My last real winter experience had been 15 years ago, which made me a little unsure about my deep-winter travel skills. I had to find a good training ground in order to retrieve my confidence in the upcoming Arctic Venture expedition. After wondering over all kinds of maps I finally choose the Kebnekaise region, 400 kilometers above the polar circle in Northern Sweden. In stead of going by train, which would cost me two days, I went from Amsterdam to Kiruna by airplane. Three hours later I arrived in Kiruna, which is already above the polar circle, and took the train to Abisko. In Abisko I filled my fuel bottles at the nearby gas station, bought food and walked along the railway to the start of the trail. My plan: to ski with a sled, a pulk as they call it in Scandinavia, from Abisko to Ritsem, a distance of 200 kilometers through one of most pristene mountain wildernesses in Europe. A journey that would take a little less than twenty days.
Day 1, March 11. I wake up in a snow covered forest just out of sight of the tourist homes at the edge of Abisko. The weather is clear, the temperature -15 degrees Celcius. Yesterday I already packed all the food in plastic bags so I’m ready to go. But first a visit to the tourist station. Here I meet all kinds of tourists who are here to watch the northern lights and stay in the hotel. Nobody else is here to set off for a prolongued camping trip into the wildernis. I cross the road and the railway line, which go all along lake Tornnatrask and further to Narvik, a city at the Norwegian coast. The trail starts with a snowmobile track. I walk up several steps but sink into the deep snow. Time to use my skis, which have a pretty good grip to go up the hill, but when it becomes steeper the nylon sealskins come into action. I’m heading more or less directly towards a mountainpass called Lapportan, ‘gateway of the Lapps’, with it’s distinguishable U-shape. I pass shallow ridges and large boulders that are scattered over the gradually ascending terrain. I have chosen a mainly off-track route that is different from Kungsleden, the popular track more to the west which follows a more southern direction.
Day 2, March 12. Clear sky, -20. A shortcut connecting two different trails leads me through a birch forest through deep snow. The gradual ascent leads me to the open space above the tree line. What a great view on lake Turnatrask and the surrounding mountains! There hasn’t been lot’s of snow lately, so the rocks on the ever ascending ridges make it hard to follow a straight line. At the end of the day, near sunset, I just manage to reach a lake in front of Lapportan. The lightweight saw is excellent for making snow bricks to protect against winds funneling through the mountain pass.
Windshelter at Lapportan
Day 3, March 13. A little experiment with the kite. As soon as it’s in the air the wind comes to a halt. The lake makes for some good progress to the east, until I pass the mountain tops on both sides. The terrain goes up a little more and just before reaching the highest point the cellphone rings. It is my friend Simme who is somewhat surprised that I’m here. Guess I wasn’t too informative about this trip because I’ve been incredibly busy with preparation. From now on it’s a long way down over a frozen river with high snow drifts to the left when, at a certain point, it goes straight down into a narrow canyon. The only way to get down is to position the sledge in front of me and carefully walk down holding on the aluminium tubes tightly, until I almost reach the bottom of the valley. Moving into a southward direction I reach a sheltered spot with piled up snow as high as a four story building. At least I am protected from the wind that rushes down the slopes. At night the aurora creeps up the horizon but doesn’t really reveal itself.
Green horizon
Day 4, March 14. Heading south there is a large cliff of about two hundred meters high, maybe ten kilometers away. It marks the edge of Rautasjaure, one of the many narrow lakes that stretch in a west-easterly direction. The lake itself however is hidden behind the landscape. After ten kilometers the river suddenly sinks into a cravasse of a hundred meters deep. I keep right along a round hill covered with a series of house sized boulders standing into a forest with deep snow. To my surprise another ski – sledge track goes down. While following the track it is becoming really steep. Hopefully my predecessor knew what he was doing. I turn the 40 kg sledge in front of me, the sealskins sticked the other way around on the skis. When it becomes even steeper I am walking and sliding down on my bottom until I touch the end of a narrow valley. The track of a Wolverine curles around the snowpits en bridges in the riverbed, continuing for several kilometers. I am glad my predecessor knew his way around here, otherwise I would not have reached Lake Rautasjaure before dark.
Day 5, March 15. I’m washing my self thoroughly while the sun is warming the tent in the morning. A look at the map. There are two ways to get to lake Paittisjarvi, sixty kilometers further on the other side of a mountainridge. One route goes around the ridge to the east, another touches the peaks of these two kilometer high mountains and then goes down. Although spectacular I don’t see me drag the sledge a kilometer high up. I choose the easterly route. After ten kilometers of skiing east over lake Rautasjaure there is a low ridge of less than a hundred meters high. The ascent is steep and through deep snow. It is late in the afternoon when I enter the valley on the other side. The temperature drops to -27 in the evening. In the down boots my feet finally returned to their usual temperature. The socks and ski boots were soaked with water, because I hadn’t strapped my gaiters tightly during the steep descent on my bottom the previous day, so they had filled with snow.
Good weather dance
Day 6, March 16. – 15. A strong easterly wind starts to blow in the morning. Progress is slow because the wind had not only laid bare some rocks and bushes, but also the mossy surface. I pitch the tent near a broad valley of birch bushes, intersected by several small riverbanks.
Morning grizzly gymnastics
Day 7, March 17. The wind picks up. The sun is covered in a hazy glow. Due to bad visibility it is hard to detect the riverbanks, so once in a while I am being catapulted onto one of the many frozen streams. I follow a marked scooter track southward in a straight line. Now and then the low clouds open to show a hazy view on the huge round hills in the east, resembling giants sleeping under a blanket, resisting the destructive force of time. Just before the last climb of the day the weather turns wild. I put up the tent on a hill expecting a good view in the morning, relying that it will protect me from the most severe winds.
Day 8, March 18. The snowmobile track is gradually going east, further and further from my southbound destination. I had been looking forward to leave the trail and go west to take a shortcut to the valley of river Vistas. But visibility was so low I could only see the cross-like markings along the track, so I decided to follow the track all the way to Paittisjarvi. Finally lake Paittisjarvi comes into sight, stretching all the way east from Kiruna to Nikkaluokta in the west. After a picturesque descent in the evening sun I reach the road to Nikkaluokta, cross it, pass a few houses and reach the lake just when the sun hits the horizon. To my surprise on a big lake like this, the snow is very loose. You can’t put your tent on a surface like that, because the moment you put a foot or a knee on the ground it will make a big hole. I spend two hours digging a hole the size of the tent, all the way to the ice beneath. The snow is so loose and crumbly it doesn’t even hold the snow pegs, but if I put my hand on the crumbly pieces for a couple of seconds it gets more sturdy.
Day 9, March 19. A soft breeze from the east. The direction is good, although not strong enough for the kite. The deep snow makes arranging the kite and lines extra complicated. One hundred meters away from my tent place the snow is well packed, firm enough to walk over. Damn, yesterday I had spent two hours digging for almost nothing. At night the polar lights are giving a good show, which make me stay outside for hours.
Day 10, March 20. I had been using twice as much fuel for the stove as expected. You might as well say I just didn’t brought enough fuel, which means I have to ski to Nikkaluokta to replenish. The chances of reaching Ritsem, my final destination 80 kilometers to the south, are slim. I’ve lost a couple of days due to the failed shortcut and, more than that, I am in continuous pain because my ski-boots are too narrow around the ankle. So now I am heading to Nikkaluokta which I knew from 17 years ago. Here is the story.
Back then, being 23 years old, I was on to my first real solo winter expedition which would take ten days or so. It was already dark when I got on the bus in Kiruna. On my way to Nikkaluokta an older Sami man got into the bus. He was short in stature having grey colored asiatic eyes. He asked my what I was up to and it smelled as if he had been drinking. I tried to explain in my best Swedish – by tweaking the pronunciation of Dutch words – what I was up to. The man answered: aldrig aldrig gå ensam i fjäll. Never never go into the mountains alone. The man went out and the bus finally entered Nikkaluokta. I went out and dragged all my stuff over the snow with the sledge, to the turist station about twenty meters further. I tried to explain the woman behind the counter that I was onto a hike into the mountains, and that if I would not arrive in Ritsem in ten days, somebody was to be looking out for me. In these days there where no spot trackers and a satellite phone was out of the question. The lady seemed to be not interested at all and I wasn’t sure she got my message. I went out, got my ski’s on my feet and went over the lake to find a place to pitch the tent and stay overnight. It was pitch dark and as soon as everything was installed I was struck be a deep emptiness, a void that felt it imploded my heart. What was I thinking? Why had I left the warmth of my home and the sweetness of my girlfriend to get myself into this utter void, this choking darkness and silence? The words of the Sami men echoed. Never never go into the mountains alone. I was crying and left my tent, where my attention was drawn to something happening in the sky. A hole appeared in the clouds. It had the shape of a sickle and behind it the stars where shining vividly. And then, just behind this brilliant window to the universe, appeared a green wave of polar light. I took a deep breath and could only interpret the scene as gift of nature. As if something was saying: if you have reached to bottom end, I will be there for you to help you out, to inspire you, to relief you from your sorrow and grief. Six days later I arrived at the little town of Ritsem, eleven days later and 200 kilometers further I reached Kvikkjokk.
Back to March 2013. I takes a while to find the tourist station. I have a little chat with two Danes, a Swedish lady who just returned from a mountain journey with a dog and a little sled, and three Germans who just arrived to their final destination. They came from Kvikkjokk, having actually travelled sort of the same route as I had done 17 years ago. After refilling the fuel bottles I’m off in the direction of the Norwegian Border, also because there is hardly any place to camp outside near the tourist station. If the weather is good I might even climb Kebnekaise, the highest mountain in northern Scandinavia. It’s an alternative plan, since I consider the distance to Ritsem too large. That night the temperature drops to -28. I am so enthusiastic making photographs of the polar lights, that I’m not taking notice of the cold seeping into my right bare hand. This shouldn’t be a problem, if I hadn’t shut down the cooking stove. I could only just open and close my sleeping bag to prevent serious pain or even injury.
Go kite!
Day 11, March 21. Where is my film camera? I knew it had been in my tent only an hour ago. After two hours searching in the snow I decided to give up. Somewhere halfway I unpacked my tent: right there it was. I arrived halfway a rather large lake in between the high slopes of the progressing Kebnekaise massif. The wind picked up. Finally I was able to use the snow kite to drag me only for about a kilometer. It was not easy at all. Every time the kite was pulling, there would be a shock from the load behind destabilizing my whole movement, making me extra vulnerable for loosing balance while hitting a snowdrift.
Analog
Day 12, March 22. I found a very pretty off-track route over the meandering river, now and then cutting off it’s extreme bends by going through the birch forest. Further and further I went to Duolbagorni, a steep pyramid-shaped mountain which I have seen from the moment I reached lake Paittisjarvi. Pretty much near the Duolbagorni I found a place for the tent. Orange clouds gather in the evening and the wind picks up severely. With a temperature of -5 and the ice particles in the tent becoming liquid, I felt really uncomfortable.
Scating River Ladjujohka
Day 13, March 23. Since the mountain pass was full with clouds, It was of little use to go to the Norwegian side. I washed some clothes and wrote down my experiences so far.
Day 14, March 24. My flight from Kiruna to Amsterdam would leave the 27th. Now there were only two days left. Underway over the meandering river there were moose, a large mother and two little ones. They seemed to be comfortable with my presence fifty meters away, stretching and nibbling to reach the loose birch bast.
Day 15, March 25. I headed back over the lake, passing the snowy remains of my old tent place, and then gradually downwards to Nikkaluokta with increasing speed. At about half three I was back in Nikkaluokta. Tomorrow I would take the bus to Kiruna at 16;15. One more night in the winter wilderness. I say yeah!
THE END
