Two Adults, Two Kids, and a Bird of Prey
The first silence comes on the second lake. Not the everyday kind, but the deep, old silence that makes you stop paddling without thinking. Water smooth as glass, ferns leaning toward the surface, a bird calling somewhere across the valley. Then nothing but our own drifting. The kids had gone quiet too, one lying flat in the canoe, staring up at the sky. No one said it out loud, but we all felt it: this was the good kind of quiet.
In Between Lakes
The trip isn’t long. Two lakes, one short carry between them. About an hour from Oslo by car, and then you’re into it—dense forest, clear water, and no sounds of traffic. We parked easily, loaded the canoe, and pushed off. The first strokes felt stiff. The usual muttering about weight distribution, forgotten items. But after ten minutes, the rhythm settled. Paddle, glide. Paddle, glide.
The carry between the lakes is short but steep in places. The kids carried their own packs, light but full. We took turns with the canoe. At the second lake, we put in near a shallow bay with reeds. A trout rose nearby, leaving a quiet ring on the surface. That rod came out quickly.
A Slow Shoreline
We spent most of the day slowly tracing the shoreline. The lake is longer than it first looks, with narrow inlets, small rocky islands, and long stretches of calm water. There are several places to pull up and swim. We found one with smooth rock shelves sloping gently into the water—perfect for bare feet and careful jumps. The sun warmed the rocks. We dried off quickly.
Fishing here takes patience. The trout aren’t big, but they’re wild and beautiful. We caught one near dusk, enough to share. It cooked fast in a pan with just a bit of salt. That meal felt earned.
Evening and Camp
There are many places to camp, but not all are flat. A few clearings are open enough for tents, but most of the better spots are hammock territory—sloped ground, roots, moss. One night we found two trees the right distance apart, slightly uphill. The hammocks rocked gently as the forest dimmed around us. The kids fell asleep without asking about screens.
At night, the sounds change. Wind through the canopy. Small movements near the shoreline. Once, an owl. We kept the fire low. Just enough for light and a little warmth.
Wings Overhead
The next morning, we drifted toward a spot marked on the map—a ridge on the far side of the lake, where the trees open up to sky. It’s known for something rare: sightings of large birds of prey. We didn’t say much, just waited. And then there it was—a dark shape above the treeline, gliding low and slow. Wide wings, calm movements. We watched until it vanished.
The Way Back
Later that day, we paddled back the way we came. The carry felt shorter this time. Maybe we were stronger. Or maybe just quieter inside. Back at the car, the kids didn’t ask for music. Just leaned their heads on the windows.
We didn’t do anything spectacular. No summits, no records, no points to prove. Just two small lakes, a canoe, and time to let it all settle.
About This Route
This route is mapped.
A few copies are available for those interested.
Only a few will know where it is.
Thank you for keeping it that way.
Please keep it whispering.