Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park: The Land of the Giants

The remnants of winter still commanded the high peaks of Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park, as though unwilling to be dislodged from the high ground. As days slowly grew longer, the surrounding land began to stir.

Jagged, snow-capped mountains stretched before my visual horizon, their sharp edges cutting a familiar silhouette into the grey sky. Far below, the valleys had begun to reveal seasonal change – pockets of green renewal breaking through and a gradual surrender to warmer days ahead. The land stood at a crossroads, caught in its timeless cycle of renewal and retreat.

I arrived in Jotunheimen full of excitement and much anticipation. In Norse mythology, this is Jotunheim – an ancient land of myth, and the untamed realm of giants. Towering peaks, icy winds, distant dark lakes. A realm still both evocative and strangely beautiful.

Here, the fearless Jotnar giants made their home – not just brutes but beings of strength and wisdom, bound by fate to the Nordic gods. The mighty Thor often crashed through these lands, his hammer striking down those who opposed him.

Viewing this wild and rugged terrain, I could see how ancient Nordic people could imagine such a place as remote and unforgiving, but truly a fit place for the home of marauding giants.

This rugged wilderness promised adventure, solitude, and raw beauty. As I set out, I saw winter’s steady retreat in real time. Green expanding patches had emerged, revealing small clusters of delicate purple wildflowers appearing where the snow had receded from view.

Frozen lakes along my trekking path cracked and groaned, while beginning to let go of the packed ice. While still crisp, the clear air carried the pleasant scent of damp earth and new growth.

The trail led me along a valley’s edge, where the melting snow fed rushing streams. Some proved easy to cross, just a few quick steps over exposed large rocks. Others proved somewhat more demanding and required extra care.

I soon reached another fast-moving river and watched as chunks of ice tumbled in a quick procession further downstream. The sounds of rushing waters and the tumbling of broken ice evoked a feeling of harmony and connection with my immediate surroundings.

Making good progress, I soon encountered another breathtaking view as I climbed steadily up onto the next ridge. More distant deep valleys appeared, interspersed with bright light occasionally dancing on the flowing streams and scattered lakes. The dark, majestic mountains in the far distance provided an interesting contrast to the expanding vista below.

As I progressed toward higher elevation, the snow thickened, blanketing much of the trail. I donned another pullover, zipped up my wind-resistant jacket, and pressed on. Sometimes, my foot sank below the softer surface, revealing hard rock beneath. In places, the snow cover stretched for miles, and the wind was a constant lonely companion. 

Further along the way, I encountered a fellow hiker. This Norwegian man, who turned out to be in his sixties, moved with the ease of someone who knew these mountains well. He soon shared his valuable experience of the surrounding terrain.

“The weather changes fast here,” he warned. “Don’t trust the clear skies.” He soon proved to be right. Within an hour, the sky darkened, and thick mist rolled in, swallowing the peaks. The temperature dropped, and the wind grew louder through the passes. I pulled my hood tight and pushed on, knowing that in these mountains, weather patterns, particularly during transitioning seasons, can be rapid and unexpected on any trails.

After reaching the next ridgeline, my concerted effort made it all worthwhile. As if already predestined, the darkened clouds parted, revealing another breathtaking view with snow-dappled peaks above and deep valleys below.

The juxtaposition captured my attention. I found a dry perch on the side of the ridge, pulled out my thermos, and savored the last of my hot coffee while immersed in the whispering silence. Time stood still.

Descending into the lower valleys, the transformation of the terrain appeared even more stark in contrast. Where the snow had melted, I could see abundant new growth as though it was waiting to finally be released from winter’s grip. Streams had carved fresh paths through the land, their waters gleaming in the late afternoon light.

I could see a few birds in the distance, a harbinger of an early summer. I passed an abandoned cabin, its wooden walls weathered and worn. I wondered about the lives once sheltered there.

As the daylight became shorter and the sky grew darker and overcast, I turned around and headed back to my lodge and a welcome hot dinner being prepared for me and other guests. Fortunately, I had made local arrangements with Jotunheimen Travel, which completed all the necessary arrangements encountered in my remote adventure, allowing me to focus on my discovery of Jotunheimen National Park.

As I approached my destination, my body felt pleasantly tired but satisfied. The air was refreshing and clear. As I trekked toward the welcoming warm lodge and an evening of lively company, I felt a deep appreciation for this in-between season – this moment caught between winter’s grip and summer’s soon-to-come embrace.

I made a mental note just before reaching my comfortable destination to return when summer is in the valleys and life is renewed and transformed in this land of the giants.

For more information, contact Jotunheimen Travel.

The author received complimentary travel for this article, but as always, we are dedicated to providing honest assessments of our experiences.