Officially Arctic

Saltfjellet, literally “Salt Mountain” for some reason, for me always marked the transition to north Norway — Nord-Norge. That's not technically accurate *, but I'm reliving the past, dammit, so what matters is my gut feel.

We, my sister and I, would be cocooned in the back seat of our dad's Citroën CX Athena, cushioned by the willowy French hydro-pneumatic suspension in nests made of sleeping bags and pillows, with our coloring books and whatever else, besides bickering, we passed the time with before the Internet. Once we passed Mo i Rana and started climbing to the raw, barren mountain plateaus of Saltfjellet, the trip changed for me. We were there. Also not technically accurate, seeing as we still have a good couple of hours to go before we reach Bodø, but, again, close enough. We'd usually have taken three days getting there, so for all practical purposes this was the home stretch.

Today, fortyish years later, Saltfjellet is in a grim mood. A stiff, cold wind drags low-hanging clouds and drizzle across the peaks. At the Arctic Circle Centre we're greeted by three defiantly snapping flags and busloads of tourists scurrying across the wet parking lot to get inside.

Quinn does not bother with hassles like sweaters or jackets.

Inside, there are waffles. And ice cream, because wherever there are Norwegians there is ice cream. There are also hair-raisingly expensive souvenirs and a taxidermied polar bear, despite there being no polar bears around these parts or anywhere on the Norwegian mainland, for that matter.

Mia was moderately impressed but really more interested in the cute stuffed versions.

Saltfjellet, its sentimental value for me notwithstanding, wouldn't noticeably differ from other mountain passes further south you'll already have experienced if you're doing Norway by car. There's only so much subtle variation to be had from one barren, ruggedized mountainscape to the next. The Arctic Circle Center is there, however, to remind you that you're crossing over a line into an even tougher, more jagged and untamed latitude.

The Centre itself was not there when my family made these trips. There were as I recall some stands where you could buy handmade stuff from Sámi vendors; my mom once bought my sister and I reindeer-hide shoes called komager and on another trip a reindeer-hide bonnet I still have.

This unforgiving landscape was, and to some extent still is, reindeer-herding country. Summer pasture, to be precise. We didn't see any reindeer on this pass but don't be surprised if you do.

Today the whole thing is more built out, with a handsome visitors' building that blends well with the landscape and a marker made mostly out of appropriately weathered wood. Saltfjellet, by the way, is not salty. It got its name from the traditional district of Salten, in turn named for Saltfjorden, which is salty, being seawater. Is it significantly saltier than any other fjord? No. Why it's called that, I couldn't tell you.

But I digress.

On a chilly day like this, you tool around a bit outside the center and record your crossing into the polar regions with a few photos, then you warm up again inside with waffles and hot chocolate. It's what you do.

On a warmer day we might have spent a little more time and erected one of the little cairns people put up to mark their presence, but we've got a final leg to Bodø to complete, so we pile back in the White Whale and move on.

* Not technically accurate because northern Norway comprises the three northern counties Nordland, Troms, Finnmark. Nordland starts further south, just before Brønnøysund, so technically we'd entered Nord-Norge two days ago. The three counties, by the way, since became two — Troms and Finnmark were consolidated into Troms og Finnmark on January 1, 2020.