Adventure in the snow

Cross country skiing was invented in Scandinavia as a means to get from one place to another in the winter months, and only became a sport in modern times. If you are in this country, you will see that it makes perfect sense. Even now, cross country skiing is quite popular and available almost anywhere up and down the country, if there is enough snow, that is. That is not so much an issue up north, but we don´t actually get that much snow down here in Skåne. In any case, I always knew that I would be strapping on a pair of cross country skis at some point, and was in fact resolved to give it a good go. I mean, what better place than Sweden to try it. Plus, I am always open to new sports. I must confess though that I was a bit of a sceptic. I imagined cross country skiing to be strenuous, tiring and I found it hard to imagine how that could be any fun at all. This might have something to do with the fact that the only cross country skiing I had seen was on television. And as it was on television, it was a competition. So this was obviously 'hard core' cross country skiing. It just looked tiring and painful, and seemed like some kind of self induced torture. Which was why when my husband got all excited about it and bought skis for himself, I remained but a spectator. I did also have some legitimate concerns, such as my somewhat damaged and therefore injury prone knees, which I did not think would hold up well is such a streneous, physical intense sport. Also having been recently diagnosed with adult onset asthma, struggling through snow in cold air, did not strike me as being a good idea. So while cross country skiing was something I wanted to try, I was convinced that even if I liked it, it was never going to be something that I would really get into. I had tried it once in a little place in Malmö, but it was what I would call the cross country equivalent to a treadmill, so while it was quite fun to be out there in the snow, it did get me excited about the sport.

It was enough to show me, however, that the sport was not actually as hard as I thought it was. It does take effort and it is a very physical sport, but it was no where near as bad as it looked on television. Knowing that, I was more agreeable to going away for a weekend of skiing, both downhill and cross country.

One Friday afternoon, we bundled our ski gear and ourselves into the car and headed north in a convoy of two cars (does that still count as a convoy?) in search of snow. I say in search of snow, but really, snow was everywhere to be found that weekend. We were, in fact, in search of the cabin which we had rented for the weekend. We had found a spot where both types of skiing would be available. In theory, that should have been easy enough. But not if you take into account two major events in Sweden in the winter – both of which I only learnt of this year - which is why I stand corrected in the event anything I am about to pass off as fact turns out to be, in fact, not fact.

Sportlov
For one week in late winter, sometime in late February or early March depending on the district or region or whatever, schools close for what is called “sportlov”, which literally means sports holiday. Historically, back in the 1940s, winter sports such as skiing events were organised to get the children out of school during the colder part of winter to save on heating. This was subsequently further encouraged to minimise the spread of illnesses which went around during the winter months. Nowadays, it´s just something that everyone does.

Vasaloppet
In memoriam of Gustav Vasas´ flight to Norway in 1521 with the Danes on his heels (or maybe of the chase by the people to bring him back to Sweden, or maybe of their hurried return to Sweden with old Gustav, or the entire saga) the great Nordic classic skiing race, the Vasaloppet, takes places every year on the first Sunday of March. The actual race attracts over 15,000 participants each year, despite the fact that it is a 90 km race. Nowadays, for those too sane to take on 90 km, there are other official events organised over the course of seven days. Unofficially, dozens of “vasaloppet events" sprout out up and down the country in the weeks before the actual race. Most of these are skiing events, or related to winter sports in some way. Others, such as a "vasaloppet cycling" class at my gym, are just random.

Back to the story – it was during this time that we planned our skiing weekend- right in the middle of the sportlov and the weekend before the Vasaloppet. In our search for a place where both the ski slopes and the tracks were open, and for a place to stay close by led us to Stengårdshult, a collection of 5 houses where country road meets country road masquerading as a village, about 25 km from Isaberg, a downhill skiing resort in Hestra. We did spend half a day at Isaberg the day after we arrived, but that was rather disappointing, so I will not waste words about it here.


Cross country skiing in a row

The highlight of the trip has to be the cross country skiing. I picked up a pair of rental skis and had a litte go around the little practice track prepared just outside our cabin.

The next day, we all set off together for a 4 km trail close to our cabin. It was a trail prepared by the owners of the cabin. I believe they own the forest from which they sell wood, and they prepare trails for their own use, and for the use of their guests. We had therefore, in effect, our own private trail. Some of us went on the 4 km trail a second time later in the afternoon, while others, wanting a bit more of a challenge, went on another 8 km trail. We saw one jogger on the 4 km trail, while the others chanced upon the owners on the 8 km trail. Other than that, there was not a soul in sight.

 And that was really part of the magic of being out there. That we could go off much farther into the forest, and with much greater ease, than we would otherwise have got on foot. And to be able to enjoy the beautiful snowy landscape.  I fear I lack the ability to describe the magic of being out there. It is one of those things really that you have to be there to experience it for yourself. I suppose the experience itself may differ from person to person. For my part, there was something almost holistic about being out there. I remembered thinking that that was what life was about – not, of course, that life was literally about being out in the snow in the middle of nowhere, trying to balance on two thin strips of wood while clutching two poles in your hands.

The pure untouched snow, the pristine landscape, the silence of the forest put together with the physical exertion somehow stripped away all the burdens weighing down on me. All my problems and stress, the little everyday issues which were nagging in my mind, the list of things which I need to get done, deadlines, worries, decisions, were all forgotten. Even the painful blisters on both heels were somehow shunted to the background. All I was left with was a sense of peace and contentment. Whenever I stopped for a moment to take it all in, I felt at one with myself and the world around me. And that, I thought, is what life is about. Or should be about. I am aware now that on some level, I am left with an inclination to chase that feeling, to feel it again. I am not though. Chasing it, I mean. Because while I do want that sense of peace and contentment, some sense of that returns when I think of it. Or some part of me returns to that place where I was. In my mind´s eye, I see the trees and the snow. I hear the silence and I feel the peace.

Of course that was not all there is to remember about the weekend. The company of friends, the conversation, the laughs, the waxing of skis, spotting animal tracks and trying to figure out what what animal they could have been made by, the falls – especially the one slope where so many of us fell that we completely obliterated the tracks, were all part  of the fun. And one thing we did learn- sometimes when going down a slope with too many curves, our voices don´t carry far enough or around the curves. That was a problem, as I can testify from personal experience. Having experienced lying in the track after having fallen, and trying to frantically unravel the tangle of skis and poles that I had become to scramble out of the way as the next person came carreening at top speed towards me, which all in all a comical anecdote, was something none of us wanted to repeat. We therefore devised the "all-clear howl" - a howl to say that it was alright for the next person to ski down. Thankfully, we did not hear any unexpected howling in response. That, although would have also been very cool, would have been extremely scary.

All in all, we had so much fun. A week on, and we were all still talking about what a great trip it was.