The Locations that Inspired The Starseed (Part 1)

If you have already read my sci-fi mystery novel; The Starseed, you might have wondered which of the many locations described in the book are real and which are not. You might have Googled a few, or you might even have already been familiar with some of them, but if I have done my work well then there will also have been a certain ambiguity about at least some of the places visited by Professor Korrigan during his three-day journey through the west coast of Norway. 

It is no coincidence that I chose the west coast as the setting for my first novel set in the real world, as I myself grew up in this part of the country—granted a few decades after the book’s setting of 1975. By the time I came into the world in the early 90s the “oil adventure” was already starting to wind down, though it was still very much an unavoidable part of the culture. And my hometown of Stavanger was, and still is in some ways, seen as the “oil capital” of Norway. With these influences I suppose it was only a matter of time before it made its way into my writings.

So, as you can imagine, every single location described in the novel, whether real or made up, will have some connection to actual places that have some meaning to me. Listed here—in order of appearance in the novel—is every town, village and vehicle with a short breakdown of their real-life counterparts.

Mild spoiler warnings for the plot of The Starseed.

Just in case you haven’t read the novel yet, I have made sure to avoid any major character or plot-driven spoilers in this article, however, the locations themselves, especially the later ones in part two, can be considered plot spoilers in and of themselves.

THE IRON AGE FARM

In my hometown of Stavanger, just a few kilometres uphill from the inlet where Harald Fairhair united the tribes of Norway into a single nation after the battle of Hafrsfjord in 872 AD, a trio of carefully reconstructed iron age longhouses lie in the shadows of three brutalist apartment blocks from the mid-1970s.

Having been history buff and an armchair archaeologist my entire life it goes without saying that I have visited the Iron Age Farm at Ullandhaug many times over the years, and the odd contrasts of this location has never ceased to amuse me. The illusion of having travelled back to the age of the Vikings would have been perfect had it not been for the three apartment buildings that always seem to intrude upon the scene whenever you try to take a nice picture of the place. And if you try to take a picture southward, with the mountains of the Bokna Fjord clearly visible on the horizon, you will also get a nice panoramic view of the University in Stavanger, not to mention the peculiar-looking old telecommunications tower that stands atop a forested hill nearby.

One of the few “clean” views of The Iron Age Farm at Ullandhaug back in 2000 before the construction of the visitor centre.

Stone and concrete. These brutalist apartment buildings were raised in mid-1975, the same year as the Iron Age Farm reconstruction was completed. Photo taken in Feb. 1996.

Ullandhaug, much like the plot of The Starseed, is a fascinating tapestry of the old and the new placed side-by-side. It therefore seemed appropriate to start my story in a location inspired by Ullandhaug. Likewise, what better way to introduce an archaeologist than having him partake in an archaeological dig.

Although I’m a sucker for pulpy adventures about daring explorers discovering ancient temples in the jungles of India or in the Egyptian desert, Korrigan is not Indiana Jones, so for this story I wanted to depict a realistic archaeological excavation that allowed me to incorporate the changeling myth that is central to the novel. The slow and laborious process of an excavation is admittedly not the most exciting thing to read about, but I knew it would serve as a good introduction to my characters and themes, and since ancient Norway was once littered with homesteads like the one at Ullandhaug, I figured a near-identical one could be buried under the fields of some farm in the nearby county of Suldal. As a matter of fact, while in the late stages of writing the novel, I found out that archaeologists had recently performed a series of lidar sweeps over Ritland in Suldal proving the presence of multiple prehistoric settlements. I could make some joke about having a sixth sense for archaeology, but you could dig in almost any field near the south-west coast and find signs of ancient habitation. Case in point, one of the most important archaeological digs in Stavanger (the excavation of the so-called “Gausel Queen” from 1997-1999) was a mere fifteen-minute walk away from where I grew up. I remember my mother taking me to watch the archaeologists work when I was seven years old. Clearly it must have had a strong effect on me.

The excavation of Dronningåsen ("The Queen's Hill") in September 1999. The kid in the red T-shirt is me.

A few years later as part of a field trip during my short tenure as a Boy Scout I spent a whole day, and night, at the iron age farm at Ullandhaug. This was many years before the construction of the nice visitor centre that now stands at the foot of the hill, so we slept in sleeping bags placed atop sheepskin covered wooden benches, and the closest thing we had to a bathroom was a small, smelly outhouse with a door that didn’t close.

Almost two decades later I returned to the Iron Age Farm, not as a history enthusiast, but as a filmmaker, and used one of the longhouses as a shooting location for my 2022 Fantasy short film; The Wild Huntsman. If you’re curious, you can watch the whole 5 min. short here.

Shooting a scene with actor Vegard Heggelund at the Iron Age Farm during the summer of 2021. Photo by Kornelius Kiil Enoksen.

TAU FERRY DOCKS

The inclusion of the Tau ferry docks, though very brief, actually carries a bit of significance for a local like myself, doubly so as someone who quite enjoys the whole atmosphere of ferry rides, something which is sadly becoming less common nowadays. Up until the completion of the Ryfast subsea tunnel system in 2019, the only two ways to get to Tau (and Suldal) from the Stavanger peninsula was either to drive around the whole arm of the Bokna fjord, or to take the Tau-Stavanger ferry. Since Tau is the largest settlement near Pulpit Rock (if you’re not already familiar with it, you might have seen Tom Cruise climb it during the climax of Mission Impossible: Fallout) it was the most natural place for tourists and locals alike to travel through, that is, until the tunnel was built.

The tunnel is naturally faster and more convenient, but in my opinion, a poor substitute for the charm of taking the ferry across the fjord on a sunny summer day on your way to hike up to one of Norway’s most iconic locations. Although I grew up in the suburbs of Stavanger on the opposite side of the fjord, I somehow never got around to visiting Pulpit Rock until I was in my early twenties, when I did the hike with a good American friend of mine that was visiting in 2014. Judging from his holiday photos from his visit I’d venture a guess that he would agree with my assessment that the ferry was an integral part of the charm of the whole trip. A few years later he visited Norway again, this time bringing along his wife (he’d gotten married since his last visit), and although we chose another, even more scenic route this time, we still had to take a ferry. The third time I went to pulpit rock, this time with my brother (his first time) and an American relative (it was a first for him too) we naturally took the Tau-Stavanger ferry. This was in 2018, one year before the completion of the tunnel, and therefore my last trip with the ferry.

I couldn't find any photos of the Tau ferry docks, so here's the ferry on its way there in 2014.

STAVANGER

When I first started working on The Starseed I decided that I wouldn’t dwell too much on the city of Stavanger despite it being my hometown and chose instead to make it part of Professor Korrigan’s journey from the excavation to the drill rig. After all, if you wanted to fly out to any form of petroleum industry-related rig in 1975 it would have to be through Stavanger. However, I couldn’t ignore the city of my upbringing entirely, so what started as a few simple sentences evolved into a brief tour of downtown Stavanger, appropriately seen through a historical lens.

The route that Korrigan takes in the book, starting at Østervåg, then following through Vågen and finally into the town square, is for all intents and purposes one of necessity and historical accuracy, and yet it very much is a perfect summary of the history of the city. I did in no way exaggerate when I described it as a thousand years of history crammed into less than a minute of driving.

Vågen bay, Stavanger, in 1997, though it appears much the same today and would not have changed much since the novel’s setting of 1975 either.

Toldboden (left) and Victoria Hotel (right) on a grey April morning in 1996, not too different from how Korrigan would have seen them in March of 1975.

Even today, if you stand at the end of the bay at Vågen and you look out towards the fjord you are likely to see some pretty large signs of industry as you’ll be facing the Rosenberg shipyard. And although you are not likely to see any oil rigs under construction anymore, you are still likely to spot some kind of tanker or cargo ship not unlike the ones observed by Korrigan on his ferry ride into the city. Turn around and look in any direction and you’ll see plenty of signs of Stavanger’s maritime history, from the traditional porthouses now turned into bars and nightclubs to your left, and to your right, towering above most other buildings you’ll find the modernist Ankerbygget (literal translation: “The Anchor Building”). Look closely and you’ll find anchors incorporated not only into the wrought iron balconies but also in the granite façade itself. Stavanger is not only a thousand years of visible history in one place, but a living tribute to all things maritime.

But on the opposite side of the town square, slightly to the left of the Stavanger Cathedral School, you’ll see a grey granite cathedral that has looked very much the same as it has done for the past 900 years; Domkirken. 

The Stavanger Cathedral in 1995 before the recent renovation work done in preparation for its 900th anniversary in 2025. This shows the more extravagant rear view as opposed to the simpler, more mediaeval-looking front end that Korrigan would have seen.

Stavanger Cathedral—colloquially known as Domkirken—is the oldest cathedral that’s been in continuous use in Norway and was finished around 1150, though the city counts the year 1125 as its official foundation. Some experts maintain that part of the structure could date back as far as 1090, with others claiming that an old wooden church could have stood on the site for several centuries prior. The elaborate gothic façade on the east end (pictured above) was constructed in the late 13th century after the city had been ravaged by a fire in 1272. The western façade with the main entrance, which is the side that Korrigan would have glimpsed during his brief drive through downtown Stavanger, has a much more modest and mediaeval look to it.

Although the nave has always been open to the public (with certain exceptions), I have been fortunate to get to visit some of the less commonly seen parts of the cathedral over the years, such as the crypt and even the bell tower. In preparations for the city and the cathedral’s joint 900th anniversary in 2025, the church has been undergoing extensive renovations and has been entirely closed off since 2020. Unfortunate news for tourists, but it has been a golden opportunity for local archeologists who have used the restoration process as an excuse to excavate in places that have previously been completely out of limits.

FORUS AIRPORT

The location of the partially abandoned runway described in the third chapter is pretty much “down the road” from where I grew up, though by my time there was little to suggest it had once been an airstrip. As a kid me and my friends would often cross this location as a shortcut to the mall. We’d go down the hill, through the tunnel under the E39, and then step through a hole in a fence that took us to a large empty square of asphalt that I was always told used to be a landing platform for helicopters. At the time I didn’t think much of it, my mind was usually focused on the contents of the toy store or the pet shop (I had a friend who collected stick insects) hidden behind the row of office buildings and workshops on the other side of the empty lot.

As I describe in the novel, this simple airstrip was built by the Deutsche Luftwaffe in 1941 at the start of the German occupation of Norway. After the war it was supposed to be used by the Norwegian military, but little ever came out of it, presumably due to the much larger airport in Sola which is a short drive away. During the late 60s the airstrip was finally put to use by Helikopter Service as a means to ferry workers out to numerous oil rigs that were popping up all over the North Sea. The airstrip was used as a helicopter base until 1989 when a new and improved helicopter terminal was opened at Sola airport. Since the helicopters had no need of the full length of the three taxiways, it was not uncommon for the locals to use the empty stretches of tarmac to help their teenage children practise for their driver’s licence. In fact, my mother learned to drive there in the late 70s. 

Researching this familiar, but once very different locale for the book, was at once fascinating and somewhat difficult as there are very few photos of the place during the 70s. Small patches of the old taxiway can still be found here and there, having been converted into parking lots or integrated with new roads, and from what I’ve read online one of the maintenance hangars still exists.

What was left of the airstrip in 1994, photographed by my mother. Although this predates it by a couple of years, I spent most of my childhood living at the foot of the hill you can see in the far background.

SOLA AVIATION MUSEUM

Although a very minor influence on the actual story, and despite Sola airport only being mentioned in passing in the book, I would still feel remiss if I did not mention the Aviation Museum at Sola. 

This is very much the kind of old-fashioned, no-nonsense museum that I sorely miss these days and that seemed to be the norm when I was a child. It is the very definition of utilitarian and is completely devoid of the pretentious art-gallery vibe that is so common in modern museums. What you see is what you get, and the locale itself is as much a piece of history as the exhibitions within.

The museum was founded in 1984 and is run by local volunteers. Photo taken July 2023.

The museum itself is an old WWII aircraft hangar stuffed with all kinds of aircraft, ranging from something as small and simple as a former civilian owned Bell 47 single-rotor, single-engine light helicopter, to a duo of American jet fighters from the 50s such as the Republic F-84G Thunderjet and the RF-84F Thunderflash. They have various German Luftwaffe aircraft such as a Messerschmitt Bf 109, as well as the only remaining airframe of an Arado 196 which was stationed on the Kriegsmarine cruiser ship the Blücher, which was sunk in the Oslofjord in April 1940. As if such an assortment of fighter jets, both partial and complete, were not impressive enough, standing dead-smack in the centre of the hangar is a full-on Douglas DC-6 airliner with a capacity of up to 70 passengers. And as if one full airliner wasn’t enough, standing beside it is a slightly smaller, but still massive, Convair CV-440 Metropolitan once used by SAS and Norfly. But the most impressive plane in the collection by far (or at least in my opinion), has to be their beautifully restored, black-painted Consolidated PBY-5A Catalina amphibious aircraft from the 1930s. Although not the largest plane in the hangar, and by no means the most spacious one within, there is just something raw and menacing about the massive silhouette of this beast of a flying boat, aided in no small part by its pair of massive three-bladed propellers attached to the 32 metre (104 ft) wings raised above the fuselage like some massive predatory bird about to take flight. I am also a sucker for all things 1930s and 40s, and the domed gun turrets give it that vintage charm that in my opinion has never been surpassed.

However, at the end of the day, I came for a single purpose—one perhaps a tad mundane compared to all that I’ve described so far, and that was to get a good look at the museum’s Bell UH-1 Iroquois (or “Huey”) helicopter, as I knew a few of them would be an important part of the eventual discovery of the stolen LNG tanker ship in the novel. Compared to the MD 500 (“flying egg”) used by Marshall, the UH-1 does play a fairly small part in the plot, but since the museum didn’t have an MD 500, I had to consult online sources in that case. I did likewise for the UH-1, of course, but when there was one sitting in an aircraft hangar less than an hour away from where I live, I figured it was as good an excuse as any to go and visit a museum I had not been to since I was a kid. Besides, the trip did prove useful to my research after all, and the information accompanying the helicopter did clarify a question I had about where the Norwegian Air Force's Hueys would have been stationed in 1975. Getting to inspect one in person also gave me a good indication of just how many people could realistically be crammed into a single helicopter, making me realise that the passenger capacities I had read online were quite ambitious.

Left: A Consolidated PBY-5A Catalina from 1932. Right: Bell UH-1 ("Huey") helicopter formerly owned by the Royal Norwegian Air Force. Photos taken July 2023.

THE NORWEGIAN PETROLEUM MUSEUM

Although I grew up surrounded by people working in the petroleum industry—heck the headquarters for Statoil was right down the road—I’ve never actually been to a rig of any kind. It’s not exactly like you can just pop down to the nearest oil rig and ask if you can have a look around. I have, however, been to the next best thing; The Norwegian Petroleum Museum.

Photo taken in 2023 showing the back-view of the museum with the mini ‘oil rig’ protruding from the main building on the left.

Opened in 1999, the petroleum museum, much like the Iron Age Farm, is one of those places I’ve continually visited since I was a kid, either through school or on my own accord, though admittedly, I never all that much attention to the historical or technical nuances of the exhibits until I got the idea to set my first Korrigan novel in Norway during the oil rush in the 1970s.

The one part of the museum that has always stood out to me, is the large back-section that emulates an oil rig. At first you step into a fake plane, complete with sound effects and TV screens in the windows, and then you step onto a walkway that takes you out of the museum and onto the “rig,” complete with crane, emergency raft, a genuine control module filled with retro-looking buttons and levers, a more modern control chair that looks like something out of a sci-fi movie, and even an escape chute for the kids to try out. Although the “effects” used to immerse you in this experience were, and still are, somewhat crude, it was still very much an experience that left a big impression on me as a child. 

A 7-year-old me on the mini-rig on opening day, May 20th, 1999. The Rosenberg shipyard can be seen in the background. I still have the ticket stub from that day. The text reads: The Norwegian Petroleum adventure began when this drill bit struck oil in 1969. The rest is history.”

CONTINUED IN PART 2.