landscapes

The Muskoxen disappointment /  by Arne Bischoff

Snøhetta (2.286 m ASL) in all its snow-covered glory. The commanding summit of the area and one of the most beautiful.

It’s now one year ago that I fulfilled myself a dream I harbored for some years. I went to Dovrefjell to hike and photograph the only muskoxen (Ovibos moschatus) this side of the Atlantic or Arctic Ocean - in beautiful autumnal colours. Or so I thpught. Other than the year before, Covid did not interfere (read the 2020 story “No Muskoxen in Gränslandet” here) and off I went north.

You may have read here before that I am into trekking and long-distance hiking. This time I wanted to check the area close to the E6, the primary street between Oslo and Trondheim, first with only small gear, find or not find the muskoxen and then decide whether to stay in one place or make a hike through the area. My basecamp for the first few days that I planned to roam both sides of the street would be my car until I knew where to stay longer.

From utter joy to frustration and rage in just some hours time

A part of “my herd” resting.

All went to plan - or nothing. I found a herd with eleven animals after only six hours of hiking. It was breathtaking, awe-inspiring, pure happiness. I cried. I called my love at home to share my joy. It has been a rough year, but now I felt so fortunate. I was so fortunate. Me in my happy place.

The herd was about a kilometre away. I decided not to go much closer than 600 metres. Then I watched those stunning animals. I just sat and watched and waited for them to come closer. I did not want to disturb them. Only watch the herd and its behaviour in its natural environment. I did get a few half decent pictures. The autumnal colours were nothing short of phenomenal. But photography was not my focus. Watching, observing, absorbing the moment. I had plenty of time. I would come back tomorrow and stay longer. But first, I had to go back to the car. I did not dear to dream to find the herd so soon, so I had no sleeping gear with me.

Back I went. Only a few hours later, I stumbled into another herd. Well, not really. I saw it from a vantage point around 60 vertical metres above and around a kilometre away. It was still a little light. Plenty light for the binoculars. I could resume my path in the dark. I just wanted to watch the herd eat and then go to sleep. And then, I saw them. Two photographers quickly approaching the herd. Carrying their big white lenses like guns pointing straight at the poor animals.

One of the largest animals in the herd. My favourite image of the trip.

How on earth can you be so ignorant?!

The two photographers went closer and closer. 200 metres, 100, 50, 30, maybe even closer. Then, standing upright, pointing their tools down, they started photographing. Moving into the herd. I was concerned for their safety, but I felt so sorry for the animals, too. The herds behaviour clearly changed in the process. First, it stopped feeding. Then, it withdrew a bit. The animals moved closer together. Then, they formed its defensive formation. Nothing stopped the photographers.

When you enter the region, every few hundred metres you stumble over a signpost. Musk oxen. Be aware. Don’t get too close. Leave them space. Don’t get closer than 200 or 300 metres. Let the animals come to you. Common sense, you should guess. Not for those two. I was wondering if they were plain ignorant or compelled to the prospect of five minutes glory - back on Instagram. Everyone wants to show off stunning muskoxen imagery on Instagram. Me, too. I could not dismiss this thought.

Would I really want to be part of this?

A rest day, a thought day

I had no clue that muskoxen where such skilled climbers. But they are goats, aren’t they!

Next day, a storm rolled in. It was already freezing when I came, now it was raining cats and dogs, lightning and thunder. I decided to wait this storm out. It should only be a day and I found a nice campsite (Magalupe camping. Highly recommended!). I called my love again and we shared our thoughts. I really did not want to be part of this. But the very moment I would post my images, I would be. We settled on a reassuring wait and see. At least I wanted to visit “my herd” again. It was much more remote and far down into the area. Maybe this was a singular experience.

The weather forecast was fine. So I visited “my herd” again. I took the same approach. I positioned myself so that when the herd would come down the valley, it would have the chance to approach me or avoid me at own will. It did not approach me. I took some environmental shots, made lunch and waited.

Two hours later, a guide lead a group of four to the spot. They did alright, left the muskoxen be, pitched there tents, talking audibly, buzzing for excitement. A Friday. Weekend with the finest of fall weather to come. I decided to leave. I did not want to stay here with ten or 20 other photographers like in a zoo. A friend of mine has a mountain hut some hours drive away. Her and her family were there for the weekend. We wanted to do a hike together anyways. We could as well do it over there.

Like life in a zoo

On my way back to the car, I saw seven tents already pitched. Maybe they weren’t photographers at all, just regular locals or tourists like myself looking after some friluftsliv. Perfectly fine, but not for me. Not this time. I had all this preconceptions. Out alone in the wild. Like it has been so often in Norway or Sweden. But the muskoxen are superstars. They attract visitors from near and far. This part of the Dovrefjell national park is definitely not your typical bit of Scandinavian escapism.

I met the guide I had seen earlier. A very friendly, heart-warming, responsible guy. We had a good chat over a cup of coffee from our thermos. He would bring another group in later this evening, he said, and another three groups tomorrow. The autumnal season peak. Everyone wanted to see or photograph the stunning animals from primeval times now. I do not begrudge him his job. He has to make a living there. In another place and another time, I might have even dreamed of this job myself. At least he would instruct all other visitors to be responsible. All good. But I could not help, but feel like I was in a zoo.

A symphony in blue, red and cream. Bog blueberries (Vaccinium uliginosum) and lichen. Fall - the raddest of all!

Epilogue

I did not share the story of this trip or its images publicly prior to today. It did not feel right. It did not feel in line with my nature photography ethos. Maybe I am self-righteous. I am part of the problem, too. Travelling thousands of kilometres for my dream images. Sharing it all over the world. Encouraging others to do the same. Well, I am not a world famous photographer. The number of people, who read my blog or follow me on social media is small. But still. On the other hand, I did well. I did not approach or disturb the animals. No image is worth that. I let the animals decide whether to accept me or not. They did not. I took some images I hold dear. Today I share it. But I learned a lesson, too. To value each image more. And not to visit hotspots at rush hour. Be content with the roe deer in my backyard rather than chasing a dream that thousands of others chase, too. And maybe come back in winter. With a pulk. When it’s cold and harsh. When you have to earn your images.

All turned out well. I got to know a part of this beautiful land that I did not know before. But this is another story.

Thankyou N for all your support not only during this trip and being with me.

°

Looking backwards: Winter /  by Arne Bischoff

It is spring - full swing. Everyone in the animal realm is courting, mating, building, nesting, breeding or already having its offspring. Although in the local Harz mountain range, there is still snow and the night temperatures in Northern Germany remain around freezing temperature, there is no doubt: nature is starting up. For me, this is the time to finally look back to a winter, when I have been out quite a lot.

Whooper swans hibernating in Northern Germany. Mid-winter it looked a lot like their Scandinavian breeding grounds.

Cold and snowy: A surprise winter in Northern Germany

Usually winter in Northern Germany is a dull affair. Grey and with a lot of rain. This year has been different. Especially January and February brought really low temperatures and a lot of snow. My hometown of Goettingen recorded over 30 cm of snow and temperatures as low as -28° C. This is a once-every-30-years-occasion. The local mountain range had more snow, while even the lowlands received its fair share of the white stuff. And while a lot of humans enjoyed the pleasures of winter, nature struggled. Especially smaller birds and birds of prey died in some numbers. The local kingfisher-population nearly entirely collapsed. Surprisingly the white storks, geese or cranes that hibernated here, fared pretty well. With four weeks, the cold was not long enough to seriously harm it.

I mainly have been around at three different places or regions this winter.
My hometown of Goettingen, the local Harz mountains and the southernmost parts of Lueneburg heath.

The latter is famous for a lot of different Scandinavian birds such as all sorts of geese, swans or cranes hibernating there. But all three places had one thing in common. Due to the really low temperatures, nearly every pond or lake was frozen - so all water related birds resorted to the rivers, where they found some open water.

1. Images from the lowlands

Especially on the Aller river, you could find hundreds of ducks, geese or swans. One day, a young roe deer surprised me big time. A cross-country skier disturbed it on the farther bank of the river. The roe deer dashed off, into the river, navigated its way through the drifting ice and climbed the near bank. The water was around freezing and the air way below -10° C. The roe deer looked pretty miserable, but it simply shook the water off and strolled to the safety of the near forest. Wow - what hardships those animals can endure. The unusual conditions provided plenty of opportunities to watch Whooper and Tundra swans which are not too often even in Northern Germany.

2. Images from the (Harz) mountains

Winter and lots of snow aren’t too unusual in Northern Germanys highest (and pretty much only) mountain range. In the middle of the mountains sits the protected National Park, which is a sanctuary for a lot of wildlife, such as Red deer, Eurasian lynx or the wildcat. Deep valleys, dense forests and small rivers make the most part of the range.

3. Images from my hometown

Depsite its relatively small size, my hometown Goettingen has been on the national news quite often this winter. Over the course of two weeks in February, it has been the coldest place ih whole Germany, with temperatures constantly below -20° C and snow heights over 30 centimeters. For Northern Germany, this is highly unusual. Every body of standing water was frozen and even the slower running rivers. Only the swifter flowing waters remained open, even if there outer waters were frozen, too. No kingfisher remained in the area, they either died or fled. A lot of buzzards died as well as the few remaining redstarts. But life and death are oft pretty close in nature. Thousands of finches flocked the remaining patches of sunflower or hemp and attracted Sparrowhawks and even a Merlin. The population of Grey partridge fared surprisingly well, too and cuddled together into large groups of ten or more birds that withstand not only the cold, but all the skiers, who literally rode “cross-country”. Only the White-throated dipper remained entirely unimpressed of all the cold and white. It continued hunting larvae in the icy-cold waters of the swifter rivers and rivulets.

No Muskoxen in Gränslandet /  by Arne Bischoff

A lonely tree between fjäll and forest

Ten days solo-trekking in Swedish/Norwegian gränslandet.

Beautiful autumnal colours above the Storån

Due to the global Covid-19 pandemic I had to change my plans for my outdoor- and wilderness-holidays. I originally planned to go to Norwegian Dovrefjell and photograph Muskoxen during their rutting season and enjoy the gorgeous autumnal colours. I wanted to meet my close friend and best tour companion Linn up there. But Norway imposed a mandatory ten-days quarantine for travellers from Germany. That foiled all my plans. Norwegian Femundsmarka has always been my plan b for this fall and with this equally impossible, I had to quickly find an alternative. It turned out to be Gränslandet and it turned out to be solo hiking, because my friend wasn’t allowed to go to Sweden without undergoing a quarantine back home in Norway, too.

On the edge of Töfsingdalen national park

Getting there

As the name suggests, Swedish Gränslandet is a wilderness on both sides of the Norwegian/Swedish border with scraggy mountains, deep forests, endless bogs and the wild and pathless Töfsingdalen national park quite in the middle. It is a little lesser known than Norwegian Femundsmarka some kilometres further west, but they are literally two sides of the same coin.
And thus, it went. I made the 1,500-kilometre travel exclusively by car due to the pandemic and used only the Scandlines ferry from Puttgarden to Rødby in the process, spending the entire 45 minutes alone on deck. With every kilometre further north, my anticipation rose. Both fall and bird winter-migration was in full swing.

Being where I love to be - the Scandinavian fjell

I started my hike in the little mountain town of Grövelsjön. The first day saw me crossing typical scraggy fjell-terrain before I descended into what seems typical for the region. I went along river Storån which forms a lot of lesser lakes. It is all very wet, boggy, wild. The paths are not easy to walk at all, typical Scandinavian fjell with roots, puddles, boulders all over the place. The colours have been nothing short of breath-taking. From the deep green fir trees over bright and dark yellow, vibrant oranges to really dark reds. I quickly crossed into the pathless Töfsingdalen national park before I returned to follow river Storån. There are some really cosy shelters along the way, but I relied on my tent for the first few days. Then something happened that I had not foreseen. I fell in love.

Falling in love with a hut

I came across a very beautiful little hut. It was as if it was calling me to stay. I felt an urgent desire to follow its call and it did not disappoint me. My friend Linn, who has been obliged to stay at home booked it for me and send me the PIN for the key-safe (a typical Scandinavian thing). For two days I did little but enjoying coffee, watching the vast numbers of migrating Ring ouzels and the ever-present and very talkative Whooper swans. One unforgettable moment I saw six Ravens playing together in the air. And I saw my first ever specimen of Siberian jay and Northern hawk-owl. But I pretty much fell in love with the whoopers. Did you know that they not only dabble, but feast on blueberries? I want to have such a hut. Being there fed my escapism big-time. Unfortunately, there is no such thing as those little mountain-huts here in Germany.

Sunset at the border of Töfsingdalen national park

The swift running river Hågåån

Jottuslättan and Hågåån

When I continued my journey, I headed for the region of Juttuslätten. Very few people ever come here – this was what everyone said before and that sounded very promising. Unfortunately, I never made it there. I found a very beautiful little path to Ytre Hågåsjön. Maybe this was the best day of my journey. I found bear-tracks and a herd wild reindeer accompanied me for a kilometre or two. From Ytre Hågåsjön I went down the river Hågåån to find the crossing that the map promised. After two kilometres of rather demanding and pathless walking along the river I came to a huge manmade clearing in the otherwise dense forest. A little up the river a bridge had been torn down by the power of the running water. I took about two hours two scout the river for a crossing, but I finally decided not to cross. The river was running swift and at least waist-deep, maybe higher and I had no crossing-shoes with me, because I did not plan to do challenging crosses. All in all, the water was to deep and swift-running to do it barefoot and I did not want to do the rest of the trip in soaking wet hiking boots.

This has been quite a bummer. I spent the night there, walked down the Hågåån valley until it met the Storån again and then continued north and around the Töfsingdalen national park again. My final stage took me over the regions highest and very windy peak of Storvätteshågna.

The definition of freedom

A photographers problems with the wilderness

It has been an incredible trip. I would have loved to be out a little longer, but it had not been possible for personal reasons. I only met two people in all this time. Wonderful. And I re-learned a lesson that I learned some years ago in the Sarek and that I had forgotten. Photography and ambitious hiking or trekking don’t go hand in hand. Walking in such a landscape is a thing of its own. I personally don’t really find the peace of mind and time to concentrate on photography, when I am walking with a heavy pack. But photography needs this. Time, patience, focus. So, I did not take to many images of all what Gränslandet had to offer. Breath-taking autumnal colours, beautiful and swift rivers, wildlife, wind, rain, trees, mountains, forests, bogs, but most of all silence, peace, freedom.

Misconceptions about wildlife photography /  by Arne Bischoff

There is this common misconception about wildlife photography that you grab your camera, go out, press the shutter and come back with beautiful images of elusive birds. More often that not, it's the complete opposite. When you live in Germany, there is not a lot of wildlife around. Most of its so called nature is agricultural wastelands. Even the remaining stretches of nature are too small and too scattered to support wildlife in strong numbers. An immeasurable amount of streets are cutting each and every habitat to pieces.

In spite of all this, sometimes I fall under this spell myself. When I am sitting in my office chair, doing my day to day work and dreaming away to what I gonna do this weekend. In this daydreaming, I imagine perfect light, beautiful nature, no people, but a lot of wildlife.

With exactly this idea in mind, I went to the mountain range nearby to see at least one day of winter. It was mid-February. In the flatlands where I live, there has been not a single snowflake all season. The local Harz mountains did not disappoint. I had a wonderful day out, with snow and sunshine. All went to plan. I have scarcely seen any animals though, a raven, a crossbill, a woodpecker, but it was a great day nonetheless. I have been lucky. To have a day out is what really matters. If you get your image, fine. If not, consider yourself lucky anyways. It’s a process.

Swiss-Alps paradise /  by Arne Bischoff

Heading into holidays always fills me with great expectations. What will I see, what will I experience and - since I started photographing wildlife - which images will I be able to capture? This was correct for my last trip as well, all the more because I know the eastern parts of the Alps and South Tyrol quite well but the more west I go, the more blind this spot is to me.

Live with a view!

Entering Valais! My loved one found this beautiful mountain hut (a Maiensäss) sitting just below 2,000 m of altitude and making for a wonderful accommodation. Italy is near, the coffee is great, and the apricot juice is exceptional. Our host, Roberto was simply the best we could wish for and the view from our balcony is nothing short of breathtaking. Gazing across the Rhône valley you see 4,000 m summits like pearls: Weisshorn, Zinalrothorn, Bishorn, Dent Blanche, Matterhorn, Breithorn, Liskamm and towering above all - Dofourspitze.

The northern side of the Rhône valley - facing south, sunny, dry, warm - may be a little less spectacular, but it is really beautiful as well. Beautiful as long as you can either ignore or flee the abomination of ski tourism.

What a scenery! From Weisshorn (left) to Liskamm (right).

But flee it, you can and as soon as you leave the well-trodden and perfectly shaped tourist tracks, you’re not only getting rid of all the waste they leave behind, but you gain beautiful valleys, little mountain paths and a surprisingly vivid wildlife.

The author just below the summit of Trubelstock.
📷 by Nicole | Instagram: Apples ‘n’ Pears Interior

May it be, because there is less hunting here than say in Tyrol, may it be out of sheer luck, I do not know. But I have seen so much wildlife with so little effort, it was astounding. One memorable day, I have seen as many as twelve ravens patrolling the slopes, some of them trolling a golden eagle. I witnessed a marmot sunbathing on a free-standing cliff, just to come back three hours later to find the same individual at the very same spot. I breathlessly watched the reckless flight of dozens of alpine swifts that were so close, I wondered if I could have touched them, would they have flown just a little slower. For the first time ever, I realised that the original habitat of a black redstart is not the city but the rocky slopes of the high alpine. Falcon were hunting in huge numbers. Further down, the grey-headed woodpecker was constantly laughing and more than once two bearded vultures were slowly and effortlessly patrolling the valleys and meadows for carrion. A phenomenal experience.

A marmot enjoying the summer sun.

Did I take my pictures? Nearly none. I quickly learned that carrying a big camera in the backpack up those hills was not only exhausting, but useless. Before I dropped the pack, opened it, grabbed the camera and made it ready - the moment was gone. On the other hand, carrying it over the shoulder made walking and hiking so much less fun. So, my trusted binoculars became the only piece of optics that I chose to carry. Moving fast and light in alpine terrain is even more fun than photography. So not much to show off here, but many an image I carry with me in the most analogue of fashions. In my memories.

Lovers kissing. Rokk - rokk!

Valais more than met my expectations. It was marvellous. I will definitely come back. With more time to spend and more patience for photography. And on the note of coming back - we came via Strasbourg and spent a night there. What a remarkably beautiful city, but at least in August heavily burdened with overtourism. When you drive south from Strasbourg, you pass the Grand Ried, where “it is still possible to discover the biodiversity which used to exist when the Grand Ried was wild and the Rhine was not canalised.” (src: wikipedia) - seems like a great plan!

La liste: Spotted nutcracker, Golden eagle, Common raven, Coal tit, Black redstart, White wagtail, House sparrow, Grey-headed woodpecker, Great spotted woodpecker, Mistle thrush, Northern wheatear, Water pipit, Bearded vulture, Common kestrel, Peregrine falcon, Alpine chough, Alpine swift, Marmot, Stoat, Common buzzard, Red kite, Hawfinch, Common chaffinch, Greenfinch, Red crossbill, Common redpoll, Squirrel, Hérens cattle, Valais Blacknose, Braunvieh, Eurasian hobby, Common house martin, Red fox, Lesser spotted woodpecker, Eurasian crag martin, Eurasian jay, Meadow pipit, Common starling, White stork.