Summit Fever on Møllehøj: An Epic Ascent of Denmark’s Tallest Peak
We began planning in March. By Danish standards, this gave us barely enough time to train, map out the logistical framework, assemble gear, and file diplomatic permits with the Danish Ministry of Slightly Elevated Terrain. The window for a safe summit attempt would be narrow—April to late April, when the wild sheep migrate and the winds howl across Jutland like the sighs of Odin.
We established Base Camp Alpha at the rugged hamlet of Skanderborg, some 15 kilometers from the mountain's foot. There, we spent two weeks acclimatizing in different pubs—while also taking short hikes up local footbridges and sleeping in oxygen-thin tents mounted on top of family sedans. A 7-Eleven provided supplies, mostly licorice ropes and thermal hot dogs.
The expedition team included:
Myself, Jonas Fjeld, leader and amateur yodeler.
Brigitte from Geneva, our oxygen technician and self-proclaimed "Denmark whisperer."
Dr. Kasper Løgstrup, glaciologist, despite there being no glaciers in Denmark.
Lars, our local guide, a 17-year-old with asthma and a moped license.
From Skanderborg, we made the treacherous crossing of meadows, avoiding deadly encounters with livestock and joggers. We established Camp I near a weathered cow statue in Ejer Bavnehøj, at approximately 12 meters above sea level. Here, the air was so thin we had to whisper. The weather turned ominous: a drizzle descended, wetting the gravel path and reducing visibility to barely three kilometers.
That evening, Brigitte reported early signs of altitude sickness: shortness of breath, existential dread, and excessive consumption of chocolate milk. Dr. Løgstrup diagnosed her with acute Danish Ennui, which we treated with card games and Spotify.
We launched our summit bid at 5:35 a.m., headlamps blazing into the fog. The path to the top was uncertain—a complex tangle of lightly graveled footpaths and potential molehills. Every step required vigilance. Lars, consulting his Strava app, guided us carefully through a treacherous 2.3% incline. At one point, we faced a moral dilemma: a fork in the path with one side marked "shortcut" and the other "scenic route." We chose the scenic route. We may be mad, but we are not cowards.
About 70 meters from the summit, disaster struck. A violent crosswind—gusting up to 8 km/h—knocked over our lunchbox. Morale plummeted. The group debated turning back. Dr. Løgstrup said the risk of emotional frostbite was too high. But Brigitte rallied us with a single phrase: "What would the Norwegians think?"
At 5:58 a.m., we stood atop Møllehøj. The view was staggering—barns in all directions, a cow below chewing its cud with reverence. We planted a flag, shared a packet of rye crackers, and took oxygen hits from our canisters of compressed Copenhagen air.
There were no medals. No cheering crowds. Just the whisper of wind through the grass and a faint moo of triumph in the distance.
The descent was rapid and harrowing. We knew we had to be off the mountain by sunset at 7:30 pm.
Turns out it took 20 minutes to go back down the mountain, so we safely reached the bottom before 6:30 am, hungry and slightly damp. Our only option was to visit a local pub to recount our adventures to the locals.
Something inside us had changed. We had faced our fears and Denmark's most moderate slopes—and emerged stronger.
People ask, "Why climb Møllehøj?"
I say: "Because it is there. And because someone built a stone marker on top of it."
https://philshapirochatgptexplorations.blogspot.com/
"Wisdom begins with wonder." - Socrates
"Learning happens thru gentleness."
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