Our first overlanding trip had taken us from Norway to Greece and back, covering 11,000 kilometres over six weeks. It was an incredible experience, but it also taught us what living out of a vehicle in extreme summer heat actually feels like.
By the time we returned, we had one clear idea for our next adventure: we wanted to head north.
Northern Norway seemed like the perfect choice. Cooler temperatures, dramatic mountains, remote coastal roads, and the midnight sun. It was also an opportunity for me to share something personal with Eleni.
I grew up exploring the Norwegian outdoors. The mountains around Kongsmoen had been part of my life since childhood, and I wanted her to experience the places that had shaped my relationship with nature.
We started planning for the summer of 2025, mapping out a route through Trøndelag and further north into Nordland. The idea was to travel slowly, find our own campsites, and spend as much time outdoors as possible.
After the heat of southern Europe, we imagined long days in the mountains followed by cool, peaceful nights.
First, though, we had to make sure Skaði was ready.
About three months before our planned departure, things started going wrong.
First came an oil leak. Then coolant. Skaði spent more time going back and forth to the workshop, and every repair seemed to uncover another problem. As departure approached, the list of things that needed attention was growing rather than shrinking.
We started wondering whether we would have to cancel the trip.
Five days before leaving, we finally got the Jeep back.
What followed was a frantic period of preparation. New brakes, fresh bumpers, new lights, the hard-shell rooftop tent mounted, and our 270-degree awning installed. We organised spare parts, checked the fuel lines, and went through everything we could think of before taking the Jeep into remote areas again.
By the time we finished, it was midnight. We were exhausted, covered in grease, and running on very little sleep.
But the Jeep was ready.
Looking back, there was something satisfying about those final hours of preparation. Every bolt tightened and every component checked was one less thing to worry about when we were parked somewhere remote, far from a workshop.
We could not control what would happen once we left, but we had done everything we reasonably could to prepare.
The next morning, we headed north.
As we drove into Trøndelag, the landscape started to feel familiar. The forests, mountains, and air brought back memories of growing up in Norway.
After the stress of preparing the Jeep, it was a relief to finally be on the road.
We found a campsite beside a river for our first night. The sound of the water filled the background as we set up under the awning and lit a small fire. Rain tapped against the fabric while we sat with hot coffee, watching the flames and enjoying the feeling that the adventure had finally begun.
For a little while, everything was exactly as we had imagined.
Then came three in the morning.
We woke to the sound of bells and movement around the Jeep. Outside, a group of sheep had decided to investigate our campsite.
What followed was one of the more ridiculous encounters of our travels. Every time I managed to herd them away from our equipment, they wandered straight back, apparently convinced that our campsite offered something worth investigating. Our dishwater seemed particularly interesting.
For nearly two hours, we went back and forth, trying to keep the sheep away from our water container and gear.
At one point, I found myself standing in the wilderness, half-asleep and barely dressed, trying to negotiate with sheep in the middle of the night.
Eventually, they moved on.
We were left exhausted, amused, and with a story that would follow us for the rest of the trip. We called it the Great Sheep Adventure.
It was a reminder that overlanding rarely unfolds exactly as planned. Sometimes the best memories come from the moments you could never have put on an itinerary.
We continued deeper into the high country, following old mountain roads through the landscape.
As we climbed, the temperature dropped. One evening in the mountains of Trøndelag, we found ourselves camping in just 6°C despite it being the middle of summer.
After our experience in southern Europe, the cool air was a welcome change.
The silence in the mountains felt almost tangible. There were no crowds, no traffic, and very little to distract us from our surroundings. We could sit outside, take our time preparing food, and simply enjoy being there.
For me, these places were familiar, yet the experience felt new. Seeing landscapes I had known since childhood through Eleni's eyes made me appreciate them differently.
Every valley and mountain road offered something to discover, and I enjoyed being able to share this part of Norway with her.
But we had only just begun.
As we continued north, the landscape gradually shifted. The mountains opened onto the coast, and the scenery of Helgeland brought together two things that make Northern Norway so special: rugged peaks and open sea.
We found a quiet bay with a spectacular view of the Seven Sisters, the mountain range rising dramatically above the coast.
It was exactly the kind of place we had hoped to find.
We parked the Jeep, set up our living space beneath the awning, and spent hours cooking, talking, and watching the light move across the mountains. There was no need to rush towards another destination. The campsite itself was the reason to stay.
After thousands of kilometres and all the preparation that had gone into the trip, these were the moments that made it worthwhile.
We had travelled north to escape the heat and discover somewhere different, but there was another reason this journey mattered to me. I wanted Eleni to understand why Norway, and particularly its mountains, meant so much to me.
Sitting beside the sea with the Seven Sisters in front of us, I felt that she was beginning to understand.
As we travelled further north, the light began to change.
The sun dipped towards the horizon around midnight, bathing the mountains and fjords in a warm, golden glow. But it never truly set. Instead, it lingered above the horizon before climbing again, leaving the landscape illuminated throughout the night.
The midnight sun was one of the things I had most wanted to share with Eleni.
There is something surreal about sitting outside in what looks like the last light of the evening, only to realise that it is already well past midnight. Time seems to lose its usual meaning when the sky never gets dark.
But there was a problem.
We had headed north to escape the heat, and the heat had followed us.
First the temperatures reached 25°C, then 28°C, and eventually climbed above 30°C. Even across the Arctic Circle, the nights offered little relief. At three in the morning, it could still be uncomfortably warm.
In Italy, we had at least known that darkness would eventually arrive. In Northern Norway, the sun kept circling the horizon, and the warmth stayed with us.
I remember sitting in the Jeep, checking a forecast that showed several more days of high temperatures. Eleni looked at me, and we both started laughing.
We had driven thousands of kilometres from the Mediterranean to the Arctic, only to find ourselves dealing with the same problem.
The difference this time was that we were better prepared.
We knew each other better, we understood how to live out of the Jeep, and our equipment had improved. The awning provided valuable shade, and we could cook, relax, and spend time outdoors without feeling that we had to retreat into the vehicle.
The midnight sun was still beautiful. We simply had to learn how to sleep through it.
Northern Norway is not only about sunshine and spectacular views. Coastal weather can change rapidly, and a peaceful campsite can become a very different place when the wind picks up.
We had chosen a 270-degree awning because it created a sheltered living area around the Jeep. When you spend weeks on the road, that space becomes much more than somewhere to sit. It is your kitchen, dining room, and somewhere to retreat when conditions make it difficult to spend time outside.
We also brought the Tiegear Steadfast system to help keep the awning secure.
On an exposed beach in Trøndelag, we got to find out why that mattered.
We had the awning fully extended, with the walls up for privacy, when the wind suddenly strengthened. The gusts pushed against the structure, and for a moment, we wondered whether we would need to take everything down and retreat into the Jeep.
But the anchors held, and the tensioning system kept the frame stable.
We were able to continue cooking dinner under the awning while rain hammered down outside. Sitting on the tailgate, sheltered from the weather, we watched the storm pass without having to abandon our campsite.
It was a practical reminder of something we had learned on the first trip: the equipment you take with you matters most when conditions become difficult.
A comfortable setup makes life on the road easier, but reliable equipment can also make the difference between having to abandon a campsite and being able to enjoy it despite the weather.
Our journey through Northern Norway did not go exactly as planned.
We dealt with unexpected heat, curious sheep, changing weather, and the occasional detour. But rather than letting these things dictate the experience, we learned to adapt.
Closed roads pushed us towards alternative routes. Unexpected encounters became lasting memories. Campsites that were supposed to be brief stops turned into places where we wanted to stay longer.
We learned that travelling well is not about following a perfect itinerary. It is about being willing to change it.
The same was true of our expectations. We had gone north imagining cool nights and endless light, but we discovered a different side of the Arctic summer. Even so, the landscapes, the quiet, and the time we spent together made the trip worthwhile.
Most importantly, I got to share the places that had shaped me with Eleni.
When we first set out on our overlanding journey, she had never slept outdoors. Now she was sitting beside me in the middle of the night, surrounded by mountains, watching the sun circle the horizon.
That transformation is what I will remember most.
Skaði is back at home now, the rooftop tent folded down and the awning packed away. But the trip does not feel like an ending.
The map is already on the workbench, and there are new routes to explore.
Our first overlanding trip to Greece taught us how to travel together. Northern Norway taught us to appreciate the journey even when it does not unfold the way we imagined.
There is still a lot of road ahead of us, and we are only getting started.
← All field notes