Lofoten: Moskenes to Flakkstad, via Moskstraumen

Day 7: Moskenes to Horseidvika

Day 6 blended into day 7. At midnight, in the pub, we changed our plans with a new weather forecast update which suggested that the winds would enable paddling Moskstraumen at lunchtime rather than late at night – if we set out early. I started sorting our things as Callum finished of typing up the blog and finalising communications of our new plan. At 1 am we both climbed into our sleeping bags. All too aware that the alarm was due to go off under 5 hours later.

I grumbled awake with the alarm, on top of a sleep-mat which had once again deflated. As we took all the steps to prepare for the day (made more difficult by the tricky landing/launching space) I always had one eye on the sea. Aware that though the winds were less than previously predicted they were still there and there was still quite some swell. The packing was difficult and faff ensued trying to fill our boats to the gunnels with the newly bought supplies and full water sacks.

On top of all the other kit failures of the last 24 hours Callum’s camp shoes were sodden and falling apart, leading to him binning then just before we left Moskenes. The air was cool and breezy as we left the rocky bay at 9am: our deadline for leaving to make sure we had the currents on our side. It was good weather for drysuits as it gets sticky fast when the air is much warmer than the sea. We passed by Å in over 1 m swell, ironically we were much drier than we had been the day before.

Our moods were positive if a little nervous as we continued south west. The wind was lowering but there was still over a metre of swell. Callum commented that he wished we had more of these conditions in Trondheimsfjord. I couldn’t help but agree, as it was just fun paddling conditions. We sang sea shanties as we navigated our way along, noticing the decrease in boat traffic and decrease in habitation. The swell had the added affected of at times making our navigation easier. One of the issues of navigating by kayak is you are so low in the water. At the peak of the swell we had a little added height, meaning that spotting the island by Anstand was easy. You just need to remember where it is and what course you are heading in when in the troughs of the wave.

Cliffs and skerries continued along and then we reached Tuv earlier than we had feared we might. This was to be our last chance to land before rounding the headland, but we just rafted up for a short pause to assess the plan. Looking back, I question why we didn’t take a longer pause and eat more before we continued round. I guess we were keen to keep moving to maximise our window and I know my stomach was starting to churn.

It was not long after 1130 as we started our way round. Seventeen minutes before high tide, this would give us a four hour window where the currents wouldn’t be against us as we paddled west round the Southern most tip of Lofotoden, at the northern edge of Moskenstraumen. Four hours, four kilometres, just legendary currents to deal with on top of one and a half metre swell. And the sea was looking angry and intimidating.

Our river kayaking experience came in handy over the next section. From simple things like being confident in our brace techniques to our ability to read the current. Reading the sea is much trickier than reading the rivers as it keeps changing but many things are the same. The patch of strangely calm water with wild water around it is to be avoided. Eddy lines are wobbly and you are best to either avoid or plough straight through them. The big swell made for a challenging paddle as it interacted with the currents, rose up into crashing waves on skerries, and reflected off the cliff faces. The water was churned and we had to keep a careful eye as we could be pushed in any direction from the complicated waves. It would be interesting to see what the currents look like when the seas are otherwise calm.

I barely noticed the prevailing wind over the next section. What I did notice was the wind rushing down the mountain/ cliff side, which, if we weren’t careful would push us out to sea. Right into the maelstrom. There was just a dusting of clouds in the sky and the sun shone brightly. Even with the rippled waters I could still see Callum and his boat reflected on the sea. His bright red clothes and yellow boat helped with that. I also think these bright colours helped with our next challenge.

As we entered the channel between Rodoya and Reidtinden a small Rib boat was bearing down on us. We would have struggled to both maneuverer out of the way in time and keep a safe distance from the suck and push of the waves crashing on the rocks. Callum raised his paddled and waved. Thankfully the Rib started to go to the north of us and waved back. No need for evasive manoeuvres, radio calls or in an extreme case a white flare. The ships captain seemed happy as he passed by and the passengers stared. I’m guessing somewhat surprised to see two kayakers.

I was somewhat surprised by the amount of bird life. As we looked to Vaeroya, over the “angry sea” as Callum described it we noticed four sea eagles. They swooped and dived around us as we continued west. Callum was too busy staring at one who had swept down and grabbed a fish in front of him that he hadn’t realised he had veered straight into the path of my kayak. I swung my boat wildly round as he queried what I was doing. I was tempted to shout at him but instead perhaps somewhat icily stated that “its best to keep our eyes on where we are going when paddling Moskstraumen, Callum.”

Apart from this moment our communication over this tricky passage was excellent as we paddled Moskstraumen and the rest of the day. We kept close, but not too close. Usually within the same wave but with a few metres apart sideways. Callum would point out all the bird life as we passed by. It became a bit of a joke that I would guess that everything was a goose as he would calmly point out the shags, cormorants, puffins, terns, gannets, skuas, little auks and other things my brain mainly just categorises as birds.

We rounded the headland and the currents subsided, but the swell stayed.

Heading north we paddled by Buvagen our first possible get out. We had enough energy and getting in and out there would have been both hard work and difficult. We bobbed in the relative calm and rafted up pumped out the water of our boats. Having been so satisfied with the valley etain I was most irritated to find that with heavily laden kayaks it seems to take on water, into the cockpit. We emptied the cockpit as much as we could, ate a handful of nuts and went north up the coast.

Apart from the plentiful wildlife the land itself could have easily distracted us from the task at hand. The coast was fierce and imposing. I felt it was a wonder that anyone had travelled round here before the invention of flight. The cracks in the landscape fill with sun one moment and then were in darkness the next. There was no habitation or harbours, just the wild crags, rock strewn seas and patches of green hillside. I could see multiple areas where there had clearly been huge landslides and thought upon how big of a wave they would make. Clouds flowing between the tall craggy spikes atop the mountains was particularly spectacular.

With the swell and winds making landing and launching difficult and the buzz of energy from having made it round the Southern tip of Lofotoden we only stopped for lunch at Stokkvika. Callum having aborted his first attempt at landing on the northern side we paddled right into the small fjord to try again. Callum got tangled in his map as he jumped out between the crashing waves. I was concerned he was going to get hurt, but he quickly sorted himself out. Without twisting an ankle in the rocks or getting stuck between his kayak and the small boulders. I was careful not to surf the waves into the shore and then clambered out after him.

I made sure the boats weren’t going anywhere and lay down on a smooth rock. We had done it. There were many challenges ahead sure but we had made it past this particular one. I was relieved to note that if needed we could camp in this bay and that there was even a fresh water stream.

We ate lunch and realised that on 4 hours of sleep and a quick breakfast of porridge and a banana and later a single handful of nuts we had kayaked 25km with fully laden, heavy plastic boats through heavy seas.

Turns out that was far from the end of our day.

C takes over...

Having got a good lunch inside us, we looked at the map, and assessed our energy levels. We felt we had a good bit of paddling left in us, and the swell was fun and wind low. From where we were it was 10 km to the next possible campsite, and 15 km to the next assured one. That would make a very long paddle day – but we reckoned we had the energy for it. The most challenging part was likely to be the paddle out of this bay, negotiating the crashing waves as well as the suck and push of waves against the small islands skerrries and shallows. Beyond we just had to point our bows north and paddle in the swell.

The paddle north went very smoothly – we kept a good distance from the shore, so we did not have to worry about skerries or reflected waves – but there was still a following swell from multiple angles. The magnificent cliffs slid by, one bay at a time, each as majestic and imposing as the last. The first option for a campsite looked possible, but very exposed, so we continued towards Buneset, where we knew it would be possible to come ashore, and even hike out if necessary. As we approached Buneset, I came with an alternative suggestion - Horseidvika, 10 km further up the coast. Slightly more sheltered, somewhere we had not been yet, and looked like it would be beautiful. We hummed and ha'ed a little – it would mean it would be our longest every day by a big margin, but it would make it possible to reach the safety of Ramberg in a single day if needed. The final leg felt double the actual distance, and when we came to round the final headland we were aware that we were very tired.

Knowing that the waves were going to be challenging round the headland – as that is where the currents come most into play – we were being extra careful to keep attentive. We got round without problem, the waves were just as lumpy as expected. However round the point the waters calmed, and the final km towards the beach took quite a while, as the glorious beach came into view.

It was only a small surf wave onto the sandy shore, and it was not far to take our kit to a lovely camp spot a little higher than the beach, at the northern end. There were around 10 other tents by the beach, but it was not at all crowded. A quick noodle dinner filled our empty stomachs, before we crashed out after a long and rewarding day.

Day 8: Horseidvika rest day

After yesterday’s paddle, we were quite tired, and we had a truly idyllic camp spot. Additionally it was forecast to be a windier, so it was not hard to make the decision to take a rest day. We spent most of the morning chilling at the tent, staring over the beautiful beach.

In the afternoon we took a walk up the valley towards Reine. I got an interesting lesson on how the sandy beach due systems (psamaseres) form and erode from Amy, as the beach provided a great example of one. We were also interested to find many full large white sacks on the beach – we had heard of litter picking exercises where volunteers fill such sacks with waste (largely industrial fishing gear), ready to be collected by the authorities at a later point. All the areas we had visited had been immaculate. On Buneset beach, clearly a popular camping spot, we saw little litter, and everything we saw had clearly been carried in on the sea. Back at camp there were fewer tents – maybe 5 total at peak overnight.

Day 9: Horseidvika – Flakstad

The swell on the sea was clearly a lot less than when we had arrived as we set out to paddle the rest of Moskenesøya, however it was far from calm. The spectacular cliffy coastline continued as we enjoyed a bumpy but relaxed paddle north.

We decided to come into Kvalvika – another stunning sandy beach - for lunch. The swell was causing some interesting breaking waves onto the beach, and as I approached I had not fully decided if I was going to try to surf one in, or try to surf as little as possible. A bigger wave from behind forced a split-second decision and I chose to go for the surf. Initially I rode the wave nicely, but I did not have the best angle, and failed to correct with a rudder stroke, so I was suddenly spun into a side surf. My river experience kicked in and I instinctively leaned and braced for the wave as I got powered in towards shore. As the power ebbed, I was able to fix my course and ended up landing nicely nose-first, exhilarated by the sudden burst of adrenaline from a “well held” surf. As I was grinning away, pulling my boat onto land I turned to see Amy calmly walking in with boat in tow. Initially I though she might have jumped out early deliberately, but her wet hair gave away her swim. She had seen me get caught on the surf, and was worried that I gad gotten into trouble. Unfortunately, in her efforts to make sure I was ok, she had lost focus on her own course, and a back current had caught her off guard, and after some side surfing of her own, flipped after she got past the most powerful point of the surf.

We hauled the boats up the beach and put on our “storm cags” over all our gear (oversized stretchy raincoats bought on sale as no-one wanted xxxl jackets). As we ate, Amy started to cool down alarmingly, so we grabbed many warm layers and our storm shelter, and headed into the dunes. Once out of her wet kit, into warm clothes, with some sugary snacks, and with me into the storm shelter her temperature stabilised. It took quite a long time for her to warm up properly, and we considered just pitching up the tent where we were, however after some time we decided that we would be ok to continue.

As we were starting to walk back to our kayaks, I spotted 5 kayakers making their way into the bay. As they got closer, Amy made sure that I had my throw-line handy, as she had a funny feeling about the group. The first paddler surfed into shore beautifully, and I relaxed, assuming it was a very competent group. Moments later, however, first one then almost immediately two kayakers flipped on their way in, and looked like they needed help. I grabbed my throw-line and jogged down to the shore. The lead kayaker asked us to pull up his boat as he went to help the others, and I waded in shortly after, in case I could help. The three of us on land helped the other four – all now swimming – onto land with their kayaks.

It turned out that this was a guided trip, where the guide had suggested that they stick to sheltered waters, but the group had been keen to explore the exposed western coast. The guide joked that a guide's primary job is counting that he has all his charges in tow, and that he must have done very well, having increased the group size five to seven. We had a chat with the guide – who was very friendly – and some of the participants. The guide's company – Even Keel – offers kayaking guiding and coaching, as well as using kayaking as a form of therapy for families, ex convicts, addicts, veterans, and probably more.

We launched into the surf – Amy displaying exactly how to do it to the nervous participants (who were going to camp there), while I managed to fill my cockpit twice as I pushed my boat out (before getting in) and demonstrated how to handle it if things don’t go quite to plan ;). After paddling out for a few hundred meters, I spotted something orange floating on the water – initially I thought it was a pack of RealTurmat (dehydrated food packs) from one of their boats, but it turned out to be a cap. I turned back to shore, surfed in nicely, and handed the cap to the instructor. He was very confused at my actions until one of his participants ran over to thank me. I then got a helpful push out through some breaking surf and we headed on our way, having enjoyed encountering fellow kayakers.

We had been told by the group that the waves were very big round the headland, but the guide noted that it was just some 2m swell, with no breakers. After the last two days it felt like nothing and we were soon into flat calm waters, paddling between low islands as we approached our planned campsite in Ramberg. After landing on the white sandy beach, I went to reception to find that it was rammed – no room even for our small tent. After her sandy swim, Amy was keen for a shower, so we phoned ahead to the next campsite at Flakstad, and were told that they were busy, but if we turned up before nine (plenty of time) we would get a spot.

Though the mountains around Ramberg were arguably more spectacular, the informal and relaxed surfer's beach camp (Lofoten Beach Camp) was actually a lot more inviting than the regimented site at Ramberg. I dragged our kayaks up the beach, and we pitched up right at the edge of the dunes, and I set about making “speedy beans” as Amy went to enjoy a warm shower.

Having arrived here, we felt a great sense of achievement – the Moskenesøya leg of our paddle was complete, and we would have some rest before continuing onwards.