Where the old Strynefjell road crosses the open mountain, the landscape feels as if it has been scraped clean. The glaciers that once covered this country have left rounded rock, scattered boulders and lakes in every dip, and the soil is so thin that the vegetation seems to cling on by habit. Mosses and lichens colour the stone in rust and grey, and in the damp hollows cotton grass nods in the wind. Mountain streams cross the road in small culverts, loud with melt in early summer and almost silent by autumn.
The Strynefjell was the place where the old trading lines between the fjord valleys and eastern Norway met the mountain. People crossed on foot or with horses long before any road was built, carrying fish, grain, wool and other goods, and the paths are still visible in places as worn lines across the rock. Summer farms, called setrar in Norwegian, stood on the pastures at the edge of the high ground, where cattle and goats were brought from the valleys to graze for a few weeks in summer. Many of the buildings are now empty, but their stone footings still stand in the green patches.
A rider crossing here is aware of the sky more than anything else. The road follows the shape of the land, with long, slow bends and slight climbs, and every few minutes the view changes: a new lake, a new ridge, a new patch of snow. Wind is common, and rain showers can pass in minutes, so the ride is a succession of bright and dark moments. In good light the lakes turn deep blue, and the snow gleams. Stay alert for sheep and for walkers, who often cross without looking.
Facilities on the mountain are few, and the nearest village of any size is Stryn, about twenty-seven kilometres away. A hotel and a small shop near the pass may open in season, but do not rely on them, and carry food and water as a matter of habit. Late afternoon, when the sun is low and the shadows lengthen, is the best time to cross, and the colours are at their richest.