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“It’s my job,” Roe replied solemnly. “For those of you who don’t know, with this type of drone, you get a headset that looks more like half a helmet. In short, the one in charge of filming sees what the camera attached to the drone sees—and few things are funnier than watching Jake with both feet planted firmly on the ground while he ducks and sways to the movements of wherever the drone is flying.”
I shook my head in amusement.
“Like Jake said, I’ll keep you posted,” Roe went on. “And while we’re away, you’ll see us primarily on Instagram and Facebook. Off Topic will resume as usual as soon as we’re back home.”
*
Okay, so maybe I preferred to work alone with Roe, but damn, the network could be in charge of my travel when-the-fuck-ever. We’d never flown business before, and that was only half of it. When we landed in Bergen two exhausting days later, after three middle-landings, with more luggage than we’d ever traveled with before, everything was taken care of.
Apparently, they didn’t have a lot of trucks here like we did in the US, but I kinda liked their alternative more. A man with our names on a sign greeted us as we wheeled three luggage carts out of the airport, and seconds later, we were standing in front of a van. A Mercedes Sprinter fully customized for small film crews. Norway had seen their fair share of documentary filmmakers.
It was fucking incredible. I mean, we’d known they were setting us up with rentals as well as accommodations, but we hadn’t expected this. The side of the Sprinter had a ladder, and it only took me one glance to figure out why. Camera mounts were attached to the roof, in case we wanted to climb up there and shoot. And the inside was equipped with secure shelves with straps so that our gear wouldn’t slide around. As decided beforehand, two backpacks also waited for us. That was the sponsorship deal. We knew which brands would be highlighted—and for how long. Backpacks, sleeping bags, sunglasses, a thermos, and, in a few days, two kayaks.
No matter how tired I was, this trip was already flooding me with buzzing energy. Three weeks on the road with Roe, just us and nature. Me and my cameras. Wildlife and mountain ranges.
We got on the road toward our hotel; I drove, and Roe went through our schedule. Here in Norway, we’d meet with three guides. The last one was up north currently tracking a lynx for us. We’d arrived in the middle of mating season.
Given that we’d spent approximately three hours in Oslo and hadn’t left the airport, we couldn’t say a whole lot about the capital. But Bergen was goddamn stunning. Surrounded by mountains and rain clouds.
“How fast is fifty kilometers an hour?” Roe asked. “I can’t get my internet to work.”
“I think it’s about thirty miles…roughly.” I’d done my best to refresh my memory, but the metric system would never come naturally for me. We’d obviously gotten good at it in the Marines; metric measurements were part of NATO standard. Still. It wasn’t the easiest.
*
This, however, was the easiest—no, scratch that. But, at least, the best job in the world.
I breathed in the crisp air and got overwhelmed by the mere sight of our view.
Standing up on the roof of our Sprinter, I tracked a white-tailed eagle through the lens of my camera. I almost had to fucking pinch myself. The mountains here were out of this world. Sharp, majestic granite cliffs shot up from the ground, cradling a river—or fjord—some thousand feet below. Breathtaking was an understatement.
Not too far away from here, we had the famous Pulpit Rock, a steep cliffside that rose nearly two thousand feet over the slithering fjord.
Leaving my camera on its stand, I shrugged out of my windbreaker, a little surprised it was so warm in the sun. But we’d read up on the Norwegian climate and how it was milder than what one might expect, due to the Gulf Stream warming the waters. Nevertheless, I had all four seasons right here. Snowcapped mountaintops, flowers in bloom on the ground, warm in the sun, cold as heck in the shade, and with the promise of rain all night.
The colors were just spectacular too. The fjord was so fucking blue.
Roe sat in a camping chair behind me, working furiously on his notes. Something I liked to document too. Whoever was going to narrate this series would get a lot of material to work with, because Roe left nothing out. In the two days we’d been here, he’d spoken to countless locals and hikers, and he often had his nose buried in a book in between shooting locations.
I found the eagle in my camera again, and I followed its every move as it soared over the fjord before descending. Knowing what was about to happen, I adjusted my settings and concentrated harder. It was a fairly large specimen, and I guesstimated its wingspan to be about seven feet as it slowed down right before it grazed the surface of the water. A rush of excitement filled me, and I zoomed in on the fish caught in the eagle’s talons.
