Applause Day 5 – the hardest part

km92 – km 110

The last day! It was supposed to be a breezy straight-in approach, it turned out to be the hardest part of all… I Kept following the carrot of the bed and shower in the hostel in abisko, i was fuelled by getting back online and touching base with my people, and i was fuelled by that will-to-finish… only the body was now tired. This was the hardest part, and THE SONG I KEPT HUMMING WAS THE COLDPLAY ONE – the song refers to letting go, which, on some levels, I was, too… but that is another story. The video I now remembered when watching it, is about ‘just doing it’.

Good morning world!

Hello World, I'm coming home!

Hello World, today is the day I’m coming home!


I’d been wanting to take a photo like this from inside my tent ever since signing up for my Big Walk – it had been too cold and wet on the previous evenings and mornings for me to even have that romantic picture-taking thought, but not today, today was a good day! So I opened it all up wide and snuggled back down in my warm sleeping bag, took the photo… and took in the moment for a moment.
I started saying goodbye to my Big Walk. And hello to the lightness of knowing I’d be sleeping in a bed that night, that I wouldn’t have to pitch my tent… and ohh, I’d have a shower. Yes, I’d have a shower in the privacy of my own space. I keep repeating this, but one really does remember what it is one is grateful for when one takes oneself away from things for a while.

The Kieron festival-like campsite was a Fjällräven Classic only site, put up for the event alone – so no mountain station, just the checkpoint and loo-tents and so: there was no coffee to be bought. And that was ok, because for one I didn’t need to warm or dry up after taking down my tent, and for two, my excitement didn’t replace my coffee, but it made its urgency less urgent.

I was going home today! 

Well, I was going to Abisko, where I’d cross the Finish Line of this here crazy adventure I’d slipped into. Today I was going to arrive where I’d been walking to since Day 1.

In leadership training we would always be told on the last day of our bootcamp retreats to ‘focus on still being here‘; they brought to our attention that it is easy to fast-forward to leaving a few hours later, to packing the bags, to thinking about making flights and arranging dinners, to getting back into our daily ruts and whatnot all would happen after leaving and: that is was not yet over, the last day deserved being a full day in its own rights, with our full attention.

I remembered my leadership trainer Elaine’s loving and strong voice saying this loudly as I set off, with only one thing in mind: arriving!

And maybe because I was so eager to get it over with, my body decided to ‘keep me in the moment’.

I set off from Kieron at 9 am, and I’d barely walked one kilometre when I got a headache. I don’t get many headaches anymore, but I did now. It was a migraine-like headache, and I felt nauseous. And it made me stop and take my backpack off. I stopped and took my backpack off more during the first 5 kilometres on Day 5 than during the entire previous 92kms. This had the foreboding of a long day.

All I could think of now was ‘thank god this didn’t happen any other day’ – one really is weaker when the body leaves the team.
I’d eaten and I’d slept, I reckoned this was my body just saying ‘enough already‘.

See, this really was a big deal for me. We all have our own limits to stretch; for some doing this hike is an absolute no-no, for others it was a walk in the park. For me it was a definite, mainly physical, stretch. I’d trained, but probably not as much as I should have… and with the headache I realised just how lucky I had been, how very cooperative my body had been to get me this far. I’d been tired and exhausted, but not sick or injured.
Very very lucky indeed, I said a little prayer of gratitude to the gods of the universe.

still and quiet onwards to Abisko

still and quiet onwards to Abisko

So the weather was rather nice, the day started in the sun, and it was warm enough to go without the rain jacket and my thermal hat under my cap. The path was easy, downhill or level, and basically we walked past a lake all day – I even think I remember less boulders on the trail.

And as I said, I felt really bad. Walking was like in those dreams where you walk and walk and walk and get nowhere.

I kept stopping, and at first I kept being overtaken by the same group of three jovial British men, they reminded me of the seven dwarfs singing ‘hei ho hei ho it’s home from work we go…’ because I could always here them approach me from behind, or hear them leave ahead of me. They were trek angels for sure, every time they passed we had a little laugh. Obviously, if they kept passing me, I also kept passing them. I wasn’t the only slow one that morning.

I wanted to have lunch at a clearing, my headache checklist is ‘Have you eaten enough? Drunk enough? Had enough sleep?’ (if they don’t work I dig deeper into stress and emotional levels).
Only just after setting up my stove, it fell over and my water spilled… so… I packed everything up again and walked on in search of water. For four days it was easy to find water, it just trickled down the mountains, on day 5, when I walked past the lake, the water I could get to was too moorish and shallow, and as per the instructions ‘not drinking water’ – only drink from running streams. It was, again, like in one of those films and stories, water everywhere but not reachable.

Lunch by the lake - surrounded by incense sticks, like a little Buddha

Lunch by the lake – surrounded by incense sticks, like a little Buddha

I finally stopped lakeside, filled up, and cooked my last meal-in-a-bag. I also stuck incense sticks in the ground around me, I sat there like a Buddha – it must have been a sight, and smell… but I didn’t get bitten once, not even on that fly-heavy day 5, and I did not have to use the beekeeper-like headnet, which I think looks dafter than some incense sticks.

Day 5 had major ups, apart from arriving, it was also a bit like the round of applause part at the end of a play.

It brought out so many of the characters I’d met along my walk.
Emily-sunshine and Luca hopped by with a big energetic smile. I saw my campfire neighbours trio of men. I walked by Edith and Sue and David, and I confided in them how weakly I felt when Sue said ‘I don’t want to sound like your mother, but are you eating and drinking enough?‘ – I loved her for that.

My lowest low of the day was somewhere after lunch and before km100; I felt too weak to continue, so I just lay down flat on my back on the side of the path and took a few breaths. Savasana, dead man’s pose, is one of the hardest poses in yoga because we are so unable to be still – I was very very able to be still.
I don’t know how long I lay there, when I came out of it I remembered my buddy Antje’s gift to me before I left: a bar of (organic raw, she knows what I like) chocolate ‘to have at the right moment’, that would be now.
And, serendipity-magic oblige once again, it’s wrapping came with an insightful message.

Ich danke meinen Engeln und Begleitern - I am grateful for my angels and companions

Ich danke meinen Engeln und Begleitern – I am grateful for my angels and companions

“I thank my angels and companions” – oh yes!

Trek Angels

Trek Angels was a term brought to me by Claude while we had beers after arriving later that day. She was another Luxembourgish lady whom I happened to be sitting next to on our flight from Stockholm to Kiruna, serendipity or coïncidence, whatever one wants to believe, as they had taken another flight from Luxembourg that morning. She and her husband were doing the FjällrävenClassic for the second time, of course they knew Luc, we all met on the flight and then parted ways. They started a group ahead of us, and I met them again on Applause Day 5 a few kilometres before the arrival; they rushed past me (after giving me a bit of candied ginger to help me forward) to try to get a room at the hostel as they were finishing a days earlier than they’d planned because of the cold. Later, over beers at the Trekkers Inn after arriving, and we shared initial impressions, she told me about a book she’d read and how the author had called them ‘trek angels’.

My take is that trek angels are the momentary encounters who appear on our path at just the right time with a right message or sentiment. Often trek angels don’t know, and may never know, that they are trek angels to us.

Andras, whom I’ve since met, was a trek angel to me when he was a stranger to me, just by looking so happy and trustworthy taking a photo of his tent on that first night when I was feeling a bit lost and lonely and cold after having fallen into the river. The Danish men whose voices I heard from my tent that first night made me feel cozy and in company, I never saw their faces but they were my trek angels. The guide of the Taiwanese group who told me fiercely to eat at Sälka was a trek angel. As was the man whose lunch I got to hold on the pass. And the ladies in the loo line at Tjäkta who made me laugh out loud for the first time on the trail and confirmed that I wasn’t the only one wondering what the hell she was doing here.
So many trek angels, everywhere, all the time, the men who lit a fire next to my camp site on Day 4, the jovial Brits, Emily-sunshineeveryone who said ‘hej hej’ to me…

OH YES, there were trek angels everywhere on my Big Walk and they did me good. And yes, I am grateful to them for showing up on my path. As I am for all the seemingly inconspicuous, yet meaningful encounters (read one of my favourite posts I wrote on this thinking ‘Meandering about in Wonderland‘) I keep making in life.

And here’s to my injured travel buddy who couldn’t make the walk but showed up for me now, in a moment of physical weakness on my last day of what was to be our journey and her following her dream; she showed up as my trek angel in the little, sweet, perfect  chocolate she gave me.

And as I returned to the path, I met another very important character: a young man from Hungary whose name I never got. He was wearing sweatpants and a heavy metal t-shirt, I’d noticed him on Day 1, his gear stood out (remember US with the cool Fjällräven G1000 pants). He suddenly appeared and he walked the same speed as I did. He didn’t wait for me, he didn’t chase me, we just seemed to walk the same speed. And we chatted, not much, but some, and it turned out he actually walks a lot and has even done some crazier hikes than this one. Also, he’d come all the way here by car – after arriving, he was going to ‘drive to the end of Europe’. I liked that, I like people with a name and intention for their journey.

Our encounter was light, and organic, I felt neither pressured by nor bored of him, and suddenly I noticed my headache was getting lighter.

Also, at some point he looked at me and politely said ‘I think your backpack might not be strapped correctly‘… it took me about a kilometre to react to what he said and went ‘hold up, pardon me? What doesn’t look right?‘ – he tweaked the straps a bit and… OMG, weight lifted off my back and shoulders!
Now, I am holding on to the belief that I had not been walking 100km with a badly strapped backpack, I am holding on to the belief that weight and bulk had shifted and was different today as I was wearing less of my bad weather gear than the previous day. I need to hold on to that belief because: HOLY SHIT, if it was strapped wrong all the time what a difference I could have made by simply adjusting it!!! How rookie could one be?

And we kept walking, ever so slowly. My watch that vibrated every kilometre took ages to vibrate, but it did. Kilometre by kilometre.

My company made me stop at this vista point – me still eager to just arrive would have missed it, but this grand view was basically at the beginning of my final approach and it deserved a moment.

So good to feel good - and so nice to have someone take my photo (not-a-selfie)

So good to feel good – and so nice to have someone take my photo (not-a-selfie)

The people I walked alongside on the final kilometres were my Hungarian buddy and an English man who was carrying two backpacks (later that evening the organisers gave him an extra shout and a gift at the Trekkers Inn party tent): he was carrying the pack of a girl who’d injured her knee the previous day. She and a friend were also among my final approach crew – just saying, the girl who was limping in pain was pretty much walking the same speed as I was: hats off to her!

I walked up a little hill at the top of which I saw the hostel, the blue Fjällräven Checkpoint tent and also a big Fjällräven signpost over the path. On the left of the hill there was bunting displaying many country flags. There was some background noise of voices, maybe music…

I did see some people, but not really. It all seemed so quiet, almost closed-down. It didn’t seem right – everybody on the trail had said

‘The finish line will be amazing, the energy will blow your mind!’

I must have missed it, OMG maybe I’m still not there!

The last time I knew we were all together, me and my companions from my last kilometres, was at the gate to the Kungsleden, Sweden’s Royal Trail, and meters away from the finish line. I have no idea where they went or what made them hold back, but I walked to and through the finish line alone – and I am very grateful for having been given that privilege.

I did this trek with many people back home and in my world holding my space and having my back,
I did this in the momentary company of fellow hikers,
and I also did this on my own.
It was good to finish on my own.

I walked towards the empty and eerily quiet Finish Line of the Fjällräven Classic in Abisko at 15.30 on 16 August 2017.

Then I heard one person clap. One person clapped for me.

And this is when I knew I’d done it. And I cried.

She was one of the checkpoint volunteers, she handed me a glass with a pink drink, I hugged her.

Stamping my Wanderpass one final time and receiving the badges and the medal all happened in a blur.

Stamping my Wanderpass one final time and receiving the badges and the medal all happened in a blur.

Everything was such a blur, the pink drink, the stamping of my Wanderpass, the receiving of my two badges and my medal…

I can’t remember receiving a medal since ski school when I was a child… I felt similarly proud.

Only I felt prouder. And so very relieved. And really really exhausted.

DONE 111.1km in 37 hours... and five days.

DONE 111.1km in 37 hours… and five days.

I stopped and saved the activity tracker on my trek bestie, I didn’t really dare stop it, afraid I might press the wrong button and loose all the information. This watch can do way more than I know how to… So I took one last photo of the screen. ONLY NOW, looking at the photo in my blog, am I noticing the round number 111.1 kms and also the 37 hours… 37 is a somewhat meaningful number to me, how hadn’t I noticed these numbers yet?

And like out of nowhere my people from just minutes before reappeared.

I got to clap loudly for my Hungarian headache-reliever and strap-adjuster. And he also accepted to take my finish line photo, I took his. And off into our own lives we disappeared again.

Finished! Fjällräven Classic 2017 finisher, oh the pride!

Finished! Fjällräven Classic 2017 finisher, oh the pride!

Before checking in to my room, I weighed my backpack:

very Cheryl Strayed - 15kg on arrival

very Cheryl Strayed – 15kg on arrival

15kg on arrival – it was very Cheryl Strayed, liver and author of the book WILD that my friend Sandra had given me years before it ever occurred to me to do anything remotely like this. I’d thought of Cheryl Strayed a lot, and, OK, I wasn’t hiking the Pacific Crest Trail and Fjällräven Classic is a very well organised event that made sure I was never entirely alone. Still, I was a woman doing a big hike in the wild alone for the first time – and I was carrying a backpack that was way heavier than they recommend (max 20% of your bodyweight), like she did. She’d called her pack ‘the monster’ and everyone she met on her trail knew her for it. Mine didn’t have a name…

500gr of trash

500gr of trash

They also had us weigh our trash bag (‘leave nothing but footprints’), the heaviest each day would receive a prize – I wasn’t sure how to understand the reward for heavy trash, and mine weighed a measly 500grams, but that evening a 10-year-old girl won the prize for the heaviest trash bag; as of day 1 she picked up all the trash she’d found on the way, making the world a better place. Now, THAT I get! Well done girl! Also, she put things into perspective, here I am at 40 all proud of myself, doing something a 10 year-old did. Actually, doing something a three-year-old did, like I found out later that evening…

As I say, ‘there will always be some doing less and some doing more than us, the only thing that ever counts is how much we are doing on our own scale of things.’

I stumbled past the many many people in the lobby of the hostel, everyone was taking shelter from the cold and the rain, it had started to rain just before I arrived, and everybody was back to staring down at their devices.
I didn’t blame them, I was getting ready myself to send the message I’d been writing in my head for the past five days.

And finally, reconnecting with the home team

A whole other set of words came out than the ones I’d been concocting over the day, and oh the replies where plentiful, instant and overwhelming.

I just sat on my bed, shoes off, gear on, staring at my phone, at the messages that had been sent while I was offline for five days, friends sending messages for me to ‘have when you get back in’, friends telling me that they are thinking of me, every day… oh I am a lucky girl.

The data of MyBigWalk

The data of MyBigWalk

Then my phone rang. There is something about an actual phone call I really appreciated. It was my friend Nick, the man I have named the godfather of my watch for his recommending which one to buy (the best, of course) and for patiently helping me set it up… he plain phoned, like in the good old days. And he joined me on my buzz, let me offload my in-the-moment high and excitement out loud, asked all the right questions, let me talk and talk and talk, and tell whichever random stories that came out – it was such a nice present to give me just then. He also told me which buttons to press to make my phone connect with my watch and show us My Big Walk on the map.

The map of MyBigWalk

The map of MyBigWalk

My starting buddies Luc and Kristof did it in 3 days! something crazy :-)

My starting buddies Luc and Kristof did it in 3 days! something crazy 🙂


My phone rang again, and this time it was a facetime call from: MY STARTING BUDDIES! Luc and Kristof, calling in from Stockholm. They’d done the walk in… THREE DAYS! There was me thinking they ‘may just be a couple of kilometres ahead of you’ and ‘I wonder if I’ll bump into them in the sauna’, and ‘NO WAY they’ll finish this in four days!!!’. Well, they did, in three days… they finished among the first 40. WOW! And they were happy to ‘see’ me, they expressed a pride  for me that I still feel when I think back. We never walked together, yet they are linked to my experience, they were there at the start, here they were at the finish – and they’d walked the exact same path at the same time as me – give or take a day. And I was so very happy to tell them all about how I’d done!

aaaand relax… have that beer!

The shower was bliss, and I went to the Trekker’s Inn Teepee outside for a falafel and a beer, and just let myself arrive. I met Claude and her husband Marc again, they bought me another beer. It was nice to see them again and compare notes (like ‘where did you sleep?’), talk about trek angels and how people had been saying this was the coldest the Fjällräven Classic has been in at least four years. They told me a lot of things they knew from their previous experience and how one must buy the Classic ‘hoodie’ that they sell outside.
Also, Marc said, and I think I saw some bemusement in his face when he did, that he had not thought that I’d make it, apparently he would have bet on me being airlifted out… it stung a little bit, but oh my, this comment also made me feel that much more badass! 
It reminds me of one of those inspirational quotes I once read that says

‘Those who say it can’t be done

are usually overtaken by those doing it.’

Riding the pride wave, and with a huge smile that I could not and would not wipe off my face, I retreated to my room, for the best sleep.

I remembered Michèle’s card, which almost didn’t feel as vital now that I was ‘back’ – but it was.

‘Say yes to a new day. The world is yours to explore’

Say yes to a new day. The world is yours to explore.

Say yes to a new day. The world is yours to explore.

She’d added ‘you’re nearly there, keep your head up else you’ll miss the stars. Keep moving, not long now.’

I kept moving, and here I was.

Thank you x

Good Day 4 – alive and coming out to play

km74 – km92

yes! here it is, the hills are now alive, lalllallallalllllllll and enter: the holiday part of this trip – sunshine, company, laughter, lightness. my THE Inverted HANGOVER concept was already proving right, I was feeling proud and, yeah, badass… I love being badass in the chica kinda way. ‘WTF?’ was swinging over to ‘ohhh I think I like it’!. But first: get through the night!

Yes, I was alive. I don’t want to sound morbid, or overdramatic. It’s just that I keep learning that these journeys, all journeys, have ways of presenting us with ‘surprising happenings that make for stories after’, but that can be a little bit worrying, even potentially dangerous, in the moment.

Such as two 20-year old girls from Luxembourg walking back to their youth hostel in Las Vegas to save money late one night, way beyond the strip, cars slowing as they passed, men rolling down their windows and making straightforward offers…
Or that ride on a night bus from Potosi to La Paz in Bolivia
, with my cousin Marianne and lots of indigenous locals, that stopped in the middle of the desert for no apparent reason, with the driver not responding to our requests to explain or to open the door.
I have many stories like that…

The situations are a tad scary in the moment, because ‘these stories could go, and have gone for others that one reads about in newspapers, anywhere’ – they are the ones that one comments on with ‘well that was a silly thing to do in the first place anyway, they could’ve known better‘.

They become stories to tell once safe and looking back on them,
and they make for another chip on the shoulder of experience.

(note: the bus in Bolivia had stopped because we were on a dirt road, there had been floods and the driver of our bus, like the drivers of all the other busses we saw at daybreak, could not see where to cross through the river in the dark. So everyone waited for daylight to continue – of course.)

And here came in a new one of those for me:

I woke up in the middle of the zero-degrees outside night in a tent in the back of beyond in Swedish Lapland with no feeling in either arms or fingers. Total numbness, it was so very disconcerting. And in my sleepiness, my initial troubleshooting didn’t get me any further than ‘OMG this is it‘, this is where this story will end.
Then: ‘maybe it is because you are sleeping on a slant with your head facing down‘ – no blood in the upper body; in the middle of the night, that seemed plausible to me…
I decided to turn around. Only I couldn’t open the zip of my sleeping bag due to my condition of numbness in both hands, so I turned around in my mummy-state, not unlike a breakdance move, twisting on my bum only and not able to lean on my arms for support… The thing is, the tent was tiny, it was rather full with my stuff on either side of me, and to top it off, this was the night I’d had a lightbulb idea to use the silver rescue blanked I’d brought along (oh yes, it was still very cold), so it was creaking and rattling loudly in the process. Yes, picture it. Funny in hindsight, as I say.

I was fine by morning, so the drama in the night stays only a little part of the story, and the numbness only stayed in one finger – which was enough for me to keep walking. I did however enquire with the guys at the checkpoint if they had doctors or nurses around, and they confirmed that they did. This was a relief to me, worst case: I’d see the ones at the next checkpoint in Kieron. The man was actually very kind and kept asking questions even after I’d said I was fine. Maybe he was a nurse or doctor in disguise?

Then came the second best coffee ever – the first having been in Sälka the previous morning, a lifetime ago…

second best coffee ever - and a gear chat with experts. How can an entire camp kitchen weigh as much as my mug alone?

second best coffee ever – and a gear chat with experts. How can an entire camp kitchen weigh as much as my mug alone?

I went about my ritual of having my muesli, packing up, visiting the facilities and treating myself to a coffee at the mountain station before leaving. This time I used my own cup, which I’d bought in celebration for all the good coffees I’d be having on my big walk (I was carrying 4 bags of proper good filter coffee for camping, 20gr each, just add water – none of them were used on the trail). And I got me a cinnamon roll – it’s the law in Scandinavia, and if they have them out here in the back of beyond, who am I to not buy one?

I sat down at a table with two Swedish men and we got chatting. We talked about gear. And pack weight. These kind gentlemen turned out to be übergeeks in my own vocabulary. This was not their first rodeo, or trek, so to say, and over time they had been acquiring more efficient and lightweight gear and they were now down to 10kg each, before food and water. One of them lifted my mug and said ‘this weighs as much as my entire kitchen‘ (that would be the stove and the pot and the mug, I reckon) – HOW does one do this??? I think, one spends a lot of time researching, and one spends a lot of money. I took a few tips from them, such as: wear less clothes while hiking, and put on the warm stuff at breaks… I’d put on ALL my stuff for hiking and didn’t take off or put on anything in breaks… it made sense to me.

Another DUH moment for the rookie hiker!

We set off from Alesjaure pretty much together at 9.45am, and as I heaved my big backpack on my back I couldn’t help but let the thought cross my mind that these fit strong men could be gentlemen and swap their 10kg mini-packs with me… then again, as my mother always says

‘Never take more luggage than you can handle by yourself’ – I knew this also applies to hiking.


Onwards to Kieron: only 18km, no uphill

Lightness and feeling alive, the nutshell of Good Day 4.

About 3km after setting off I dared take off my rain jacket, which was really cool because it was a heavy duty rain jacket my friend Sander lent me (THANK GOD) a day before leaving – it served me very well, however it didn’t colour-coordinate with my cool Fjällräven pink pants!

upside down views - playful in my cool pink pants, finally to be properly enjoyed on Day 4 when I could walk without the rain trousers over them, or the red rain jacket that didn't colour-coordinate.

upside down views – playful in my cool pink pants, finally to be properly enjoyed on Day 4 when I could walk without the rain trousers over them.

Fjällräven really has a cool brand marketing going, awesome into-the-wild photos, subtly inspiring a desire-to-go (note: I write this from my own accord, I have not been paid to say this ;)) Many people were wearing the G1000 pants (these, as I learned in preparation, again from Luc, who I have since named the godfather of my Fjällräven Classic adventure, are to be treated with wax for waterproofing – which I’d duly done), and it did have a tribal feel to me…
‘us with the same heavy duty badass adventure pants’.

The first part of the trail lead past a big lake, it was stunning scenery, oh the stuff dreams are made of.

People were opening up, looking up. Once the cold and rain lifted, I started seeing faces. We still had to look down to check where to put the next step, but one was more inclined to look up during breaks. Also, when we passed and hej hej‘ed each other, I could now see faces as they were no longer packed in buffs, hats, caps, hoods and the likes.

picture postcards - things I would like to do with you...

picture postcards – things I would like to do with you…

hey and hej hej… the words I used and heard most in my five days on My Big Walk, with every person I passed or was passed by. Especially on the cold and harsh days, a ‘hey’ and a ‘hej hej’ meant more than just ‘hello’. It meant so many things, such as ‘you are not alone’, and ‘you’re doing great’, and ‘keep going’ and ‘I see you’ and ‘lookin’ good’ and whatever I really wanted to hear in that moment was right there in the ‘hej hej’. Only one time a person didn’t say ‘hej hej’; he was one of the, relatively, few people who were walking in the opposite direction… I wondered and let a tiny bit of sadness and anger in until it occurred to me that maybe, MAYBE, he was saying ‘hej hej’ way more often than I was, seeing as he was meeting every single one of the 2000 Fjällräven Classic walkers going the other way… I decided it was ok for the people walking against the flow to drop one or the other ‘hej’.

I bumped into my friends from the loo line at Tjäktja late that morning, Edith, Sue and David from Nottinghamshire. Fun to meet friends, and we walked together for a little while.

There is this unwritten code of conduct on the trail, at least in my eyes, by which you walk together for a minute or an hour or a day, for as long as speed and energies align, then you push on or fall back, and that is ok.

I ran my theory of the inverted hangover by Edith, and she said that

‘yeah, it’s a bit like childbirth – you forget the pain’.

Aw buddy…

They invited me to lunch, ‘but it’s BYO’ – bring your own, I accepted gladly, my first meal in company. David and Sue found a gorgeous spot on a hillside by the lake, sheltered from the wind. Company, chats, and food in the great beautiful outdoors. YES!

lunch break YES PLEASE

lunch break YES PLEASE

And onwards.

With good weather comes good mood, and yes, my cheeky and selfie-taking self came out to play!

At one point I found myself doing a wheel pose on a rock, the one I’d been dying to do since day one to stretch that poor spine of mine that has been carrying this crazy load. It had been too cold outside (too many clothes to even be inspired to bend backwards that far), and too confined in the tent, until now. BUT OH WHAT BLISS! A man and his dad walked by and said ‘it looked like you were on your head’ and I was like ‘gimme a minute’… Such fun!

Walking was fun, the backpack was still heavy – heavier still, as the cold weather clothes were now in it again.

But this was the day I started writing my book.

So far, I’d not seen the interest in sharing any of my thinkings, so eager to make it through the experience. And I hadn’t seen how the dots would connect into a story. I’m a firm follower of Steve Jobs’ ‘Trust that the dots will connect in hindsight’ – everything happens for a reason, at least in my experience. And things were now falling into place here, too.

I was still not sure what was falling into which place and why, but I was starting to feel the tickle to write about all this.

And this feeling of my creativity coming back to life gave my steps an extra spring!

A few kilometres before the Kieron checkpoint we entered the tree line again, and the path went steeply downhill. Then it appeared like an oasis; first I heard people chatting, then I saw people bathing feet and selves in a river, then I saw tents…

Crossing the bridge was like crossing a border, from there to here, from Swedish Lapland to home, from the adventure to luxury, from day 4 to the last day.

Crossing the bridge to Kieron - arriving and connecting dots

Crossing the bridge to Kieron – arriving and connecting dots

Crossing this bridge, like all the bridges on the track, hanging bouncily over rivers, also reminded me of how far I’d come in my own growth.

My close friends know how big this is for me, I have a very incapacitating fear of heights… cousin Martine knows best, she is my early days travel buddy and a civil engineer with a love for bridges and heights, and over the years we have been avoiding and facing my fears together.
My stomach still crisps up when I think of my first BIG win and walked myself over the Golden Gate bridge (I just walked, I felt like rolling over the sides, and I would not move to the left or to the right, not even to let couples by – they had to let go of each others’ hands or step aside, but I did it!)… the next big step was a chapter (or book) of its own, and it happened in my leadership training-cum-bootcamp in Spain, with my fellow tribe mates as witnesses and co-leaders of my climb. A year after that, my dear friend Romain handed me a glass of champagne at the top of the Eiffel tower (I’d lived near the Eiffel Tower for 3 years without going up it, until, one day, 13 years after leaving, it was just ‘that next step to take’)…
So my crossing these bouncy bridges on my own and, actually, without even giving it a thought, on the Kungsleden is a huge success for me in my overcoming my fear of heights, and once again, it is ‘dots connecting’ – all the little ‘face your fear’ steps needed to happen for me to not freeze at the first one here and stop my adventure at kilometre 10; and I had all my ‘height’ coaches with me in my heart every single time.

Kieron Checkpoint was like a festival camp!

It was a short day for many of us, so there were lots of tents up already when I arrived at 17.30. Also, the Abisko National Park gates were just a few kilometres ahead, this was the only place on the trek that wild camping was not allowed… so either camp here, or continue 18km to the finish.

Pancakes and coffee at Kieron Checkpoint! Thank you!

Pancakes and coffee at Kieron Checkpoint! Thank you!

It was warm and sunny and the Fjällräven people were handing out free pancakes and coffee. They have to bring all these things in by helicopter, one must remember. There was a festive mood here, and it was nice to be around people.

See, there are many nice things about being offline

Kieron checkpoint festival - people, sunshine, pancakes, coffee, chats, laughter... togetherness.

Kieron checkpoint festival – people, sunshine, pancakes, coffee, chats, laughter… togetherness.

That there was no phone network on the trail, so for me for my five days, was a big deal, and probably one of the best things about this whole journey for me.
For one, somehow time stands stiller… apart from not knowing ‘what is going on in the world elsewhere than the exact place I am in right now’, I really got used to the freedom from that reflex to constantly look at the phone.
Also, I found that my personal processing got a greater chance to do its thing. I’m not saying to keep everything locked up forever, I’ve been working way too hard at taking down the big wall around my heart to make such a claim, yet I do see the benefit of self-processing before sharing. Here, I would have reached out in the Blizzard night, and I would have worried the people who care the most about me and… I would have missed out on just being in the moment, for better and for worse, and the pride that followed.
And then there is something to be said about the anticipation for what might be waiting for me in the message world once I do come back online – like ‘Schrödinger’s cat’, anything is possible until then. He may have written, lots of people may have written, nobody may have written… all possible.
But the most surprising effect of having the phones off was the collectivity of it. People weren’t staring down at their device the way someone always does these days.

Don’t get me wrong, I like the global easiness of instant communications today; I live entire relationships via them that I may prefer to live out loud and in person, but that for whichever twist of fate, choice or geography isn’t happening.

But it was really really nice to see mankind again, looking up, looking out, into the big wide open, into faces… chatting, or not, the way we were…
…before we all got so connected.

I didn’t realise how much I missed that, I missed you, mankind, I miss us like that.

I set up my tent at the far side of the festival camp.

My tent site at warm and sunny Kieron

My tent site at warm and sunny Kieron

This was the last time I’d have to pitch it and as a reward it was sunny, there was barely any wind and: I could take my jacket off, and didn’t get frostbite in my fingers. Oh this is what camping should be like!

My dear feet - you did it! Best moment ever!

My dear feet – you did it! Best moment ever!

I took off my boots and walked down for one of the best moments on the whole entire journey: MY FIRST FOOT BATH in the icy cold river!

I bumped into Emily-sunshine, from the loo line, and her brother, on my way down there – they’d done just the same thing, bathing feet and cooling blisters.

The evening boot shot was a croc shot on Day 4 as the boots came off way before I got into my tent! A sign of good weather.

The evening boot shot was a croc shot on Day 4 as the boots came off way before I got into my tent! A sign of good weather.

When I returned to my nest, I lit an incense stick and stuck it into the ground outside my tent while I boiled some water for dinner – another of my ingenious bringings and wisdom  from India: mosquitoes don’t like incense sticks and they are really light weight in luggage!

Here is where I shall admit to not having told the entire truth in my arrival messages the next day, I’d said that I only had one blister to report, that was a lie. I came out of the Fjällräven Classic with two blisters: one on my right heel from day 1, one on my right middle finger from day 4 – from when I pressed a lit incense stick into the ground, top down. Silly me 🙂

And finally, the log fire!

Oh yes, we were below the tree line, there was dead wood lying around, and men were making fires. And I was invited to my neighbours’! YAY! Two meals in company in one day, this one was with Jörg, Thill and Kai from Germany, a fun group of men – it was so nice to chat and share stories. This is where I first worded my ‘story’ as being a result of my general excitability. They’d accidentally hiked up to the glacier on the first day, I fell into the river on the first day… it just did good to talk again, and laugh. And tea, they made me a cup of tea, with fresh sage leaves brought from home. Everyone has their little ingenious bringings.
See, with the cold of the previous nights there was no evening togetherness at the camps, except in the loo lines and that one sauna. People weren’t sitting outside their tents or meeting around a fire… people took refuge inside their tents as soon as possible.

This evening here was brilliant and it was how I’d visualised them all to be when we’d say before I left ‘you’ll meet loads of people!‘.

I thank all the circumstances for giving us this one night, perfectly placed on the last!

Oh this was a good day; I felt good and I smiled as I settled into ‘bed’, journaled, wrote to Antje… and opened my card from Michèle.

Spontaneity is the best kind of adventure!

Spontaneity is the best kind of adventure

Spontaneity is the best kind of adventure


‘… and remember why you even started.


Pure mischief and excitability, and yes, spontaneity it was.

Yeah girl, you’re totally doing this! Badass chica in the wild x

Day 3 – surf and sauna

KM 47 – KM 61 – KM 74

This was an afternoon fiercely driven by purpose. And the purpose was to make it to ALESJAURE for the night. To the next camp where people were. to the place that may have a coffee for me in the morning without having to set up my stove. and to the infamous sauna, that my friend luc had told me about (‘yes it is worth it’, he’d said, and so I put the large travel towel back into my pack – I’d taken it out in one of my luggage downsizing acts).

Walk and walk and walk and walk and get yourself to that there sauna… It was very windy now, again (still?)… luckily it was tailwind. Not that I felt a push, but at least I didn’t feel a brake. One of the many elements-one-can’t-influence that I was really grateful for. It also spray rained. Another: it didn’t downpour!

The path was relatively easy, ever so slightly downhill, almost level, apart from the boulders and wet planks over muddy moors, and the scenery was wide open. Mountains on either side, we were walking through a large valley, and could see for miles… and for miles I could not see my destination, until I did… and then it was four more kilometres away.

somewhere over the rainbow lies Alesjaure... on the horizon for another four kilometres once finally spotted

somewhere over the rainbow lies Alesjaure… on the horizon for another four kilometres once finally spotted

I was still wearing all my gear… That includes my rain poncho that goes over me AND my backpack, the advantage being that the straps and all stay dry as well, but it ain’t half a nuisance… I’d only remembered it two days before leaving, it was rather bulky and probably not the most-researched of breathable-lightweight gear.
Actually, it is large and baggy, my friend Sarah calls me ‘the walking bat’ when I wear it on our walks in England’s Lake District… and with the wind today my poncho inflated like balloon… I felt more like the walking blowfish, it is what I must have looked like. It makes me smile to think of it now.

I was getting very annoyed with my walking sticks at this point, too. I’d never walked with sticks, never saw their use, truth be told. As a downhill skier I knew that when used properly they make all the difference, and people had said that I’d understand their use once on the trail. I did. This wasn’t a walk, after all, it was one big balancing act, from one stepping stone to the next – and the sticks did help me evaluate the depths of mud and streams (not that that helped on Day 1), and prevent me from tumbling down or slipping off many a time.

‘Practice walking with the sticks’, they’d said.
‘How hard can it be to hold a stick?’, the know-it-all-in-me had thought.

Well, it is harder than I thought, or didn’t bother to think about at all, to be honest. What I hadn’t factored in was that my hands and arms were not at all used to or trained to be in a grip for ten hours a day, 5 days in a row. And I got rather creative in how to hold the sticks without holding them and having them readily available to catch a sudden stumble. They were up my armpits or in my elbow creases – but bottom-line: I used them a lot, so, mainly, in the uncomfortable grip they stayed.

nearly there - full steam, or step-by-step, ahead to km 27 of the day

nearly there – full steam, or step-by-step, ahead to km 27 of the day

This was the longest day by kilometres. And I really wanted to make it, like many others did. As of 4pm I already started walking past tents being put up for the night; they looked unsteady in the middle of nowhere, it was just that windy, and in no way did they compel me to stop yet myself.

I would ask people who passed by me, or whom I passed by, where their goal was, and here, on day three, the ‘walking solo’ thing showed its upside:

Better off alone at times.

Often people would say ‘I’d like to get to Alesjaure, but I am not sure we’ll make it as some people in the group are getting tired / are injured.’
Yeah, like in life (not that this wasn’t life), there are always pros and cons to every circumstance.

You may not have to carry everything yourself, set up camp or cook alone, you may have someone to share your immediate impressions or concerns with, maybe even who would keep you warm or motivate you… but you may also have people who slow you down, weigh you down with their moods or stress you out by wanting to go faster.

Here, like in life (again, not that this wasn’t life), I was responsible only for my good self and ‘team body-and-mind’ – we would walk as far as we would make it, or as far as we would decide to make it, and at our own pace.

Our pace was slow, and steady, but we kept going until we were finally at the foot of the bridge to the Alesjaure station.

I walked into the checkpoint at 19.40.

Alesjaure - after a long straight stretch, over a bridge and up the hill

Alesjaure – after a long straight stretch, over a bridge and up the hill

Have I said how cold it was yet? One forgets, but it was. And I was exhausted. AND I had made myself this promise of this sauna. So the focus was to put up the tent and go to the sauna asap. I found a spot among the many tents already up. The landscape was different here, it had something disney’esque about it… rolly, mossy, and scattered on a hillside.

And in the process, I nearly took off…

Just like the previous evenings I rolled out the tent and secured it with a few strategically placed pegs all around it before threading the poles for the third dimension.
This time however my strategy didn’t hold up and as soon as the second pole was in and my tent looked like a tent, it took off when a sudden gust of wind swept in.

Like a surfer, there I stood on the hillside in the middle of a camp overlooking a lake, with my tent in both hands sailing above my head. Yes picture it.

I heard the kinds of voices that had previously comforted me in the tent beside me, chuckling away at whatever they were doing inside, obviously oblivious of my momentary awkwardness.

And just then also, a man walked by me. Our eyes locked for a moment. I think we told each other stories in silence… then he walked on, and left me tent-surfing.
Eventually the gust dropped, as did the tent.

In hindsight I can’t even say ‘how rude’ of that man. My conclusion is that at this very point where we were, after the day most of us had had, he was too exhausted to remember to offer to help, and I was too exhausted to remember to ask for help.

Home in Alesjaure - after having surfed with the tent I finally got it to stay grounded

Home in Alesjaure – after having surfed with the tent I finally got it to stay grounded


Bootshot before taking them off for the 'best 12 hours of the day'.

Bootshot before taking them off for the ‘best 12 hours of the day’.

I changed into my evening gear and rummaged for the tiny piece of soap and the shampoo sample I’d brought along ‘just incase’ but hadn’t yet used, found the large towel and took myself to the sauna. I could barely walk, it was quite funny.
Finally I got to wear the crocs I’d purchased especially for this trip. ‘Get crocs to wear at camp’, my advisors had said, ‘when you take your boots off, they are sturdy, can be worn with socks and are super light’. So far I hadn’t yet ‘walked around camp’.

I wasn’t walking now either, I was wobbling. My legs were like jelly, and clearly my feet had gotten used to being supported all around. I felt like a turkey as I made my way to the sauna, which was inconveniently, yet typically for this journey, located a walk away, down the hill and over some stones by the lakeside. In a picturesque setting, of course.

The sauna story

As goals go, this was a big one: the sauna in Alesjaure. Finally some Scandinavian hygge in Swedish Lapland

As goals go, this was a big one: the sauna in Alesjaure. Finally some Scandinavian hygge in Swedish Lapland

I’ve been in a Swedish sauna before, when my brother Raoul and my friend Sarah and I visited our friends, my other brother, Gustav and his girlfriend Theresa, in their cottage on an island outside Stockholm a few years back. I loved it, he served us Veuve Cliquot inside. The things this girl remembers…

So here, in Alesjaure, a man was chopping wood outside – sh*t, yeah, the ‘Wanderpass’ said one had to chop one’s own wood…! I decided that surely there’d be enough strong men in this hut that I wouldn’t have to start this now, too.

Doing something new to you but that seems established to others is a bit like getting gas for your car in a country you’ve never done that in.

First, I have a look and see how things are done here. In some countries you fill up yourself, in others there is a warden who does it. In some you must pay first, in others you pay after. In some it doesn’t matter if you place your petrol tank lid on the side of the pump, in others the hose is too short to go around the car… so if you don’t evaluate the situation first, you can find yourself in clumsy situations and maneuvering around in everyone’s way – or, as in Martine and my case somewhere in California, being shouted orders at via the loudspeaker.

It is never really a biggy, but sometimes it is nice to not put oneself into the spotlight as the rookie.

So what I saw was a wooden cottage with a porch. On the porch there were lots of shoes and crocs, three big barrels of water, and a half dressed man throwing water over himself. (Hmmmm was this what they’d meant by ‘you can wash at the sauna?’.)
The man said I could go in, so I opened the door and was greeted by a lot of steam and, as it settled, a cluster of stark naked men. I hastily, and I think accidentally loudly, closed the door again, slightly embarrassed. I don’t see myself as particularly prude, however I’m also not one to want to step right into a sauna fully clothed. A second glance however confirmed that this was, in fact, the changing room.

From there, and in the nude, I proceeded through the second door, into a smaller room. To the left there was a door, to the actual sauna, where a man was waiting his turn to enter, and in the far left corner there was a wood burning stove with a big barrel heating water on it… next to it were two large buckets with cold water (all the water, by the way, in these stations was taken from the streams, or this case I suspected, the lake). Along the wall to the right, which had a window in it, there was a counter on which there were metal bowls that women and men of all shapes and sizes were using to wash themselves.

The scene had something of a plastic romantic post-impressionist Gaugin Cézanne-like painting… not sure I got my artistic periods right, but it had something serenely peaceful and simple about it, so very relieving and beautiful. The bliss of a wash.

I’d never washed with an audience or in such full company before; that said, nobody was watching anyone, everything was natural and normal and perfect. And I won’t lie: first wash in three days, it felt amazing! After the wash, and while waiting my turn for the sauna, I chatted to a Swedish man, we exchanged our stories. As one does.

The sauna, behind door three, was another tiny room with a big window, a wood burning stove in the corner, and a bleachers-like bench construction on three levels for a total of 12 people. I just remember a blur of warmth seeping in and that soothing sound of voices speaking gibberish around me, a mix of languages I do and don’t understand, and just settling into it all for a moment in time – so so happy.

The simple things, and life’s little pleasures.

Warm, clean and dry back in my little nest that stood still, mostly, I felt good. Tired, and good! We’d done it! I was over the hill! Literally!

Pride kicked in. I’d managed to make it to my goal on my self-assigned biggest day! I was over the pass. And the trail was going downhill from here. I was 19km past halfway, AND the last two days were going to have stretches of less than 20km each. YEAH, peanuts! And very soon I could get back online and tell everyone about all this!

I was on the up now that things started going downhill!

I journaled, continued my letter to my injured buddy, and opened the little card from Michèle marked Day 3.

Once again, it stunned and appeased me how spot on she was with her messages; how did she know?

“Sometimes this is all you need”

sometimes this is all you need

sometimes this is all you need


The visual had a rainbow on it,
not unlike the view I’d walked into that afternoon.






Day 3 card from Michèle: "I'm tired. I'm cold. It is raining. My feet hurt. - strikethrough! Get up! Tomorrow you'll be proud of what you did today!"

Day 3 card from Michèle: “I’m tired. I’m cold. It is raining. My feet hurt. – strikethrough!
Get up! Tomorrow you’ll be proud of what you did today!”

My lowest low of that very same morning in Sälka seemed so very far away, and these words must have been whispered to me through some divine power – and yes, now I was proud!

godnatt x


Day 3 – rise and shine

km 47 – km 61 – km 74

rise and shine! And Walk your talk – it could not be more literal in my case. A lot of MY WORK and living revolves around playing with the law of attraction – you get what you give – being in charge of one’s own happiness, creating memories, living in the moment.

‘If you don’t like something, change it or leave it.
for the very least: learn from it.’

I know myself and my defaults well by now, and i knew very well that my feeling sorry for myself out there in the elements, all alone, was not very conducive, or fun for that matter, on the long run. it was high time for a perspective change and taking OWNERSHIP! I was here. on an amazing adventure. in breathtaking scenery. with a healthy functioning body. and a strong mind. get up and keep walking!

But first: Get up!

OMG, I woke up to the insides of my tent walls flapping against my nose, that there Blizzard was still on! And the rain was crashing down loudly – the sound of rain has something comforting in a tent, or under the roof of a dry house with skylight windows as I have at home. The comforting feeling is rather nullified though when the tent one is in is all but taking off from the ground – and when one knows that the next steps are to ‘rise, get out of the tent, pack it up, stuff it into the rucksack, and walk through the elements all day only to put up said tent again’.

'A tent well pitched is the basic rule for staying dry' - and in this case, grounded; my tent pitching knowledge I took from my many trips with my camp-mentor cousin Martine.

‘A tent well pitched is the basic rule for staying dry’ – and in this case, grounded; my tent pitching knowledge I took from my many trips with my camp-mentor cousin Martine.

Here is where I thank my cousin Martine – she used to be a scout, and is my personal camping mentor. On our six week trip through the US SouthWest and another trip around the Canadian West, many many moons ago, and then some to the Dutch seaside, Martine taught me everything I need to know about pitching a tent in a way that had it stand strong and keep us dry, no matter what the weather. She is also, along with my mother, one of my big teachers on how to be a resourceful maker of luxury moments in the weirdest, coldest, most improbable circumstances, with just the tiniest tweaks. Whatever I know comes mainly from their inspirations to not just ‘let it be’ – and I am now also an expert at making nests in aeroplane seats and canoes alike, so to say!

The only way out is onwards.

I was so quick that morning, everything was down and stowed by 8am! New addition to my ritual, only possible because I was at a camp: leave backpack by the hut, visit the facilities and return for an expensive cup of filter coffee from a thermos flask sold at the mini shop here at Sälka – and warm my hands that had gotten frostbitten in the pack-up process. OK, ‘frostbite’ is a bit dramatic, but I take that privilege!

I was not the only one warming up, the tiny 3×3 meter front room of the refuge had a wood burning fire stove, there were people huddling, evaluating the trail and day goals (it became apparent that getting to the camp at Alesjaure, km 74, was most of ours’ intention) and tending to their blisters – here is a moment to thank the hiking lords that I was still only dealing with my one blister from the first day, that I hadn’t felt since compeeding it then – I saw so many feet along the way when people took their boots off on breaks, full of plasters and tape and bandages; I was a lucky girl and I knew it.

I also overheard a man enquiring about helicopter services.

So yeah, where I’d gotten myself to was not reachable any other way than on foot and by helicopter (I think also snowmobile in Winter). And yes, you could have yourself airlifted out for 5500SEK (580€) per person, if four are sharing.
I admit that I briefly let the idea cross my mind… ‘treat yourself princess, you do not need to prove anything to anyone…’

And the second I let that thought in was my lowest low… and the start of my rise.

You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. - Doctor SeussNO, Laura, you have a healthy and functioning body, you are fine and you are here to walk: WALK!

And off we went, my team and me! I greeted my key body parts with my little chant from the previous day:

‘My dear feet, you can do this. My good legs, you can do this. My strong back, you can do this. My strong shoulders, you can do this. My focussed mind, you can do this.’
And today I added ‘We have been joined by the energy system which has been fed – WE CAN REALLY DO THIS!’

Because yes, I was eating – and what do you know? It works! Not rocket science, really, but wow! I added another ritual to my day: I’d put my bag of snacks (nuts and candied ginger) in my jacket pocket for easy access (DUH! It only took me two days to come up with that one!) and so every time I stopped and took my gloves off to blow my nose – you know how on cold days you always have one little drip dangling from the tip of your nose? – I would also have a sip of water, apply chapstick and have a handful of snack.

For the first part of the day I noticed that I wasn’t feeling my feet and back all the time, and because they weren’t on my mind every second, I found myself singing. Mantras, I like them. Om Tryambakam and Tumi Bhaja Re Mana.

Soft little melodies in my mind, the day had something soft to it – as I climbed up the trail for 7 kilometers to the Tjäktjapass.

My faithful bestie of the tour, my gps watch, vibrated its celebratory kilometre marks as I was walking towards the

First milestone of the Day of Milestones: KM 55 – Halfway!

KM 55 - Halfway!!! BIG milestone on my journey, I started telling myself 'nearly there'

KM 55 – Halfway!!! BIG milestone on my journey, I started telling myself ‘nearly there’

And when it came, I stopped, and gleamed at whoever was right by me then and there… they went along with my excitement, crying ‘champagne’!

From here I could also see the pass. We scurried up, all of us, I think I was not the only one driven by a newfound force!

The last fifty meters were the steepest of the whole trail and it hardly slowed any of us down.


Second milestone of the Day of Milestones: Tjäktja Pass – downhill from here!

Third milestone of the Day of Milestones: lunch break

It wouldn’t be a big deal if I hadn’t made such a big deal of not having eaten. But as I was lingering around the refuge on the top of the mountain wondering what next, I heard the same guide I spoke to the previous night, the lady of ‘you must eat otherwise you won’t get out’, instructing her group to take off their backpacks and bring lunch inside the hut.
I took off my backpack and brought lunch inside the hut.

Milestone: Lunchbreak, in the cheerful company of Taiwanese hikers

Milestone: Lunchbreak, in the cheerful company of Taiwanese hikers

So, in the cheerful company of smiling Taiwanese walkers, I ate the most gorgeous tomato sandwich, another of my ingenious bringings from home: ‘tomato paste in individual pots’ and ‘sun dried tomatoes’, which I put on the bread Fjällräven gave me before leaving.

The other important thing about eating is that it makes the backpack lighter! Another DUH for the blonde first timer!

Back to the pack, and of course, by the time I was geared up, my fingers were frozen despite my fancy odlo gloves and if walking off with cold fingers is avoidable, I’ll avoid it. I went back into the hut fully loaded, and just stood there. A man politely invited me to sit, I told him what I was doing and then he… held out his warm ‘food in a bag’ for me to hold! In that moment, it was the single most generous thing anyone had ever done for me – it almost made me cry as my fingers warmed up. He waited patiently, until I noticed, and said he could continue to eat, I’d hold his meal for him – which he then did, and somewhere in the cameras of some people of the Fjällräven Classic 2017 there is a picture of me holding a kind man’s food while he’s eating.

I told him he was my hero. Because he was.

We namaskar bowed to each other, and off I went again. Downhill, oh delight!

Downhill over kilometres of rubble!

The other side of Tjäktja Pass. Downhill from here - kilometres of rubble

The other side of Tjäktja Pass. Downhill from here – kilometres of rubble.


The Tjäktja check-point, in the middle of nowhere

The Tjäktja check-point, in the middle of nowhere

I got to the Tjäktja Checkpoint at 14.45 that day, 6 hours after leaving Sälka, and probably the longest it took me to go 14km. It was the simplest of all the checkpoints: just the two blue Fjällräven tents (one for stamps in the passport, one distributing brownies – which I FORGOT to collect for myself!!!) and three toilet tents. Nothing else, but many many people.

The loo line at Tjäktja did me worlds of good.

In the loo line we got chatting. I talked to Sue and Edith from the UK, a Finnish girl from a group I’d been passing and being passed by for two days (it was nice to see the same people over and over again and I’d told them that), a lady, who confided that next time she’d not let her husband choose their holiday destination by himself, and a sunny young girl from France whose name I don’t know; to her face I called her ‘sunshine’, and in my mind I called her Emily – she had a fresh smile, a light spring and a spark about her, like a fairy.

These were the first people I had a laugh with.

Mood-lifting encounters, in the loo line in the middle of nowhere, of all places.

Mood-lifting encounters, in the loo line in the middle of nowhere, of all places.

See, there were only ever a few loos along the trail, Fjällräven Classic had sent us all a video of ‘what to do when nature calls and you’re out in… nature’, and we were above the tree line so needless to say, everybody knew what everybody was doing in them – and the wait was naturally extended. And that was fine. We all looked at the tents blowing in the still very strong winds and Edith made the poignant observation

‘Now wouldn’t THAT just be the ultimate insult – to have the loo tent blow off just as you’re sat there!’

Oh it felt so good to laugh, and I am a softy for toilet humour!
I liked Edith from the get-go, she was the one who said out loud what we all, as it turned out, were thinking ‘One night in a cold tent is fine, but four?’. Oh yay, it wasn’t just me.

Edith also high-fived me, right there in the loo line, for doing this on my own. The others then joined in, it touched me. ‘Are you hiking alone?‘ was one of the classic Classic questions (along with ‘is this your first?’, ‘when did you start?’, ‘where are you from?’ and ‘what made you sign up?’), and I must say that every time I told my story I did get a hats off in admiration. The statistics of the previous Fjällräven Classic said the ratio was about one third women to two thirds men on the tour, and I know I wasn’t the only woman alone either – but there weren’t many of us, I reckon, and Edith’s high-five to me at that very moment was an energy boost; you know what mental state I had walked myself away from that morning, and she came in like a trek angel by cheering me on for it.

It felt good to be acknowledged like that, because I did feel I was doing something grand and hard – and that said, we all were. Most of us here, I dare say, and like in life, were here with our own stories and walking with our own set of challenges and goals, and she reminded me to, at least mentally, high-five everyone on the tour!

I high-five anyone who gets up and goes!

It can be a huge and heavy step to take, that first step in any  circumstance, and then to keep walking; high-five to those of us who actually do!  For ourselves, and as inspiration and encouragement to others.

Ahh encounters… I would keep bumping into all these nice characters from the loo line at Tjäktja until the finish line two days later. 


Celebratory pasta at Tjäktja, the day's halfway point.

Celebratory pasta at Tjäktja, the day’s halfway point.


I had my second lunch (once you break the seal…) and I treated myself to my one bag of my most-beloved comfort food: PASTA!





I set off from the Tjäktja checkpoint at 15.45 and was headed to the ‘big camp at Alesjaure, which has a Sauna’ – the sauna is what I promised us, me and my team feet-legs-back-shoulders-mind… just another 13km to go.