APRIL 11, 2020 – (Cont.) Göran edged his way down to a point where the ledge swung to the right, narrowed to nearly nothing, then bent left around the mountainside, out of sight a few feet before turning right again, coming back into view. I saw him clutch a small, rock formation at the bend, as he swung his feet around the corner. He then disappeared.
Hearing no scream, I assumed he’d successfully negotiated the turn, and seconds later, my guess was confirmed. Göran then turned—slowly—to call out encouragement. With heart fully in throat, I edged my way to the bend. Sheer terror then struck. In climbing jargon, I felt “rim-rocked”—no way down, no way up. My life and the people closest to me flashed through my mind. Deep sadness triggered anger. Having survived thus far in my travels—and some pretty wild adventures, too!—how in the hell had I gotten myself into this fix?!
I grabbed hold of the same rock formation Göran had used to anchor himself as he’d swung his feet around the same corner. With jaw clamped, I ordered my legs, feet, and sturdy hiking boots to launch and land. They did exactly as told. Once past this harrowing turn, I dared look ahead to the next challenge—smooth, slippery rock. Göran tested it, then like a mountain goat, stepped quickly, securely to the more promising footing beyond it. I gave the order: “Legs! Feet! Boots! Do your thing! The rest of me is depending on you!”
After a few more tense minutes, we had descended into more negotiable terrain. Another quarter hour carried us to level ground thick with knee-high blueberry bushes loaded with ripe berries. The drizzle turned to a soft rain. Relieved beyond expression, I leaned back and let myself fall onto this cushion of nature’s bounty. Never have I experienced such a delicious rain. I lay there until the sun squeezed through a break in the clouds and splashed over the whole big blueberry patch.
By the time I’d collected my thoughts and returned to my feet, Göran was already feasting on blueberries. I picked a few and popped them into my mouth. Each was a whole treat by itself. Soon I was scooping them up by the handful, then two handfuls at once. Before long, I’d eaten more blueberries than I’d consumed cumulatively in all my life before. Meanwhile, a rainbow arched over Svolvær below.
Now gray from a 1,000 adventures since, I recall–with my daily breakfast serving of blueberries–that day when I did not fall from the sky but landed in blueberry heaven awash in sweet rain, then bathed in sunshine.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
