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.  

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.