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| Simba From Singe Lappland, Sweden |
In the meantime, this post is some trains of thought
that capture some of this terrific experience.
NOTE: TRAIN OF THOUGHT WAS THE ORIGINAL INTENTION OF THE
POST, BUT IT WOUND UP BEING LONGER AND MORE COMPLETE THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD.
The Kungsleden is a 275 mile long trail running North/South in
extreme northern Sweden, Lappland, that was established over 100 years ago. The name translates to “King of Trails”.
Our
hike encompassed 8 days, 7 nights, and 65 miles of the northernmost section of
the trail, beginning at Abisko Mountain Station, 20 miles by road from Norway,
and ending in the small Sami village of Nikkaluotka. This stretch of the
Kungsleden is on most lists of the greatest hikes in the world.
It was an awesome adventure for the three of us: Me, John
Nelson, and Marty Szabo. The three of us have hiked together many times, from
the Desolation Wilderness, to Mt. Whitney, to sections of the Appalachian Trail,
to multiple hikes in Kerry, Ireland.
This was the most “wilderness” and most remote location we’ve
encountered in these adventures, and I’m going to take some time documenting
all eight days of it. More thoughts,
description, and pictures will follow.
This post is an attempt at an initial distillation of
this experience.
Starting 120 miles above the Arctic Circle, this was Arctic
Hiking – remote and wilderness. The hike began in birch forests which soon
faded to Arctic landscape as the trail rose above the treeline.
For days, the
trail followed magnificent Arctic valleys surrounded by massive, broad
mountains.
Even the smallest of these mountains was striped with snow and capped
with new snowfall. The largest of these mountains carried glaciers.
Bear in mind also, that this is the Land of
the Midnight Sun, and this is the time of the midnight sun. It never got dark.
To get a feel for the size of the valleys we encountered,
consider that walked up one of these valleys for three days before getting to the
highest point on the hike, Tjakjta Pass, in the middle of a snowstorm. The next
three days we followed the next valley downstream before the trail turned away
to the east.
On many days, low clouds covered most of the mountain views.
When the sun did break through, these mountains appeared below high broken clouds
with bright blue skies.
The dominant sound on the hike was complete silence. The
silence was broken sometimes by a faint roar from a giant waterfall pouring
down the side of one of the distant mountains. Sometimes, the silence was
broken by a smaller waterfall or rapids from an upcoming river crossing. On
occasion, the silence was broken by the chirp an arctic tern, able to hover
over us while maneuvering in the wind.
In addition to arctic terns, we encountered reindeer (lots
and lots), 
A good way to describe how pristine this wilderness is, is
to note that you can drink the water, untreated, out of any stream. And we did.
And it was cold.
Water was also an important part of the hike itself. As the
trail roughly follows major valleys, we often hiked along or near major rivers,
watching them lessen as we walked up the valley, or grow as we walked down the
next valley. The first of these rivers flowed north, draining tothe Norwegian
Sea. The last of these flowed south, toward the Baltic.
In many cases, we walked next to lakes formed
by these rivers.
Much of the hiking involved dealing with the water that ultimately
made up these rivers. It flowed across the valley and across our trail in many
forms.
Damp, boggy areas
were frequent, sometimes crossed with board walks, sometimes not.
Often, the water flowed across our path as small streams, to
step across or to pick your way across on stones.
A lot of times the water we had to cross was best described
as rivers. A lot of these were bridged. Smaller rivers might have a bridge
consisting of wooden planks. Larger rivers
would have substantial suspension bridges, some of them high above the river
gorge below them.
Some of the rivers that required crossing had no bridges at
all. There were a couple of strategies for crossing them.
One strategy was to
locate a relatively shallow spot and then hop from rock to rock across the
river. This approach could lead to missteps, slips into knee deep water, and
wet boots. This is the approach I took, sometimes successfully, sometimes with
a slip into the knee deep water. But I would get across first.
Another approach, and the one taken by Marty and John, had
more finesse.
They would take off their boots and socks, roll up your pants,
put on your Keen sandals, and walk across the 40 degree water. The wider the
crossing, the more painful this was, but you did wind up with dry boots.
While waiting for John and Marty, I watched one hiker use a
third approach. He was wearing the ideal gear for this trail – calf high
waterproof boots, and gaiters. He never slowed down as he approached the river,
waded right in, and waded across without a misstep. Hated him.
Another facet of the hiking was rock. With a few exceptions
the trail was rocky. In many cases the trail crossed wide fields of rocks that
involved stepping from rock to rock for long distances. This meant slow and
careful progress.
I thought a lot about what a fall on the rocks or a slip and a sprained
ankle would mean, with medical help miles and hours away.
On days at the higher elevations there was still plenty of
snow around. This meant crossing or climbing snowfields, stepping on, or sometimes
in, deep snow.
There were two things that were consistent about the weather
we walked in for eight days: cold and wind.
During the day highs were in the
low to mid 40’s, and lower first thing in the morning. There didn’t seem to be
a whole lot of temperature change during the day, given the cloud cover as well as the midnight sun.
Wind was a given, although it usually seemed it was at our
backs. Mostly it was a steady breeze. Sometimes when it blew in from side
valleys or at the top of a pass it was gusty, gusty enough to cause you to take care when crossing an exposed bridge.
Occasionally, in the middle of a storm, the
wind was brutal.
Other than
temperature and the constant wind, there was very little consistent about the
weather; it could change several times during a hiking day. We would see the
sun occasionally through broken clouds.
But it was more often completely
cloudy, the clouds frequently low enough to block the view of the mountains.
Rain was a factor every day. On most days we went through
the threat of rain, spitting rain, heavy rain, and heavy blowing rain. We began
most days with full rain gear on. On the day we crossed Tskatja Pass, we
started the walk in snow and walked in
heavy snowfall until well after we’d crossed the pass.
I could summarize the last several paragraphs by saying we
went through typical Arctic summer weather. Fortunately, we were prepared for
it. We all had the right gear for the conditions.
But we still finished each day looking forward
to warming up, drying off, and finding a place to dry our gear.
The Swedish Tourist Foundation (STF) has developed and
maintains the Kungsleden. That includes providing and staffing Cabins along the
trail, roughly a days walk apart. We used these, and felt sorry for the hikers we saw using tents in these conditions.
There were two types of these facilities along the way: Mountain
Cabins and Mountain Stations.
We stayed in Mountain Stations the first and
last nights of the hike, at Abisko and then at Kebnekaise.
The Mountain Stations are pretty plush, especially
considering they’re in the wilderness. They exist not only to support Kungsleden
hikers but others as well. The Abisko station is near a road and has a train
station. In the winter it’s one of the best places in the world from which to
watch the northern lights. Like all Mountain Stations it has all
utilities, and different types of accommodations ranging from dorm like to individual
cabins. And like all Mountain Stations, one of the highlights is food. It has
an excellent restaurant with a great kitchen and a great wine cellar. Imagine.
On the night before we left for seven days in the wilderness I had a wonderful
three course meal with wine pairing.
The Kebnekaise Mountain Station served as our accommodations
the last night of the hike.
Besides the Kungsleden, the Kebnekaise serves
outdoors types who come to summit Mt Kebnekaise, the highest point in Sweden. It too
has a great kitchen, but unlike Abisko, it’s 14 miles from the nearest road. But
it attracts families and other non hikers who get shuttled in by helicopter.
For the rest of the hike, we stated in Mountain Cabins.
Everyone staying at the cabins was expected to pitch in with the work, including splitting wood, and hauling buckets of water from the nearby river.
Some of the Mountain Cabins had saunas
(wood heated) and shops with a variety of food supplies. We used the shops for
food; it meant not having to carry it. I got fond of a brand of canned Goulash
soup they had in stock, as well as canned meatballs. It had been years since I
had canned fruit cocktail, but I found it made a great breakfast.
The mountains and valleys we walked through have been home to
the Sami people for thousands of years. But
now, the particular area the Kungsleden passes through is not so much where
they live, but where they work. And we saw lots of indications of their work.
Sami people are the indigenous people of Northern Sweden,
Norway, Finland, and the far northwest of Russia. They’ve lived in these areas
for thousands of years and live in these regions today. Distinctive parts of
their culture include language, dress, music and art. There are organized Sami
parliaments in some of the Nordic countries to protect Sami rites and their
culture.
One of the Sami traditions is reindeer husbandry. In Sweden,
herding and managing reindeer is a protected rite exclusive to Sami. Historically,
this has been a semi-nomadic activity, with Sami following the reindeer into
the mountains and herding them into lower elevations in the spring. Sami huts,
camps, and entire villages would contain the Sami permanent needs, but would be
empty for months at a time as they
followed the reindeer.
That’s pretty much the way it works today, and we got to see
that first hand. Throughout our hike we passed by and through Sami camps.
These
camps would consist of several buildings, some of new construction, and some sod
huts newly constructed using old techniques. These camps were all empty now,
and the buildings securely locked. Reindeer herding season in this area doesn’t
start until mid-July.
We passed near a couple of Sami villages, larger communities
of a few dozen buildings scattered over an area around a lake or river. The
ones we saw happened to be near the locations of our Mountain Cabins. The keeper at the
Alesjaura cabin told us that in a couple of weeks the empty village a quarter
mile up the lake shore would have 150 inhabitants of Sami families, brought in
to this remote location by helicopter. The reindeer herding would last for a
couple of months, then the village would empty until next season.
The people you meet are always a great part of these
adventures. One, in particular, stands out. Jonnie is the keeper of the Singi
cabin.
He’s been the keeper of the cabin here for 15 years. That means he is
out in this remote location, with no running water, no electricity, away from
civilization for three months in the spring/summer, and three months again in
the winter. His companion is Simba, a beautiful, big Saint Bernard. Simba
announced our presence when we walked into the cabin area.
When not in the wilderness, Jonnie returns to his wife in
Stockholm, where every year they travel to someplace warm during Jonnie’s time
off.
Jonnie loves to greet the hikers as they come in, some of
whom are staying in the cabins, some are tenting nearby, and some just passing
through.
We stayed at the Singi cabin the night of Midsommar, one of
the more important Swedish holidays, celebrated on the Saturday after the
summer solstice.
Early that evening, Jonnie came in with a cake, pastries, and
coffee he had made, announcing that we were going to have a Midsommar’s fika. So
we did.
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| The Midsommar's Feast |
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| Courtesy: Herma Mulder |
The celebration included some traditional Midsommar's songs, sung by a couple of younger Swedish hikers
staying in the cabin. One of the songs was accompanied by a lot of hand and arm
gestures and sounded a lot like “Chicken Dance.”
Along the way we got to meet, talk to, or become friends
with people from Sweden, Netherlands, Australia, Portugal, Germany, and other places I didn't note.
The only other Americans I remember were a couple from New York, who
stopped for a while at one of the cabins before moving on. I remember the guy
was using a plastic bag as a backpack cover, and there were a lot of other
indications that they were really unprepared for what they’d gotten into.
In all, this was an incredible experience. I’m going to say it was an adventure of a
lifetime, because I can’t remember when I felt so immersed in a wilderness for
such a length of time. And I doubt I’ll
have the opportunity again.
Also special was the chance to experience this with John
Nelson and Marty Szabo, great friends, great guys, and great seekers of
adventure.
For Marty and I this was our tenth European hike/walk. John and has
been with us for several of these European gigs, and many, many epic hikes in
the US as well. This, over the almost 40 years we’ve known each other.
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| Marty, John, Alan from Charlotte North Carolina, USA |
I couldn’t have walked the Kungsleden with two better men.
