It's all uphill.
There's a peppermint chill to the air, but the sun is alight, dancing in and out of thin cloud.
A bell tolls.
This morning, a beige hearse is parked in front of Trondenes Church. Built of stone in 1435, it's the world's northernmost surviving Medieval building, let alone church.
It stands simply in white, having no doubt grieved its share of funerals.
Inexplicably, people are vocally upset about being unable to go inside.
Leaving the grumble behind, we continue uphill in an attempt to see the massive Adolf Gun, which formed part of Hitler's Atlantic Wall – a 5,000-kilometre network of coastal defences stretching from France to the top of Norway.
With a range of 56 kilometres, the guns were the largest ever based on land.
It turns out trying to visit something on an active military base takes a bit more planning than we've done: there are no tickets available today.
Birds chirp, sounding like camera shutters. Ptarmigan? Perhaps they're photographing our dismay.
Closing the map, we find a far shorter route back, tracing the water and past overturned wooden fishing boats. Sunlight sparkles over snow-capped mountains.
It's not only infinitely more beautiful, it's flat.
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