Kungsleden, Part 4: Alesjaure-Abiskojaure-Abisko

Day 6: Alesjaure – Abiskojaure – Almost Abisko

Chef really had the perfect timing to splurge on indoor accommodation. On the fifth night, the temperature dropped well below zero, and by the sixth morning, the nearby mountain tops were covered in a fresh layer of snow. Many campers complained they hadn’t slept much due to the freezing temperature. The only people who seemed happy and well-rested were the few who had been smart enough to pack a fleece liner for their sleeping bag. And of course us, the fat cats from the moneybags section indoors.

After breakfast, we continued on the tried-and-tested splurge track and paid 350 SEK (~35 EUR) each for a boat ride across Lake Alisjávri, which shaved about 5 km off the next leg. The Alesjaure-Abiskojaure leg would have been 21 km of hiking in total – 16 km sounded much better, so we were more than happy to cheat this way. I think I’ve already mentioned how we rejected a similar boat ride offer on the first hiking day at Lake Láddjujávri because it “seemed like a rip-off”. Curiously, we began to appreciate comfort more and more the closer we got to the end of the hike… Of course, our official excuse for being lazy like that was protecting my hurt knee from any extra strain. The dashing Mister D. did not join us on our lazeathon and chose to walk the whole way, so we wished each other good luck and went our separate ways.
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At the wheel, there was a delightful reindeer herder who told us these boat rides usually form his main income in the summer season. No wonder business is booming: who wouldn’t enjoy the luxury of admiring the scenery from the comfort of a soft seat on a boat speeding across the turquoise lake? We passed by a small village only inhabited in the summer; in late August it was already deserted. We also caught a glimpse of a giant waterfall – I already forgot its name, but I remember the man telling us it’s possible to walk behind it! The waterfall would make a nice day trip destination from Alesjaure. Technically, it would be also possible to pass the waterfall on the way from Alesjaure to Abiskojaure by hiking the eastern side of Alisjávri (Kungsleden follows the western shore). However, that would require some seriously difficult wading where Alisjávri meets Rádujávri. Noobs need not apply, only recommended for experts.

Although the frost had subsided, the weather was still super chilly before noon. Regardless of the cold, I couldn’t stop smiling like a crazy person, all thanks to the amazing hiking poles. My knees were beginning to feel normal, the trail was fairly easy to hike, and we were making fast progress (at least compared to the past few days). This Alesjaure – Abiskojaure leg was my favourite in terms of the scenery, as well.
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The closer we got to Abiskojaure the more the nature started resembling our own ‘hoods in Finland. The climate in the valley between Abiskojaure and Abisko is unusually warm considering the latitude – there are birch trees growing there! In the picture below, you can see Lake Ábeskojávri looming in the distance. The Abiskojaure huts are located right by the lake.

The valley belongs to the protected Abisko Nature Reserve. Camping is only allowed at three marked locations: the first spot is at the Abiskojaure huts, the second spot by the trail approximately 5 km before Abisko, and the last at the Abisko camping site. The reserve begins approximately 1 km before the Abiskojaure huts. Our guide book recommended setting up camp by a large bridge a few kilometres before the Abiskojaure huts, and sure enough, there were several beautiful spots in a small forest by the river. Chef and I had originally planned to spend the night there, but we got there quite early and weren’t ready to call it a day yet. We decided to continue past the huts and on to the second camping spot, which meant an additional 10 km of hiking.

But first, we had a proper lunch break at the huts. I would have very much liked to buy a can of coke to go with my sandwiches, but the tiny shop had already been conquered by a nightmarish group of indecisive Brits. The ladies sure took their sweet time shopping: Gore-Tex trousers rustling, they kept shuffling between the cash register and the shelves, switching out the products in their grubby hands, and calculating out loud whether the budget of eight people would allow for the purchase of both a chocolate bar and a can of pop, or only one of those. Or maybe neither, or possibly a double amount of each…?  Hrrrnnnnnggghhhh! All this kerfuffle over euro prices in the single digits. It became abundantly clear that I would not be advancing to the cash register until long after my spirit had already left my mummified body. My patience wearing as thin as my body from hunger, I left the queue and pretended water was as good a drink as any. We feasted on our lunch at the yard while mosquitoes feasted on us.

Upon leaving the huts, we ran into Mister D. again. Talk about perfect timing! He was just arriving and going to camp by the huts, but we just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. So we bid farewell for the second time that day.

Now, I have nothing against roaming birch forests, but after hiking for 24 kilometres we did begin to feel a wee bit tired. According to my calculations, we were nearing the next allowed camping spot – and then got ambushed by the sign pictured below. Huh, two more kilometres? And in the wrong direction? And also uphill?

At this point, a smart hiker would have consulted the guide book and the map once more. However, I had memorised the fact that there were only three possible camping spots within the entire nature reserve, so obviously this had to be one of them. So we dragged ourselves in the direction the sign was pointing at. The path kept getting narrower and ran through a muddy forest in steep uphill, and the promised camping spots were nowhere to be seen. Our slight annoyance quickly turned into sheer rage, but we had already gone too far to turn back. So we kept trudging on while scaring off any living thing within a five-kilometre radius with our loud cussing.

The “two kilometres” suggested by the sign was in reality at least three (hundred). We finally made it out of the cursed forest and into the scenery pictured above. This obviously wasn’t the original camping spot we had been looking for, but it was the camping spot we deserved. It was an old, abandoned campsite! We had accidentally hiked outside of the reserve.

The mood lightened substantially after Chef had managed to feed us both. We realised that making this wrong turn had in fact been a real stroke of luck – the most majestic camping spot of our entire hike was right there, high up, surrounded by mountains, next to a waterfall, with magnificent views over the lake below. I’m so thankful we were too stubborn to give up as soon as we realised our mistake.

Day 7: Almost Abisko – Abisko

Last hiking day! I taped up both of my knees just in case the impending downhill would wreak havoc with them. Then we were off to follow in our own footsteps back to the actual Kungsleden. Back down on the right trail, one of the rivers had dried up but the forest was flooded. Pictured below are the outhouses close to our planned camping spot – camping higher up really hadn’t been a bad thing at all.
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The rest or the trail was wide and extremely easy to hike – so easy that it became boring. Could we just finish already! Now I understand why so many people recommend starting the hike in Abisko: this birch forest highway would make for a nice, soft landing to the gruesome hike ahead. Finishing in Abisko means the hike ends in a bit of an anticlimax, at least terrain-wise.
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There are several “meditation spots” along Dag Hammarskjöldsleden. These spots always feature some kind of an aphorism carved in stone. The last meditation spot is pictured above. Carved in stone or not, this one I have to disagree with: den längsta resan är faktiskt Kungsleden.

Never mind my complaints about the anticlimactic finish line – we really felt on top of the world upon finally reaching the Abisko mountain station! It was simply exhilarating. 108 km of physical and mental challenges and we made it! We also scored high on the relationship-testing aspect of this all: we did not fight once during the entire week (which is unheard of).
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The enormous mountain station, located by Lake Torne, seemed almost like a hotel, but the decoration still made it feel cosy. Our arrival could have been timed better, though: at two in the afternoon, lunch had just ended and the restaurant would not be open again until six in the evening. We didn’t end up staying for long: only for the time it took us to prepare a quick snack and reply to all the accumulated messages from the past week. Then we were off again, this time aiming to hitch-hike to Tromsø, Norway.


Kungsleden, Part 3: Sälka-Tjäktja-Alesjaure

Day 4: Sälka-Tjäktja

On the third night, the skies opened up and rain came pouring down on us. Fortunately, our loan tent managed to shield us from the flooding quite well: by morning light, only a small puddle had formed inside the tent in a bumpy spot. Since we didn’t want to start hiking again before the rain had stopped, we gladly took the opportunity to chill out in the comfort of our sleeping bags until late in the morning.

When we eventually got our backpacks packed, we stopped by the huts for some last-minute shopping. The hot-and-cold treatment in the sauna and the river had somewhat subdued the pain in my knee, but I still winced at the thought of putting pressure on my right leg despite all the sports tape. Chef had the stroke of genius to ask the hosts if someone had left behind a spare pair of trekking poles. To me, such a possibility felt highly unlikely and I wouldn’t have even bothered to ask. But lo and behold, they did in fact have a spare pair – how lucky could I possibly get! The hosts refused payment for the poles, and I’m finding it hard to describe the feelings of relief and gratitude that swept over me at that very moment. A couple of popped painkillers later, we were right back on the trail.


The trekking poles soon became unexpectedly useful, when we had to wade several streams that the heavy rain had made extra challenging to cross. I always loaned one of the poles to Chef so we both could keep our balance while stumbling on slippery rocks. One of the crossings, however, seemed a bit scary: we would have to get knee-deep in the water, and the flow was strong. We were convinced that one pole each would not be enough to keep us from losing balance while also carrying our backpacks. At first, we considered the possibility that Chef would do the crossing first, then throw the poles back to me. However, the stream was wide and we couldn’t risk losing the poles. We walked around for a good while looking for a narrower crossing spot but saw none.

Once again, luck was with us when one of the hikers having a lunch break nearby came over and offered to help us. He told us he enjoyed crossings like that and had already gone back and forth thrice that day to help others cross. We got to borrow his friend’s trekking poles, which he then collected from us on the other side. After the half-hour hassle, we finally made it across without falling in the water. Wading such freezing streams without shoes on does wonderful things to your feet, by the way!


Then begun our uphill battle toward the highest point on Kungsleden, Tjäktjapasset (1150 m): first a gentle rise and eventually a steep climb up a muddy slope. It’s amazing how far a person can go without really bending one of her knees at all – I pushed myself up with the poles and my left leg while my right leg just sort of stiffly dragged behind like dead weight. We were moving slowly again, but we didn’t let that ruin our mood. The views kept getting better the higher we got. Pictured below is the perfect camping spot we saw on our way to the top. A level, grassy spot next to a little stream for drinking water, with amazing views far down the valley – what more could you ask for? We were not ready to call it a day yet, but we shared this tip with a couple of really tired-looking passers-by a bit later.

Right after Tjäktjapasset, the scenery changed dramatically from idyllic greenery to barren rocklands. So. Many. Rocks. The Sälka-Tjäktja leg is only 12 km long, but felt like twice as much due to the never-ending rocks. We passed by a couple of camps and snorted at the thought of putting up our own tent there; we didn’t even want to see another rock again, let alone wake up in the middle of the bastards the next morning.

We also passed straight by the Tjäktja huts, because there was no sauna there. Besides, any otherwise potential camping spot would have been ruined by the rockpocalypse surrounding us. Our perseverance was rewarded when we found a comfortable, grassy spot next to a thundering river. The only downside were the millions of mosquitoes attacking us, but Chef’s campfire kept them away long enough for us to enjoy our dinner without needing a blood transfusion afterward. This time, a dip in the freezing water didn’t seem appealing, so we opted to crawl straight into our sleeping bags and marinate in our own filth overnight.


Day 5: Tjäktja-Alesjaure

At least from the point of view of an antisocial Finn such as myself, Central European hiking tourists seem to have a strong need for undesirable social interaction and handing out advice nobody asked for. On the fifth morning, we were harassed by the French instead of the Germans. Variety is the spice of life! A group of French people passed by our camp at the crack of dawn (or at least before 9 am) and took it upon themselves to wake us up by incessant yelling. “Hello! HELLOOOO THERE! Time to wake up! Hehehehehehehe! Lol!”

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Oh well, at least we got the day going. For some reason, my memories of this 13-km leg to Alesjaure are hazy at best. Despite the bunch of photos I took, the details still escape me. I do remember the trail becoming easier and going pleasantly downhill for a good part of the day. Kungsleden occasionally passes through fenced areas the locals use to pen their reindeer, and we managed to catch a glimpse of a herd of these handsome fellas, who barely paid any attention to us. Based on my photos, there were some river crossings as well.

Right by the Alesjaure huts, there is a meandering, turquoise river that many might recognise from popular Instagram photos. The best photos of the river could be taken by climbing a nearby mountain, but we couldn’t be arsed to strain our bodies to take the same photos hundreds have taken before us and better than us. Instead, we continued on to the huts.

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The huts are built on top of a small, steep hill with a view over the aforementioned Instagram river, as well as the Alisjávri lake gleaming on the other side. There are several buildings for accommodation, as well as a large main building with a shop and a huge dining area. Next to the outhouses, there is a sign pointing to probably the world’s most majestic pissing-in-the-wind spot for the gentlemen.
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We got to the huts right in time for the ladies’ sauna, so I left Chef to set up camp for us and headed straight to the delicious warmth. In the meanwhile, Chef had arranged a surprise for me: that night, we wouldn’t be sleeping outside in a tent, but in a real bed in the warm indoors! It cost Chef 500 SEK (~50€) per bed, which at that point of the hike seemed worth the price. We ran into Mister D. from the Sälka sauna again and happily shared a room with him.

While Chef and D. took their turn in the sauna, I was unsuspectingly wandering in the yard and accidentally got in the middle of another hiker couple engaged in a breakup of epic proportions – by the end of the spectacle, one of them got on a helicopter and just flew away. I tried to cook myself dinner, but all the gas stoves were occupied by a Massive Group of Brits. Soon the other party of the breakup rushed in with a few friends, sat at the same table with me and began a deep and thorough analysis of what had happened earlier, trying to justify their own assholeish behaviour. I was too hungry to stay and listen to the drama, so I decided to go wash some laundry instead.

This time I didn’t want to go to the mixed sauna. Instead, I was watching like a hawk for a chance to heat up my food. Chef and D. joined me later, and eventually there were only the three of us left, sharing our snacks. D. ate our smoked cod roe paste and gave us a big chunk of Cadbury’s chocolate in exchange – trade makes the world go round, amirite? We had to sit in the corner of the kitchen, because the Massive Group of Brits had spread their snacks all over the biggest dinner table, thus “reserving” it for their own use in the morning. Where were those world famous manners then, I ask?


Kungsleden, Part 2: Kebnekaise – Singi – Sälka

Day 2: Kebnekaise – (Almost) Singi IMG_4089

Our second hiking day started with the sounds of Germany: it’s a bit tough to sleep in while the German group camping next to you starts stomping around like a bewildered herd of elephants at 6 am. (What exactly is your beef with us, Germany, anyway?) We continued to get fragmented sleep until half past nine. One lazy breakfast and slow pack-up session later, we were back on the trail at around noon.


The trail is supposed to be idiot-proof, but somehow we managed to get lost almost immediately. We had accidentally turned to the marked trail leading up to the Kebnekaise summit, when we of course should have turned to the unmarked trail winding down to the valley. We only noticed our mistake after a solid 45-minute climb. At that point, smart people would have swallowed up their anger and turned back – we decided to sink our feet into wet hummocks and take a shortcut straight downhill. Despite all our stumbling, we finally got back on the right trail with all our limbs intact.

On the trail, there are many bridges like the one pictured above: squeaky and bouncy with delightfully terrifying views over the drop below. Fortunately, the fear of heights is not a problem for either one of us, but it was entirely different for some of the other hikers’ four-legged companions. We watched as a terrified dog was being persuaded to cross the bridge for a long time. The poor thing tried to turn back even when there was only a metre left to get to the other side. So, patience will be needed if your furry friend also happens to be too big to carry across.

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According to the guidebook we used, this 15-kilometre leg from Kebnekaise to Singi should only take about 4-6 hours. The trail is generally quite easy to walk, but also rocky at times. This leg felt a lot longer than 15 km, which was probably due to exhaustion from carrying our heavy backpacks. Balancing on rocks was also taking a toll on my joints: towards the end of the day, I started getting scary little twinges of pain in my right knee. Being quite tired, we scrapped our original plan to reach the Singi huts before dusk. The decision was made easier when we spotted the perfect camping spot by a tiny lake, approximately 2 km before Singi. Or how do you feel about the private beach pictured below?
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I set up camp while Chef scraped up enough twigs for a campfire. Sauna was not in the cards for the evening, but we were starting to get chilly after a whole day of sweating. Chef kept bugging me to go skinny dipping with him in the lake until I finally caved just to get him off my back. The water in the lake comes from melting ice, which is probably enough of a hint of how the temperature was. I had to muster up all my willpower to take a dip, but it did make me feel pleasantly clean and tingly afterwards. I don’t think there are too many better ways to spend the final moments of any day than watching the sun disappear behind snowy peaks. I crawled into the warm caress of my sleeping bag, just hoping that my knee would make a speedy recovery overnight.


Day 3: (Almost) Singi – Sälka

On the third morning, we woke up to changed scenery. Mist had swept over to cradle us, stopping any rogue sunrays from warming our skins. Perhaps thanks to the chilly temperature, we managed to stuff breakfast down our pieholes, pack up camp, and get going much faster than the previous days.


As we continued toward Singi, the fog soon cleared up and made way for the sun. Upon reaching the Singi huts, we also took our first steps on the actual Kungsleden; the Nikkaluokta-Singi leg is officially part of the Dag Hammarskjöldsleden trail, which then overlaps with Kungsleden between Singi and Abisko. However, since Kungsleden is internationally the better-known trail of the two, it made sense to refer to our whole hike as “Kungsleden” here on the blog.
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Right after passing by the huts, we suddenly got roadblocked: a large group of Swedes was squatting on and beside the trail, oohing and aahing over the various kinds of plants growing around them. Or in Chef’s words, Hemulens had found their way to the valley. :D At this point, my knee began to hurt again, but I sucked it up and kept walking with a bit of a limp.
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Many of the other hikers we had met had told us that the Singi-Sälka leg would be the easiest and most enjoyable one of the entire hike: not rocky at all with fantastic views over the valley and the mountains surrounding it. However, enjoyment was far from my brain when every step was pure pain. As the pain kept intensifying, I had a couple of breakdowns on the way. I was convinced I would have to quit the hike and hop on an extremely expensive helicopter to ever make it out of the wilderness. Cue: self-pity and tears. If only I had been smart enough to bring a proper knee support with me!

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The route from our camping spot to Sälka was only 2+12 km, but I was really slowing us down. Now that I think about it, it’s incredible how Chef managed to stay so patient and calm with such a whiney, mopey sloth in tow. #Relationshipgoals? Hands down the longest 14 km of my life! When the Sälka huts finally appeared in the horizon, we both let out a spontaneous squeal from sheer joy.


There is a surprisingly well-stocked shop by the huts. I bought a can of coke, and let me tell you: the elixir of life, as my brother used to call it, has never tasted better than it did right there and then. The extortionate prices at the Kebnekaise fjällstation also stayed at Kebnekaise: in Sälka, it was possible to only buy access to the sauna, and it cost a very reasonable 50 SEK (~5€) per person. Very reasonable. There were three 1.5-hour sauna shifts: first the ladies, then the gents, and finally a mixed sauna that turned into a mini party when almost 20 naked, tipsy* people sat side-by-sweaty-side, sharing drinks and hiking stories. Most took a lightning quick dip in the freezing river by the sauna, but Chef just plopped himself down and sat in the stream for ages, possibly mistaking it for a jacuzzi.

*Beer was also available in the shop, a.k.a. our little oasis in the wilderness

We met the greatest people of the whole hike in this sauna. For example, a Swedish nurse showed me how to tape up my knee and gave me hope for the remainder of our trip, two Swedish brothers claimed they thought I was barely over 20, and a charming Englishman, D, invited us to his birthday party which would be held in Abisko upon completing the hike. I had originally planned to go straight to sleep after the ladies’ sauna, but I’m really glad I stayed until the end. A relaxing evening in excellent company was just what we both needed after such a long and troublesome day. Eventually, the hut owner had to chase us out and into our tents, or else the sauna party might have gone on forever.

Kungsleden, part 1: Kiruna-Nikkaluokta-Kebnekaise

Kungsleden (The King’s Trail) is a 400-kilometre-long hiking trail in Northern Sweden. When I was googling for Europe’s best hiking trails, Kungsleden was included in almost every Top 10 list I could find. In August, Chef and I set out to see how well-deserved all the hype was. However, 400+ km might have been a bit rough for two hiking novices, so we only did the most popular bit from Nikkaluokta to Abisko. 108 kilometres in a week = just a little over 15 km per day. Can do!

Nikkaluokta-Abisko Map

The trail can be hiked in both directions, though most choose to start in Abisko and finish in Nikkaluokta. We only did the opposite because it was easier for us logistically. The most convenient way to reach this bit of the trail is to fly directly to Kiruna and catch a bus to Abisko or Nikkaluokta. We chose to travel by bus all the way from Turku, Finland, because that was the most budget-friendly option for us. Fortunately, we were able to make a couple of pit stops on the way in Jyväskylä and Oulu, while visiting friends and family.

Upon reaching Kiruna bus station, we ran into a lone German lady huffing and puffing under a pile of ancient gear that made her resemble a member of a 20th century arctic expedition. She had just finished a rough hike: she had broken her tent, missed her return flight and spent all her money. As logically follows, based on her bad experience she declared our plan equally doomed. Chef apparently had ze wrong kind of poor shoes which would be his downfall once we reached the deadly muddy bits of the trail. There would be nothing but rain, wind, cold and misery awaiting us, and of course only uphill in every direction, as far as the eye can see. In addition, all accommodation in Kiruna was deemed subpar and overpriced by her. So, us kids had better turn around on our heels and go back to where we came from. We thanked her for the kind warning, which only fuelled her fire. We finally managed to bid her farewell and went out to eat.

Arctic Thai & Grill seemed like a promising eatery, but boy did we screw up with our orders. The waitress asked us to pick between Mild, Medium and “Thai hot”. Obviously, Chef couldn’t help but brag about his past travels to Thailand and boasted he could handle Thai hot, no problem. I opted for Medium. “Are you sure?” asked the waitress with a hint of a devilish smile in the corner of her mouth. Yuh-uh, yup yup, we were sure, we were confident. Once our meals came, it soon became abundantly clear that “Thai hot” was not just empty marketing jargon this time. Instead, it felt like third-degree burns in the digestive system. Chef, with his watering eyes, bravely destroyed several forkfuls before having to call it quits. I tasted a teeny-tiny one-centimetre bit of a noodle from his plate and felt like spontaneously combusting right there and then. A little tip for anyone travelling to Kiruna: they sure don’t shy away from chili at Arctic Thai & Grill!

We spent the night at Camp Ripan, which was neither subpar nor overpriced (Chef & Sloth 1 – 0 German Lady). 250 Swedish krona bought us a spot for our tent, and access to warm showers and sauna for two, with the added bonus of access to a comfortable bar at the reception. The next morning, packing up was such a hassle that we nearly missed our bus to Nikkaluokta. What better way to start a day than running 1.5 km to the bus station while carrying a backpack stuffed to the brim. We made the bus, barely, and an hour later, we were finally in Nikkaluokta at the starting point of our hike.



We did some last-minute shopping at the tiny store and came out with a hiking map and a brand new Mora knife, a pretty little impulse buy. Bursting with energy and determination, we were finally ready to hit the trail. We found out that the yearly Fjällräven Classic hiking event had just ended before our arrival. It had once again brought over two thousand hikers to the very same trail, which sounds like a complete nightmare considering our main goal was to seek some peace and quiet in nature. So, we got pretty lucky with our timing and never had to join the herd. I hadn’t even heard about the whole event before that.


The first leg from Nikkaluokta to Kebnekaise is 19 km long. There is also the possibility to pay 350 SEK (~35€) for a boat ride across the Láddjujávri lake, which cuts 6 km from the hike. At that point, only 5 km in, we were way too energetic to even consider such frivolities. We had a little snack break by the lake, which accidentally ended up taking us over an hour, and continued on foot.

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This delightful Lap Dånalds establishment serves reindeer burgers, but we were too well-fed to be tempted by that offer, either. We strolled happily through birch forests and past open areas, taking in the magnificent mountain views. Tiredness only crept over us after 11-12 kilometres.


We knew there would be small shops along the way, but we didn’t want to rely on their supplies. That is why we were carrying extra food, just in case. Our backpacks weighed a ton, and I was sweating like an animal despite the cool weather. The last four kilometres were spent counting down steps to our destination. Oh, the joy of finally gazing upon the glorious Kebnekaise mountain station!


We had quick drinks at the bar and set up camp nearby, but not near enough to have to pay a camping fee. The station is very pretty and fancy, but the prices were a bit high for my taste. At Kebnekaise fjällstation, it isn’t possible to only pay to use the sauna. Instead, anyone wanting to go to sauna after a long day of hiking has to pay 300 SEK (~30€) for the full service package, which also includes the use of their other facilities: showers, indoor toilets, and kitchen. Too luxurious for the occasion, if you ask me, but to each their own. Had we been hiking in the other direction, it might have felt like a sweeter deal after 5-6 days of sweating.

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My precious sleeping bag (pictured on the left) is the warmest and comfiest. Love it!


Salzburg City Break: Untersberg


Even though I had been planning a pure city break, I simply couldn’t resist the call of the mountains. Salzburg Card also includes a cable car lift to the nearby Mount Untersberg, so that’s where I headed after the Hellbrunn tour – much to the dismay of my poor knees.


The top station of Unterbergsbahn is practically right next to the first summit. There were hilariously many tourists wearing their best summer dresses and flip flops, hopping and skipping around, yelling “Woooooo!” into the wind, and posing heroically for carefully staged photos. But not me, oh no. Since I am A True Hiker™, after all, I left them behind and kept going on the actual hiking trail. Possibly not my best move.


Some parts of the trail were super steep with lots and lots of stairs that sometimes ran through tiny caves. There were cables and railings in the most difficult spots, but I probably didn’t hang onto them desperately enough. The weather was nice and dry, but the dripping water in the caves had made some of the wooden stairs deceptively slippery. As you might have guessed, my murderous shoes immediately took advantage of the opportunity.



My foot slipped on the stairs and I slid the rest of the way down in style, on my arse. I also managed to hurt both my palms, which started to bleed and soon got swollen from colourful bruises. Still didn’t roll over the edge, though, ha! Excellent shoes in every aspect, but they might work better as ice skates.



The way back was less eventful but more scary. The throbbing pain rendered my hands pretty much useless, and I couldn’t grab onto any of the railings. Afraid of slipping down again, I probably made some kind of a new record in slowness while balancing back on the stairs. To cheer myself up, I had a dorky picture of myself taken at the same spot where everyone else had theirs taken, too. I mean… I did have fun, though.


Hiking in Tirol, Day 4: Foggy as F


On Sunday morning I felt re-energized enough to go back to the mountains. The lift up to Mount Ahorn was like diving into the fog: up in two kilometres, the visibility was only a few dozens of metres. My plan was to take a quick tour of the nature park before returning down to the valley.


It hardly comes as a surprise that while strutting along the path in the fog, I somehow managed to miss a sign and took a wrong turn somewhere. When I realised I was on a longer route than originally intended, I though I might as well keep going. At least the route markers were pretty visible.



My shoes were put to the test when I had to cross a river blocking the path. Balancing on the stones, I delved ankle-deep in the water, but my socks stayed 100% dry! Impressed and delighted by that, I was almost ready to forgive the sneaky bastards for their murder attempt on Friday.



I passed by a mountain restaurant, but didn’t even stop for hot chocolate. For once, I was up early, so I wanted to see how close to the Ahornspitze summit (2970 m) I could get. (Spoiler: not very close)



Skeletons laying by the side of the path started casting shadows on my carefree hike. Eventually, a huge chunk of snow blocked my way. I could no longer see any route markers, and I wasn’t quite stupid enough to follow in the footsteps of a mystery dumbass ahead of me. At the same time, freezing rain started to fall and made the decision to quit a little bit easier.


Oh, the frustration of having to turn back! An old friend once told me about “the bucket theory”, though. “You are born with a full bucket of luck and an empty bucket of experience. You’d better fill up your bucket of experience before your bucket of luck runs out.” The original context of the theory had something to do with skydiving, but why wouldn’t it apply to mountaineering, too. I didn’t test the depth of my luck bucket that day.



Slogging back down, my shoes tried to assassinate me again: tilted, wet stones proved extremely slippery. I still didn’t get hurt, though, so the second murder attempt was as unsuccessful as the first.


The ticket I had bought also included a lift to Mount Penken, so I obviously had to get all my money’s worth and went up there, too. The views of the valley from the top of Penken are supposed to be the best of them all, but visibility hadn’t gotten any better by Sunday afternoon.



After my Ahorn defeat, I was already tired. When I started feeling cold, too, I returned to the valley quite soon.Although many might skip a trip to the top entirely in foggy weather, I found the eery atmosphere well worth the effort. I had already had a nice dose of the scenery on the previous days, anyway.

Hiking in Tirol, Day 2: Reaching the Summit

Inspired by a hiking map and the successful warmup walk on Thursday, I decided to raise the stakes for Friday. The day did not turn out quite as I had planned.

In the morning,  my only shorts were still dripping wet from last night’s wash, and I had completely forgotten to pack a hat. To protect myself from sun- and heatstroke, I started the day by shopping in some of the numerous sports stores in Mayrhofen. Deciding between different options took me a couple minutes too long, and as a result, I had to wait for a later train to the town of Zell am Ziller.


Once I got to the Zell railway station, I still had to find the Rosenalmbahn cable car station. The walk took longer than expected, especially because the infamous “shortcuts” I followed just took me to a bunch of cul-de-sacs. I conveniently got to the lower station five minutes after the employees had left for their lunch break, so I had to wait for an extra half hour before the cable car took me to the heights of 1744 metres.

At the upper station of Rosenalm, the first thing I noticed was the delightful sound of cowbells echoing between the hills. The air up there was still warm, but it felt fresher than the heat down in the valley. I started making my way up the well-marked trail. The plan was to hike for a few hours and return to the cable car before it closed down for the day.



I had bought my first pair of real hiking boots only a week before the trip, so I hadn’t had a chance to break them in properly. Fortunately, I got to cool down my feet in tiny streams along the way. That still didn’t stop the blisters from beginning to form.

Every small delay I had accumulated before noon meant that while I was still making my way up in the afternoon, the smart locals were already coming back down. I couldn’t bear to stick to my original plan of just a couple hours of walking, though. When I saw the small patches of snow and the trail that kept getting steeper and narrower, I knew I just had to reach the summit!



The good thing about my own stupidity and all the delays was that after the first hour, I didn’t see a soul anymore, if you don’t count the random goats along the way. I don’t know if there is anything better than enjoying mountain views in the best possible company: all by yourself! I just kept walking, thinking about everything or nothing, I cannot even remember anymore. It was the closest I have ever come to a zen state of mind.


The trail kept getting steeper. I passed by a pile of broken walking sticks, and occasionally sunk ankle deep into snow. Finally, the Kreuzjoch summit was looming ahead of me at 2558 metres.




I had a short lunch break and pondered which way down I would pick. Every single one of the cable cars surrounding the mountains would be closing within an hour, so there was no need to rush anymore; I would have to walk all the way down to the valley in any case. My knees were cracking at the mere thought of that.


I glanced at the map and randomly chose another way down, which turned out slightly more challenging than I had hoped. Huge masses of snow covered parts of the marked trail running along a steep edge. I wasn’t always sure how deep the snow was, if I would sink in there, or if a misstep would send the whole thing crumbling down. However, I had already walked down for a relatively long way, and the thought of returning back up to Kreuzjoch seemed impossible. I had to find a way around the most suspicious spots, which required some actual hands-on climbing.

After the small scares, the route I chose was quite rewarding. The trail became easier to walk, meandering down flower-covered hills. Then, my shoes made their first murder attempt when I stumbled on the laces that had come undone by themselves. Fortunately for me, unfortunately for the sneaky shoes, the timing was off and I didn’t go tumbling down the edge.

IMG_1267Cows, cows, cows! Dedicated to Andrew :)

IMG_1266You came to the wrong neighbourhood, motherf*cker.

I had another scare when I ran into two dogs roaming freely around the hills. At first they barked at me from a distance, no big deal. All of a sudden, they were right next to me, growling with their teeth exposed. I closed my eyes, tried to talk to them in a soothing voice, and prepared to feel them dig deep into my calves. As suddenly as they had appeared, the vengeful beasts turned into happy tail-waggers and disappeared. Either they decided a lone sloth was not a huge threat to anyone, or then my sun-marinated stench ruined their appetite.



The last stage of the route trailed through a peaceful forest. Down in the village of Gmünd, I was surprised again: the village seemed practically abandoned, and the last bus to civilization had already left 1.5 hours ago. I was left stranded, 25 kilometres from my hotel. I started walking along the narrow mountain road, trying not to get run over by the speeding cars. There didn’t seem to be a decent hitch-hiking spot anywhere in sight, the sun was slowly setting, and I hadn’t even packed a reflector.


I was already silently panicking inside, when a German knight in a shining BMW mercifully picked me up and gave me a ride back to the Zell am Ziller train station. It was half past nine in the evening. I had checked the timetable, and the last train to Mayrhofen was supposed to leave in thirty minutes. Too bad I had looked at the wrong schedule – it wasn’t the last train, it was the last bus! While I was waiting on the railroad side of the station, I saw a bus pass me by on the other side and disappear into the darkness.

At that point, I was so fed up I didn’t even consider hunting down a taxi anymore. F it, might as well walk the last 10 kilometres while at it! There were no lights for most of the way, but the sound of the Ziller river kept me on the right track. I eventually made it back to the hotel well past midnight. To sum up the day: 13 hours of walking, a total of over 2 kilometres of altitude differences, and completely destroyed knees and feet. But hey, at least I saw some fireflies in the darkness.