(Photo submitted by the author)
January 29, 2025
By Kjell-Harald Myrseth
There is a splash in the water, followed by the rattling sound of fifty meters of chain rushing out. The echo sings into the autumn-colored mountain sides resplendent in red heather and yellow leaves. Then, there is silence in the deserted fjord. The only thing that can be heard is the sound of sacks and guns being loaded into the dinghy. Now it’s time for hunting.
Furthest North & East (Photo submitted by the author) It is the month of September. The hunt for small game has just begun. Early in the morning there is frost in the grass after the night’s freezing temperatures, but with blue sky and a scorching sun, the temperature creeps right up into the 20s (Celsius). It’s almost too hot. But knowing the long and dark winter is coming, every hot ray of sunshine shall be enjoyed to the fullest. There will be enough days of freezing temperatures and cold fingers later. After all, I’ll be sailing and hunting until the arrival of spring aboard my beloved sailboat Snyspurven.
I have visitors: Vemund and Paul—two fit and adventurous friends. Together we have sailed from Kirkenes to Skogerøya, close to the Russian border, where we will enjoy ourselves for the next week. We move ashore in the somewhat overcrowded dinghy and establish a camp close to dry firewood and fresh water flowing in a nearby stream.
Then we venture into the scattered birch forest in search of speckled and tawny grouse. After a short time, I hear rapid wingbeats from a thicket nearby. Now, in early autumn, most grouse are still together in the summer litter, so if you find one there are usually more of them nearby. Some steps closer and seven grouse flutter off. The stock is squeezed to the cheekbone, and the bead finds a couple of birds far to the left. Two shots ring out as a pair of grouses fall to the ground.
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The Wild Coast of Finnmark The Snyspurven finds shelter from stormy seas, anchoring deep in a fjord to escape the gale force winds. Additional ropes to shore held her in place. (Photo submitted by the author) After a wonderful week of good conversations over delicious meals of fresh grouse, my friends depart and my journey continues north and west. The weather is strange. I round the barren Varanger Peninsula in a gale, buffeted by huge waves. The next day is spent in mainland Norway’s northernmost bay with calm winds and not a ripple on the water. The deserted beach in Kinnar-Sandfjorden, as the bay is called, can almost be taken for an idyllic Caribbean beach—if you ignore the temperature and the barren landscape.
In Honningsvåg, I pick up Elisabeth, a bubbly girl who is going to join the hunt and island hop aboard the Snyspurven. We set course for Norway’s most northerly lighthouse, Fruholmen, before heading south into a well- protected cove north of Ingøya. We drop the anchor on a light sandy bottom with a good holding. Several of the islands in the north of Norway, including Troms and Finnmark, have large numbers of hares due to good forage and no predators such as fox, marten, wolverine and lynx. It is perhaps not a surprise that it is the bunnies we now are going to hunt.
Full Payout (Photo submitted by the author) The dinghy is launched early in the morning, while the fog clouds hang far down the mountainside, enveloping Snyspurven. I put four cartridges in my pocket and throw the pack on my back. The trail goes straight up the hill towards a small stone pile that tempts me a lot. The hare is a nocturnal game animal. It lies all day and rests on its day bed, which is typically between stones, under rocks and in crevices, or in dense bushes. It sits there and hides, and if you want to kill it, you must scare it out first.
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The hunting strategy is to seek out as many potential resting places as possible and systematically go from place to place. You kick stones and stomp hard on the ground when you are within firing range. When hare run, it almost always heads upwards. It has its great strength in its back legs, and few other animals manage to keep up. If there are two of you, then you should walk along the hills off to the side of each other. The top one always positions himself where you expect the hare to come running if the lowest hunter chases him away.
A quick shot brings the game to hand. (Photo submitted by the author) We arrive at the stone pile and start working our way through. Our gaze wanders to all sides, while each step must be taken with caution. The hare is silent and can easily run away behind your back. Then suddenly, a bunny runs out, jumping up the hill. The shotgun is lifted, and the bead follows the game until a shot shatters the silence. After a few kicks, the hare lies still. After gutted, the trophy is then tied firmly to the back of the bag. In total, we kill eleven hares this day. The catch is hung along the boat’s rib to age, except for one that will be served as this evening’s dinner.
In Stormy Fjords Stalking grouse and hare by sailboat allows the author to escape the crowds and find quiet comfort, even in the rolling sea. (Photo submitted by the author) We continue on to Seiland, Norway’s seventh largest island harboring Norway’s most inaccessible national park.
On the VHF, we listen as a southerly gale is reported in half a day’s time, so we will have to choose a natural harbor with care. We enter a deep fjord on the northwest side of Seiland, which cuts south between peaks as sharp as the teeth of a wild animal. In here, we lay down as close to land as possible, in the deep channel outside a river outlet. We row the anchor even further towards shore, where it is shallower, stretching five long ropes to some boulders on land. In here, we avoid all waves. The moraine edges plunge steeply providing a bit of shelter for the wind. We predict that the gale will follow the valley that runs from the high mountain plateau, and hit right in the bow of the boat.
Then comes the predicted weather, only much stronger than what was reported. With our own anemometer, we measure average winds of up to 50 knots per second, and over 70 in the gusts. That is, full storm. The boat twists and turns while the wind howls in the rigging. Fearing that some of the ropes or cross-holts will break, we get up once an hour to overlook everything. Here we note the wind strength and direction, as well as any wear and tear that occurs. The angle of the boat is adjusted regularly, and during the day we struggle ashore with the dinghy to check on the moorings there. After two and a half days of stormy weather, we can finally enjoy “normal” conditions again. And then of course, we are out hunting.
The Arrival of Snow We enter a deep fjord on the northwest side of Seiland, which cuts south between peaks as sharp as the teeth of a wild animal. (Photo submitted by the author) In mid-October, the snow is here to stay. The days of bare deck and soft ropes are over. Snow shovelling and frozen joints are the new everyday life. You quickly get used to the fact that it is not worth waiting when it comes to getting rid of the freshly fallen flakes. Wet or trampled snow quickly turns to ice, and knots turn into a single frozen lump. Alternative mooring knots are therefore excluded from being replaced with half hitches, regardless of what you moor to.
The trip continues in tough conditions across the Loppa Sea, and south to Lyngen and the islands in the north of Troms. Here Frida—an old friend—is picked up. After a tour looking for grouse in gales and snow showers on the mainland, we travel to Vannøya. Snow-covered and spectacular peaks surround us, while a cold breeze fills the sails from the port side. We find a harbour in Kristoffervalen on the west of the island, and head up the slope with backpacks and guns.
(Photo submitted by the author) Now that the snow has arrived, different tactics apply. Instead of going from rock to rock, it is now necessary to find the freshest tracks. It is easier said than done, because during the hours of the night, the hare has been both high and low in search of food. After a bit of back and forth, I find a fairly fresh track from the early morning hours, which purposefully jumps past thickets and good pastures. A typical track of a hare on the “home run.”
Often the hare makes a few detours in different directions in order to shake off any followers. But if you see through these dead ends, the track is often a sure sign the hare’s resting place is close by. And that’s exactly how it is when I see that the tracks stop—a huge jump has been made to the side and into a bush. The bunny is hiding here. I shout. The hare runs, then falls quickly as I pull the trigger a second later.
Rolvsøya (Photo submitted by the author) The east wind sweeps over the sea and meets the heavy swells from the west with white wave tops. In the middle of the sea spray, Snyspurven cuts its way out of a wave and we catch sight of bare land in front of us. It is Rolvsøya with its weathered plains and windswept mountains. Me and my hunting buddy Lasse are in the sea north of Hammerfest, in the windy month of March. We have spent the last few days hunting seals, but unsettled weather and lots of waves have made landing impossible. So even though we found seals, we have now chosen to go for other small game instead.
(Photo submitted by the author) The conditions are a bit nasty when the swells and the wind go their separate ways. The wave height is three metres, but often there are some giants of well over five. The course is set to the east of Rolvsøya, but when the wind increases to a gale and turns directly opposite, we have to seek emergency harbour on the west side in Tufjord instead. Here, the harbor is crammed full of fishing boats, all looking for the newly arrived skrei, a cod of the Barents Sea. We therefore have to make do with a shallow place inside of the municipal harbour. It looks deep at high tide, but at low tide we only have a few centimeters of clearance to the bottom.
Rolvsøya is windy, but weatherproof. The hunting trip is set up in the mountains where black rocks are everywhere. I’m lucky to catch a nice hare in the steep slopes, but it’s not long before we’re forced back down by the wind. In addition, the mountainside is so covered in ice that it is dangerous to walk in many places. Rather, we continue hunting in the lowlands where the hare has a frequent tendency to use anything that can serve as shelter and hiding place. Trees and bushes are not growing here in barren land. They hide under dilapidated houses and old barns, often several together. Here we stomp hard on the ancient stairs and knock on the crumbling walls as the hares run out one by one.
End of Season (Photo submitted by the author) The date reads the 15th of March, the last day of hunting in the north, and I look back on a fantastic autumn and winter. The yield has been good with a fair catch and a lot of meat on the table. Along with the fish in the sea, a significant part of this year’s dinners has been taken by me and my friends. It is not possible to have better food on board a boat.
I am originally a mountaineer, hunter and dog musher. It is completely natural for me to use the boat as a hunting cabin. Deserted islands and wild fjords have suddenly become available to me. For someone who highly values hunting the wilderness, I couldn’t wish for a better way of getting around and a place to live. Now that spring and summer are ahead, it is time to put the hunting gear away. But after the long months of autumn and winter that have just passed, I feel lucky to have my very own moveable hunting cabin with sails. Long live the Snyspurven.