The Blue Ice

'Aba't another fifteen kilometres. An' it's tough going. Yer turn sa'f at Gjeiteryggen an' climb from aba't thirteen 'undred metres, right up ter seventeen 'undred. Let's see nan.' He screwed his leathery little face up till it looked like a monkey's. 'That'll be a climb of near on fifteen 'undred feet — right up ter the Sankt Paal Glacier. Yer go right across the top of the glacier. You'll find a hut up there if yer need a bit of a rest. An' there's posts markin' the route — or should be. Take my tip an' if mist or snow comes da'n, don't lose sight o' one post before you've located the next. You're right up in the Hallingskarvet an' if yer lose yer way, well-' He shrugged his shoulders. 'Ere's compass an' map. The map ain't much good. It's one the Germans made and it ain't accurate. If mist or snow comes da'n, see you got a bearing before it closes in on you.'

I took the map and slipped it into the side pocket of my rucksack. The compass was an elementary little thing, the sort I was given to play with as a kid. I put it in my pocket. 'You stay here until I organise a relief party,' I said as I humped the rucksack on my aching shoulders.

He shook his head. 'You don't need to bother aba't me. I'll make my way back by easy stages. I don't aim ter get cut off up 'ere. It's still early enough in the year for a bit of a blizzard to blow up. Only sorry I can't come wiv yer. But it wouldn't do no good. I'd only 'old yer up.' He got to his feet and stood, rather weakly, holding on to the settle. 'Well, good luck!'

I grasped his hand. 'An' remember wot I says,' he added. 'If yer crossin' Sankt Paal, don't get a't o' sight o' one markin' post before you've located the next. An' there's a 'ut right at the top. Built by the 'otel association for the convenience of skiers. It can save yer life. It saved mine once.' His friendly, wizened face puckered into a grin. 'An' if anybody asks yer, we didn't meet no bloke off of Hval Ti, see. We ain't met nobody. Well, good luck — an' Oi'll be seein' yer da'n at Aurland.'

'Fine,' I said. 'If you can't make it, don't worry. I'll send a party up from Aurland, if you're not with Diviner by the time I get back.'

'Okay,' he said.

He came with me to the door and stood, sniffing at the moonlight and the chill glitter of the mountains, whilst I put my skis on. A thin powder of snow blew in my face. 'Wind's goin' ter get up,' he said. 'Looks like the weather's goin' ter break.' He caught my arm as I straightened up and put on my gloves. 'Mr Gansert,' he said earnestly, 'if you aim ter 'elp Olsen, yer've gotter move fast. They bin gainin' on us all evening.'

'I'll go just as fast as I can,' I said.

He nodded and grinned. I bent forward and thrust with my sticks. My skis slid forward across the fine snow and a moment later I was whistling down the slope in the tracks of the others'

skis, the wind cold on my face, Faint behind me came Sunde's shouted 'Good luck!'

Then I was alone and the only sound was the hiss of my skis and the quiet whisper of the wind brushing the snow like sand across the valley.

In places the ski tracks I was following were already half obliterated. In other places they ran deep and clean as though Farnell and Lovaas had only just passed. The down stretch to the valley floor was all too short. Soon I was climbing steadily. The path became steeper, winding in giant zigzags up the shoulder of a mountain. That climb seemed endless. I climbed until my limbs ached and became like liquid. The path went up and through a litter of boulders till all the mountain tops for miles were visible, their smooth ice caps glinting in the moonlight — so cold and remote, like pictures of the south pole.

But at last I reached what Sunde had called the Driftaskar. I paused at the top of the pass. The moon was high overhead now. The wind had risen and all about me the powdery top layer of snow was on the move, sifting across the rocks like the sand before a desert storm. The place was as desolate and white as the moon itself viewed through a telescope. I put on a windbreaker and then began to descend. There was no clear run, for the ground was strewn with rocks. But it was easier going. And after the sweaty heat of climbing, the cold night air chilled me to the bone.

Shortly after this I crossed a stream and began to climb again. After that I don't remember very much about the journey to Gjeiteryggen. I only know that the country I passed through was wild and desolate, that as dawn grew nearer it got unbearably cold, and that I was stiff and dead with tiredness. I kept on repeating Sunde's words over and over again as I trudged on through the snow — 'You goner move fast. They bin gaining on us all evening.'