Assumptions

August 28, 2025

First, everything is fine. I’m still in Norway and this story has a happy ending otherwise I wouldn’t be writing about it yet. 

Claire-Adele and I took a gondola up a mountain in Bergen for the view. It was great. From the top of the mountain, there are several hiking “trails.” I loosely use the word trail because Europeans “tramp” instead of hike. In the US, we stay on the path for fear of stamping on flowers or grass or whatever. Europeans are much more cavalier: they walk wherever they want - trail or no trail. 

Anyway, Claire-Adele and I took a gondola to the top of a mountain and went for a short hike. There is a bar and grill at the top of the mountain, and it looked like someone is hosting a corporate event here.

So we go for our hike, and we agree that will split off. It is about 6:20 p.m. She will hike ahead for about ten minutes, and I will stay and wait for her. When she comes back, we will take the gondola back down the mountain and take the bus back to the hotel around 7:15. We will go to an Indian restaurant near the hotel.

I wait for Claire-Adele. 

And wait.

And wait.

It isn'y uncommon that hiking takes longer that one thinks it should, so I am not alarmed.

It is close to 7:00, and I've been in the same spot for almost 40 minutes with no sign of her. I wonder where she is. I text, but no reply. I text her to tell her I am going up the trail a bit to see if I can find her.

I can't.

I text again. No reply. 

I text her on WhatsApp. 

No reply.

At 7:00, I wonder where she is.

At 7:15, I become concerned.

Around 7:30, I start to worry. I head back to the cafe to see if she is there. She is not. I ask a few people I saw on the trail if they saw a 25 year old woman in a white shirt and black pants. 

No.

Claire-Adele likes to hike and will take her time, but she has never been inconsiderate.

I tell someone at the cafe I can't find my daughter. There aren't forest rangers here -- just people who work at the restaurant. A woman listens, and looks alarmed.

"Someone died here three months ago," she said.

Now I am panicking.

"Would you like me to call the Red Cross search and rescue?" It is 7:45. It is getting dark and it is raining. By 8:15, I've talked to the police. They ask what hotel we are staying at, and if she could be there.

"I don't know," I said. "I didn't see her cross me on the path. I don't think she is there." I am convinced she is still on the mountain, lost or hurt or worse. She still isn't answering her phone.

"Should I go look for her on the trail? Should I go back to the hotel?" I ask the Norwegian police officer. 

"No," she said. "Wait in the restaurant." It is getting cold, and Claire-Adele isn't wearing a warm jacket. When we came to the mountain, it was 75 degrees. Now it is raining and in the 60's. I hang up with the police officer. She has my number to call me back.

I am lost be befuddled. I consider calling someone--anyone--stateside. At what point to I call Claire-Adele's dad to tell him she is missing?

I stare at my phone, waiting for something.

All of a sudden, I see her initials pop on her text screen.

"I'm at the hotel," she said. "Where are you?"

I burst into tears, sobbing. The cafe people call off the police to let them know Claire-Adele has been found. The help me down the gondola, and order me a cab back to the hotel.

"My phone died on the mountain," she texted. "I had 15% and then it died."

I meet Claire-Adele at the hotel.

"I am so sorry, Mom," she said. "You must have been scared."

She has no idea.

We discussed how we got our wires crossed. When she walked back, she didn't see me on the trail, so she assumed I was back at the cafe. She saw a woman who looked like me get on the gondola, and went down. It wasn't me, she quickly figured out, but it was too late. She waited for more gondolas, before she walked two miles back to the hotel. She plugged in her phone and texted me.

I assumed that since I didn't see her that she was still on the mountain. I also assumed her phone was charged and she got my texts.

It all ended well, but man that did a umber on my nerves.