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After a marvelous breakfast we started out in dampness and fog. Though the hike was only about 8 miles, it took us over 5 hours because of the treacherous footing. The rocks were wet and slippery, it rained intermittently, and we had to make our way up a very steep trail through bushes and trees, before facing more brooks and waterfalls. Water was everywhere! The overhanging rocks were black and looked like layers of pancakes. I tried without success to photograph the high rock walls beside the narrow trail, and the precipitous fall to the valley below. We followed the water or looked down on it from above. The climbing was wondrously varied and I loved it! Now and then we’d stop near a cave or under an overhang to get out of the drizzle. By then we had donned our rain pants and covered our packs. But mostly we kept up a steady pace over endless flat rocks. You could always hear the waterfall, but not see it until you’d come down a ledge or two and look over…and there it was, thundering down the chasm.

At Osterbo we settled into our hut and enjoyed a sumptuous meal of lamb and veggies served by a delightful Romanian girl—black skirt, crisp white blouse, broad smile.

(click here for pictures)

I explored one section of the meandering lake and returned to the Abisko River Canyon, mesmerized as I watched it cascade into the tunnel under the bridge. There were dozens of trails and excursions posted at the main tourist office, but we had a train to catch. Just as we were leaving the hostel we bumped into Kim and Bo. “I knew we’d meet, again,” I said. “You’re just following us to be sure we don’t get lost.” How we laughed.

At 12:55 P.M. we boarded the train for Boden. It was the old Connex line, but that didn’t matter, for we were glued to the window watching views of the many lakes and the forest–gnarled birches and weather-beaten pines that had survived the bitter winter of the far north. At 6:30 P.M. we transferred to another train and deposited our packs in our sleeping compartments. I was with five Swedish girls and Gullvi was with four Swedish men. Everything is very unisex here. We spent most of the evening lingering in the dining car. I thoroughly enjoyed watching the maneuvering of two energetic ladies taking orders, preparing, serving, and handling the money for the entire car. They were amazing—and so patient and friendly. I settled for a known quantity…Swedish meatballs, potatoes, and lingonberries. I thoroughly enjoyed my compartment mates and the little touches like boxes of fresh water left on each bunk. Far better than chocolates, since I had run out water. Sleep was sound despite the flashing of bright lights on the platform whenever we reached a station. At 7 A.M. Gullvi woke me with the caveat, “Hurry, Meg, we reach Stockholm in twenty minutes.” Groggy and unkempt I staggered off the train and in fifteen minutes we were walking out of the Metro onto Gotgatan.

The next two days were spent hiking around the Abisko area on the many trails. While sitting having coffee at the lodge, who should walk in but Kim Madsen, one of our Danish buddies who helped us get on track the first day. What a pleasant surprise! Gullvi was having a problem with a nasty blister, so she rested while Kim and I walked through the woods to the campsite where he and Bo had stayed the previous night. It was close to one of the seven meditation benches placed at scenic overlooks in the national park. We hiked next to a roaring river, which catapulted around immense boulders to produce a series of powerful waterfalls, spraying water into the air as it flowed along a channel carved by years of erosion.

At places, the trail became so marshy that we had to walk on wooden planks. On either side the forest was a fairyland of light green ferns (a delicate type I had never seen before), tall birches, purplish pink wildflowers, and a variety of brightly-colored mushrooms. The higher we walked the more spectacular the river became, rushing and crashing over the rocks. We looked down to the shore from the first meditation spot and there was Bo with his feet dangling in the freezing water. Down we ran. It was a terrific campsite! Bo proudly showed me his cook stove (Triangria), then we had a collective hug and I left. Several minutes later I turned and waved from a high outcropping. I could see them way down below, wading knee-deep in the water. Brrrr.

Upon returning I walked across a small bridge and stood watching the river. The water churned as it raced down the deep channel and under the bridge, continuing into a much narrower hole, like a tunnel. Its power was tremendous as it forced itself into the hole. It reminded me of the popular blowhole at Acadia National Park in Maine.

That evening, after a meal of vegetables and reindeer meat (my first…and last), we sat by a fire that burned in a beautiful modern fireplace, and talked with hikers from all over Europe. We had a perfect view of the largest of the many lakes in the park. Just before sunset I took a walk in the woods and came across an area where environmental groups were calculating the amount of CO2 exchanged between the birch forest and the atmosphere. It had been roped off with warnings not to disturb. Returning, I sat on the porch and watched the sunset. (click here for pictures)

We were greeted with heavy fog and mist, which kept the rocks wet and slippery and the trail treacherous. Again, it was poorly marked. Half the time it was little more than a stream, but that was fine with me, because the sun came out and it became very hot. We stopped at a small winter hut and forded several streams still swollen from spring runoff. After eating a lunch of bread and cheese near bushes of cloudberries—sweet yellow berries in a cluster of three, a local delicacy—we decided to take another hike up to a small alpine lake, Troll Lake (Trollsjon) through the beautiful Valley of Karkevagge. It was quite a bushwack to reach the trail, which was steep and rocky. I really appreciated the many small streams where I could wet my bandana to keep cool, and drink as much water as I wanted without fear of its being contaminated. Never had I seen such sparkling water and such lush vegetation. On none of my hikes did I have to carry a large canteen. I just kept filling up my small water bottle at every stream.

Many hikers were out to experience the perfect weather. I understand that it’s a rarity in this part of Sweden in the summer. Seems that winter is “the season.” By the time we’d worked our way up the trail and gawked at the unusual rock formations that seemed to have just tumbled haphazardly into the valley, I was ready for a swim. I put my feet in and out…abruptly. After a few moments I couldn’t even feel them! So much for the swim.

On the way down we looked more carefully at the massive rocks that covered the valley. Some were rounded and wore a mantle of moss and grass. Others seemed cut at sharp angles, stark and shiny black. I was reminded of Stonehenge gone wild, or the Badlands of South Dakota. We met several joggers with heavy packs (were they crazy?), which didn’t make us feel any better about our aching feet. But we made it down and headed for the railway station. It was a mile away and we’d have three hours to wait when we got there, so we stood on the highway between Narvik and Kiruna and put out our thumbs. A beautiful young woman picked us up, took pity on us, and drove us all the way to Abisko, the hostel that was our destination. Another angel from heaven. There we found a double room with bath. After dinner in the spacious dining room, we sat on one of the high verandas and watched the sun set.(click here for pictures)

The day we started our hike was an adventure in itself. We arrived early at the bus stop, but when no bus appeared we went into the depot only to discover that the bus was leaving from the railroad station, and was probably already gone. And the next one would not come ‘til noon. The agent was very concerned and apologetic, but there was nothing to do but run like mad toward the highway, hoping to hitch a ride. We got slightly lost ducking between old buildings and trying to find the highway, but suddenly Gullvi spotted a bus way down below in what we were to discover was the railroad station entrance. We started waving our arms and running, yelling like a couple of crazies. No way could we cut off and go down the hill, because of a high fence. Instead, we had to go around the long way. Breathless, we arrived to see the driver standing in front of the bus with a big smile and the greeting, “I thought you’d be coming, so I waited. The agent from the bus station called and said two ladies were in distress. I have a sixth sense.” And a big heart. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!

When we reached Bjorkliden Fjallby we stopped at the Hotel Fjallet and talked with a guide about our trail. The day was cold and foggy and the directions were anything but clear. Nor were the markers. A normal trail, unmarked in spots, and a winter trail shown by two red markers (like a slender cross) atop a tall pole. This was probably a ski trail in winter and went up and over a lot of residual snow. We even found another trail intersecting these two. But the hiking suited me fine, since it was cold. Rushing brooks and wildflowers abounded, and before we knew it we were at the foot of a tremendous ice field that stretched further than we were willing to go. There were no footprints and without ice axes it looked pretty dangerous. We were definitely lost, and even with our compass, were unsure of which way to go. Just as all seemed lost two figures appeared in the mist. Kim Madsen and Bo Mortensen, chemical engineers from Denmark, who took us under their wing. Together, we made it through several ice fields and over lots of jagged rocks to the summit. How grateful we were to our new friends! They went off to set up camp (it would not be the last time we’d meet), but we headed for a bright red cabin, Laktatjakka, for the most luxurious stay I’ve ever had in any mountain hut. A charming young hostess, a sauna, a fancy meal served with wine, and my second experience with the midnight sun. Pure delight.(click here for pictures)