In one and a half hours we cross the smooth sea to
At the left side of the road moose number 19 and 20 appear. Fortunately Joerg is already braking as one of them decides instead of escaping into the woods to run across the street in front of our car. Moose neither behave reasonable nor planned. I am very sceptical about animals having a very small head compared to the size of the entire body. This applies to many birds but to moose as well. Of course we learned that not the brain masse decides but the amount of convolutions anyway. Moose 20 tries to run in front of our truck. Herby it overestimated itself insignificantly. The slippery wet road went a step further. The hind legs of the hoofed animal slide away and it knuckles down, sliding elegantly along the road on its backside. It would be a very funny image, if Joerg were not struggling to stop the car. We already have enough moose in our fridge. And I do not have the camera ready. Meanwhile number 20 pulls itself up and follows its buddy into the forest. Right after number 21 to 25 show species-appropriate flight behaviour.
A short rain interruption brings us strong offshore wind. It irons the sea against the waves vapidly and black. Blasts lash along the road and see-saw the vehicles. The hopefully insulated landline cables dance and touch with a smack. It has 17°C outside, but the wind is chilly. Our wind metre shows nine Beaufort. Downslope winds from the mountains suck water fountains from the lakes. The soundscape is terrifying. Seagulls cancelled any air traffic and hide in slipstream. Joerg is pressing the throttle and Arminius is just sipping the diesel.
When we repeatedly enter