Living Wild - Norway #2 ENGLISH

"It's not about surviving in nature. It's more about living with nature. It's not about fighting the wild and being happy to have survived after coming back to civilization. It's more about being wild, being part of nature and to feel comfortable, safe and home there."

These, or similar words, were what attracted us to a summer course at a wilderness school in Norway. The words had a clear echo effect on us. The echo of our inner call to move to the far north.

The pictures on the homepage made us even more excited. There were people pictured whose equipment was all made of natural materials. From clothes to backpacks to tools like knives and axes, everything was made of wood, stone and leather. The people in the photos moved through breathtaking landscapes and even blurred in it. They gathered berries and hunted elk. In us awoke the desire to participate in this two and a half month course, the so-called "Summer - Immersion", to come closer to our dream; living in harmony with nature.

For some time now, we have been preoccupied with the question, how do we really want to live? In which way do we want to celebrate our being in this world? In fact, we have a very clear answer to this question: In symbiosis with nature.

We don't want to be a part of the ruling destruction machine that man is running, but rather a part of the natural system with all its cycles.

But less clear for us is how exactly we want to live this vision. In our most romantic fantasies we see a yurt village beside a river, surrounded by wild forest. The community in this village lives simply, in contact with the Earth and the seasons. The people there are happy, because they are fulfilled and connected to themselves, each other and the world.

But to what extent is this merely a romantic image, perhaps shaped by primal instincts and dreamy due to lack of experience? To what extent do we want to use modern technologies, or in which areas can we again do completely without them? Do we even want to? Can we even do that? Are we not far too influenced by civilization and its weird abundance?

Nowhere do we feel more at home than in a healthy nature. The wilder, the better. But it is a strange dichotomy. It is our home, but we do not know how to live there. It's as if we were wild animals, but which grew up in a zoo all their lives and had their food thrown in front of their snouts every day. Animals that still have instincts, but lack the ability and experience to really live outside again. Add to that, of course, the fact that we just find our comfort zone incredibly comfortable.

Over the last winter, a number of interesting knowledge books, as well as novels, have shown us how briefly humans have actually lived the way they do today. I'm not talking about the time of digitalization. I'm not even talking about the time since the steam engine was invented or the time since the birth of Christ. I am talking about the fact that man has been a hunter-gatherer for 95% of his existence. The past 12,000 years, since man built civilizations make only 5% of our existence on this earth. At least that's what these books say.

In any case, it seems to make sense to us to hear that man by nature is therefore actually much more like an animal between many animals part of the entire ecosystem. The world, the systems, which man created by his striving for progress in the last millennia, is not only harmful for the ecosystems, but also for himself. We live completely disconnected from our true nature. Our civilization lacks not only animal and plant justice, but also human justice. We lack that which makes us truly alive. This is, among other things, the skin contact of our bare feet with the earth. Another basic need of our natural being, however, is to belong to a tribe. Because basically we are pack animals (members of a soccer club may have this need more satisfied).

Since the description of the course also communicated the desire to develop a tribal feeling and, if necessary, to continue living together in this tribe over the winter, there was nothing else left that was holding us back. Too many of our wishes and questions seemed to be fulfilled there. So we drove straight across Denmark, took the ferry from Hirtshals to Norway, drove another five hours north and finally reached the town Rena. Our first impression of the Norwegian landscape: wonderful! Vast forests, wild streams and rivers, lots of silence and clear air. But on closer inspection it was obvious that the forests we had seen so far were all managed coniferous forest. Spruces and pines, straight grown, all about the same thickness.

Fortunately, we were on our way to a wilderness course, from which we promised ourselves to dive really deep into wild landscapes. As we drove from Rena to the course location, the landscape hardly changed. At least the asphalt road suddenly stopped and we continued on a red gravel road. "It's about to get really wild," we thought to ourselves. "Okay, not yet, but soon!" , "Alright , then behind the next bend!" But when we arrived at the course site parking lot, it was right next to a clear cut. In fact, we soon learned that probably only 3% of Norway's forests can still be called pristine. Yes, also Sweden and Finland would consist mainly of managed forest areas. In fact, such cleared areas should soon be part of the general forest picture for us as well. After all, the base camp was in the middle of the forest, but the landscape was not really wild. Nevertheless, it must be mentioned here, the forest definitely had its charm. Like probably everywhere in Norway. Because, compared to most spruce forest in Germany, there were still few large machines that compacted the ground coming through here. Yes, it was a recently managed monoculture, but a beautiful one, because the ground was covered with various mosses, lichens and blueberry bushes.

However, soon we were sitting around the campfire, in a circle of twelve people, including Elouan and a 6 year old child with his father. Two weeks later, the child's mother and 11 year old brother were to join them. It was pleasant to know a second family in the course.

So we sat together around the fire, dinner was simmering in the kettle, and we passed the talking stick around. We introduced ourselves to each other and were excited about the time ahead of us. So this was the group we were going to spend the next two months with. This will be our Tribe, we thought. We felt very comfortable and welcomed at the beginning. And we were looking forward to an exciting, educational and nature-filled time. You can probably already imagine that everything turned out a bit different than we imagined.

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In short; it was above all an extremely stressful time, and that despite the lack of adventures. It was a time that, although living and sleeping outside throughout, felt unusually disconnected from nature for us. The course was structured completely different as we thought it would be: There was frontal teaching at its best: From 9 o'clock in the morning to 7 o'clock in the evening there was a program, in between a short break of one and a half hours, in which we could just about cook, gulp down lunch and change diapers. In the communal camp there was a big black and white clock, so that the times were present for everyone. The program itself consisted of very exciting topics and we certainly learned a lot; spinning threads from natural materials, making fishing lines and nets for fishing, carving tools from bones and making clothes from leather. Only, unfortunately, we would have had to bring our own leather for this, which we didn' know. However, this was not the only reason why we could not really participate productively in this tight program. The main reason was the obvious fact that we had a one year old child with us, who didn't want to lie and have a nap next to us all day long, but wanted more and more the joy of discovering the world. And then, of course, there were constantly cloth diapers to wash in the stream. We had actually inquired beforehand whether the course was family-friendly, but this was obviously misjudged. For us it was pure stress. There was hardly any time for a relaxing walk through the forest, or a moment of silence by the babbling creek. Unless one decided to skip the lessons. Which we eventually did every day, of necessity, but in good health.

I was surprised to realize that although you can cook over the fire, hold your stone knife in hand and dressed in your self-tanned leather, you don't have to be connected to nature at all. In order to truly connect with nature, we civilized people must first of slow down, in order to experience our own rhythm as well as that of nature again. We can feel than that there is no boundary between nature out there and that within ourselves. But this kind of connection with nature was not foreseen in this wilderness course. In fact, the class consisted exclusively of so-called "hard skills." This is the term used in the wilderness community to describe practical, tangible skills. Which for a real life in the wilderness of course have its survival importance. Opposite the "hard skills" there are the "soft skills", which designate all the skills and techniques with which one connects with nature on the mental and spiritual level.

Somehow everything in this course was a bit messed up and included a huge stress.

A big reason for the huge difference between the pictures on the homepage and the reality is the fact that the director of the wilderness school has taught mainly in Montana, in the USA. She has lived and taught there for about 30 years, but since she has never been a citizen, she has now had her residence permit revoked. That's because the green card requires a corona vaccination. And that again was a no-go for this wild woman. All the chaos, difficulties and inconsistencies of the course were somehow understandable. Everything here was new to the teacher. Instead of 30 different trees, there were 6. Instead of pure wilderness, there were managed forest and clear cuts. She could hunt in the States without any problems, in Norway there are much stricter laws. In her previous home, she knew immensely many edible plants and their roots. Until now, she always had assistants in the course. But here everything was new for her. This story made us understand a bit more why everything was so different from what we had imagined.

Nevertheless, somehow w didn't manage to grow as a group and to have a unique nature-based experience together. Some of the participants worked late into the nights to finish their projects and were accordingly completely overtired during the day. This is truly not how we imagined a Stone Age life. It was kind of sad to realize that the madness of civilization continued here as well.

By the way, we didn't feel like a tribe at all. Everyone was much too busy with their own projects. We with Elouan, the second family with their fighting boys and the others with their stone age equipment. Yes, we had imagined this course quite differently; there were pictures of enchanted, wild landscapes, of people lying arm in arm around the fire and feeling connected to each other and to the world. However, it hardly felt different from "normal" society. Everyone does their own thing, no one has time to really be there for each other and the families especially feel this loneliness.

Again and again we asked for a circle in which we can meet each other authentically and really get to know each other. But not much of this was realized. In one of the few circles we did get together, Lou burst into tears and I was filled with frustration; We shared our pain about feeling so alone in our society as a young family, and that it was not natural to raise a child as a couple; that it needed a tribe, a solid collective that could face life together.

We realized that such a tribe cannot be created overnight. You probably have to spend a few years, naturally growing together, before you can take care of the children together. (in the meantime we have also experienced other things, but that's how we felt at that time).

But how is that supposed to work in today's individuality? How, when everyone is so stressed by their lives that not only parents, but also childless people are craving for time off and breaks?

At some point we asked ourselves why we were paying so much money for so much stress, and on top of that we couldn't even really participate in class.

After three weeks we finally decided to quit the course. It just felt pointless and grueling.

However, a conversation with the course instructor changed everything again. Because we were to spend the next two weeks on a beautiful, huge and wild lake. And there was a group project: building a canoe, only from natural materials. On top of that there was this offer: we only had to pay for one person, with consideration that as parents we both could not participate 100%. We were very thankful and could not refuse such a generous offer.

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And indeed; the lake was beautiful and the forest interspersed with bogs looked a lot wilder. There were even really wild animals, which attacked us again and again. Their bites were damn painful and they were numerous. Their man-sized burrows told us whose territory this was: forest ants! As aggressively as they defended their territory, they were harmless compared to the so-called "knotts". A type of sandfly, which supposedly spit corrosive acid on our skin to suck it up. I had to think of a saying of the Maoris from New Zealand: "God created New Zealand as a paradise, and the sand flies, so that people didn't stay too long in it."

Oh yes! The lake was an idyllic paradise. We had set up camp in a small cove adorned with water lilies. It would have been good to stay there forever. But the millions of knotts turned paradise into hell. When they were there no one could sit down for a moment, nor even stand still. There seemed to be only three solutions: Rushing wildly through the forest, or out onto the lake, or sitting down in the plume of smoke from the fire. At least, if one did not want to sit all day in his sleeping place under the mosquito net. Whereas a normal mosquito net did not protect from these miniature insects. The size of a pin, they simply slip through the meshes. Fortunately, we had researched beforehand and bought a special mosquito net for Scandinavian countries. This one had a much tighter mesh. But since the knots were omnipresent once they were out, all it took was one careless moment of having the net open for half a moment too long, and you had a whole swarm inside the net. This happened not only once; sleepless nights, full of burning bites (or spit?), were the result. Over time, an equanimity grew that no meditation retreat could have brought us closer to. Our greatest teacher and master in this: our little son Elouan. His whole body looked completely bruised, but he did not complain for a single moment. Although he kept wiping the bugs off his face, which was covered with moles, he remained completely relaxed, happy and cheerful. In comparison, you could constantly hear the curses and screams of the adults. Gradually, however, we all learned from Elouan: take a deep breath and just keep going.

Fortunately, the knotts were active especially in the beginning, but with the more and more sunny days they also withdrew more and more, so that at some point we could just lie relaxed and naked at the lake. Since Lou and I have made it our top priority to be relaxed, there were actually such moments now and then.

A small hike with a magical encounter has remained particularly in my memory; instead of, as usual along the lake, I chose this time the way inland. First along the moor, I climbed at some point over the densely wooded hilltop. On the other side, the forest became thinner and thinner, individual lichen-covered rocks painted the green landscape with gray spots. The day was really summery warm, in the sky hung only isolated, sleepy clouds. And when I finally stepped into a large clearing I saw it: a beauty such as I rarely saw; gently nestled in the boggy moss, wild and yet soft. So she lay before me, as if painted in the summer light, waiting for me, calling me to her. Drawn into her spell, I undressed, barely averting my eyes from her. Cautiously I stepped closer. Under my bare feet the moss, was spongy soft and damp. Following a moose trail, I avoided the treacherous depths, in which the danger threatened to sink in. Carefully I stepped closer and closer and finally stood in front of her. Reflected myself in her calm deep black water. It was almost as if she was almost virginal, as if my immersion was a rare, if not never experienced event. Reverently she let me glide in her. Slowly I swam through the quiet expanse of the lake, enjoying the icy cold that surrounded me and the warming feelings that awoke in me. And grinned at the equally looming fear that a sea monster might emerge from the depths of the dark water. When I pulled myself back to the shore I stood still for a moment full of gratitude. I looked at the sparkle of the sunlight on the smooth surface of the lake and the picturesque landscape that surrounded me. I could hardly believe my luck. Then I stepped away, put on my clothes again and returned to the camp; carrying a lake and its clearing in my heart.

But not only this jewel, also the big lake where we had our camp, remains in my most beautiful memory. What peace such a vast expanse of water can radiate when floating in a tiny canoe in the middle of the lake. Pondering the wonders of life, the vastness of the sky and the depth of the water. We had especially picturesque moments during the evening hours, when the sun was very low on the horizon and painted the clouds with the most beautiful pink. This was the time of fishing. Armed with fishing rods, we sat in canoes in our little bay and pulled one perch after another out of the water. The fish were not particularly big, but they were numerous. So we had at least a little bit the feeling to feed us not only from the supermarket. While we paddled in the evening on the lake, or sat around the fire and told each other anecdotes and jokes, a tight program prevailed during the day. Because it should be built a canoe. The Dutch boat builder, who came especially for these two weeks, was quite surprised to hear that only one week was planned for the boat. Actually, he said, it would take three weeks. In short, the group decided to put days off and individual projects on the back burner. Nevertheless: happy children, enough sleep and food were our top priorities.

So we eagerly began to cut dead spruce trees. With hand saws and hatchets we gradually formed boards, battens and the hull. We connected these with wooden pegs and skin string. After about two weeks we had actually made a beautiful boat skeleton, which consisted only of local spruce and skin cords. This was now sheathed with raw elk skins, which were put together with a special sewing technique to make them waterproof. A perch head and a tail fin were carved at the ends of the keel. This is how the boat got its name: "Perch".

And indeed, the "Perch" mastered its maiden voyage excellently. During this time we almost completely forgot about the chaos of the world outside. The peace and silence of the lake, as well as the forest were our world. Sometimes, when the wind was quiet, it was almost too quiet. Late in the evening there were those moments when we lay awake in our sleeping bags and listened to the silence. No birds, no waves, no insect buzzing. Endless expanse of nothingness. But... was there actually not something to hear? Wasn't there, when we lay there very still and listened very carefully, a quiet murmur penetrated very vaguely into our ear? Was it a highway? The roar and clatter of speeding cars? Yes, indeed, we both heard it. But was it really real? On the map, there was a more heavily traveled road only many kilometers away. Actually too far. Or did our hearing gain such sensitivity in this silence that we perceived even the tiniest sound transmission? Or were we cheated by our hearing, which is accustomed to continuous sounds and noise? We did not find a definitive answer. But we decided, in order to let the pure idyll pure, to blame our confused subconscious for it.

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Unfortunately, after two weeks we had to go back to the hustle and bustle of civilization. The Knotts were not able to drive us out of paradise. Our lack of ability to really feed ourselves from nature, however, did. Despite the countless blueberries that were ripening in the meantime, as well as a few fish, paradise was not giving us enough. Or we didn't know how to get it. In these latitudes we would have been dependent on hunting. However, this would have been completely illegal and our hunting skills would probably not have been sufficient for survival. So we ran out of provisions and headed back to civilization. The supermarket was definately a culture shock. And somehow it felt wrong to throw plastic-wrapped food from all over the world into a shopping cart. Still, some gourmet treats were particularly coveted: peanut butter and creme fraiche were probably bought empty.

After a short period of acclimatization, the course continued at the base camp. Felting was now on the agenda. Something that we surprisingly enjoyed a lot. We felted boots and Lou did a skirt. It was now much easier to participate in the program with Elouan. In the past few weeks he has made immense progress in his development. He was able to stand on his own, was much more alert and communicative, and probably as a result became a more desirable playmate for the bigger boys. So we grew together a bit more, albeit to a tiny extent, into a tribe.

After the felting week, the course was actually not yet over. But for us, and for the other family, it was enough. It was not the most stressful moment when we stepped out, but it was a good one. Because for the last two and a half weeks an expedition was planned just above the North Polar Circle. With canoes, among others the "Perch", the adventure should take place for the most part on the water. Actually, I would love to participate in such an expedition. However, not with a small child. From the experience of the past weeks I could say "no" to the expedition quite relaxed. Especially since we would have had to drive hundreds of kilometers. Our small budget also thanked us for deciding against the trip to the even higher north.

One by one, the others, divided into four cars, set off on their adventure in the far north. At first we just stayed in the parking lot. Next to the Clearcut, which seemed so ugly to us at the beginning and which we got used to in the meantime. Where to go next? We did not know. First take a break. First relax. Reflect. A frustration was clearly noticeable. A frustration that the course we had given so much to be able to participate in was not at all what we had wanted. A frustration that we had again failed to simply relax. But somehow there was also a scent of peace in this frustration. There were also great moments, unique moments, and despite all the stress, we learned some things and made some progress in our quest.

We don't have clear answers to our questions. But some of them may be hard to answer, too. How do we want to live? To what extent do we want to use modern technology, or in what areas can we go back to being completely without it? Do we even want to? I couldn't share this report with you like that at all. Can we do that at all? Aren't we far too influenced by civilization and its weird abundance?

Because even if the modern way of life of mankind is only 5% of his total existence, it has already changed so much, we have tamed ourselves so much in the meantime, that we apparently can't just become hunters and gatherers again from one day to another. Especially since the rich hunting grounds no longer exist. Real wilderness only exists in the most extreme zones. We have changed not only ourselves, but also the world around us to such an extent that we cannot return to an original self overnight. But we can at least remember our roots, recognize our true self and step by step make nature and ourselves wild again. Because everything is good as long as you are wild ;)