NORWAY FROM ABOVE

Some trips are about where you go.

Norway is going to be about how I see it.

When Vanilla leaves Stafford in May 2027, there will be cameras everywhere. The iPhone. DJI Action 4. Proper cameras. Probably far too many batteries, chargers, memory cards and USB cables.

But tucked away inside the van will be the equipment I’m perhaps most excited about.

The drones.

Because if ever there was a country designed to be seen from the air, Norway has made a fairly convincing application.

This isn’t about firing a drone up at every campsite and collecting random aerial clips.

I want to come home with something much better than that.

I want to film the journey.

Not simply the destinations.

I want Vanilla disappearing along a strip of tarmac with a fjord on one side and a mountain on the other. Ferries carrying her across enormous sheets of water. Roads curling around mountainsides. Waterfalls dropping hundreds of metres. Snow sitting above green spring valleys. Tiny villages squeezed between rock and sea.

And sometimes I want Vanilla to be almost invisible.

A tiny grey campervan moving through something enormous.

That’s the scale I’m going to Norway for.

The obvious aerial workhorse is Zoom, my DJI Mini 4 Pro.

Small, light and ridiculously capable, it’s exactly the sort of drone I want available when the weather suddenly opens a window and Norway gives me ten beautiful minutes.

Then there’s Nemesis, the Mavic 2 Pro.

Older. Bigger. Heavier. But that camera still has something about it. The one-inch sensor and Hasselblad heritage make Nemesis very tempting for the big, cinematic landscape work when conditions and the location make using it appropriate.

Sneaker, the tiny Neo 2, gives me another possibility entirely. Something small enough to have ready quickly for the right kind of shot.

Which aircraft actually leaves Vanilla at any particular location will depend on the weather, airspace, local restrictions and what I’m trying to film.

The aim isn’t to fly everything.

It’s to bring back the best footage.

Once Norway properly begins, Lysefjord is where the aerial possibilities start becoming ridiculous.

Deep water.

Vertical rock.

Preikestolen towering above the fjord.

Ferries and boats cutting tiny white lines across the water.

Vanilla parked somewhere in a landscape that completely overwhelms her.

But this is also where the philosophy of the trip begins.

Just because somewhere would look spectacular from a drone doesn’t automatically mean I’m going to fly one there.

Every flight has to earn its place.

If airspace, environmental rules, crowds, wildlife or the location itself say no, the drone stays in the bag.

There are plenty of other cameras in Vanilla.

I’d rather come home without one shot than get it by being an idiot.

This could produce some of my favourite footage of the journey.

Not huge vertical reveals.

Road shots.

Vanilla moving through Ryfylke with mountains ahead, water beside the road and remnants of winter sitting higher up.

A drone following from a legal and sensible position as the road snakes through the landscape.

Wide.

Slow.

Minimal movement.

Let Norway do the work.

I’m not looking for frantic FPV-style flying.

I want shots that breathe.

A grey van.

A black road.

White snow.

Green valley.

Dark water.

Then perhaps a waterfall appearing around the next bend.

That’s NIX // ROAD filmed properly.

Hardanger could be extraordinary in May.

This is one of the images already living in my head.

Fruit trees beginning to blossom beside the fjord.

Green fields around small settlements.

Deep blue water.

And behind everything, mountains still wearing snow.

From ground level that should be beautiful.

From the right legal aerial position it could be immense.

I want elevation to reveal the geography.

Not simply point the camera down.

Show why the village is there.

Show where the road has somehow found room.

Show the waterfall coming out of the mountain.

Show the fjord disappearing around a corner.

And then put Vanilla somewhere inside the frame to give the entire landscape scale.

Suddenly a mountain doesn’t just look big.

It looks enormous.

Norway’s waterfalls could become a recurring visual theme through the entire film.

From the ground, you look upwards.

From the air, suddenly you can understand where the water came from.

Mountain plateau.

River.

Edge.

Nothing.

Waterfall.

Valley.

Fjord.

That transition fascinates me.

Vøringsfossen and the surrounding Hardanger landscape are obvious places where the cameras will be working hard, although any drone flight will depend entirely on the rules and conditions at the exact location.

Sometimes the best aerial photography decision will be not flying.

That’s part of the plan too.

Then we reach Flåm.

This is the sort of landscape that makes me want to open the sliding door at stupid o’clock in the morning and look at the weather.

Still water.

Low cloud.

Mountains disappearing vertically into the sky.

Early light beginning to catch snow higher up.

A ferry moving through Aurlandsfjord.

Vanilla sitting somewhere below.

If conditions, permissions and local restrictions align, this is where I want patience rather than altitude.

Launch.

Climb only as much as the composition requires.

Wait.

Watch the light.

A drone doesn’t automatically improve scenery.

Sometimes all it does is put the camera in the right place.

And Norway has a lot of right places.

Flåm to Aurland is only a handful of miles.

It could take me all day.

This is exactly the sort of section I want to film as a journey rather than a location.

Vanilla moves.

The drone shows where she’s going.

Road disappears around the fjord.

Cut.

Action 4 inside the van.

Cut.

Roadside camera.

Cut.

Drone wide enough that Vanilla becomes a tiny moving dot beside Aurlandsfjord.

That’s the film I want to make.

Not endless three-minute drone clips.

Sequences.

Ground.

Air.

Road.

Water.

Van.

Mountains.

Then silence.

I’ve already got one Norwegian shot I desperately want.

Vanilla on a small fjord ferry.

Drone well away from the vessel, where flying is permitted, framing the ferry travelling across a huge body of water with mountains rising behind it.

Not following closely.

Not buzzing passengers.

A giant landscape with a tiny ferry moving through the middle.

Somewhere aboard it is Vanilla.

That one shot could explain Norway better than a paragraph ever could.

Road.

Water.

Ferry.

Road again.

The Norwegian transport system suddenly makes complete visual sense.

If there’s one section where I’m expecting the batteries to take a hammering, it’s Olden and Loen.

This place has almost everything I want in a landscape.

Nordfjord.

Turquoise water.

Green valley floors.

Waterfalls.

Glacier country.

Snow-covered mountains.

Roads disappearing deeper into the valley.

And Vanilla.

This could be where the defining footage of the entire journey comes from.

Imagine a low, slow opening above still water.

The camera gradually climbs.

The valley begins appearing.

Then the mountains.

Then snow.

Then, eventually, a tiny road becomes visible beside the fjord.

A small Indium Grey campervan is moving along it.

That’s not merely a record of where I’ve been.

That’s a film.

Torque comes into the story here too.

Norway won’t only be seen through Vanilla’s windscreen.

Some days the van stays parked, Torque comes off the back and I explore locally.

That gives me a completely different visual language.

Bike.

Quiet road.

Fjord.

Waterfall.

No engine.

No rush.

The drone, when permitted, becomes another camera following that smaller adventure.

Geiranger might produce one of the most interesting parts of the story for precisely the opposite reason.

There are protected areas and drone restrictions around parts of the Geirangerfjord landscape, so this isn’t somewhere I’m simply assuming I’ll be able to launch.

Current Norwegian guidance makes it very clear that protected nature areas can carry their own drone restrictions, and every location needs checking before take-off. (Luftfartstilsynet)

If the legal answer at the spot I want is no, then that’s the end of the discussion.

Drone stays inside Vanilla.

Action 4 comes out.

Camera comes out.

Maybe I film the ferry journey from deck level instead.

Because part of doing this properly is recognising that Norway doesn’t owe me an aerial shot.

The weather could be the secret ingredient.

I’m not travelling in July looking for twenty-one days of blue sky.

I’m going in May.

I want weather.

Cloud crawling through the mountains.

Sunlight breaking through holes in the sky.

Rain moving down a fjord.

Waterfalls swollen with meltwater.

Dark rock.

Green valleys.

Fresh snow higher up.

Mist.

Reflections.

Storm light.

Give a drone a cloudless midday sky and the footage can look surprisingly ordinary.

Give it broken Norwegian weather at 7pm and suddenly the landscape has layers.

That is what I’m hunting.

Not perfect weather.

Interesting light.

Norway is spectacular from the air precisely because much of it is wild, quiet and protected.

I’m not travelling there to spoil that for somebody else.

Before every flight I’ll check the airspace and local restrictions, look for protected areas, consider people and wildlife and decide whether putting a drone into the air is actually appropriate.

Norway’s current open-category rules include visual line of sight, a maximum height of 120 metres from the closest point of the ground, restrictions around airports and requirements concerning registration and operator identification. Visitors using camera-equipped drones also need to pay attention to Norway’s rules concerning airborne sensors. (Luftfartstilsynet)

I’ll have all of that sorted before Vanilla leaves Stafford.

Then every flight becomes the same simple decision.

Legal?

Safe?

Considerate?

Worth it?

If any answer is no, we don’t fly.

Norway will still be there.

I don’t want three weeks of random drone footage.

I want enough material to make one beautiful film.

The opening motorway miles.

Hull.

Vanilla disappearing into the ferry.

Europe.

Hirtshals.

The Skagerrak.

Norway appearing ahead.

Then the visual language changes.

Mountains.

Water.

Ferries.

Waterfalls.

Snow.

Tiny roads.

Tiny villages.

Tiny Vanilla.

Torque beside a fjord.

Rain on the windscreen.

Webasto mornings.

Coffee with mountains outside.

A drone climbing slowly until the road we just drove becomes a thin line through an enormous landscape.

And eventually the final Norwegian shot.

Perhaps Vanilla driving towards Kristiansand.

Perhaps a ferry.

Perhaps one last fjord disappearing behind the mountains.

Drone lands.

Arms fold.

Battery comes out.

Norway stays where it is.

And we go home.

WHY TAKE DRONES TO NORWAY?

Because roads only show you where you’re going.

A drone can show you where you’ve been.

It can connect the mountain to the fjord, the waterfall to the river, the ferry to the road and Vanilla to this enormous landscape around her.

That’s what I want from Norway.

Not altitude for the sake of altitude.

Perspective.

Scale.

Movement.

Silence.

Three weeks travelling through one of the most spectacular landscapes in Europe with a campervan, an e-bike and cameras capable of leaving the ground.

NIX // NORWAY 2027.

VANILLA ON THE ROAD.

TORQUE ON THE TRAILS.

DRONES IN THE SKY.