Flowing from the springs of Rold Forest in the heart of Him­mer­land to the Lim­fjord, Lin­den­borg Å car­ri­es tales of both ghosts and natu­ral for­ces in its cur­rent

GPS Link: The halt:56.918255, 10.066884, Lin­den­borg Cast­le: 56.907783, 10.034607

Par­king:Betwe­en Vaarst Eng­vej 15 and 20, a foot­path provi­des access to the old railway embank­ment lea­ding down to the brid­ge, approxi­ma­te­ly at 56.925650, 10.055747. Unfortu­na­te­ly, the­re is no offi­ci­al par­king area here. Alter­na­ti­ve­ly, you can park at Vaarst Bane­vej and walk to the railway brid­ge, a jour­ney of about 30 minu­tes.

Good To Know: The for­mer railway line has been con­ver­ted into a cycling and wal­king path. From Vaarst, it is pos­sib­le to cyc­le all the way to Hads­und, 30 km (19 miles) to the south, along a rou­te that pas­ses through beau­ti­ful and vari­ed landsca­pes, histo­ric buil­dings, anci­ent buri­al mounds, and more.

The Lin­den­borg River rises near the vil­la­ge of Nysum, south of Rold Forest, alongsi­de its “twin,” the Sime­sted River. Both rivers are approxi­ma­te­ly 50 kilo­me­ters long, but whi­le the Sime­sted River flows sout­hwest into Hjar­bæk Fjord, the Lin­den­borg River runs north through the Grav­lev Val­ley befo­re emp­tying into the Lim­fjord betwe­en Aal­borg and Egen­se, near the town of Stor­vor­de.

What makes the Lin­den­borg River tru­ly remar­kab­le are the magi­cal volu­mes of spring water that flow into it from Kous­bæk­ken, Lil­le Blåkil­de, and Blå­høl, but above all from the anci­ent holy spring, Ravnkil­de, which wells up from bene­ath the gro­und below the Rebild Hills.

The Lin­den­borg River mean­ders through the Grav­lev Val­ley

The Old Railway

Near the vil­la­ge of Vaarst, the for­mer Aalborg–Hadsund railway cros­sed the Lin­den­borg River in the mid­dle of the val­ley’s vast mars­hlands. The railway was clo­sed in 1969. A water cra­ne once stood here, sup­plying steam loco­mo­ti­ves with fresh water during their jour­ney. In 1928, a small railway halt was establis­hed by the river, allowing ang­lers to disem­bark with their fis­hing gear.

The nick­na­me “Den­mark’s most deso­la­te railway halt” is well deser­ved. The brid­ge over the Lin­den­borg River lies deep wit­hin the bro­ad, mars­hy val­ley, whe­re drai­na­ge dit­ches strug­g­le to keep the sur­ro­un­ding fields dry. If a soli­tary ang­ler beca­me absor­bed in the pur­su­it of the river’s temp­ting pike, wan­de­red absent-min­de­d­ly along its win­ding cour­se, and mis­sed the day’s last train, the night spent in the val­ley must have been a cold and lone­ly expe­ri­en­ce. Even on sum­mer nights, the mars­hes pro­du­ce a thi­ck blan­ket of cold mist.

The aut­hor and her fat­her at Den­mark’s most deso­la­te railway halt, back in the late 80s

The Haun­ted Cast­le

Not far from the for­mer railway halt stands Lin­den­borg Cast­le — actu­al­ly an old manor — who­se ori­gins date back to 1367. The ori­gi­nal buil­dings were destroy­ed during the Count’s Feud in 1534, whi­le the pre­sent main buil­ding was com­ple­ted in 1567.

Seve­ral ghost sto­ri­es and legends of mai­dens wal­led ali­ve are asso­ci­a­ted with Lin­den­borg Cast­le, but the most famous con­cerns Baro­ness Sop­hie Ama­lie Lin­denov, who­se name has beco­me inse­pa­rab­le from the esta­te’s haun­tings.

Accor­ding to one ver­sion of the legend, she orche­stra­ted the mur­der of her hus­band, Claus Oluf­søn Daa. Tormen­ted by guilt, she is said to wan­der the manor rest­les­s­ly at night, appea­ring as the Grey Lady.

View of Lin­den­borg Cast­le, from an old illu­stra­tion

 The Final Jour­ney of Sop­hie Ama­lie

Ano­t­her, far more tragic story invol­ving Sop­hie Ama­lie is from 1688, when she had to be rus­hed to Aal­borg after a dif­fi­cult labour thre­a­te­ned both her life and that of her unborn child. She was in such ago­ny that she could not endu­re the jol­ting of a car­ri­a­ge. Inste­ad, a leat­her she­et was stret­ched betwe­en four calm and power­ful hor­ses to cre­a­te a makes­hift lit­ter, whi­le musi­ci­ans accom­pa­nied the pro­ces­sion in an attempt to drown out her cri­es.Sad­ly, Sop­hie Ama­lie did not sur­vi­ve the com­pli­ca­ted child­bir­th. She and her child were buri­ed in Blen­strup Church, south of the esta­te.

Local tra­di­tion says that on July nights, the eerie pro­ces­sion can still be heard tra­vel­ling across roads that no lon­ger exist in the coun­trysi­de to the north. If the­re is a pea­ce­ful pla­ce from which to listen, the old railway brid­ge at Vaarst is an excel­lent choi­ce. Far rem­o­ved from the traf­fic of the Hads­und Road, visi­tors can expe­ri­en­ce the bro­ad river, the silent mars­hes, and the soli­tu­de of the val­ley.

If you fail to hear the ghost­ly echo­es of Sop­hie Ama­lie’s last jour­ney, listen inste­ad for the calls of ravens, nigh­tjars, short-eared owls, and long-eared owls—or, with a litt­le luck, per­haps even catch a glimp­se of dan­cing elves or the myste­rious will‑o’-the-wisps that are said to wan­der the mars­hes.

Portrait of Lady Sop­hie Ama­lie Lin­denov (1649 – 1688)