Nordic Wisdom Field Notes: Friluftsliv and Everyday Outdoor Life

We heard the deer before we saw them.

My wife and I were spending the day exploring Jægersborg Dyrehave, a historic deer park north of Copenhagen and part of Denmark’s UNESCO-listed Par Force Hunting Landscape. Woodland paths lead into open grasslands around a former royal hunting lodge. For someone drawn to wildlife, history, and wandering through unfamiliar places, it was an easy place to want to explore.

Almost as soon as we entered, the calls of rutting red deer carried through the dense forest. That sound sent goosebumps across my body. We could hear them somewhere beyond the trees before we could see what was unfolding. As we made our way toward the hunting lodge, the forest opened into fields holding hundreds upon hundreds of deer. Some grazed. Others watched or moved between groups. Against that broad scene, individual dramas began to emerge: a younger stag drawing females away from an older male, shifting herds, and challenges that made us stop and watch.

We had set aside the day to wander. The deer gave us plenty of reasons to stay.

A side quest in Norway

Earlier in the trip, we had made a different kind of outdoor detour: hiking Maurstien, the Ant Trail, at the Tranøybotn entrance to Ånderdalen National Park in Norway. The park describes it as a nature trail associated with that entrance, an invitation to explore the place through a relatively modest outing.

For us, it was a little side quest with several rewards.

First, we wanted to move. Travel can involve plenty of walking, but there is something satisfying about deliberately choosing a trail and getting kinetic. The walk also connected with something we already enjoy together. My wife and I take pride in exploring our national parks at home, and visiting a national park in another country brought that familiar enthusiasm into a new landscape. There was the pleasure of adding another place to our experience, certainly. There was also the curiosity of seeing how another country introduces people to its protected spaces. Even the name, the Ant Trail, gave us something to wonder about before we started. With my background in outdoor education, I am often thinking about routes, equipment, learning objectives, and the logistics that make an experience possible. On this walk, I could simply be a participant. We had found a trail that interested us, made time for it, and gone outside.

That simplicity stayed with me.

A landscape that would not stay in the background

Our day in Denmark brought a different intensity. We were exploring Jægersborg Dyrehave, part of the UNESCO-listed Par Force Hunting Landscape in North Zealand. The wider designation includes forests shaped by historic royal hunting practices, with deliberately arranged roads and sightlines. It is a landscape where human history and outdoor life remain closely connected.

But the deer were what held us. Moving from the dense forest toward the open ground around the hunting lodge changed the scale of the experience. We went from hearing animals we could not see to looking across fields full of them. The longer we watched, the more individual encounters emerged from the larger scene.

One younger stag appeared to be drawing females away from an older male. What I would casually describe as “stealing cows” became a small drama we could follow: movement between animals, shifting groups, and a younger challenger making his opportunity. Then our route brought us across his path. At one point, we were within roughly seventy-five feet of him, and he fixed us with a stare. He struck me as aggressive. Whatever his intention, the encounter made his size, strength, and proximity very clear.

I have spent enough time outdoors to know that familiarity with wildlife does not give me control over it. Still, there is a difference between knowing that and feeling it while a rutting stag watches you from a short distance away. The Danish Nature Agency reminds visitors that these deer are wild and should not be approached or fed. That moment belongs in my memory as a reminder to give wildlife room.

Even the smell followed us. Some of my gear still carries what I recognize as their musk, a lingering reminder of a day that involved far more than looking at scenery.

What friluftsliv adds to the experience

The Norwegian term friluftsliv, often translated as “open-air life,” offers a useful way to think about these experiences. Swedish-American author Linda Åkeson McGurk explores it in The Open-Air Life, connecting Nordic outdoor traditions with opportunities to build a relationship with nature in everyday life. Her work extends beyond major adventures to the ordinary practices that bring people outside.

That idea gives me something to examine in my own habits.

I am naturally drawn to an expedition. Give me a map, a national park, or an unfamiliar trail, and I will find a reason to explore it. A trip creates space for that curiosity. The harder question is how often I make room for it during a normal week.

Our Norwegian side quest and Danish deer encounter were memorable travel experiences. They do not tell me how everyone in either country lives. They do, however, help me recognize what I value about being outside: movement, discovery, contact with other living things, and the opportunity to become familiar with a place through experience. Those possibilities exist close to home, too. A nearby trail will not reproduce the red deer rut in Denmark. It has its own seasonal changes, animal movements, and details I might learn to recognize by returning. That familiarity takes repeated visits, including visits when nothing especially dramatic happens.

Making outdoor life possible

As an educator, I know how much preparation can go into helping people feel comfortable outside. A welcoming route, understandable information, somewhere to rest, and an outing that fits the time available can all influence whether someone participates. The same considerations matter in our own lives.

Nearby spaces, transportation, mobility, weather, and work schedules shape what outdoor time can look like. A practice that depends on an uninterrupted afternoon or specialized equipment will fit some people more easily than others. Encouragement becomes more useful when it accounts for those circumstances. For one-person, regular outdoor contact might mean a woodland walk. For another, it might mean sitting in an accessible garden, visiting a waterfront, or spending a few minutes in a nearby park.

I want to carry that understanding into my work as well. Alongside planning memorable outdoor experiences, I want to help people find places they can return to and gradually make their own connections.

An invitation to return

Choose one nearby outdoor place you can comfortably access. Give yourself permission to visit without a distance, pace, or fitness target. Walk, sit, or pause in whatever way works for you. Notice something specific: an animal, a change in vegetation, the condition of the ground, or the way weather has altered the place. Return when you can and see what has changed.

I will remember Denmark through the calls in the forest, the deer spread across the fields, and the younger stag watching us near the trail. Norway stays with me through the pleasure of a side quest we chose simply because it interested us. Both experiences make me want to keep exploring. They also leave me with a practical question for life at home: which nearby place could I come to know better if I made a little more room for it in my week?