A Book and a film (of a book)

Sometimes, things don't go right. Without wanting to revel in the mistakes and subsequent disasters of others, there are things we can learn from the errors of their ways.

I recently finished reading Lost in the Wild: Danger and Survival in the North Woods by Cary J. Griffith - a gripping account of the experiences of two hikers in Minnesota's Boundary Waters.

I earnestly recommend this book to anyone interested in hiking in the wilderness. We all like to think that we travel prepared and intelligently into the wild, but what the book subtly explores is that it only takes a simple mistake or misjudgement to send one heading towards disaster.

Cary Griffiths's easy, journalistic style makes no judgements on the mistakes that Jason Rasmussen and Dan Stevens made on their separate journeys. He relates the events in a matter-of-fact manner which somehow increases the tension. As you read of their actions, you cannot help but cringe, knowing that they are making critical errors - yet errors easily made - that will get them deeper into trouble down the line.

Both Rasmussen and Stevens are not inexperienced hikers. Rasmussen has all the necessary gear with him as he heads along the Pow Wow Trail alone. Stevens, an experienced guide, leads a groups of scouts a canoeing trip.

Having hiked in the areas described, I well understood the conditions each of the young men experienced. The unmaintained trails through often dense and overgrown forest can be very hard to follow. Old logging trails and animal tracks often appear to be the more obvious route, and you can easily find yourself standing amidst thicket, the trail vanished from sight.

Without wanting to give away the whole story, it is fascinating to read how Rasmussen continues hiking, sensing he is on the right trail, but in fact heading in the opposite direction. This can happen easily in the woods. On a cloudy day, one's sense of direction can become confused. But what is startling is that, although he carried a compass, he never checked it, and as a result, before long, he winds up stumbling through the forest, through the bogs, around in circles. Lost. When he eventually finds a viable landmark - a lake - he sets up camp in his bright orange tent. But the next day makes the most horrendous error that left me cringing as I read it. He decides to leave his pack, tent, and ample food at the campsite while he scouts for the trail.

Stevens also makes a critical error on his search for a missing portage path. He heads off into the forest to sweep for the path (portage paths, when you hit them, are hard to miss - they experience far more traffic than trails), but leaves his group and goes alone. Then - and this is the part from which we could all learn - he trips, falls, and is knocked unconscious. When he wakes, concussed, he stumbles off confused and delirious. This could happen to anyone travelling solo.

I will say no more about the book, except that it is a great piece of journalism, and fascinating to read the events that followed. Heartily recommended.

In many ways, Lost in the Wild owes a debt to perhaps the most famous book about wilderness misadventure, Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild. I've not yet read the book, but the other night I watched the movie, directed by Sean Penn.

Both the book and film detail the life and journey of Christopher McCandless, a young guy who appears to model his life on the inauthentic adventures of Jack London. I'm not going to review the quality of the film, except for saying that it is well made and worth seeing.

The story is quite fascinating though. McCandless leaves home, giving away his substantial savings, to travel America. He renames himself Alexander Supertramp, and sets off on journey across the continent, working here and there to get money to travel to Alaska.

This kind of hobo adventure seems to be a quite common in the USA, and I wonder why that is. His adventure is somewhat reminiscent of Jack Kerouac's On the Road, and that fact that he renamed himself Alex Supertramp remind me of a book I was forced to read (but enjoyed) at school, The Autobiography of a Supertramp by W.H. Davies. In Minneapolis I often see people living down by the river, or a bunch of pseudo-Anarchists travelling through and living under one of the bridges crossing the Mississippi, begging for money to continue their journeys. What I find interesting is that we don't really see much of that going on in Europe, and the 'road' literature doesn't really exist to such a extent that it starts to define the culture, as it dies in the States.

To me, McCandless's actions seem supremely ignorant and arrogant, yet the film romanticises him as being almost wise beyond his years. In the book, apparently, Krakauer is more critical of his actions, and suggests that he suffers from some kind of attachment disorder, causing him to bolt before becoming too close with the people he meets.

It's a very sad story, the ending of which again reiterates the need for caution in the wilderness, where a simple mistake can lead to a horrifying end.

Incidentally, talking of horrifying endings, Danny Boyle's latest film, 127 Hours, is just out here, based on another excellent book - Aron Ralston's Between a Rock and  a Hard Place. I plan to see it this week, but if you don't know the story, check it out. It's another account of a trip where things didn't go according to plan.

First Impressions: Laufbursche huckePACK

Finally, the Holy Grail...

Anticipation over the arrival of neu kid on the block Laufbursche has risen to fever pitch among the ultra-light community. I'd been trying to get my oversized giant hands on a huckePACK after reading Hendrik's many evangelising posts for months,  but German bureaucracy cuts no red tape for bloggers, and as time went by I opted to get a MLD Burn as a small summer bag.

As winter rolled in, I began to evaluate my pack needs again. I wanted another pack, a light weight one, but durable, and large enough to accommodate bulky insulated gear for colder weather. The word on the street was that Mateusz at Laufbursche had finalized his pack designs, and amongst his offerings would be a larger huckePACK. With the help of Ben at hrXXLight, I made contact with Laufbursche, and after playing with his rather clever configurator, I ordered a huckePACK "big," with an XL torso size, carrying a maximum capacity of 57 litres, and, with the two hip pockets, weighing in at 524g on my highly-accurate IKEA scales (the listed weight was 522g, so pretty damn close!).

And so, without further ado, let me introduce you to a new friend...

For the purposes of this quick overview, I used a mat to give it some structure, and stuffed a down bag and jacket in to fill it up.

The first thing that strikes you is the quality. The workmanship really is top par. Not a stitch out of place, and everything neatly, and sturdily finished.

Perhaps the most obvious "innovation" in the huckePACK is the design of the lid, and even the fact that there is one. Most light weight packs today skip the lid altogether in favour of a roll-top and cinch cord closure - the argument being that this is waterproof enough, and that a lid serves no real purpose.

On the huckePACK, the lid doubles as a kind of roll top. It's a very distinctive, neat, and tidy. It's a design that makes the Laufbursche packs immediately identifiable. It is also quite hard to explain how it closes, but with the aid of a not particularly helpful photograph, I'll try.

It's actualy very simple. The neck of the pack folds down on top, and can be clipped inside (using the clip in the photo above) to secure the contents if the bag is overflowing. The lid is essentially a continuation of the back material which folds over everything and clips into a pair of lineloc fasteners.

It makes for a very secure and waterproof lid. I was surprised that the lid also has a pocket. It's been a long time since I used a pack with a lid and lid pocket, and it seems almost consciously unfashionable to include one.

But then again, why not? I suppose I can always find something to put in the pocket. A map... My Super Mica... Some sliced cheese... The argument against it would be that it adds unnecessary weight, and limits the possibility of compacting the pack as you would be able to with a extension roll-top. As is is, I like the design, but I'm holding back judgement on the practicality of it until I've taken it out a few times.

Moving on... The shoulder straps are very well designed, and, with the 6mm 3D mesh padding, amazingly comfortable. I find their S shape makes them almost unnoticeable. Thoughtfully, they have plenty of webbing attachment points, a removable sternum strap, and load lifters. Many UL packs skip the load lifters, but even with moderate-light loads, they make a huge difference in how the pack carries.

Mateusz seemed somewhat surprised when I ordered the XL torso size, but it was the right choice. The length is perfect, with the belt sitting nicely on my hips (my MLD Burn sits a little high).

In another clever little design feature, the hip belt can be secured out of the way behind the pack if you don't need to use it. I think as this is intended to carry a larger load, I'm likely to use it. It's comfy - a little padding goes a long way, but again, we'll see how it performs when it gets a real test.

I ordered the belt pockets, because that's the kind of guy I am. I like to have snacks,  and my GPS at hand, and the pockets are plenty large enough to fit my Lumix GF1. They came fitted to the pack, and are nicely secured with a set of clips, so no bothersome slippage will occur.

The pack comes with additional cord and shock cord to attach in any way you choose. One option is to create a holder on the back for a section of Z-Lite. I've not done this yet, but I'll give it a go. I'm a little uncertain that it will keep the Z-Lite in place on a long hike. The method Gossamer Gear use on the Gorilla where the pad slips into some webbing pockets seems more secure, but we'll see.

© Laufbursche

There are plenty of attachment loops all over the pack to tie cord to. I'll probably tie a few on for trekking poles. An ice-axe loop would be easy to create for those with such an inclination.

The mesh pockets are more than ample - huge in fact. Loads of space for DuoMids, waterproofs, knickknacks, water bottles etc. The right side pocket is angled, the left side straight, but with an access hole, so in theory wearers should be able to easily get to water. My arms never seem to be flexible enough for that though.

So, as you can see, it's a well thought out pack, with a few innovative features, made to exacting standards. I'm hoping I can get out and try it in some real conditions very soon.

It's available in "small" and "big" sizes, and in Dyneema X Gridstop or Cuben Fiber.  Laufbursche will also be offering a smaller pack (more akin to the Burn) called the huckePÄCKchen in Cuben Fiber (it looks very nice, and very small).

Laufbursche will hopefully be opening their online store very soon, but until then, those with an itch to scratch can try contacting them for more info.

I wish them every success and can't wait to try out more of their gear in the future.

Vaattunkilampi Overnighter - Gear Thoughts

Although only an overnighter, there was enough time to add to some impressions of the gear I used.

As I mentioned in the trip report, I used a mixed bag of gear; some UL stuff that I bought with me from the Minneapolis, some heavier gear that I found in my storage lockup in Rovaniemi, and a few essential items that I purchased.

Sleeping
As I was anticipating cold weather, I took my Western Mountaineering MF Antelope with me. It's a typical WM bag: very well constructed, and accurately rated at -15C. It's fairly heavy at 1.16Kg, but it very warm. In fact, I got too warm during the night, and had strip down to base layers.

As I was sleeping in a semi-exposed laavu, I coupled the bag with my Katabatic Bristlecone bivy, which no doubt added a couple of degrees warmth to the bag.

I've been eagerly reading other people's blogs this week, paying special attention to discussions of winter gear. Hendrik's "Quilt 101" summary of UL Quilt options, Maz's notes on his Winter gear, and Martin's (shock! horror!) recent conversion to quilts were all of special interest to me as I still find sleeping bags a little frustrating.

For all the coziness afforded by wrapping oneself in a down cocoon, there are several side-effects. For example, to achieve maximum warmth, and to eliminate condensation from breath getting into the bag, it's necessary to cinch the neck and hood closed into the full mummy enclosure. But then you do that, you get two long cords flapping around inside the bag.

I have a peculiar aversion to having cords around my neck, so I find this somewhat disconcerting.

The other major hassle for me is after I've wriggled around cinching down the hood, my pillow has invariably moved to another location nowhere near my head. I then try to sneak a hand out the hood to reposition it, and end up on my face with my hand stuck twisted behind my head.

On the upside, all that energetic rolling around generates a lot of heat to keep me warm. But usually, when I eventually get the pillow into place and roll back over, everything else moves, and I begin to scream.

Incidentally, this has nothing specifically to do with the WM Antelope - it's a general sleeping bag issue. I also find, as a side-sleeper, that bags rarely turn with me. When you turn inside a fully tightened mummy bag, you are not really using it efficiently.

In my arsenal of sleeping bags I also have the GoLite Ultralite 3 Season quilt, which is rated to -7C. I'm thinking that I could use this as part of a quilt-based layering system, with some insulated clothing to give added flexibility. I'm not big on wearing lots of gear at night, but given a choice between that and being strangled to death by The Mummy, I'll take my chances.

It's something I have to look into anyway. The GoLite might not be the optimum quilt. What I'd really need is a combination of equipment that would be usable in different forms throughout the whole year. So... a UL quilt for summer that could be used with some insulated clothing for colder weather, and an additional quilt for, as Joe called it in a recent tweet, "Hoth conditions." Tips and suggestions are welcomed in comments.

However, getting back to the gear I used, the Antelope was very warm, and the Brsitlecone kept out the arctic wind. The Pertex Quantum material on the bivy got caught in the sleeping bag zip a couple of times, which was annoying, but entirely my fault for not being more careful.

My sleeping pad was an old McKinley self-inflating pad I found in storage. It was just about adequate. When I go next time I'll try my Multimat Adventure in combination with something else - either my Ether Elite or something warmer.

The aforementioned pillow was the classic Exped which I picked up before I left.

I bought this as an alternative to the Kooka Bay which I didn't like much. The Exped has a lovely coating on it which feels soft and pillow-like. When I got it into position it was just right. The notch in the design makes it ideal for side-sleepers and back-sleepers alike. I will have to use some shock cord to tie it to the pad though. I can't stand having a wandering pillow.

One design feature of the pillow I didn't know about until I bought it was the dual inflation/deflation valves.

Although this adds to the weight, it is a nice little feature. The inflate and deflate valves are both one-way - so when you inflate, you can stop to take a breath without all the air puffing out of the pillow. Similarly, when you deflate, you can squeeze all the air out without any sneaking in.

I like the idea. It would be great on a sleeping pad, though I wonder how it affects condensation build-up inside. Theoretically, it limits the ability of the interior to dry properly.

Cooking
Airlines don't allow you to carry gas or liquid fuel stoves with you. Although these restrictions shouldn't apply to wood-burning stoves, I didn't want to risk having my BushBuddy confiscated. I opted to pick up a cheap canister-mounted stove, and found the Edelrid Kiro ST (86g, €37). I'd have preferred the titanium version, but Rovaniemi, surprisingly, is not a great place for outdoor shops (unless you are into hunting).

I don't have burn times I'm afraid, but it was pretty fast. Frankly, I don't really care about burn times: as long as it's around three to four minutes it's good enough.

It seems that Edelrid rebrand OEM gear. I'm sure I've seen the Edelrid Kiro Ti offered by another company under a different name, for example. In use, the Kiro ST performed as expected. My only issue is with the valve. When collapsed, the valve control folds around the screw housing - but in order to do this, the valve has to be opened a little. If you forget this, when you screw it onto the cannister, you get squirted with whatever propane/butane/iso-butane mix you happen to be using. It's not ideal, but as the liquid evaporates into gas, it's fairly harmless. I put a flame to the stove to see if there was any fuel on it, but nothing burned.

It's not a stove I'd use regularly, but it did the job. My original Micron (not the Ti version) is only slightly heavier.

The Real Turmat Chicken Curry I cooked was delicious. Far better than any Mountain House or Backpacker's Pantry meals I've tasted. It's a shame they are so expensive. I look forward to trying some of the new Fuzion meals others have tested.

Clothing
Along with my trusty Haglöfs trail pants, I took my First Ascent Hangfire Hoody, a Marmot DriClime windshirt, a Halti down jacket and of course base layers (Haglöfs, synthetic) and waterproofs (Marmot Precip and Super Mica, both unused).

I picked up the Hangfire Hoody recently in a sale. First Ascent is Eddie Bauer's subsidiary brand for more technical clothing, and they offer some pretty good gear (their Downlight sweater got good reviews on Backpacking Light), and you can almost always get a great discount from them, making them one of the cheapest places to buy fairly decent gear.

The Hangfire is a thick microfleece mid layer, which, because of DWR treatment, you could also use as a outer layer. I've been wearing it extensively this autumn around town and in Finland. The construction is a little too overly complex for my tastes - too many seams add to the weight - but I've been very happy with it. I like the hood design, which is tight and peaked. Coupled with, say, an Ibex merino hoody it would be nice and warm in many conditions. It isn't very windproof though, and I wouldn't trust the DWR to protect me too much as it is apparently only on the torso.

On top of that I wore a Marmot DriClime Catalyst - which uses recycled materials, so it gives you a warm feeling all around. The Catalyst is a warm windshirt. It has a wicking, DriClime lining that makes it warmer (and heavier) than my usual go-to windshirt, the Montane LiteSpeed. I find that it makes a great addition to my cold weather layering system, for situations when the LiteSpeed doesn't really cut it any more. It's also water repellant, and I've been very happy with it over the last year.

As for footwear... well, I didn't want to drag extra shoes with me, so I made do with what I found in the storage room.

My Meindl Ultra Boots (OK, I don't know what they are called). Ultra big, ultra hardcore, ultra heavy (and my, how I noticed that after Inov-8s). Simply Ultra.

These are boots for mountains, fit for crampons and long treks to the north pole. They weigh a ton, but they did actually prove useful, protecting my feet on a few occasions from dips in ice-cold marsh water. I certainly wouldn't have fared well in my Inov-8 295s, but I could do with a good pair of lighter winter shoes/boots. Again, recommendations are welcomed.

Vaattunkilampi Overnighter

It's 12:04pm when I get the call. I quickly make arrangements to escape and get out hiking on the trail. I've been waiting three days, postponing my decision to leave until I finally receive the good news: my new Laufbursche huckePACK has arrived at my friend's apartment in Finland.

Except it hasn't. The postman has apparently had some difficulty placing the small, pliable package through the large letterbox. He's taken it back to the post office and left a note telling me I can pick it up at 4:00pm. That's great, but the sun sets at 3:52pm, and it's a 20 minute drive to the trailhead.

My friend tries to pick the pack up from the post office at 3:00pm, without luck. She offers me the use of her old-school pack, and I'm torn between waiting to get the huckePACK and hiking in the dark, or making the most of what little light there is left. It's 3:30pm.

I swallow my pride and stuff my gear into her old Halti. I don't know how much it weighs, but the word "watermelon" comes to mind. Still, it's padded and it fits me well. I pile into her car with the dogs. She's kindly agreed to drive me to the trail head and pick me up again tomorrow.

I don't know why, but I'm a little nervous. It's heading quickly towards twilight, and I'm not a big fan of walking in the dark. I think about bears and remember that they are crepuscular. I know that they are all probably asleep by now - it's early November. I still think about bears. I blame America's bear paranoia for making me think about bears. Then, as we arrive at Vikaköngäs rapids, I think about bears some more.

Maria will join me on the first couple of kilometers, taking the opportunity to exercise her two crazy Labradors. I pull on the backpack - it's light, my cut down gear adding only a little to the initial weight of the pack. I've brought half my gear with me from the States (sleeping bag, bivy, clothes), collected half from my storage in Rovaniemi (boots, cooking pot, sleeping mat), and picked up a small gas stove (Edelrid Kiro ST) and a balaclava. It's a mix of tried and untested, ultra-light and ultra-heavy. But it's only one night, so who cares? The most important thing is getting out there. If only I'd remembered to take my liner gloves. It's getting cold.

I leave Maria behind, and head up to the top of Vaaranlaki, the only fell I'll be climbing on the hike. The trees spread the light even thinner in the forest.

Some of the rocks are slippery from the previous days' snowfall which has melted and re-frozen. I watch out for tree roots as I climb.

At the top of the hill there is a lookout tower with spectacular views south across the low fells of Rovaniemi. But today I have no time for views. I watch the last rays of the sun disappearing behind the tower.

I check the trail signs. I only have three kilometers to my camp, but I'm worried. I know it's going to get dark very soon, and I don't like stumbling around. I know the trail, and it's clearly marked, but I'm concerned I'll trip and fall. I consider climbing the tower, and bedding down for the night there instead. But there are two problems; there's no water here, and I won't be able to make a fire up there to keep warm. It's only -6C.

I waver about continuing. I could turn back and give up. But that would be a shame, and I know that my fear of hiking in the dark is a cover for the still lingering thoughts of bears, which I'm (almost) certain are not there. I decide to continue. At most, I'll have 30 minutes of night hiking.

The trail descends on the other side of the hill, down through increasingly boggy forest. After about 1.5km I start to trip and stumble on roots and rocks, so I take out my headlamp. It helps, but has the effect of closing the landscape in to a narrow beam of light.

As I get to the bottom of the hill, the path enters the swamp – or, more accurately, mire - and the trail becomes duck-boarded. It's a blessing and a curse. The first duckboards are at an angle, and my old Meindl boots cannot grip their wet and icy surface. I slip-slide downwards, unable to stop myself. I jump off, trying to avert a fall in which my head might come into contact with hard and/or sharp rocks or tree stumps. I take a deep breath, and start again, slowly.

It's hard to discern the strength of the duckboards. They don't get repaired often, and the wet land rots them fast. I tentatively step along the more springy ones, hoping for the best. I round a corner, and Lapland delivers one of it's fine sunsets.

But I'm running out of patience. I want to get to the laavu (lean-to) and set up camp. Enough of this stumbling. I'm also hungry, having forgotten to eat lunch.

It can't be much farther. Maybe 1km. The duckboards lead me high over a stream. I cross carefully, not wanting to slip and fall in. And all of a sudden I spot the woodshed, and am relieved to see it well stocked.

I waste no time in getting a fire going for warmth and to fend off any insomniac bears that might be wandering around.

I'm surprised to find a strong, cold wind blowing off the river, fanning the flames and making them roar. The temperature is now at -8, but the wind chill makes it feel more like -20. Fortunately, my shelter for the night - one of Lapland's many laavus - is facing sideways to the water, and once inside it's sturdy pine walls shield me completely from the wind.

It's pitch black now. And only 5:30pm. I have a long night ahead of me, even if I retire early.

I decide to collect water from the lake now, and tip-toe down to the jetty. The river is frozen already, but the day's sun has melted the surface a little, and I'm able to scoop up a liter into my platy-bottle, and some more in my pot. It's enough for the night.

I stand for a moment in the cold wind, looking out across the wide river. The stars are bright, but no aurora tonight. A pity. It's too cold to linger, and there is a Real Turmat Chicken Curry with my name on it.

I'm excited to try the meal, and my new stove. I screw it on and get squirted with liquid gas. The valve is open a little. I close it and burn off any residual fuel so I don't get a nasty surprise when I light it. I try again, and note that my old butane super-lighter is no longer super, and after a few more attempts, ceases to be a lighter as well. The flint still works, and after a few clicks the stove is lit.

The meal tastes great - better than any dehydrated meal I've had before or in America. But then again, for €9.90, it wanted to be pretty spectacular.

I sit around for an hour or two, staring at the fire, mulling over life. It's relaxing, and I don't notice time passing. I've had a stressful couple of days, and I'm glad I found time to come out, even if it was only for a night.

I wonder about my irrational bear fears. It often takes a few nights to get used to being outside, so I put it down to that. Nevertheless, I decide to keep the fire going as long as I can during the night. After collecting and chopping plenty of logs, I lay out my bed. An old McKinley sleeping pad will keep me off the cold laavu floor. My Bristlecone Bivy will protect me from any change in wind direction, and give a few degrees extra warmth to my Western Mountaineering Antelope. Best of all, my new Exped air pillow will hopefully give me a good night's sleep.

I zip myself in, and spend a while faffing around, trying to get everything working together in harmony. It's not long before I'm way too hot, which suits me. I don't like wearing so much in the bag. I strip down to just my First Ascent hoody and Haglöfs long johns.  That's much better. The only problem is the pillow, which still slips around. I should have taken some shock cord as Roger suggested. Next time...

Before I know it, I've drifted off. I wake up every now and again to put a couple of logs on the fire and watch the falling snow, but by 2am I'm fast asleep.

I wake in the morning to a fine dusting, but know I can't hang around. I other art-related things to do today, so I need to get to the trailhead by 9:30am. The wind has dropped, but I notice there are still some embers glowing in the fire pit. I smile to myself as I exercise my inner Les Stroud and get a small fire going to warm up.

I fire up the stove again, and take a walk down to the jetty to see what was invisible last night.

The surface water from last night has frozen solid this morning. The jetty also has a very solid feel to it - no longer floating, but squeezed in tight between sheets of ice.

I return to the laavu and a pot of boiling water. Having got used to my BushBuddy, I've forgotten how fast gas stoves are.

Time for breakfast. Porridge, Nordic-style.

I find the porridge to be too fine-grained for my liking. I force it down, but I wish I'd brought the lovely, chunky cinnamon and apple oatmeal from my local co-op. Still, it fills a hole.

Considering I threw everything together at the last minute, I'm quite happy with my gear choices. I wish I'd had the huckePACK, but you can't win them all. I don't bother to wash up, and stuff everything back in the pack. I'll be home soon so there's no need to be neat and tidy.

As I'm packing I find my liner gloves, which makes me happy. They are perfect for keeping the chill off my fingers without being too overkill.

I shoulder the pack, and head off on the trail. It's a beautiful, crisp and cold Lapland dawn. The duckboards are lightly coated with snow, which makes walking on them much easier.

I've never walked on this section of trail before, but I know from the map and experience it'll be mostly flat, with some open mire.

I take great pleasure in being able to see much more compared to last night. The trail is clear, meandering through clumps of low-lying forest.

A dusting of fine snowflakes frost the crowberry and lingonberry bushes.

The sun rises over another fell, its light filtering through the trees.

The trail opens out, and I cross one of the many mires that lie between the hills.

It's an expansive, oddly pleasant feeling to emerge into such an open space out of the forest. The sun casts my shadow long over the frozen bog.

As I watch the sun rise, I almost stumble on one of the rotted duckboards. The mire is a peculiar place; silent, mysterious, unpredictable. One minute you can be on solid ground, the next, floating, and then up to your waist (or worse) in alkaline goop. I'm glad it's all frozen.

I wish I'd been able to go for a longer hike, but I'm enjoying the morning stroll. These five kilometers are short, but the landscape is pretty, and I regret that I don't currently live here. I make a resolution to get out and enjoy the landscape around Rovaniemi and Lapland more when we move back.

Soon, I arrive at a split in path, where another trail loops through the mire, and also heads off to Olkkajärvi - a trail I had considered for this trip, but rejected because of time and because the trail was likely to be very wet at this time of year.

I always get itchy feet at other trailheads, and this was no exception. I wonder what lies along that path; where it leads. Maria will often laugh at me when I spot and head over to signposts or maps. I just can't resist a good sign.

Now I enter the last leg of the trail, another familiar section through the Vaattunkiköngäs rapids and tributaries. It's a pretty little area, popular with locals because of the plentiful laavus.

I stop to peer into a freshly frozen pond. Under the rippled ice, a pine cone will remain trapped until spring time.

I sit for a moment by on of the tributaries, watching the water cascade over rocks. Soon this will all be covered in ice and layers of heavy snow.

As usual, after just one night, I feel more relaxed and at ease. A calmness settles over me, and I feel ready to face the next few days which I know will be busy. But it doesn't matter, because here, and now... this is enough.