Pre-bootcamp mullings - why am I doing this?

Tomorrow* it begins, my one week at bootcamp. Not like a military bootcamp, mind you. Rather, in the way that everything that is an intensive (and intense) course is called a bootcamp these days, a fitness bootcamp. I very much hope that it would not resemble a military bootcamp. Even having never experienced either, I am confident my chances of survival are greater the less like a military bootcamp it is. That said, I am expecting it to be tough. It will be something like six hours of workouts a day for six days. Even in my exercise addition phase, I certainly never worked out that much. And it won't be six hours of yoga and light aerobics. There are a few runs in the schedule, one off-road, Boxercise, gym sessions, and more than one of them in one day, and one day at an obstacle course gym. This IS going to be hard.

So why would you do this to yourself?? I got asked that question a lot leading up to this trip. From the responses I got when I told people about this trip, I decided that people generally fall into three categories. The first are the likeminded, those who immediately get it, and think it sounds like a great idea. The second are the cautiously curious, who are interested to know more about the trip, and in a vague sort of way, can perhaps see why something like that could be appealing but are not consider taking the plunge themselves… yet. The third are the baffled, who struggle to begin to comprehend why anyone in their right mind would willingly put themselves through something like that, using up precious vacation days, and paying for the privilege. After one such conversation, where I found myself struggling to get a friend to understand why I wanted to do something like this, it got me thinking. Why am I doing this? For me it was a given, and I don't doubt that it is something I want to do, although I will admit to the moments of panic where I think about what is to come and wonder what the fuck have I done! Those moments aside, it is still clear to me that this is something I want to do. I am nervous but I am looking forward to it! 

At the risk of overthinking this and without having all the answers, it seems to me that there are several layers to that question. The superficial is the chain of events which brought this about and is easy enough to answer. Then there are the reasons why I am doing this right now. And then, there are the reasons that are inherent and related to a type of character perhaps.

The plan came about fairly straightforwardly: a friend asked me if I would be interested in a fitness holiday and I said yes, no hesitation. We had to figure out dates, price range, destination and so on. We both had a few ideas about what we were looking for: relative warmth weather-wise without being too hot, a challenging but varied program. I wanted something international and English speaking. My friend wanted a well rounded program with a focus on nutrition and diet. We bounced a few options back and forth, then came the day when we booked.

My personal reasons are relatively easy to explain. I am out of shape. I have gotten well and truly out of the practice of working out regularly. I still consider myself an active person and the me in my head is still fit and strong. But the reality is that there is not much about my lifestyle these day now that can really be considered active. There has not been for a good few years. And no stretch of the imagination can qualify me as fit or strong. But there was a time that I was. A time that in my head was not too long ago. That continued to be the image I had of myself for a few years even after it stopped being true. In the last year or two, I had to reluctantly acknowledge how far I had away I had come from that person. It was a bit of a difficult pill to swallow. So I always wanted to get back into shape. I told myself I would. I laid out plan after plan that never become more than just plans.

So when my friend asked, I didn't hesitate. I know the difference it makes to workout in a group with a good instructor to guide, motivate and push me. To do it on a trip means that I would have no excuse to get out of it. That is usually the issue with trying to fit in a fitness regime at home in daily life. There was always the work excuse, however valid it may have been recently. Then there are errands to be run, meals to be cooked, social connections that needed to be maintained, other interests which needed to be pursued. At the camp, they work out a workout schedule for us every day and feed us, so all we have to do is show up. And there was a good chance that everyone else would be likeminded people. Why else would they be on the trip? 

Then there is the reward. The reward of it for me, is not just that I will presumably be in better shape when I leave than when I arrive. That would of course be great, but the at least equal enticement is far simpler: dopamine. This is not a scientific post, so do not take this as fact! If you ask me, the high from pushing through the barrier is at least equal to the effort and the pain. And I wonder if this is one thing which differentiates the people who get it and the people who don´t. If I had thought about it earlier, I might have done a poll of all the people I spoke to, from their reactions and workout experiences. As it is, I can only speculate. Perhaps some of the people who really do not get it have never really pushed through that barrier, or inherently have lower dopamine production or fewer (weaker?) dopamine receptors. Whatever the case for everyone else, I know from my exercise addition phase that I do get that kick, no doubt about that. During my exercise addition phase, I remember saying to someone that I thought the exercise high was better than sex. I would like to set the record straight, it is NOT better than sex, but damn, it's right up there. And even if I do not experience the exercise high much these days, my brain remembers.

There is something fundamental about pushing boundaries as well though. Most of us go through life with so many limitations. We are kept in check by boundaries from all sides, some literal and for good reason: the walls of our home, the lines on the road. We walk on pavements, we cycling in bicycle paths. Those of us lucky enough to live in a developed society surround ourselves with all sorts that make life easier for us. Why walk 15 minutes when you can hire e-scoot your way there in 5 minutes? Why type when you can dictate? A fraction of the time, less use of muscles required. We are so surrounded by comforts and luxuries that we have forgotten, or maybe we never knew, what our bodies can do.  Indeed what it is designed to be able to do. Most of us have no idea what our bodies can do. As evolution takes its course, we are going to lose the skills we no longer "need". I know, I know, as a species we are developing new skills to meet the digital age and we use our brains functions in different ways, and so on and so forth. I've heard the spiel. I'm not convinced it´s a worthwhile trade off, but I digress. That was not the point. The point here is that people rarely push themselves. I know I do (rarely push myself these days). But I love the thought of pushing the boundaries of what I am physically capable off. I am convinced that human beings are capable of sooo much more than what we allow our bodies to go today. And we have gotten so used of keeping within boundaries that we are convinced we can't. There is maybe also a bit of self-indulgence in how we meet challenges. If we are tired, we stop. If there is a challenge, we find another way. I love pushing myself and experience my body rise to the challenge. That was one of the reasons behind the skåneleden; as it was behind the whole ice bathing thing. 

So yeah, let's see how this week goes. Like I said, I am nervous. I think it will be tough, but I also think it will be great! ...hopefully the rain stops.

Rain, rain and more rain forecasted...

*written before the start, but posted at the end of Day1, but made sure I did not make any changes that were influenced by the Day 1 experience

 

Something worth remembering - Into the ice!

When I saw the list of activities on offer over my trip in the far North, the ice bath experience was one which immediately caught my attention. I spent a bit of time oscillating between various combinations of activities, mindful of how much it was going to hurt my bank balance and not wanting to spent all my time up there doing some activity or other that I did not have time to enjoy just being. In the end, I could not say no to the lure of the ice. 

Cold water bathing

One of the many bodies of water
I have jumped into

When I tell people, I went ice bathing, many asked why I would do something like that to myself. In truth, it did not feel like a big deal. I'd always been attracted to water; the urge to jump into a body of water is ever present. Over the last few years, my ability to resist jumping into water has grown weaker and weaker. The natural aversion I felt coming from a tropical country about jumping into lakes (there may be crocodiles!!) diminished the longer I lived in Sweden. The water in Sweden is rarely warm, in the summer only relatively so, but always refreshing and enjoyable nonetheless. The only times I jumped into really cold water before this though, were in combination with a sauna. Having warmed up before and with the assurance of knowing that I would be back in the heat of the sauna within seconds of getting out of the water, makes it less of a mental obstacle than it might have been. 

Initially of course there were other factors in play in the whole cold water thing. When in Rome and all that, you know. Swedes, or Scandinavians are known for cold dips. I hear stories of people going for a swim every morning regardless of season or weather. Cold-bath houses which are basically saunas with access to cold water are so common in Sweden. Living here, I felt it was something I had to do. I suppose some part of me had something to prove. What exactly, I don't know. Somewhere along the line, I realised that I actually really liked it. Isn't there something about cold water makes the body release endorphins or something like that?

Before this, the coldest water I jumped in was on New Year's Day a few years ago. I don't know what the temperature would have been. Air temperature was above freezing, water temperature would obviously have been too (no snow or ice anywhere in sight). I had properly warmed up in the sauna and hopped in a lake. 

So when I came across this chance to take it one step further and hop into a hole in ice, I couldn't really pass it up, could I? It was another one of those "when else would I ever have the chance?" kind of decisions. I booked it, paid for it and was thereby committed. And though I say it did not feel like it was a big deal, when the day came, I was nervous. 

Prepping the sauna

I wonder if it was a way to calm jittery nerves that Björn, my guide put me to work before the plunge, first to prepare the sauna then the hole in the ice. There was a already tent nestled amongst the trees just off the lake. Inside the tent, a wood stove. He chopped a few larger pieces of wood into smaller pieces, while I was assigned to peeling the bark of the pieces of birch. The bark was used as a starter because they caught quickly and burned long. As the fire burned through the smaller pieces of wood and the larger pieces caught, the guide declared that it was time to prepare the hole in the ice. 

Making my "bath"

We picked a seemingly random spot about 50 m out onto the ice and he got me to clear the foot-thick snow off the surface while he went to his trailer to fetch a drill. The ice hit water a lot sooner than I expected. I then learnt that it was water trapped between two layers of ice. He had explained this to me before. The weight of the snow weighs down a first layer of ice so waters flows onto the surface, which freezes from the surface down. A thick enough layer of ice and snow over the water keeps the water insulated and it doesn't freeze as the ice continues to form on top. Sure enough, after the first splash of water, the drill gripped again and worked through a second layer of ice. I dashed (by which I mean I walked slowly on the ice and stumbled over snow) back to the hut to fetch my phone. I felt it was essential to capture some of this process. 

The ice saw, 
which was slightly
less than 1m long

He drilled a circle of holes roughly the size of what the hole needed to be, basically large enough for one person (me) to get in, but small enough that said person could have their arms out over the side. Once he was done, he passed me a mean looking contraption which turned out to be an ice saw and I was again put to work, this time to saw through the ice in between the circle of holes. He took apart the drill and put it back in the trailer. Sawing through the ice was slightly harder than I thought, but not hard really. Eventually I got through and a circle of ice was loose. The guide screwed something into the surface of the bobbing circle of ice to grip it and pull it out. Then he used a spade to scoop out all the bits of ice floating about on the surface. By this point, I was transfixed by all that was going on and at the sight of the dark water underneath that it did not occur to me to photo document anything else. 

Before long, he was done and sent me off to the hut to get ready. Erm... which meant, to put it simply, strip. I had earlier had a minor dilemma about what to wear. I had seen a video of a guy doing it naked which I had no intention of doing. The thought of prancing about naked in the snow in front of a random guy did not strike be as being essential to the experience. Part of me instinctively wanted to have on something that would keep me warm, like a rash guard. That was stupid any which way you look at it. The rash guard was not going to keep me warm in those temperatures. And trying to keep warm while jumping into the ice is in itself, illogical. I came quickly to the decision that a bikini, which is the only swimwear I own, was the best option. I compromised by choosing the bikini that covered the most skin.

I peeked my head out of the hut to ask if I was allowed to have my coat on while I walked out, almost like a child seeking permission to have my security blanket at school. Thankfully, he said yes, so I emerged from the hut in my huge coat over my bikini and boots. These got left at the side on the ice as he strapped a harness around my waist that was attached to a rope, my literal lifeline should I fall under the ice. As I was sawing through the ice, the saw hit the ground, so I knew the water was not very deep. I would most likely be able to stand, so I was not unduly worried about falling under the ice. With the thickness of the ice, it would have taken some doing to get beneath the ice sheet anyway. 

Oh and I was to jump into the ice cold. As in, without first warming up in the sauna. Part of the experience was a sort of survival training so to learn what to do if one falls through thin ice. That made me even more nervous. But, I reasoned, I know there is a warm sauna not to far away. As cold as I may get, I have a chance to warm up before I can hypothermia and die.

Taking the plunge

He took a before-photo while I still had my woolly hat on, my last illusion of comfort and warmth. That too soon got tossed aside as he gave me the last instructions. I had to commit. Once I decided I was going in, I should go all in. No dallying, was basically the message. Once in, I should give my body time to adjust. The initial shock response could give rise to panic, which I should gain control of through controlling my breathing. I should stay in long enough to get my breath and my body under control. It should take about a minute, he said. Only then, should I think about coming out. The way I understood it, wanting to get out should not be a reaction to the cold water, rather a decision. So I needed to be calm enough to make a decision. Ok, understood. 

I knelt down before the hole, put my hands on the ice on either side. I instinctively dipped one hand into the water without thinking. I had not wanted to do that because I was afraid that if it felt too cold, it would break my willpower. Thankfully though, it almost felt warm compared to the air temperature. Oh, did I forget to mention that it was about -15 degrees C? With a sense of relief, my resolution received a slight boost. Despite that, the last thing I remember doing before the plunge was looking up at Björn to ask "why am I doing this?" He said because "you are tough". That gave me another boost, but also made it harder for me to back down. It took another few breaths to psyche myself up or calm my nerves, whichever way to look at it. I took another breath and lifted myself by the arms and plunged myself feet first into the water. 

I don't remember much about what I felt or thought in those first few moments. I remember standing on a large stone, and being able to feel another smaller stone next to it. I opted to stand on the large one. The guide asked if I could stand and I nodded. I remember him talking me through a few deep breathes in and out, as I focused on my breathing. Then he obviously decided that I was managing fine and proceeded to the next step. "You want to put your head in the water," he said. "No, I do not", I protested and negotiated the option to do it next time. I remember consciously asking "can I do it next time", instead of the more declaration, "I will do it next time" thinking that I have not committed to myself to anything really. And I remember thinking that if I can still think of negotiation strategies, I was probably fine. Well, I was coping all right, but I wasn't fine. It was cold and my body was still tense. I focused on getting my shoulders and back to relax. Once I did, I actually did feel fine. I could feel the cold against my legs, yes. My skin felt first tingly, then a bit numb, yes. But ok, I was fine. Nothing bad was actually happening because I was in icy water. I wriggled my toes in the water to make sure they still worked, and they did. Emboldened, and as a compromise to not putting my head in, I put my shoulders and both arms in the water. 

I think he was right about it taking the body a minute to adjust. There was a noticeable difference once my body adjusted. Not only did I feel relaxed, as relaxed as one can be in icy water that is, there was also a sense of exhilaration. I don't know what made me decide it was time to get out. I think my body was starting to tense up again or I could feel the cold creeping in deeper than just the skin deep. The guide reckons I was in there for about two plus minutes, but I have no way of telling. Judging by my recollection of what we talked about while I was in there, he could be right. 

I scrambled out of the hole, unstrapped the harness and walked unsteadily across the ice to the sauna tent. The snow was soft and oddly comforting against my feet, but I resented it. My feet hurt terribly from the cold. The sauna tent was not as hot as I would have liked. It was after all, a tent. And there was no covering on the ground so I could feel the cold radiating upwards. But I did warm me up. It took my body a lot less time to warm up than it did my feet. My toes for like little ice cubes for a good long while. Eventually they felt normal enough again for me to consider going again. I reached the point where I was ready to do it again, but also felt if I did not go in then, I was not going to be able to get myself to do it later. 

Angel in deep snow

Instead of heading to the ice, Björn asked if I wanted to make a snow angel. Again, the question "when will I have a chance to do this" made the decision for me. I might have a chance to make a snow angel anywhere else, sure. But in metre deep snow while wearing a bikini? I walked off the path into deep snow, turned around and fell backwards. In my head, I heard the gentle puffff as I fell onto the soft deep snow. There was enough snow about me that all I saw was a wall of white if I turned my head to the side. The fall was the most gentle fall I have ever experienced. I cannot even say that I felt my body landing, it was so soft. 

Willpower

I have always believed that you can do a lot if you can get your mind in the right place. People who manage to hold their breath for minutes, swim in cold water, and all that, does it not all start with the will to do it? The will to keep at it? My willpower was put to the test in the snow more than in the water. I was surprised by that at first, but in hindsight, it is not that surprising. Air temperature was about -15 degrees. Water temperature would have been low single digits, above freezing anyway. It's a no brainer. It was also confusing that my back was exposed to a different kind of cold than my front. At least in the water, it was all the same cold. Without thinking, without even realising I was going to do it, I sat up. It was my body's instinct to escape I think. Fight or flight, in that moment I chose flight. I just wanted to get out of there. 

The guide talked me back down with one gentle question. He asked if I could try to lie back down and stay there until I felt calm. I did not want to. All of my being just wanted to get up, but my stubborn and having-something-to-prove streak took charge. Getting up would have been an escape, which I could have accepted. It would have also been an admission of defeat, which I could not. Especially not when there was a witness. I lay back down and closed my eyes. He again talked me through breathing and said something about channelling the fire within. It did not work the way he intended. I did not know how to channel the fire within, but him saying that made me think. 

A lot of ancient wisdom stuff have me pegged as having fire as my main element. It's something I have been aware of for a long time, but I realised, lying in the snow, that I never thought about it as being something I could channel. The thought was intriguing. I wondered how I would go about finding that fire, before I could even think about channelling it anywhere. That thinking distracted me enough that I forgot to remember that I was cold. I was there maybe a minute, then I started to shiver. I raised my arms to shake out the shiver and decided I'd had enough. I got up and went back in the sauna, feet frozen once again. 

Head and all

I went back in the water two more times after that. The second time, Björn kindly reminded me of our negotiation before about putting my head in the water. I tried to protest, but really I already knew that I would do it. I would have kicked myself if I walked away from there without doing it. I held my nose and plunged deeper in. The shock was not as bad as I expected. I think the air temperature helped a lot. Compared to the air temperature, the water really was almost warm. Almost. Everything is relative, and relativity can be deceptive. I remember being underwater for a second or two, and then realised that our negotiation did not cover how long I should keep my head underwater. Without any incentive, I resurfaced to cheers and praise from the guide. I stayed in a while more to make sure that I was in control of my breathing again before I got out. 

Warm vs cold

The sauna did what it was supposed to and warmed me up again, even if it took me longer to warm up than it did to cool me down. When I decided I wanted to go in the water one last time, I wanted to change my mind as soon as I opened the flap of the tent and the cold air hit me. The more steps I took towards the ice, the more my resolution dissipated. But decision made, and there was no backing down. 

When I reached the hole in the ice for the third time, I noticed that the guide had cleared away my coat and shoes (he put them back in the hut), and also packed away the harness and rope! Reading my mind, or possibly just the expression on my face, he hurriedly assured me that he would hold my hand to make sure I would not go under. It wasn't deep anyway, he added. Having been in there twice, I did not really think there was any danger of me slipping under the ice, so I couldn't use that as an excuse. But he had obviously decided that I would not be taking a third dip. Was I secretly pleased to have proven him wrong? Hah, of course!

The sense of exhilaration came about more quickly and was stronger the third time around. But I also started to shiver sooner. I could calm the shivering at first, but when it started again, I called it a day and headed back to the sauna to warm up. 

Give me food

Later that evening just before dinner time, I suddenly felt very tired and cold. My body must have burned up so much energy trying to keep me warm, or maybe it was the excitement of the entire experience that wore me out, or both. My energy levels fell suddenly. I was tempted to just sleep but realised I needed to replenish my energy resources. I devoured my dinner at one go and continued to snack afterwards. The weariness hit again and all I wanted to do was sleep. I didn't. I stayed up another hour or so, frantically journaling to capture the experience while the impressions were fresh and yet untainted. 

New toes

I think I might have got a touch of frostbite on the tips of my toes, if it is possible to get a touch of frostbite. Nothing turned black or fell off, thank goodness! The very tips of my toes hurt for about a day afterwards, and felt tingly and itchy for two days thereafter. A couple of weeks later, a relatively thick layer of skin started to peel off my toes. 

Was it worth it? 

Hell, yes! Will I do it again? Definitely maybe. I am unlikely to go out of my way to make a hole in the ice. It did take so much work. But if I have the chance again, I might not pass up the chance then either. Does that make me crazy? Maybe, who knows? There was definitely an exhilaration that was a kind of high about the experience. I remember thinking when I was in the water the third time, that it actually felt good! Perhaps that does make me crazy, but who's counting? I don't do drugs and I am not into extreme sports, but I do enjoy the subtle highs where I can get them. Maybe I even seek them out. Whatever the case, there is no question that I found it there, on that day, on that trip, in that dip. 

Something worth remembering - Three Days in the North

I recently read an article about doing something worth remembering. Well, it was really about how so many people across the world have spent the last twelve months in some degree of lockdown. Trips were postponed, then cancelled. Birthdays, weddings and sadly, funerals were held in small numbers. Days passing without any discernible change in routine or environment, quickly merge into one big blob memory of home office, home schooling and separation from family and friends. That is something no doubt many can relate to. 

Looking back on the last twelve months of my life, I am grateful that there are things that stand out, and quite significantly so. Last summer, I went on a solo hike on the coast to coast trail in southern Sweden for two weeks. It was a trip born in equal parts out of a lack of viable alternatives and seizing the opportunity to do something I always wanted. It was a trip that pushed the boundaries of what I thought I could and dared to do. 

In the beginning of January, I took a trip up north. The trip was short, though the journey, as I previously described, was long. The experience though, will live long in my memory. This was also a trip that pushed the boundaries for me, opened my eyes and got me back in touch with myself. 

Arriving in Jokkmokk

Murjek station

The overnight train and connecting bus got me to Jokkmokk on morning of 6th January. Jokkmokk, with its population of several thousand must be quiet at the best of times. On that winter's morning, it was shrouded in white and a deep silence. Snow piled up to a meter high on either side of the roads and paths, and just about everything else. There was barely a car on the road. It was of course a public holiday, which I had forgotten about. The 20 hours it took me to get there was enough for me to lose track of days and time. I met a girl at 7am at Murjek where we both got off the same train and were waiting for the same bus and I kept saying I left Malmö this afternoon. She had to repeated correct me to say that it was yesterday. Incidentally, my fellow arctic explorer was originally from Berlin, studying in Lund. Seems like all the women traveling on their own I meet (grand total of two!*) are from Berlin. Is this some kind of confirmation that Berlin might be my kind of place? 

She was right of course, I left Malmö in the afternoon on the 5th and arrived in Jokkmokk in the morning of the 6th. The final stage of the journey was by bus and I ended up getting off at the wrong stop. I had fallen asleep on the bus and woke to find that were were in Jokkmokk. I recognised a museum that I knew to be near where I needed to go. So when the bus stopped around the corner, and I saw the Berlin girl getting off, I assumed we've arrived and scrambled off the bus. It turned out that was in fact her stop as she was meeting her airbnb landlord there. It wasn't mine. I ended up having to walk 1.3 km instead of 200m. In the snow and with my two heavy bags and skis, it took me almost 20 minutes of feeling like a packed animal to arrive at my destination. I was glad then that I decided on a backpack and not a suitcase. Dragging a suitcase through that snow would have been a nightmare. I was also glad that the strength I gained during the hiking experience had not completely deserted me. It was hard going through the snow, but being enthralled snowy landscape and the magical morning light was a good distraction.

I eventually got to where I needed to and met Björn, who was my sort of host and sort of guide for the duration. I rented a glass igloo shaped hut by a frozen lake for three nights from him, and also booked a few activities through him. Upon meeting me, he told me that we would be heading out to the hut on what he called a scooter, what I would call a snowmobile. He was also going to give me a scooter tour so I could see a bit of the surrounding landscape. It would take about half an hour and would be cold on the scooter. I borrowed a pair of outer trousers from him for the ride. My own ski trousers were deeply buried in my bag, tightly wrapped around my bottles of wine and Kriek, so I wasn't about to dig them out. 

It was a truly beautiful morning, the most beautiful during my entire stay. The sun was just rising at 10.30 a.m. and everything was bathed in a pink glow. We drove over a few lakes, followed the edge of another lake,  through the forest to get to the hut. He gave me some information about landmarks to help me get my bearings in case I am out there on my own. 

Wading through snow

The hut looked small from a distance and it is really quite small but is something really special. Walled with glass on almost half of the hut, it provided an unobstructed view of the frozen lake and distant forest. The hut was still being cleaned when we got there, I went for a short walk while I waited. I followed a scooter path along the edge of the lake onto the frozen river. I saw a cabin on a slope and veered off the path to investigate. There were some footprints in the snow so I figured it was doable. It was, but the snow was a lot deeper in parts that the footprints belied. The snow was knee deep for the most part, though at some point, I was up to my thighs in the soft fluffy white stuff. The trail I left behind me was more trench than footsteps.

I didn’t do much else the rest of the afternoon. I realised that there was no electricity socket in the hut. There were a few USB outlets so I could still charge my phone and Garmin, but I had no way of charging my camera batteries and laptop if I needed to. That meant that I had to rethink my plan for the rest of the three days. I had planned to spend some time writing on my laptop. I also wanted to use the time to rethink certain life options. But rethinking required research, which required access to the internet. Oh, the wifi was also not working. The network with the provider I used was good down south. When I was traipsing across Skåne in the forest, I did not have any issues with the signal at all. But up north, it's useless. I had a weak signal in Jokkmokk and none at all at the hut. Thankfully, I had my work phone with me which used a different provider and had a good signal. So I could use that as a hotspot to check in with people and post the occasional obligatory photo on Instagram. Other than that though, I remained offline for much of the time I was there. 

Lying in the hut, soaking it all in.

I spent most of the trip doing nothing. I read about ten pages of the two books I brought with me. I spent a lot of time staring out into the snow, gazing at the stars, just sitting and letting my thoughts drift. Oh, and I wrote a lot. I journaled pages and pages, initially processing some of the baggage I carried with me, but mostly trying to capture every stirring emotion I felt just from being there and trying to capture the peace and serenity. 

Sámi and reindeer

I did plan some things to do, and was one them was an experience with a reindeer herder. That was to start at about noon, and my guide was going to pick me up from the hut at about 11am. This meant that I had most of the morning to myself. I decided to venture out on my skis. I had after all, lugged them 1600km, I might as well get as much use as I could out of them. Seeking the reassurance of the familiar, I set off in the same direction as my walk the previous day. That turned out to be a good thing. It had been eight years since I last stood of skis, and I was rusty. Not that I had ever got that good to begin with, having only learnt to ski in my thirties. I felt like a beginner and had to get use to the movement and the technique all over again. So it was good that I stayed along the river where it was nice and flat. Cross-country skis, by the way. Not long after I set off, I saw a group of reindeer emerge from the trees a few hundred meters ahead of me. Of course, I then I had to leg it back to the hut to get my camera, which I had also lugged with me for 1600 km and needed to get good use of. 

Björn arrived at noon as arranged and together we set off on foot through the forest towards the road where he had left his car. There was a narrow cleared path about a foot deep in the snow. When I ventured off the path out of curiosity, I discovered the snow to again be somewhere between knee and thigh deep. 

Anna and one of her favourite reindeers, Pikachu

The visit with Anna, the reindeer herder was a very interesting experience. I had my doubts before going, mostly because of the conversation I had with the girl from Berlin. She said that she had already done a lot of "cultural" experience things in Norway and so wasn't interested in doing any of that in Jokkmokk. She did not use air-quotes but her tone implied the inverted commas. I was then suddenly concerned that it was going to be a tacky tourist trap. But, I paid quite a lot for it and it is supposed to be for three hours, and I was going to be the only person there. So I was quite sure I would get something out of it. Personalised experiences are always more rewarding. If nothing else, I knew I could learn a lot just from talking to people. Three hours gives me a lot of time to ask questions. And so it was! There is too much to tell about that to included it here - this post is already going to be never-ending! Suffice to say, I learnt a lot. It opened my eyes to a lot of things and challenged some assumptions I had accepted about Sweden and racism. I gained so much insight into the life and struggles of the Sami and reindeer herders, and reindeers themselves! I am so glad I went for it, and got to speak to Anna. I would love to learn and experience more. 

Anna ended the experience with a joik or yoik, which is a traditional Sámi form of song, which was heartbreakingly beautiful. I later received a Spotify playlist of Sámi songs including a few joiks from my host, some of which I listened to endlessly for a many a day. 

Through the night forest

Three hours went by fast, and darkness was setting in by the time we emerged from the lavvu - a traditional temporary tent of the Sámi, shaped like a tipi. By the time I was dropped off by the side of the road near the path that would take me back to the hut, it was dark. I did not have my head-torch with me, so I had to use the torch on my phone instead. It was almost pitch black going through the forest. I turned the torch off for a bit to see how much my eyes would adjust. They didn't. Or at least, they didn't adjust enough or quickly enough for me to think that I could make my way without a torch. Wasn't I afraid? some people asked. No, not really. And this is not a false sense of bravado. There wasn't really anything out there that I was afraid of. Sure, there could be wildlife. Seriously though, that close to the road, I had no expectation that there would be any predators around. I realise I could be wrong of course. But considering people pay quite a lot of money to join organised expeditions for a chance to spot a predator, I did not think the changes would be high. I was more afraid of tripping over a tree stump than being attacked. I went out again later with a head-torch and took a video of the walk. This was, by the way, 4 p.m.

Nature's rules

Life out there is so different from life back home. One of the thing things that I realised up there, is that people have adapted their lives around nature, most importantly I suppose, around the snow.  In Jokkmokk, the roads were cleared but people have left the snow as it fell everywhere else. Out of the town, even more so. It has to be said though, considering I spoke to a grand total of two locals while I was there, I might not be in the best position to speak about their views on the weather and snow. Looking at the simple paths carved out through the snow and how people went about their business, I sensed and personally felt a simplicity that comes from acceptance of the circumstances. I don't really see how anyone could continue to live there without coming to some sort of acceptance or tolerance of what life in that environment means. In towns, we try to subdue the snow to suit what we have determined our lives would or should be like. Up there, one has to live by nature's rules. There was something liberating about that thought. 

Living my nature's rules also extends to the food. Björn, in his capacity as my host, provided me breakfast each day - a personally delivered luxury which I am so glad I opted for. On the first day, I got some yogurt with cloudberries. Cloudberries are berries which grow in cool, temperate climates, alpine forest and arctic tundra (thank you Wikipedia). And they are delicious. Blended with yogurt, they became my favourite breakfast food. And this from someone who does not generally eat yogurt. The cloudberries were picked by Björn himself last season and kept frozen since. That started a whole conversation about the different times which the different berries are in season, and the different season for different types of fish. Then there was the season for reindeer slaughter, which provides a large part of the meat they eat over most of the year ahead. Everything had its time and its place in the cyclic passing of the season. Again, there was something incredibly appealing about the simplicity of it all. Of course, I know that the simplicity and reliance on nature can also bring hardship and struggles. I know it's not all harmony and happiness. But still...

The magic of snow

I do love snow. Actually, I love winter. Proper winter, that is. Not the wet, soggy grey winter that we have seen so much of in the last few years. And this is something else that I can never find the words to explain. There is something about the cold crisp air that I find invigorating. And I really do think that there is a kind of serenity that only comes with a snow covered landscape. Somehow, the world seems quieter and more peaceful. Harshness softened, the world seems kinder. Snow, dry and soft, hard and crunchy, icy and slippery, mesmerises me whether I am staring at it covering the landscape, watching it fall, walking or running on it. In fact, the name of this blog references snow - diamond glints in snow. 

Peace

More than anything else, peace is what the frozen north meant for me. I am still not able to put into words the appeal that the wintery north has for me. Those few days I was there, I felt more at peace than I had for a long, long time. My usually overactive mind rested, and drifted calmly and aimlessly from anything to nothing. All the troubles and stresses I brought with me as I boarded the train seemed to melt away; their urgency dissipated; their importance diminished. Without having to try, I was in that state of calm acceptance one strives for through meditation. My restless spirit, content. Well, mostly content. The sense of peace of contentment accentuated how far away I had been, am in the "real world". I could not help but question life and its purpose and what I was doing with mine. 

Man make fire! 

On the night of the second day, I built a fire, rediscovering the thrill of single handedly making fire! The sense of achievement was slightly less than during the coast to coast hiking trip. This time around it was easy because all the wood was super dry. I spent half the evening watching the fire and snow and stars. There were a couple of reindeer skins in the hut which provided incredible insulation against the cold snow. Lying on my back watching the sparks fly up towards the dark sky as snowflakes drifted down from above, there was nowhere else I would have rather been. I stayed out for about two hours. Eventually, I felt guilty about using too much of the firewood, and let the fire die out. 

Into the ice!  

The other event I had booked happened on my third and last day there. In the afternoon, Björn came round again on his snowmobile with the trailer full off equipment he was going to need for my experience that day. He called it cryotherapy. I call it an ice bath, which is still a glorified way of saying I jumped in a hole in the ice. That story is told in another post. For the sake of melodrama, I might say that my life will forever be divided into before the ice and after the ice. But no, not really. I do however feel like I pushed some boundaries that day and learnt a bit more about what my body can cope with and what my mind can do. And for that alone, I will cherish that experience. 

Elk about town

And just like that, it was time to head home. I packed with reluctant hands and a very heavy heart. My bags and I were dropped off at the bus station in Jokkmokk. While I waited, I spotted a huge dark shape in the distance across the road. Cars came to a sudden stop on the road while their drivers and passengers leaned out with their phone to capture the image. It was an elk! Or rather, two. A mother and her calf. I had already seen mamma elk and baby earlier from the car. They had apparently decided to take a trip into town for the urban culinary experience. Now they were just across the road from the bus station having a snack off some trees. I knew I lugged my zoom lens with me for a reason. 

Home

Amid other conversation, my guide asked if I would consider moving to somewhere like Jokkmokk. I answered his question as best I could though I cannot remember what I said. Looking back, I wonder what made him ask me that. It seemed like an odd question to ask a tourist. I would imagine that many people would go there for the sake of the experience, have an amazing time and head back to "normal" life and never think about it again except when they regale their friends with amazing stories of the far north. Surely only a very small minority would consider living there. Did he see something about me that told him I could belong to the small minority? Do I belong to that small minority? I honestly do not know. I don't think so. There is too much about city living which I will miss. Having said that though, it takes no effort to imagine spending more time there. A couple of months in a cabin in the winter, with a fireplace and a sauna, would do me very nicely. I wished that I had thought to do what the girl from Berlin was doing, taking advantage of the current remote-everything situation to stay there for two weeks. I could have worked from there, and as long as the wifi was stable enough, it would not have made a difference where in Sweden I was. Why didn't I think of that?

Whether I can live there or not, the train ride home was not as enjoyable as the trip there. The experience of the long journey, private cabin etc, was still enjoyable. But this time around, I was accompanied by a melancholy that grew with the miles we covered. My mood fell in proportion to the amount of snow outside the window. By the time we were nearing Malmö, the surrounding landscape seemed to have never known snow. As the train pulled out of the last station before Malmö, I wanted to cry. Whether it was a reluctance to face the realities of life waiting for me or the longing for the land I left behind, I don't know. Face the realities of life, I will. Return to the land I left behind, that I will too.** 

*The only other solo female hiker I met on my Coast to Coast trip was Luna, from Berlin. 

**As it turns out, much sooner than I feared. Still lacking viable alternatives, I'll be back there before the winter melts into spring. By this I mean, at the end of the week! Just in time to catch the turn of the season into what the Sámi call Spring-Winter, one of the eight Sámi seasons, as the lights returns and before the snow disappears. 

Arctic calling

People seem to like asking me whether I am excited on the eve of trips or events. I usually struggle with that question. My instinctive answer, "of course not, I am not twelve!" is one that I don't usually say out loud. Do people really get excited about things? I'm usually too busy with planning and organising and so on to be excited about it. I'll enjoy it when I am there, I say. Until then, I need to prepare. I enjoy the preparation a great deal too. The research, the organising and exploring the options are all part of the fun, isn't it? But that's not quite the same as being excited though, is it? Immediately before a trip, I am usually too stressed out with packing anyway for excitement to show its face. 

This time though is different. Without prompting, I have been declaring my excitement to almost anyone who had the misfortune to speak to me. I repeatedly drop words like "trip" and "packing", so they are compelled to ask me where I am going. 

North!

Leaving Malmö

I am heading north into the arctic* in search of snow and solitude. And I am excited! As the train pulled out of the station today, I had to resist clapping my hands. Same again when I first caught sight of snow lying on the ground beside the tracks. 

I first went to the Arctic almost exactly nine years ago in January 2012, and what an amazing trip that was. The first thing I said when I got home, in fact even before that, was that I will go back. Every year I tell myself, I'd head back north next winter. For one reason or another, I never did. Not in winter anyway. I have been back in the summer where I experienced the surreality of the midnight sun that people seem to be so excited about. I didn't get it. I found the constant daylight disorientating and disconcerting, annoying almost. I lost track of the time of day and my already erratic sleeping patterns went haywire. I went out hiking after dinner one day at about 10 pm and did not get back until past 2 am. My body and brain did not understand when I was supposed to sleep, so I didn't. That said, I have no great aversion to the summers up there, other than the soul sucking swarms of monster mosquitoes of course, but neither do I have any great desire to go up there in the summer... except to one day climb Kebnekaise or to do the Kungsleden. Winters though, are something else. There is something about it that calls me. 

This trip was a spontaneous one. In the year of the pandemic which grounded everyone across the world, travel had become something I longed for but no longer tried to plan. With borders closed, countries imposing quarantine requirements and a host of other restrictions, where is there to go? Trying to find the ideal combination of open borders, low numbers of Covid cases, flight availability and reasonable prices was a decidedly depressing experience so I gave up. People are going through a lot worse than me. If my biggest problem is not being able to feed my wanderlust, I can shut up and live with it. I resigned myself to keeping calm and carrying on until spring in hope that things would ease up a bit then. 

In one of many pre-Christmas video coffee (or wine) chats in December, I found myself recounting tales of my adventures in the north. And just like that, the flame was once again lit. I was filled with a longing that I am not sure I can find the words to explain. One part the draw of the landscape and light; one part the yearning for the sense of serenity that fills my soul out there. Two days later, the trip was booked. Three weeks later, here I am on a train hurtling north into the darkness and cold. Both of which there will be a lot of. Sunrise is at 10.12 tomorrow, sunset at 13:21; current temperature -14 degrees Celsius.   

First glimpse of snow

Travelling by train

The journey in this case is part of the destination. It has to be. I will be spending two days on the road... or erm, tracks, for the three days that I will be in Lappland. I do love train journeys. It has been a while since I have taken one of comparable length; most likely the last time I headed north! I am sure that unless I meet my untimely end, this won't be my last long train journey. I certainly hope there will be a much, much longer train journey in my future, one that would take me through comparable terrain.* There is something about train journeys that make me reflect and reminisce. Perhaps the odd sense of speed and leisure simultaneously, provides a good opportunity for contemplation. The landscape scurrying by somehow conjures up glimpses from the past. Of course, some of the memories awakened are not necessarily the warm fuzzy-feeling kind, which means I am also often melancholic on train journeys. Perhaps that it actually a good way to process such emotions. The natural excitement that I feel from the journey makes it easier to feel hopeful and move through any sadness.

Traveling in times of Covid

Domestic travel is not prohibited in Sweden, though we are advised against non-essential travel. Does this count as being essential for my mental health? I’d say yes but I’m quite sure that wasn’t what was meant with essential travel. The official advice goes on to say that any travel should be undertaken with as little contact with people as possible. This means avoid public transport if possible. Hmm... The lack of a car and valid driver's licence is a bit of an obstacle there. So I am on the train. They have blocked off a number of seats to ensure that there is sufficient distance between people who are not traveling together. In further effort to minimise contact with people, I have also booked an entire sleeper cabin for three for myself on the next leg. That way, I will not have to share that small space within anyone for the 12-13 hour overnight journey. This however means that the reasonably priced element of my travel planning has completely gone out the window. Not so small price to pay for being safe(r), but well worth it. 

Upon arrival, I will be shuttled to my "igloo", which is not really an igloo as it’s not made of snow and ice, but is igloo shaped. It’s by a now frozen lake and left to my own devises, more or less. I will get breakfast delivered every morning and have a few activities planned, so I will not be completely alone for the duration. If I understand correctly, there will be a forest to one side of my igloo and a lake on the other. The nearest town is 8 km away. I think I will have no problems social distancing. 

Snow!

Less than an hour on the train and the landscape is covered in snow. According to the weather forecast, snow is expected at home anyway over the next few days. So to embark on a trip to search for snow was perhaps unnecessary. But this is about more than that. While I still cannot find the words to explain it, I can say that the thought that I am heading into the snow and cold, warms my heart. The rapidly approaching dusk and darkness, and the anticipation of the long hours of darkness up north is explicably comforting.  

*Only just. I'll be about 4' within the Arctic Circle. 

**No prizes for guessing the Trans-Siberian railways

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From Coast to Coast on the Skåneleden trail - week one

Today is the end of my first week on the trail. I ended the day’s hiking almost exactly the same time I started hiking last Monday. So, I suppose this is really the end of day 8 on the trail. I reckon I’m about a third of the way through. 

One of the "campsites" along the trail

I’m in a cabin at a paid campsite tonight. When I say campsite in the rest of the post, I mean one along the Skåneleden which is basically a wind shelter, a bit of open space, a fire pit, and an outdoor privy. Tonight though, I’ve paid for a warm cabin with, most importantly, electricity outlets to charge my Garmin, phone and powerbank. Which is explains the otherwise wastefulness of using up precious battery to blog!

The trail

The trail in question is the Skåneleden’s Sub-Trail 1 or SL1. The Skåneleden trail is over 1000 km long and divided into six sub-trails. Some of the sub-trails intersect in places, but they do not connect to make one long trail. The SL1 is the oldest of the trails, or parts of it is at least, and goes from Sölvesborg on the east coast of Skåne to Ängelholm on the west coast. The trail has changed over the years, with sections added or changed due to land rights, changing use of land etc. I came across a map which showed the trail ending at Torekov, not going all the way to Ängelholm, as it does now. My plan is to reach Ängelholm. We’ll see how I get on. 

An old Skåneleden map - no longer accurate

Why am I doing this? Well, why not? The truth is, I don’t really know why. It’s one of those things I’ve talked about casually and thought about every once in a while. The pull to do a long hike has always been there on some level. I even got as far as trying to plan something once or twice but it never played out. The circumstances this year, what with the Covid-19 outbreak, and the uncertainty and challenges with travel abroad, meant that my summer plans had to be revised. So, this turned out to be the year for a domestic trip with no problems when it comes to social distancing. 

A week and 120km into the trail, I am really glad to be doing this. It’s been hard going at times, but I love being out in nature, living the outdoor life. 

My average day

I wake up when I wake up, and usually take my time to get ready. I pack up my tent before anything else, and more or less get my bag ready then make breakfast. The camping stove goes right on top of the bag anything so it’s one of the last things in. The only times this routine changed so far was when weather dictated. If it rained, then I had breakfast first then tried to pack when there was a gap in the rain. 

This is the part that is sometimes hard. I hate packing and having to do it everyday is not my idea of fun. But there is something quite therapeutic and zen about the routine and knowing where everything fits in the pack. 

I walk more often than not according to the Skåneleden stages, so that dictates the distance I cover in a day. I stop for water breaks about every half hour, and stop for a sit down about every hour. For some reason, the breaks get more infrequent the later it gets during the day. Maybe because it takes a while for me to get into my stride. Walking in the morning often feels tougher than the afternoon. I have some powdered soup for a late morning break, and a late lunch. Dinner is usually when I make camp for the night. I’ve been staying mostly at or around the Skåneleden campsites. One night, when my friend was with me, we walked farther than the campsite and ended up camping just outside a farm, with the owner’s permission. We managed to pique the curiosity of his cows, which came to check us out. Watching us kept them entertained for at least half an hour, maybe even up to an hour! 

Our audience one evening

After dinner, I write in my journal and read my book (On The Black Hill by Bruce Chatwin) and am usually asleep sometime between 11pm and midnight. 

The weight on my back

The stuff to go in the pack           

Before I actually headed out on the trail, this worried me the most. What will I need with me and how much of it? Will it all fit in my pack? How much will my pack weigh? How much would I actually be able to carry? How far will I be able to walk with the weight? This stressed me until the last minute before I left home. 

Packed!

There were two points where my pack would have been at its heaviest. It would have been heavy when I left home of course. Over the days, I ate through the food I had with me so some space freed up and the pack got slightly lighter. Yesterday, I got a resupply of food and other things so the weight was piled on again, and even more so. I set off with about five-six days’ worth of food knowing that I would be getting a resupply this weekend. I now have enough food to last me more than that, plus a second gas canister and other things. 

When I left home, my bag was 20.8kgs before I filled the water bottles. So I reckon, all filled I would have been carrying over 23kgs. Now, after the resupply, I’d say it’s over 24kgs. 

Thankfully though, the weight has so far been manageable. I feel the weight of course, mostly in my shoulders and knees but I have not felt like it is too much. Nor have I suffered any major issues with my legs or back, other than some stiffness at the end of the day. 

That might be about to change though. The unhappy coincidence of the heaviest load and the longest stages means that my legs are having to cope with more than usual these two days. My left knee hurts today, and so does my right ankle. I have no idea how they will cope tomorrow, so we’ll see. I’ll break the journey if I must. I could potentially stay here another day to rest if I don’t feel up for it tomorrow. We’ll see. 

Being alone, loneliness and solitude 

I am doing this hike on my own, most of it anyway. A friend joined me over the weekend, and brought along resupplies. After two days of company, I am alone again. I may also have company next weekend, depending on how things go. 

Before I left, I was asked if I was afraid of being on my own. Hmm... not really. I'm not entirely sure what I should be afraid of. The only thing I was concerned about was getting injured on the trail and not being able to walk or get help. Especially considering the old injuries and other skeletal issues I’ve had over the last few years, it’s not an unfounded concern. But more on that later. 

I was asked if I was afraid of feeling lonely while on the trail. The short answer is no. Much as I enjoy hiking with company, I also enjoy hiking alone and have deliberately gone out on a long hike on my own on more than one occasion. I also like traveling on my own every once in a while. I enjoy being on my own enough that it wasn’t a concern at all. In fact, hiking alone is in some ways preferable to company that it less than compatible. 

And, as anyone who has traveled alone would know, you are never really alone. You are far more likely to strike up conversations with people when you’re alone. Or I am at least. Or maybe people are more likely to strike up conversations with someone who is on their own. There’s less of a risk of being intrusive or interrupting something perhaps. Of the five nights when I didn’t have company, last night was the first night I was truly alone. One night, I ended up spending  the better part of the evening with a German couple who were camping at the same place. Another night, I was at the shelter with two Swedish women hiking a different trail that crossed the SL1 for a bit. We got to talking and walked part of the trail the next day together. There were also three men who arrived at the shelter much later, but they had walked too far with inappropriate footwear and were ill prepared for the night's stay, that they were not much in the mood for conversation. 

First night of solitude

In any case, I was not alone in the evenings. It was getting to a point where I started to think that solitude would elude me. In the end, I sought it out. Last night, I pitched camp close to but not at the campsite, on a rock outcrop with a fabulous view but only enough flat soft ground to pitch one tent. No one else would be camping near me! And that set the stage for a lovely evening, sitting outside till late on my own enjoying the view and my thoughts with nothing but the sound of nature around me. 

The view from my rock outcrop

Random thoughts go through my head on these hikes. Some welcomed, some less so. Work related thoughts make their expected appearance, of course, though thankfully, nothing that preoccupies me too much. Some demons which I thought I had put to rest rear their ugly heads again, and I have to go through the processes of slaying them all over again. But it has to be said, in this environment, slaying demons seems to happen in the background without taking over my emotions in any way. If there are demons to be slayed, this is not a bad way to do it. 

I’ve also been singing through the alphabet. I started with songs beginning with ‘A’ that I knew all or most of the words to. I usually do a few songs for each letter, sometimes I go back and do a previous letter again when I think of another song. Sometime, I go over and over the same song to try to remember the lyrics. I’m up to ‘L’, more or less skipping over ‘K’ because I struggled to think of songs. Now of course, more songs are coming to me, so I’ll probably go back over ‘K’ tomorrow. 

Self-reliance and liberation

One of the things I’m really enjoying about doing this on my own is the feeling of self-reliance. Obviously not in a self-sustaining, being able to survive alone kind of way. Just that I am able to manage with what I need on my own. I carry and cook what I need to eat and drink, and I make sure I have a place to sleep. It’s a good feeling. 

It’s also liberating to alone be responsible and to be affected by any decisions made along the way. If I chose to stop or keep walking, I’m not worried that it might stress someone else. I can take breaks if and when I want, and don’t have to worry about whether someone thinks I am too fast or too slow. Because like it or not, I do think about these things. 

Also liberating is the fact that there is hardly a soul on the trail. They appear at the shelters, but I suppose unless you start at the same time and walk at the same space, you’d hardly ever see anyone else. Even a few minutes difference would leave you the feeling of being alone. 

I took advantage of this once. I came to a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. I suspect it’s a crossroads for timber transport that could be busier at certain times but was deserted when I was there. It was a wide open space, with long, straight roads leading away in all directions. I could see about a mile each way, well, a few hundred metres at least, and they were all deserted. Taking a page from Up Close and Personal (with Robert Redford and Michelle Pfeiffer), picked a spot in the middle of the crossroads and belted out “the Impossible Dream” (one of my ‘I’ songs) as loudly and strongly as I could. I don’t think I have ever sung that loudly in my life. When would I have had the chance? It was liberating. Slightly mortifying to hear the cracks and missed pitches at high volume, but liberating not to have to care. It made my spine tingle. 

Man make fire!

The whole “man, make fire” thing doesn’t just apply to men. I made a fire once so far. Well, a fire was made several times at the campsites, but as there were other people there, I can’t claim to have made it, even if I helped. One evening, I was the first at the campsite and set about making the fire as soon as I got there. It was not easy because it had been raining intermittently throughout the whole day. And though the logs were kept dry, the smaller twigs and branches to get the fire going were all damp. 

I had to go around the forest looking for dry branches. Remembering Bear Grylls saying that sometimes it’s only the bark that’s damp and inside the branch is still dry, I also found myself sat peeling off bark with my handy knife, which I must say, also made me feel much more the adventurous explorer than may have been justified! It took a lot of effort and half a box of matches, but it was so satisfying when the fire finally got going. 

Injuries

While I have had problems with everything from my toes, ankles, knees, hips, back, and shoulders, none of the injuries were acute injuries and none that left me stranded somewhere. To be safe though, I have a variety of recovery aids and support (heat cream, freeze spray, knee braces, bandages...) and am taking care to treat any slight ache as soon as possible, as best I know how. So far, my body has coped well. Today is the first day, after the 22km hike which is the longest stretch so far with the heaviest bag yet, that I have felt enough pain to wonder if it’ll be all right tomorrow. But as I said, we’ll see and there are options. 

Sweat, swim, shower

I have sweat so much that the back of my backpack is now permanently damp. As I only have a few items of clothing with me, I am more or less wearing the same stuff every day. I think I chose well though, and the clothes air well and dry fast and thankfully, the smell of sweat doesn’t cling to them. (So she thinks...)

I didn’t have a chance to shower until the sixth day. It was such a pleasure to rediscover indoor plumbing! Before that, I’d had a wash or sorts almost every day. Many of the campsites were near lakes or streams and I’d taken to jumping in to cool off, and clean off a bit too. Though in one case, I stirred up so much sediment in the lake that I think I might have been worse off afterwards. Some of the streams have been too shallow, fast flowing, slippery and cold for a dip, but I got in as far as I could anyway and had a wash.

Jumping into water in nature has to be another one of the best things about this trip. It’s usually cold enough to give me quite a shock when getting in. In one lake, it took me a few minutes to psyche myself up enough to dive in. But every single time without fail,  oh so nice once you’re in it and so refreshing afterwards. 

Rain, shine and a bit of breeze

The one thing which I gave very little thought to when preparing for the trip is one that preoccupies much of my thoughts during the day: the weather. When I was preparing, I thought about it enough to decide what clothes to bring. Rain gear was a must. A warm layer, and thin layer and everything else was extra. 

Now, I find myself constantly looking at the sky trying to predict what the weather will do in the next few minutes. All day every day, I am trying to decide if I should put on or take off a layer, long sleeved or not, rain jacket or not. The weather seems to change every five minutes and I am constantly too warm, slightly chilly, getting damp from drizzle or getting damp from sweat. In the mornings, it’s a question of whether it’ll stay dry long enough for me to pack up my tent. And because the tent goes in the bottom of my pack, it also has to stay dry long enough for me to remove almost everything from the pack, put the tent in and pack up everything else. I’ve miscalculated once and hope to not have that experience again. Weather forecast for the coming week looks dry and way to warm but as I don’t usually check the weather to save battery, it’s likely to change without me knowing. 

And so, more adventure awaits! --> week two

From Coast to Coast on the Skåneleden trail - week two

I made it! Exactly two weeks after I started on the east coast of Skåne, I arrived at the west coast. Thus completing the Coast to Coast trail.

Well, up to Båstad at least. I abandoned the original plan to continue along the coast to Ängelholm which is the official end of the trail. It would have taken me another 60 km or so to get there.  For about two days before getting to Båstad, I oscillated between wanting to continue and reach the goal that I had set myself, and calling it quits. The day before getting into Båstad, I opted for the latter. 

There were several reasons for that, the most compelling one was pain. The niggling pain I felt in my right ankle became constant. It was generally not to bad, but gradually got worse. In the beginning of the second week, I'd start the day with a pain level of about two or three on a scale of one to ten, and end with a level of about a five or six. Towards the end of the second week, I started a day on about a four, and end on a seven or an eight. I had surgery on my right foot earlier in the year and neglected to build my ankle back to full strength. It had not been problem when walking or even running. But hiking over 20 km a day, with over 20 kg of additional weight, took its toll. A regime of heat and cold treatment, straps, regular blasts of my handy freeze spray and physiotherapy exercises got me through each day and over the distance. But still, I was in pain more often than not. 

I could have probably continued another three days if I really had to. Because of that, I struggled with feeling like I was admitting defeat by stopping at Båstad. In a moment of clarity however, I realised that I had nothing to prove to anyone but myself. Also, I was satisfied with what I had already proven, and that was what counted. What I was satisfied about and why is a story for another time. On top of that, had signed up to do a half marathon* nine weeks later and would have had to start training as soon as I got back, so I did not want to risk more damage to the ankle. 

The other reason I decided to stop at Båstad was that once at the coast, I would be walking through more populated areas. I noticed it already as I approached Båstad: there were more day trippers, not just on the trail but also around the campsites and... everywhere! I could only assume that it would be worse along the coast. I had already written about my search for solitude, and I was loath to give it up at the end of the trip.

The second week felt both easier and tougher at the same time.** After my stop at the cabin where I wrote the last post, the weight of my backpack was close to its peak (having received extra supplies the day before). With that weight, I walked the longest distance on the whole trip: 28.6 km. It was to be a long stretch to begin with. But I made it longer by taking a detour into a nearby town to the pharmacy to get some shock absorbing insoles for my shoes. My heels were starting to feel sore, so I wanted to avoid any problems from that. That added about 2 km to the distance. I also went about 400 km the wrong way because I was day dreaming and missed the signs.

              Random letterbox               

That was probably the most mentally challenging day on the trail. I was tired, my pack was heavy and I was in pain. What made it worse was the fact that I didn’t know how far I was to the campsite. The Skåneleden maps were not entirely accurate. The trail changes from time to time, but the maps are not immediately updated. Some stages of the trail were as much as 2 km longer than stated on the maps. Also, the fact that I took a detour and had to double back meant that my tracking of miles that day no longer represented the miles on the trail. In the last third of the hike, being surrounded by trees, I did not have many distinct landmarks to reliably orientate myself and figure where I was on the map. At some point, I thought I had about 4 km to go, walked about 2 km, only to realise that I actually still had 4 km to go. That was disheartening. 

Perseverance 

On that day, I realised that's what perseverance is really all about. I felt that I had to keep going. If I had seen a nice place to pitch a tent on the way, I maybe would have stopped. There was no water expected at the site anyway, so it didn't really make a difference where I stopped. But there wasn't anywhere, so had to keep going. I suppose I could have found somewhere if I really needed to. But some of the options had traces of wild boar, and I did not fancy being in wild boar territory overnight. I am all for wildlife encounters, but I was happy not to encounter a wild boar. Especially when one forest survival guide I came across adviced that if being attacked by a wild boar was to let it charge at you and jump away at the last minute, climb a tree or jump on a rock. However effective that advice might be, I was not convinced I would manage any of that with the pack on my back. Anyway, my point is, I did not come across anywhere I felt comfortable stopping, so I felt I had to continue. And because I did not feel like I had a choice, I carried on. Motivation or enjoyment had nothing to do with it. I found the energy because I had to.

I made me think about professional athletes training to achievement something far in the future. Like those with Olympic aspirations who train and train for a chance to compete and qualify for the Games. We hear about how teenagers wake up at (to me) ungodly hours each day, to train, then go to school, train some more, do homework, train some more and so on. Where do they find the motivation? And how do they keep going when the motivation runs low or runs out? Not to compare me and my walking with Olympic hopefuls of course! It made me wonder though, if for them, they have no choice. The drive to achieve their goal is so deeply set in their psyche that giving up is simply not an option.  

As it were, I persevered. I don't think I was ever happier to reach the campsite. Nor did I appreciate my hip flask more. It was the one of three luxury items I allowed myself and was my reward when I could finally throw down my pack and put my feet up. 

My campsite companion

Every campsite should have a cat

I had an unexpected second reward. The campsite was at the edge of a forest, and I am generally happiest in open spaces, even when wild boar were not in the vicinity. I chose to camp in a nearby field instead of under the trees. As I was pitching my tent, I heard a meow. Being well trained by my own cat, I instinctively meowed back. Another meow came back. I could not see the cat, but the meows were coming from somewhere close to the tree line. We continued to communicated in that way for a while, (meow, meow back, meow again, meow back) until the source of the meows finally found its way over to me. He (I checked) came over to say hello. He checked out what I was doing, had a sniff about my pack and tent, rubbed itself against my legs, then settled down on the grass and purred while he watched me. He hung out with me as I cooked, and climbed on me to try to get some of my dinner. It was spicy arrabbiata, which was actually quite spicy. So I did not think it would be a good idea to share it with my new friend. He cheered me up tremendously anyway. In his company, I was distracted from my weariness and aches. Every campsite should have a cat.

He stayed with me until a young Danish couple showed up, then divided his time between us. The couple were staying in a summer house nearby, and I assume, were hoping for a romantic night in the forest away from the parents. Imagine their disappointment to realise that they were not going to be alone. Their expressions when they saw me said it all. They were also much relieved when I pointed out that I was camping in the field. 

The cat came back in the morning, and got some oatmeal for breakfast and looked at me reproachfully as I walked away. 

One foot in front of the other

                            Tea break                          

The 28 km hike moved the goal posts for me. It made me realise that my body could manage a lot more than I thought, and I started covering more ground each day. I hiked something between 22 and 27 km per day after that. I covered more ground not just because I could. The hiking became more automated in a way. The more I walked, the stronger I felt a kind of compulsion to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Even if I was thirsty or tired, or even in pain, the forward motion mechanically continued, almost like an auto pilot had taken over my legs. I didn't stop for my water, soup and snack breaks as I did in the first week. It took discipline to stop in the end. I had set an hourly alert to make sure I stopped at least once every hour for water and rest.

Because I was covering more ground, I made it to Båstad sooner than I expected. It also meant that I deviated away from the "official" Skåneleden stages and did not always stop at a campsite at the end of the day. Instead, I made my home in a few fields. It also meant I had to carry more water with me than before. Aside from what I drank during the day, I also needed to cook dinner and breakfast the next day, brush my teeth and occasionally have a wet towel wash if I was not stopping next to water. 

Water and weather

One of many clear, cloudless days

As much as I thought about the weather in the first week, I did not have to spare a second thought on weather in the second week. It was hot and sunny more or less throughout. The one day someone told me that the weather forecast had changed and that it was turning colder, the temperature dropped all the way down to 26 degrees Celcius during the day. I no longer had to think about putting on anything more than a sleeveless top and shorts every day.  Oh, except when I went through overgrown stretches of the trail, the trouser legs had to be reattached to my shorts. 

 
      Parts of the trail were so overgrown     
                that spotting the trail               
was not always easy
and called for long trousers

Rather than weather, I spent a lot of time thinking about water. I had to work out distances between water sources and how much water I expected to drink and how much I needed for cooking. I drank about 2-3l each day, and needed about 1l for dinner and breakfast, which included coffee and some hot water for my flask. I bought a water filter bottle for the trip which set me back slight more than €100, but was worth every penny... or cent. The water filter bottle magically transformed any dirty water into clean drinkable water. One of the best, if not the best, investment for the trip! Even so, there were stretches where there was simply no water source available, clean or otherwise. So, my bottles were filled to capacity on most days. 

Heavier and stronger

After getting resupplies and having to carry water with me, meant my pack in the second week was on average heavier than it was in the first week. It felt all right though. I definitely felt the weight especially when my water bottles were filled to capacity, but it did not feel too much. I did not come to hate the weight on my back like Cheryl Strayed did in Wild (the book). Nor did I have any problems with my back or legs (other than my ankle).

I felt stronger in the second week. I felt leaner and fitter, and I imagined that I could even see that my muscles were more toned. My clothes were also getting looser. 

The physical aspect of the hike was one thing that I really appreciated on the hike. It felt good, really good, to push myself physically. I generally gravitate towards workouts that are demanding, that push me to the limit of my physical capabilities. I get that high from a workout that challenges my body, and a satisfaction from having my body rise to the challenge. This was the same thing in a different way. And it felt good, as always, to know that the more I push the limits, the further away he limits are. The more I make myself do physically, the more I can do. And I loved it. I loved feeling strong and knowing that I had not been beaten by the challenge before me.

Sleeping in close quarters

I also pushed myself out of my comfort zone a bit. While I embraced the routine of sleeping out in the "open", it was still inside a tent. On my last night on the trail, I had what I suppose it part of the authentic Swedish hiking experience: I slept in the wind shelter. I slept in a shelter before, but that still had a screen across the one open side of the three sided shelter. And I was up half the night in a stand-off with the local mice, so I am not sure that it counts. This time, the shelter was really just three walls and a roof, with one side open to the elements. And, while I was on my own the last time, I shared the shelter with three lads this time. What little space there was to pitch a tent at the site was taken by a German couple on their plan B honeymoon. Plan A had been Asia, but that plan had to be abandoned due to the pandemic. While they put on a brave face, I think they were overwhelmed. They were self-confessed non-hikers and non-campers, laden under the weight of overpacked backpacks and generally appearing to be miserable. Feeling every bit the seasoned tougher-outer hiker, I relinquished the tent space to them and opted for sleeping bag in wind shelter. I also secretly thought it would be a bonus not to have to unpack my tent. The three lads arrived later, so the four of us ended up having to share the 4-6 man shelter. 

And it was fine. It did not feel too weird. One of the lads snored which kept everybody up for a while, but tiredness and fresh air ensured that I slept well anyway. We were all zipped up in the sleeping bags and as it got colder in the night, I threw a fleece over the sleeping bag to cover my upper body and face. All the lads did the same, so we were basically four cocoons in a row. 

Getting to the coast

The lads made sure I kept a good pace on the last stretch. They were also heading to Båstad, but wanting to walk on my own, I made sure I left before them. I could not have been more than half an hour ahead of them though so it felt like they were hot on my heels. I kept seeing them creep up in the distance, especially if I had stopped for a break. But I stubbornly refused to be overtaken by them. We had been talking the night before and they were all impressed by how far I had walked, the weight of my pack and that I was alone. I felt determined that they should continue to be impressed, which in my head translated as having to keep ahead of them till the end. I did. 

It was a special moment when I caught the first glimpse of the sea. I rounded a corner and saw the blue horizon in the distance. I fell to my knees in relief and joy as tears rolled down my cheeks.... no, not really. I maybe did fall to my knees in my head in some kind of silent celebration. Outwardly, I smiled, took a photo and carried on. It lifted my spirits, for sure. I found a spot with a shade soon after to take a break and enjoy the view. It was over 30 degress Celcius with no cloud cover, so a shade was important. 

First glimpse of the sea

The last 4 km felt like nothing. I must admit to a sense of pride for having made it to the coast. It felt like an achievement in some kind of small way. I say small, because it was not an impossible feat. It was something that really, any able-bodied person could do if they wanted to. But I suppose that is the thing, they have to want to. With the right preparation and equipment, the physical part of it, is completely manageable. It might take some people longer than others, that's all. 

As soon as I was sure when I would be arriving in Båstad, I booked a hotel and spa at Båstad. 

Båstad beach

I got myself a massage and spent the evening by the beach. I'm glad I did that instead of getting on a train home immediately. I needed the time to adjust back to the real world. I had felt so far away from my day to day life that it would have been a shock to the system to find myself at home that evening. As it were, it was a shock to be at the popular seaside destination that Båstad was, and it still took a few stays for it to stop feeling odd that I was home. 

This trip did not change my life, but it did change some things, I think. Some of which will hopefully stay with me for a long time to come. 

*The race was later cancelled because of the Covid situation but I did not know that at the time.

**Read about the first week here.