I'm standing in the fog, it's cold and a fine drizzle is hitting my face. We've been travelling for 5 hours - we should have made it in 3 hours. Another 3 hours lie ahead of us - or is it 5? We knew Northern Norway would be an adventure. But does it have to be one? We were already cursing the day before yesterday as the path here in the mountains slipped under our feet. It rained without end, 30 litres per square metre. It was wet, slippery, foggy. 10 metres visibility doesn't make for safety in an unknown mountain range. I felt queasy.

And now I'm standing here, in the fog. My companion in front of me. He's climbing over the rock that I made it over. I did it mainly because I go climbing. Since when do I have to have climbing skills for a hiking tour? He pushes himself carefully, slowly over the rock. We're alone here and nobody can find us in this fog. He pushes on to the other side of the rock. Where he can step well. He lacks the extra 5cm of leg length that I have. It's close and he's lying half in the stream running down the rock.

I suddenly realise. If he slips and falls now, I won't be able to help him. No helicopter will come in this fog. It takes at least 3 hours for the mountain rescue team to arrive. The slope disappears into the fog after just a few metres, we have no rope. Fuck. I didn't want an adventure like this. I have no choice but to keep my feelings to myself, stand there calmly and offer him my climbing poles to hold on to. I'm half lying on the rock myself, my feet wedged under rocks so I don't slip. Fuck.

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He makes it, we move on. The conversations afterwards are filled with swearing. Our nerves are frayed. After an hour, we reach a signposted descent. As we still have hardly any visibility, we didn't dare descend any earlier. We could have landed on a cliff at any time. We are restless. As we descend, the streams around us turn into rivers. Travelling rivers. Fuck. We're constantly crossing, having to jump. Until we can't go any further. The river is too wide. It doesn't get any narrower and the water shoots up from above. We've been travelling for 8 hours.

My mate finds a place in the river that is less raging. He wades through, the water is up to his thighs. Every step is slow, careful, deliberate. I hold my smartphone in my hand, wanting to call the mountain rescue service. Nobody can get me in here. The fear that has gripped me for the last few hours intensifies. In the end, I take the step into the river. The step I never wanted to take. Fuck.