The tragic weather forecast reminds me of my first ever trip overseas as a police orienteer. It was to Norway in 1999 - seems so long ago - I was an M21 then, and next year I'm M40. As a big lad more suited to a front row in rugby I used to long for the day I became M35. I do not now long for the day I become M40. When I started orienteering in 1978, the M40s were like orienteering statues to me. Despite orienteering for the last 30 years, I haven't got much better.
Anyway, this trip to Norway was a really big deal in my mind. I was delighted to be selected. When I say selected, I thought I was selected, but now having been organiser of many foreign expeditions I realise Andy Berne 'selected' me on the criteria that I a) had a pulse, b) could get the time off and c) was willing to go. But I was pleased to believe that Andy had an eye for an orienteering talent and had discerned in me some hidden depths that only a connoisseur would spot.
Anyway the chosen mode of travel to Norway was ferry. Yes, ferry. 23 hours of torture from Newcastle to Kristiansand. We assembled on the dock at Newcastle and boarded. It was nice and calm in the Tyne, so we assembled on deck and duly had a liquid livener. It was not so calm on the North Sea and that alcoholic aperitif was soon regretted. Among the orienteers present next week, only Malc Fowler, Wendy Welham and myself remain competing from that trip to Norway a long time ago.
We arrived in Norway and were escorted to our accommodation at Kjevick air base. Let's just say we were very impressed with how the Norwegian Air Force looks after its officers. The accommodation was splendid. The only unusual factor was the time of meals. Breakfast was at about 6am, lunch was at 11am and dinner at 3:30pm. Our constitutions didn't cope too well with that, so we ended up having lunch for breakfast and dinner for lunch and sorting ourselves out for dinner.
We arrived early in the morning and were taken to a local training event in the late afternoon. Talk about in at the deep end. Most of us were used to running around plantation forests covered in line-features. There wasn't a single line feature on the whole map. I was bamboozled and very worried about what lay ahead.
Next morning and it was relay time. This was actually quite a lot more straightforward than I'd been worrying about and, but for a complete 180 degree error on the penultimate control I'd have had a good time. Still, It was something of a relief. That afternoon we were taken on a lovely cruise around the archipelago around Kristiansand and treated to prawns and beer. It was lovely. I found myself chatting away to this nice older chap for a while, moaning about the bosses, like all officers do, only to find out that he was the local police chief. I couldn't believe the difference in crime and behaviour between the UK and Norway. It must be lovely (if a little slow) to work in such a well-behaved relatively crime-free society.
Next day it was the classic. This was an area of unfathomable terrain right behind the air base. My overwhelming memory of this event is actually getting it right and getting round without a disaster, but most of all seeing my colleague John Woodhouse enter the start box, pull a slim panatella (a cigar) from his orienteering trousers, light up and have a contemplative moment before wandering off in to the forest.
Andy Berne, our top runner got to the second control and ruptured his knee ligaments, and Malcolm Fowler, our best athletic runner, adopted the rather energetic tactic of running over every square metre of the map in a bid to find all the controls by a process of elimination.
I was second British finisher, and chuffed to bits. The highlight of the day, however, was the evening dinner. None of us realised that it is traditional in Norway in such circumstances to have a sing-song. We began to panic when we sat down to the meal to be confronted with song sheets. I was even more dismayed when our Norwegian and Danish colleagues set about upon their nominated songs with great gusto - if my memory is correct Kristen Ribe is a fine tenor. It was now our turn. We had not, tragically, established our batting order for singing and as the silence descended upon the room all eyes - I still don't know how - turned to me. Oh dear. I am to singing what Michael Jackson is to child protection.
Fortunately Norwegian beer stepped in to help and Dutch courage helped me through. Which was odd because the only other nations present were Norway and Denmark.
"Always look on the bright side life..."
It was awful, I don't know how I managed to get through it, but I did. Anyway the singing didn't finish there. My favourite memory of the whole trip was at the end of the evening singing (in Norwegian) something I still don't understand at the top of my voice to the tune of Land of Hope and Glory. Stood on my chair, waving my napkin with the Chief of Police doing the same next to me. Fantastic.
Anyway, there was only one ferry a week, so we spent the rest of our 6 day stay doing some orienteering training around the area on utterly amazing maps that would stage every major event going if they were in England. We set off back across the North Sea with some very fond memories.
What prompted this reverie? It rained absolutely solidly for 6 days. Never stopped. Tipped it down. Relentless rain. It was that damn weather forecast below that brought it on.
