed, the rock looks like a pulpit overlooking the Lysefjord far below. Just don't expect anyone to listen to a sermon there: The congregants would be too busy oohing and ahhing at the view of what glaciers have wrought.

The pulpit is a natural plateau, about 80 feet by 80 feet, where hikers get a spectacular view of the 25-mile-long Lysefjord, the southernmost fiord in Norway that's connected to the North Sea.

Preikestolen isn't at the top of the cliff; there's a small peak behind it blocking the view to the west. But gazing up and down the fiord in other directions reveals well-worn mountains as far as the eye can see, the gray broken by dark patches of hardy trees and, on rare flat spots, by light-green meadows. It's too far south to see glaciers here.

Some visitors who aren't afraid of heights lie on their stomachs and look straight down to the saltwater below. (This is Norway; there are no safety railings.) I eventually got up the nerve, and I didn't even lose my glasses.

Only near the top of Preikestolen itself do hikers need to worry about falling into an abyss, so people who are afraid of heights could probably handle the hike itself and appreciate the view from a safe spot.

The two-hour hike up isn't overly difficult, but it does take stamina and sturdy footwear. You don't have to be a Norwegian or a mountain goat, but that would help, because some sections of the trail require climbing rock steps or picking your way through boulders.

Adventurous visitors have been climbing to the top (from inland, not straight up from the water) for about 100 years. Now it's one of the more popular hikes in southern Norway, drawing more than 90,000 people a year.

It's an easy day trip from Stavanger, an oil center on the west coast. I didn't know anything about the area when I visited my friend Joyce Conrow, who recently had taken a job there. Stavanger has lovely old white wooden houses, a harbor with a fish market and -- what else? -- an oil museum.

The trek to Preikestolen is a great way to get a good look at a fiord in the offseason, when I couldn't find any fiord cruises in the area. And it's a lot less crowded then.

I hiked on a Wednesday in late September and saw roughly 20 people on the pulpit. Joyce estimated there had been at least 100 at lunchtime when she visited on an August Sunday. At times, she said, she had to wait for people passing through narrow, rocky spots.

In summer, a bus runs to the Preikestolen trail head from Tau, the town where the ferry from Stavanger docks. I arrived a few weeks after that bus had stopped running. Joyce had to work, so I borrowed her minivan and gingerly navigated my way through Stavanger's roundabouts to the ferry, where my vehicle was squeezed in like the sardines in the canning museum I'd visited the day before. From Tau, it's about a half-hour drive to the trail head.

It cost $10 for parking and $40 roundtrip for the ferry, but the view was worth it.

For hikers who have time to linger in the area, there's a lodge that's part of Norway's hut system. But that, too, was closed to the public for the season. (Preikestolen and its related trails are on land owned by the Stavanger hiking association.)

From the lodge, the trail rises about 1,000 feet as it winds for about two miles through trees, a marsh and lots of rocky outcroppings.

For short stretches, the path seemed almost like a slate floor. But more often I had to watch my feet as I picked my way over the rocks. One particularly steep section involved clambering from boulder to boulder.

That strenuous climb took me to a saddle, where I was rewarded with a small glimpse of the upper reaches of the Lysefjord.

Preikestolen is a popular place for Norwegians to show off to their adventurous visitors, I discovered.

An engineer from Azerbaijan named Elchin struck up a conversation with me. He was doing oil work in Stavanger for a few months, but his group couldn't get out on an oil rig at that point, so their Norwegian job trainer took advantage of the good weather to take them exploring.

He wondered about my hiking alone, but I assured him I was okay. Earlier, I'd visited the Stavanger hiking association, where a helpful woman reassured me that going solo wouldn't be a problem.

His trainer kindly offered to snap a picture of me at a little lake, and I returned the favor later.

We stood in wonderment when we reached the pulpit, where we could see the azure fiord stretching out for miles.

The cameras came out again in an attempt to capture the grandness of it all: "A vantage point unrivaled anywhere else in the world," states the Lonely Planet Norway guide.

The oil workers even shared Norwegian chocolate from their rucksacks. The peak behind shielded us from the wind, though once I stopped moving, I had to put my jacket and hat back on.

Other hikers were having lunch there, too: mostly Norwegians, but a German family was picnicking, and I passed two Americans on the way down.

Eventually, after I'd taken pictures from every conceivable angle and soaked in the blue sky (welcome after several days of cold rain), I headed down.

There are two routes down, and I took the "hill route," the path less traveled. In fact, I was the only one on that trail.

After getting a good view of Pulpit Rock from above and noticing that it isn't quite flat, I followed cairns and painted trail markers across a long rock slab.

At one point I couldn't find the next blaze and wondered if I'd have to retrace my steps, but I eventually located the red mark and descended into a grove of trees with ferns before rejoining the main path near the little lake.

Going down is much easier, but it still takes some effort to find the best way through the rocks. Crossing the flat wooden boardwalk over a marsh, flanked by tufts of pink heather, was a welcome respite.

Eventually, the lodge came into sight, the first sign of civilization in hours. By the end my knees were tired and I was sweaty, but I knew I could say that even though it was the offseason, I had experienced Norway. Especially after I celebrated with a fish dinner and a shot of the natives' eye-popping aquavit.