2015_04 King's Trail, Sweden

The King's Trail (Kungsleden) is the highlight of our trip to Sweden.  The King's Trail lies just north of the Arctic Circle.  It is 450 km long but we are only skiing one section, the total skiing distance being about 105 km.  We made the trip with our Swedish friends, Goran and Anita.

The route took us from the Abisko Touriststation and via a number of huts to the Sami village of Nikkaluokta, from where we took a bus to Kiruna and then the overnight train back to southern Sweden, where Goran and Anita live.  On the ski trip between the Touriststation to Nikkaluokta we stayed at Svenska Touristforening (STF, the Swedish mountain accommodation and training organisation) huts: Abiskojaure, Alesjaure, Tjaktja, Salka, Singi and Kebnekaise.

The Abisko and Kebnekaise stations are like hotels, complete with a restaurant, small shop, ski hire (at least in Abisko), sauna and hot showers.  The other huts are less salubrious, all requiring us to collect water, cut firewood, empty the sullage buckets and walk some distance in the ice, snow and wind to the toilet.  Some though had saunas: a sauna being a much more important feature to have at a Swedish mountain hut than an inside tap for water or a draining sink!  The huts were all triple glazed and were warm and cozy.  Gas stoves, all cooking and eating gear and doonas were provided. STF always make space for an additional person so no one had to sleep in the snow! All huts also had a resident volunteer hut warden who welcomed skiers with a hot raspberry juice and explained what was where.

I enjoy trains, especially overnight trains and trains with buffet cars.  There is something special about travelling hundreds of kilometers while consuming a meal with wine in the enjoyable company of friends.  Going to sleep in a gently rocking cabin and waking up in an entirely different place, and especially a place with snow all around is exciting.

The journey begins.

Trees and more trees.

If you think one conifer looks much like another then there is not a lot to see through a train window while travelling in Sweden, save the occasional small township and more snow.  I lie, Kiruna is an exception.  It is a huge underground iron ore mine and pellet making facility and together with its associated town give rise to what is advertised as a thriving cultural centre in the north.  Other than Kiruna though, the scene is one of low ridges, long lakes, a highly glaciated landscape and trees. And more trees.  And more trees.  It seems trees never end.  But they do end: the confers give way to birch, which appear skeletal having long ago dropped their leaves for winter.  Most of our skiing is where it is too cold for the birch to survive.  Our vistas turned to a monochrome black and white spotted with thin lines of red crosses that mark the trail.

Abisko, the beginning of the Kungsleden

The ski route follows the floor of a wide U shaped glaciated valley which gently undulates upstream, eventually to a pass called Tjaktjapasset, which we reached after two and a half days of skiing.  At the pass it was all white, including the overcast sky. There was almost no contrast.  A few ski tracks could be seen to the side and the size of the red crosses disappearing into the distance gave some perspective, but by and large it was just all white.

The skis told us whether the terrain was up or down.  And what a beautiful down it was.  About twenty centimetres of fluffy white powder descending for perhaps a kilometre or more to the valley floor.  It made for magnificient skiing.  Woo hoo!!

Goran and Anita have a different approach to ski touring than do Marg and I.  The King's Trail trip was very relaxed.  If we weren't stopping to change the wax then we were stopping for fica.  Fica being the Swedish word for coffee and cake.  And it was not a quick stop either.  First we put on a few extra layers, as this would be an extended stay, then the shovels came out and we cut out a long sofa shape.  There was a deeper part for our feet and a sitting level and behind us a mound of snow that provided shoulder and head support.  Sleeping mats were carefully laid out so as to keep out the snow and we promptly sat down before the wind whisked it all away.

The beginnings of a snow sofa.

The finished product.
Note the thermos and dried biscuit shelves!

Then came the thermos, hot chocolate, tea and dried bread with cheese.  A second helping was usually the rule.  By the time we had finished the sun, if we could have seen it, would have moved half way across the sky.  Our bodies warm and growing plumper by the day.

It was then time to pack up, ski for twenty minutes to warm up, then stop to remove a few layers to avoid overheating, and then perhaps a short ski before a waxing or photo stop or maybe lunch.  As you can imagine we were usually among the first out of the hut in the morning and the last to arrive!  BUT we had had a good view of the mountains, were warm, and arrived with a full stomach.  If the wax was right we also arrived without having raised a sweat.

But on some days it was difficult to match the wax with the changing snow conditions.  The running joke was that it is difficult waxing conditions today.  It didn't matter what day it was!  Ah, I am being a tad unfair.  Goran was our wax expert and most of the time the wax was just perfect for the first hour or so, and on some occasions, the whole day.  We were very grateful for his expertise in this area.  But with fresh snow, wind blown snow, old snow, icy conditions, and very wet melting snow all occurring on the same day it was inevitable we had to change wax a few times on some days.

Taking a break at a wind shelter.

Sometimes the red crosses
went for ever and ever.

A good weather day at minus twelve
 - and the blue wax was excellent
 - thanks Goran!.

The required arty shot.

White, white and more white.

A dog team nearby.
They move very quickly,
much faster than a skier.
Indeed a skier is often towed behind.

Black, white and red crosses.

Only the skis knew uphill from
downhill as we descended the
pass at Tjaktjapasset

A great shot of a handsome man!

Snowy hummocks in a stream bed.

I just loved my orange boots!

It is a wide expansive landscape.

A loving cuddle was always appreciated.

More expansive landscape.
We are but ants.

...and all alone.

Surveying the next steps.

Marg contemplating her existence
as the clouds roll in.

Two Aussie reindeers

Wood cutting was a daily
requirement for most huts.

We made a number of new friends on the trip.  With a multi-day trip and staying in huts you essentially travel as part of a larger cohort of others doing the same route.  Arriving at Singi I teamed up with Joachim, one half of a German couple we befriended, to collect water.  The warden instructed us to follow the red poles that snaked down to the creek.  There we would find the water hole.  The wind had been blowing hard and long that day, and we trudged through fluffy snow from pole to pole until we could see no more, and it was only after climbing nearby snowy knolls that we spyed a further pole line well to our right and snaking further down the valley.  About seven hundred metres later we arrived at the spot that was supposedly the water hole.  There was a bucket with a rope attached, a spade and two orange poles.  There were no other poles in sight.  The snow cover was perfectly flat, there was no indication of a hole or even where it might be.  With no better alternative we started digging and re-dug a ice filled hole about half a metre deep.  Then it stopped.  But the hole should be snow filled, not ice filled so we again looked to confirm we were at the right spot.  We must be!!  How else would you explain the bucket.

Goran with our German friends
Joachim and Andrea.

At this time the wind picked up and our twenty litre plastic water containers went sailing across the snow.  We both achieved our personal best in the ensuing chase, returning to our 'water hole' breathless but at least with the two containers.  Perplexed, Joachim walked around the water hole area trying to understand what was going on.  Clunk! I next saw one of his legs thigh deep in snow and a grimace on his face as pain shot up from his knee.  He had apparently fallen into the snowed-in water hole.  He managed to extract himself and to contain his pain so we started digging.  A grey plastic water hole lining was spied so we knew we were on the right track.  About a metre down there was still no water, just more snow and that was becoming increasingly difficult to extract as we had to spade it nearly vertically.

Some others arrived with their water containers and assured us we were digging at the right spot.  Together we took turns deepening the hole and at about two metres struck some sandy water.  The creek was nearly empty but we were able to extract enough to fill the containers.

The wardens are voluntary and some are more diligent than others.  Normally there are three orange poles around water holes and the hole is covered by a large lid that keeps the snow out.  At most you might need to dig out freshly fallen snow and recut some steps down to the lid.  This particular warden apparently did not seem to be too concerned about the state of his water hole.  Joachim and his damaged knee had a slightly different view of the situation!

But all was good.  His knee was not so damaged that he could not continue snow shoeing.  Yes, that is right.  He and his partner, Andrea had snow-shoed where we were skiing.  Skiing is faster provided the conditions are right - and that means it is not too steep and the wax is good.

Singi to Kebnekaise was an expecially exciting trip.  It is about twelve kilometres, so not very far, but the wind was up that morning and was expected to worsen later that day.  Thankfully the temperatures were relatively warm, about minus 5 to zero, and the wind was behind us.

Well did we fly!

There was very little effort expended that day save holding our arms out to catch the wind.  It pushed us along at quite a pace, sometimes gusting so we had to put the brakes on occasionally.  The gusts were very strong.  On one occasion I stopped to help Marg tighten her boots and before we knew it we were surging forward so we both just instinctively fell knowing that we would be out of control in no time flat.  It was pretty exciting.

Piling on the warm layers.

Wind blown snow on the
day we left Kebnekaise.

The following day the wind had further picked up and skiing out from Kebnekaise was not advisable.  We ended up taking the Sami sleds to Nikkaluokta.  The sleds are cold.  We were advised to rug up with everything we had for the ninty minute ride (about 20 km).  And they meant everything.  I left with eight layers on top: two thin icebreaker long sleeved shirts, a thermal sleeping top, my winter ski top, a down vest, my winter polar fleece, my windproof layer and the top layer was a set of thermal overalls provided by the Sami.  Marg was the same.  It worked: only our toes got cold.

Fun in the sled!

We went as part of a convoy of a large snow-cat towing a container sized box that served as emergency shelter in case we could not get through.  Following this were two powerful snowmobiles, each towing twelve people in a sled and each also towing a gear sled behind.  The Sami knew the route well.  They needed to.  It was hard to see the pole line that marked the route.  We could usually see the snow mobile driver but the sled in front and the snow-cat were often hidden behind the wall of white wind blown snow that constantly inundated us.  It would have been very dangerous to have attempted to ski in these conditions.  A cheer went up when we reached the safety of Nikkaluokta.

Cheers at Nikkaluokta.

A celebratory champagne once home!