Week 15: Muonio through Pallas-Ounas National Park

August 22, 2003

Dan rejoined me in Muonio. He carried with him a fork, 2 broken ribs, a lime green backpack with purple ribs and a nearly empty plastic bottle that had been filled with a litre of red wine. “It helps the ribs.” It was great to see him.

We set off the next morning to Pallas-Ounas National Park. I carried a kilo of raw beef (plus food for 12 days) and Dan a litre of cheap Italian red. The sky was dark and grey; a wind blew from the northeast and the ground was wet. I may never have left Muonio without Dan’s encouragement. It was August 22.

We followed a wide gravel road past a mix of clearcuts and second growth. The mountains of the National Park were obscured by clouds; but I was thrilled just knowing they were there. We came to Toras-Sieppi, one of the only villages to escape the retreating Germans in 1945. There, we met two French girls looking for a place to stay. All the campgrounds were closed and a chilling wind blew from the lake. They drove away and we made for a Forest Service hut. We continued into the forest along a huge, freshly bulldozed path that cut a painful scar through swamp, forest and field. An ATV trail criss-crossed the cut but the forest around was wide and open with an incredible range of age and species diversity.

Somewhere along the line we came to an agreement that if the hut was crowded with drunks we were getting into a fight. I had had it up to my neck with the extreme drinking and associated rudeness, and Dan felt the same. We were tired and not excited by the prospect of a night with smashed, loud, rude Finns. Luckily for someone we only found two Germans, a sweet couple from Swabia, trying to light a fire (how appropriate….). Together we sipped the wine, roasted the meat and snacked on German chocolate until we fell peacefully asleep around midnight. I like Germans, even if they like to burn stuff. We met them again at the Pallas Hotel, a large, empety wooden building dominating a low saddle between some of the highest fells in Finland. I had a beer for lunch and we didnt leave the hotel until the next morning.

I woke up sore and unhappy. My stomach hurt. My feet hurt. My head was stuffed. My hands ached. This lifestyle was wearing on me. I growled at Dan all morning and the top of Taivaskero was shrouded in a freezing mist. How was I to know that would be Day 1 of the best 10 days of the entire trip?

Depending on the map you choose, Taivaskero’s elevation is either 805, 806, or 807 meters. I suspect that is was measured by the same team who measured distances in the park. A sign at the hotel announced “Nammalakuru, 15km”. We walked 50m to the next sign. “Nammalakuru 13km”. I dont know why those little things irritate me so much.

We climbed to a small pile of wood and concrete, the remains of the origional art-deco hotel the Germans blew up in 1945. A group of riekko (lagopus lagopus) crossed the trail in front of us. Visibility dropped to 20m and we spent the morning climbing in and out of wonderful, bare, rocky, Arctic valleys. We came to the Nammalakuru hut at 1pm. A Finnish couple joined us from the north and Dan chatted with them while I made tea. I stepped outside to an accussing finger.

“And where are you from?”

“America.”

“I figured as much.” The Finn growled, disgusted. As if only an American would do such a thing. From that moment on he completely ignored me. He turned his attention to Dan. I felt a little hard done by. After all, didn’t the Mungo Parks, RF Burtons, PL Feremors and Nick Cranes of the world all hail from Britain?

In the evening we came to a low, wet grove of yellowing birch. We climbed up a hill to a pond. A squat log sauna graced its shore. Up a flight of 50 wooden stairs sat a hut. It held a heavy wooden table, 2 rows of elevated slats with enough spave to sleep 10 and a square Swedish stove that we stuffed with logs. In the night we sauna-ed and slept out of the rain and cold. We slept until the rain ended then eased the ache in our bones with a morning sauna. We only made it 10 km that day.

For me, it was simply good to be in the mountains. The Pallas-Ounas range isnt actually that high but its latitude gives the impression of being at 12,000-13,000 in the Southern Rockies. The lowland cloud sitting on my mind the last two years lifted, I felt high and elated. The birch yellowed by the hour and crowberry, riekonmarja and suopursu took on shades of coral. At Pahakuru we crossed the tree-line and the land fell away in all directions. The clouds teased us with wide expanses of blue lakes below.

At Taipuri there were skeletons of Sami kotas and the land had been grazed down by the reindeer. Dawn was clear but by 8am is was +6C and cloudy. We split there. Dan went on to Hetta and I to Ketomella. It felt big somehow, like a momentous split. I felt as if I should say “next year in Jerusalem” not, “a couple of weeks in Helsinki”.

Fall mornings in the high country are my favorite.

Posted in Travelogue