Unikum 08 October nett

Everything that I am about to narrate here is true. Yes, I
could have mixed up some of the finer details, for I was
lost and disoriented when it happened, but overall, this
is a true story. Whether you believe it or not, is up to you.
My only concern is to tell you everything truthfully, so
that, you, too, may know the forces that live amongst us.
This incident took place sometime around the third week
of October, perhaps at 17:00 or 17:30 in the evening.
My mind was not at ease, filled as it was with worries
and uncertainties. I had many things to do and little
time to do them in. And yet, a restless spirit was upon
me. I found that I could not focus on any one task. So,
instead of wasting any more time, I threw on my jacket,
grabbed the backpack and headed out for a walk in the
Jegersberg forest.
This forest is just a year-long acquaintance, but it feels
like a trusted friend. There is comfort among its welltrodden
trails. A walk here never fails to silence the
chatter, remove extraneous thoughts and make me feel
at peace with the world. Not just that, I firmly believe that
if you want to be at one with Norway, you must get on
good terms with its nature. For Norway is nothing but
these forests and lakes, these rolling hills and hidden
valleys and these sheer vertical cliffs that rise straight up
from the sea, overlooking miles of fjords sparkling in the
sun. There is something jagged and raw about the nature
here, but it is never brutal and always accepting if you
give it the respect that it is due. The old gods, the trolls
and spirits still lurk in the deeper recesses of these places,
and it is only fitting that one should seek to propitiate
them when one is looking for answers. Thus, a walk in
Jegersberg is never just a walk, but a way to call forth the
blessings of the Universe.
And so it was that day. As I wound my way along
the trail that leads to the main Jegersberg lake, the
Øvre Jegersbergvann, my very heartbeats started
synchronizing with the rhythms of the forest. The smell
of wood and rain and wet earth filled my nostrils and
all around me was Jegersberg, ablaze in the reds and
oranges of late autumn. Many of the trees had shed
their leaves and their trunks gleamed a ghostly white as
bunches of wet, decomposing leaves squished underfoot.
I walked deeper and deeper into the forest.
I had a need to get lost, and so a little way off from
Vafflebua and on the trail that leads towards Gillsvannet,
I decided to veer off the known path and follow a small,
barely visible trail that led up the side of a low hill.
The forest was gloomy here. Bare, white trunks
crowded in on me from both sides as I clambered
up the steep slope. It was the magical hour
of twilight, when the sun has already set,
leaving behind some reflected light that
lights up the horizon. As I huffed and
puffed my way up, I could see the
skyline through the trees ahead
and knew that I was coming to
the crest of the hill soon. When
I got there, I found that it
was the top of a ravine. From
here, the land sloped steeply
down. Odd-looking bushes
and white tree trunks, curved
into the most fantastic shapes
grew all along this slope and
the bottom was covered in deep
shadow. On the opposite side
was an open, grass covered valley
with the treeline in the distance.
I made my way across the ravine and
as I got to the crest on the opposite side,
the residual sunlight disappeared from the sky
almost as if some giant, unseen hand had turned off
a light switch somewhere. Darkness came crashing,
and with it came a wild wind and big drops of rain.
All of this happened in an instant.
About 300 metres in front, I saw a huge ash tree
standing alone in the middle of the valley. It
was enormous, with branches spread out in every
direction and covered with dense, green leaves
even in this late season. I ran for the shelter of it’s
branches, and stood there shivering, as I waited
for the rain to abate. What I could not understand
was where this rain had come from, for there hadn’t
been a cloud in the sky when I started out, nor any
mention of it in the weather forecasts.
The forecasters must have got it spectacularly
wrong, for I have never seen a storm like this in
Kristiansand. For the first time ever in Norway, I
heard cracks of thunder that made me jump and
saw flashes of lighting tearing up the sky, lighting
up the inky curtain of blackness that smothered
everything around me. In the intervals between the
lightning bolts, I espied a faint, flickering light far
ahead. Hope grew within me- perhaps there was a
house or a village where I could find shelter from
the storm.
I started making my way there when the
thunderstorm had weakened a bit. However, as the
rain calmed down, the sound of the wind became
overpowering. It sounded like the howling of
hundreds of huskies, or perhaps wolves, and it had
a rhythm of its own – one moment the wind would
be tearing through the valley with this unearthly
sound ringing in my ears, and the very next instant
it would die down, and the sounds of howling would
grow faint – like a whisper coming from far away.
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