62°02’N 006°42W, Faroe Islands 14-10-2025
A high-pressure area has protected us from most of the autumn evil of the North Atlantic. We arrived in Klaksvík, Faroe Islands, the day before yesterday. Passing Kalsoy Lighthouse under sail, the wind backed us into the fjord. Breathtaking views with the setting sun left most of us speechless.
The next day we set off on a journey to the same lighthouse. This time we took the ferry and the bus. Trollanes is the closest you can get to the now-famous lighthouse (more on that later). Sheep tracks — endless sheep tracks — are what you use to navigate the steep Faroes slopes. When we first came here some ten years ago, there was nobody here. Now, after the last James Bond movie, the poor track to the lighthouse has become a Camino de Santiago for people of all walks of life. Most of them should not be anywhere near these slippery slopes.
This was exactly the thought on the farmer’s mind when he decided to pave a road with his little yellow digger. That — and the fee he was going to charge…
Leaving the noisy digger behind, my thoughts quickly changed when I saw the first glimpse of the tiny lighthouse. Wilderness — superb wilderness. The edge of the world, and sheep! Nothing like it! Fog banks drove up the sea cliffs, a roaring ocean ate away at the feet of the Faroes, and then a little sunbeam exploded on Kunoy, the neighboring island. No wonder they chose this as the final setting for the last James Bond movie.
Jasmijn and I walked a little further out to sea and decided to have our lunch right there. We looked at the little red-and-white structure and then at the cliffs, silently wondering how to top this. Jezza pulled up the last scene of the aforementioned movie, and we both agreed the main character is above-average handsome.
We were both a little restless. This day, this trip, needs its own adventure. Something out of the blue and outside most comfort zones. Something bonding, a good story in the pub or at a birthday party. We were plotting away on how to get to Mikladalur, the farthest village, home to the last Selkie.
We tried to organize transport but no go. The bus would not work, and the farmer’s car was out of commission… We would have to walk. I know the hike well and had always wanted to do it. When passing seaside, it grins at me and beckons — or rather, challenges me — to venture out on its slopes. It was never the right time. Until now.
Now, in the pouring rain, well into autumn, the time was right. We made up a story of bus times and ferry stops and sold it well. Three people joined us. Dani stayed behind and made sure logistics ran smoothly out of the valley.
The first bit was super steep and got the heart rate going. After half an hour there was some confusion on where to go, but we solved it by using one of the oldest navigation rules of the Faroes: follow the sheep.
We came around a bend, and then it happened! A fairy tale lay before us — we were never going to be the same again. We literally walked out of the rain into the sunrays as they seemed to bounce off the cliffs. Trollanes lay in the mist some 400 meters below us as we turned the corner. The walking became easier, even though a little slippery. The sheep track on the wall of the hill was just magic. We could not see where we were going — only a couple of meters of trail revealed itself at a time. It was the only way, so off we went into the world of mist and myths. Waterfalls everywhere and endless views down the fjords. Any moment, a giant could come down one of the hills and drag these islands into his foggy world. I was at the back, making sure no trolls were following us…
Weeks earlier, we had written on the calendar that tomorrow Jasmijn would be onboard for a year! I couldn’t help but think of all the little adventures we had so far: first landing on Antarctica, Cape Lookout where I put her ashore to get an orange fender stranded in some miserable, hard-to-get-to corner — she never saw the fur seal until the last moment — or climbing the Bandera in Puerto Williams in the dark to see the sunrise. A very cold story…
By the time we get to the Netherlands, she will have sailed well over 30,000 nautical miles and baked more than 300 loaves of bread. From windy Scotland to Antarctica, through the Chilean fjords into the Pacific, through the Northwest Passage, and on to this outcrop on a hill in the North Atlantic. Fairy tales do exist — I think she proved that today!
Thanks, Jassie, for having my six! Gijs
(From me as well Jasmijn!! Love Jet )
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