 The sun before Kebnekaise mountain lodge
After lunch and 200g of motivational chocolate, we continue, nothing about us but whiteness and the howling storm – nearly a complete whiteout – nearly since we see the red crosses. We walk from one cross to another, but can’t see whether the trail goes up or down, or if there is a bump or depression somewhere; ice or deep snow. Everything is just white. There are no shades, nothing; only the red crosses behind the drifting snow.
Snow’s challenging under such conditions. You can’t rely much on sight, but have to concentrate on feeling what’s below you. Changing conditions require you to react quickly; for example, when going on an icy part and not wanting to fall.
You also lose your feeling for time and space. You just ski, wonder where you are, and come to your destination – at least you do if you leave your gps in your pocket.
The next mountain hut, Alesjaure, is big and well equipped with a wood-heated sauna, and even a small boutique in which you can find, amongst other life-saving groceries, beer and potato chips.
The following day, a Wednesday, is calm. There is no storm, but snow so dense there is nothing but a thick white curtain around us; whiteness and red crosses again. The first skiers and my dog Moses have hard work making tracks in the fresh drift.
“I think I’m developing a love-hate relationship with these red crosses,” says Sylvie. “On one hand I love them, since they show me the way; on the other I hate them since I came here to see the mountain scenery and not only red crosses.”
“Is the weather always like this?” wonders Michael, chipping in.
Well, no. And the clouds open when we’re close to the next mountain hut, Tjäktja. The view is surreal: sun falling right onto the slope on which the hut is built, dark mountains in the background, storm clouds. It looks like we are on the way to heaven.
Tomorrow’s stop is the lodge of Sälka, another big place with sauna and beer. More wind and snow, and red crosses in the wilderness. The wind grows stronger. During the night (at Sälkä) it grows to a storm that shakes the whole cottage. I wake up, my bed shaking. In the morning the situation hasn’t changed much: when we look out the window, snow flies horizontally, the journey to the outside toilet is a major fight against the elements, and the caretaker of the cottage reports 20 m/s wind speeds.
Kebnekaise, today’s destination, is the longest of our journey at 25 km away. And it’s Julia’s thirtieth birthday.
“Can we actually ski in this?” the group wonders.
I consider this. If it had been minus twenty degrees Celsius, I would make them stay. Now it’s only a few degrees below zero; we’re well equipped, and everyone in the group, including the dogs, is in good physical condition. A cottage, Singi, offers shelter at 13 kilometres away, half the distance to Kebnekaise lodge. There’s even a wind shelter halfway to Singi.
“Let’s at least try to go to Singi,” we agree. “If we feel exhausted, we stay; if not, we continue to Kebnekaise as planned.”
I have to admit I like this sort of weather. It’s like an arctic expedition without the danger of freezing your nose off – a controlled adventure, you could say.
We zip up our jackets and jam our caps on as tightly as possible. Everything has to be fixed well on the sledges and we need time to get the dogs to accept that we really want to continue. They clearly seem to question our sanity. ”How can you want to ski in weather like this?” the looks say.
Michael and Silke go in front, making the ski track; I follow with Moses, making the track for the sledges. Julia and Sylvie come after with their dogs and sleds. It’s hardest for us with dogs since they pull their cargo forward – and us, attached to the sledges –no matter if there is ice below them, uneven ground, or sandy bits where the storm has blown off all the snow. Sometimes you suddenly slide sideways, or have to break as well as you can so as not to crash into the sledge. Sometimes you can relax and just ski.
The way to Singi is just whiteness, red crosses, and our sense of balance. Sometimes we fall, like beetles on our backs in the deep snow; we manage to get on our feet again and continue. At times the wind blows so hard we have to stand still and pit ourselves against it so not to fall down. But we make progress.
When we arrive at Singi cottage, we decide to continue. We climb onto the pass of Laddjubahta , the strong wind in our back. Suddenly the clouds open like curtains and we see the scenery around us – high, steep mountains, dark rocks, snow-covered tops, the blue ice of frozen water falls. Snow drift in the air makes the light soft, and it seems like we are skiing through an watercolour painting. Then we follow the slope downwards, sliding down, down, and down. After we manage to cross some tricky icy parts in the bottom of the valley, we finally arrive at Kebnekaise mountain lodge.
Over a good dinner with soup, salmon, fresh salad and some beer, we recover from our fight against the snowstorm.
The last day’s 19 km from Kebnekaise mountain lodge to Nikkaluokta at the end of the trip is a piece of cake. Everybody looks satisfied now; it’s finally possible to enjoy the scenery the entire day. It’s been sunny in Northern Sweden all week long, I learn a bit later. There has only been a snowstorm in the higher ranges of the mountains.
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