At last! For a couple of weeks, Southern Norway has been buried in enough snow to gladden the heart of every Norwegian (and Scot) who loves to ski off into the forest – enough snow to dull the pain of past winters with very little of the fluffy stuff. The exotic character of winter in Norway is one of the main reasons I never left the country. But the recent snowfall has brought to mind groan-out-loud memories of how I, as a full-grown Scottish man who had thrived in the inner city grime of Scotland and England, first caught the bug. The itchy fever that compels you to strap planks onto your feet, turn towards the snow-heavy trees, and abandon all things that bind you to the civilised, urban world. My musings on winter wonders are in two parts, this is Part One, and the second comes next week. 

EPISODE PHOTO

An action photo of me pushing on for the gold medal!

Ok, only kidding. This is a young enthusiast taking part in the Norwegian Championship in Cross-Country Skiing (Juniors) at Eidsvoll in 1963.

Photo: Johan Brun (Dagbladet)

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