Muskox expedition in the Norwegian wild

Patience. Something I never had, something I had to build, day by day. Every trip into the forest, every step toward the mountains and over the hills, it all counted. Slowly, but surely. It was only a matter of time before everything fell into place.

Being a wildlife photographer is far from easy. Unlike "ordinary" photographers, you are never truly certain you will succeed in what you set out to do.

The animals feel it too. They feel it deeply. The simple fact that we have begun pushing further and further into their habitats does nothing to help. The answer lies in patience, in the peace that nature and the wild give us for free. Out there, in the wilderness, I found myself. In the mud and rain, in the snow and harsh conditions. The deeper I pushed into landscapes where people are almost absent, the happier I became. More fulfilled.

Peace and solitude became my shelter from everything else and I felt like I had escaped everything I once knew.

It has been nearly two years since I found a house on Papuk, a beautiful mountain in the heart of Slavonia. Thanks to Gusta, I probably never would have bought the house. At the time, we barely knew each other. I met him through his girlfriend Sanja, a wonderful person who, together with him, became like family to me. It is funny how people cross paths when you least expect it.

Gusta and I became true friends. We were cycling and hiking together, exploring Papuk. He was also the one who handled most of the work on my house. One day, I told him about seeing muskox in Norway, a truly unique sight, almost surreal, when you share a mountain with such creatures. At the time, Ena, Max and I were traveling across Norway, trying to photograph muskox and the Arctic fox.

The Arctic fox sheds its beautiful white summer coat, turning completely brown and dark, making it incredibly hard to spot in the wild. We returned home with photos of a young wolf, muskox and of course the Arctic fox.

That was the first time I told Gusta how nice it would be to see the muskox in winter. That would be a real adventure. Not long after, he suggested we go together.

Gusta is part of the Croatian Mountain Rescue Service (HGSS) and has extensive experience surviving in the wilderness. We share similar approaches and outlooks and we agreed it would make an incredible story, the two of us venturing into the remote Dovre mountains in search of muskox.

At the beginning of last year, Gusta underwent serious knee surgery and for six weeks he could barely walk to the bathroom. The prognosis was not promising, but we both knew we would not rush. We would take it step by step.

When he finally stood on his own without assistance, we started cycling across Papuk. The best way to get to know a mountain is by following its endless forest roads, hundreds and hundreds of kilometers, with no traffic, just forest and wildlife. It was important to prepare our bodies for extreme conditions, as winter temperatures in the Dovre mountains can drop below -40°C. With the bitter winds, the mountain becomes a test of endurance on the edge of survival.

Because of this, we had to learn how to pull our gear on skis using special sleds that Gusta built himself. Professional sleds would have cost around four thousand euros, but we managed to make our own for just under five hundred euros for both of us. Another interesting part of the preparations, which might sound funny, but was perhaps the most important, was that we had to put on weight.

My dogs Ena and Max could not come with us, as the conditions were not safe for them. When you are observing wildlife, it is generally better not to bring dogs along. On the other hand, Gusta and I were fully aware that by observing muskox, we were already intruding on their privacy. It made more sense to leave them in peace.

We loaded the Duster with our gear, packed our traditional food and hit the road to Oppdal, the village that would be our starting point for the Dovre mountains.

Looking back to the start of this article, impatience is a dangerous companion, especially when you are facing conditions like these. We had to stay calm, double check our gear before loading everything onto the sleds and then slowly make our way up the mountain along the pre planned route. We left the Duster at a roadside pull off and informed the local tourist office of our presence, just in case of an accident. It is always wise to let the locals know someone is out there.

But as Mando would say, this is the way. Discipline is crucial, but the fact that we had placed our lives in each other's hands says it all. We had to trust one another and we did.

Sleeping in a tent at -25°C is not a problem at all, especially when you have proper equipment. The only challenge is the discomfort when you have to go outside in the middle of the night. That is when you truly realize how much you can endure.

The Dovre mountains stretch endlessly. Even if we combined all our major mountains back home, they still would not match its vast expanse. Across more than three thousand square kilometers, there are just a little over two hundred muskox. It is like trying to spot a single snowflake in a blizzard.

We left the tent at our base location and explored the Dovre mountains day by day. We divided the mountain into sectors and as we finished each one, we marked it off when we returned to the tent. Actually, in reality, it had become like a game. That day, for example, we were in sector E1 and found nothing, no tracks, no grass, no muskox at all. Tomorrow we would head to sector E2, but no one could guarantee the oxen would not return to E1, which we had already covered. It was like a cat and mouse game.

We had to make sure it never became a source of stress. But the enthusiasm at the start of the journey cannot be the same after two weeks. We could feel the exhaustion settling in. Results were nowhere in sight, except for a stray reindeer and a golden eagle that followed us for approximately ten minutes. At that point, we decided to find accommodation and try to get some rest.

We were slowed down. I cannot describe it any other way, it felt like being an eighty year old grandfather, seeing the icy road outside and deciding not to go to the store. I sat by the window, wrapped in warmth. My fingers did not feel the cold anymore. I stared out, so completely immersed in this comfort that stepping outside felt unimaginable.

In fact, I can hardly recall ever being out there recently, facing those brutal conditions. I think the exhaustion is speaking now, because these words are not mine. No matter how prepared I was, no matter how strong I believed myself to be, in the end, I was still nothing more than a human being, fragile, vulnerable and slightly frightened.

We invested a lot of time and money into this project. I was fully aware that it was a completely normal and expected possibility that we might not see any muskox at all. But still, I held onto the hope that we might get lucky.

Our final hike into the mountains felt like we would be walking for hours in a circle. Another day filled with an endless horizon, scattered with massive rocks that, from a distance, looked like muskox. Walking. Walking. And more walking. Time stretched, marked only by the endless rhythm of our steps. The wind would soften, then rise again without warning, before fading back into silence. And our thoughts went quiet. We moved like we were being punished, step after step, without relief.

Every now and then, we would lift the binoculars, but there was nothing. It began to feel as though there was no life out there at all, as if what we were seeing was nothing more than a mirage. And then, just as the silence had settled and doubt began to take over, something happened. Something far beyond anything we could have imagined, even in our wildest dreams. He was there.

About twenty meters ahead of us, a massive muskox, three hundred fifty to four hundred kilograms, lay hidden under a blanket of snow. At first, it could have been mistaken for just another rock. Slowly, we realized it was alive, resting peacefully, completely unaware of our presence. We stood frozen, barely daring to breathe. The muskox remained undisturbed, its massive body blending seamlessly with the snowy landscape. For a long, silent moment, it felt as if time itself had stopped. Just us, the mountain and this incredible creature.

We settled into position, lying low in the snow, our breaths visible in the frigid air. The minutes crawled by, each one stretching longer than the last. The silence was absolute, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind across the mountainside. Every now and then, we stole a glance toward the muskox, waiting, hoping, but knowing that one wrong move could ruin everything. He could wake up and disappear into the emptiness beyond.

As we huddled in our jackets, the cold bit at our fingers and toes, reminding us just how extreme the conditions were. And yet, despite the discomfort, there was a profound sense of patience and anticipation. This was what we had come for and now we were ready.

Look, Gusta, he is awake, I whispered as he shook the snow off his back. I could not help myself, even though I knew we had to stay quiet. The excitement completely overtook my body. He stood and took a few steps toward the ridge, nudging the snow with his massive snout in search of food. It was fascinating how this creature, so powerful and immense, survives on nothing more than the humble grass beneath the snow. And in that moment, he looked at us. I was aware that he had known we were there from the very beginning, but he did not mind. He did not feel threatened. Honestly, what could two tiny humans like us do against something of that magnitude.

In the end, we approached with nothing but good intentions, hoping to witness without disturbing, to observe without imposing. And he knew that. He felt it. Gusta and I moved with quiet precision, capturing every frame. There was no time to soak it in, skill and technique had taken over. Emotions were set aside as we did what we do best, taking photos.

From this angle. From another. While resting, while feeding. While watching us. We had the shots we wanted, every single one. The fact that it was the only one there did not bother us at all. In that moment, we were not even thinking about it. We had found him. He was there. He was ours and we were his. Like a family.

But we were not his family and he was not ours. We had received what we came for and we had been lucky. It was time to say goodbye, even though we did not want to. We were crossing a line, stepping into selfishness. Just a little more and perhaps even more. And then we made the call, it was time to go home.

Our shoulders felt lighter. We were no longer carrying the weight of the world. Completely unnecessary. We breathed easier. In fact, we truly breathed for the first time. The skis glided smoothly down the mountain and our gear was secured in our backpacks. I still cannot fully grasp that we achieved our goal, that we succeeded.

I remember telling Gusta, once we got home, that I am no longer capable of this, mentally above all. I am getting older and on expeditions like these, I lose the hard won peace I have built over the years. I put myself back in the position I was in more than ten years ago. Damn it, I should have learned something in the meantime. You have to know when it’s wise to say, “Thank you, and goodbye.” I think this was that moment for me. Discover other articles by Hrvoje published on Vanlifezone: Chasing the light Roaming earth & living free