16th day, Abisko–Alesjaure

Breakfast at the tourist station starts at seven. I usually hit the trail about that time. So start is one hour delayed today.

I set out on the Kungsleden, Sweden’s best-known trail, which will match with my own path for the next two days. During the first hour I encounter only three fellow hikers, but soon I reach a large encampment. People shuffle about with toothbrushes still in their mouths, wearing Crocs, carrying brightly colored bags. From that point on, scarcely a quarter of an hour passes without someone approaching or passing me as I pause. The trail itself is worn broad, the vegetation kept at bay by countless boots. In places it turns stony. Wooden planks are set across wet ground and boulder fields, bridges over the rivers. The mosquitoes are smaller here than in Norway.

Clouds shroud the peaks above. The trail climbs higher, out of the birch woods. The rocks multiply, the going grows slower  but the views grow finer. I rest now and then on a stone. Watch an orange bumblebee. Watch people stride past. Later, I overtake them again. The people, not the bumblebee. I still don’t understand why so many trinkets and utensils must dangle from the sides of packs. Nobody lingers to talk. Curious, how a crowded path seems to offer less human contact. Everyone reduced to interchangeable, anonymous figures.

A bird blocks the trail. A grouse, perhaps. It simply stands, unbothered by my presence. A chick scurries out, wisely dashing for cover. The mother clucks at me from a nearby bush, then retreats. Odd.

Higher up the air grows cooler, until the sun begins to free itself of the clouds. A pale-green lake glimmers below. More and more tents appear beside the trail. After clambering over a reindeer fence, I notice a sign: five kilometers to the boat, which departs every ninety minutes. Perhaps not such a bad idea. Seven fewer kilometers to walk, my legs would be grateful. I would arrive earlier. And the boatman could buy something nice for himself.

After a bit of waiting the boat appears and takes all hikers onboard who have gathered at the pier.

Alesjaure is Sweden’s largest mountain lodge. I cannot shake the sense that I’ve stepped, uninvited, into someone’s shared apartment. The shop offers odd provisions. Breakfast is a particular struggle. From freeze-dried meals there’s only Sweden’s own Blå Band. You won’t starve on it but it’s no delicacy.

Today was the first day my toes, socks and shoes stayed dry.

28.5 kilometers on foot, 6.3 kilometers by boat.