18th day, Sälka–Gautelishytta

The birds seem startled by a hiker appearing so early.

Before long I turn off the Kungsleden. The path narrows immediately. I enter a green valley where the trail fades in and out, with no markings, and water tumbles down from the mountain every now and then. Hopping from tussock to tussock along the slope is exhausting. My pack is heavy now, carrying food for nine days.

An older man comes from the other direction. His message is simple: from here on, it’s easy.

I stop for a picnic by the shore of a long lake ringed with flowers. The water deepens abruptly, dropping into shadowy depths. These lakes—so clear, so steeply edged—make my head spinning.

Later I find two Swedish girls sitting by a river. They point out where to ford. The crossing is long but successful.

Beyond the river valley, the landscape turns rocky. The trail still appears and disappears. Between the stones gleam hidden lakes. At a junction to Hukejaure at last orange markers appear, and for much of the way the trail is visible again. Snow patches. Water gurgles everywhere, and in the mud are the footprints of those who walked before me. Though the evening sunlight is golden, fatigue sets in. My feet are long since soaked, so I slosh straight through streams and bogs without hesitation. Finally, an open view of Gautelisvatnet: a boat cuts into the sunset, leaving a long silver stripe on the water.

Before the hut there are still snowfields to cross, streams to wade. Normally I use my poles only for river crossings or to pitch the tent, but now, at the end of this long day, there’s no point strapping them back to my pack. The entire landscape feels like one vast river crossing.

In the hut is a Swedish lad, and two empty rooms. While I eat, a man from a neighboring cabin stops by, reporting that hikers ahead were forced to wade through chest-deep water. That is something I so not want to do. Could I then go directly from Røsvatn to Ritsem? No, the bridge is broken, and the river there cannot be forded. It seems the only option is to turn back toward Hukejaure, then continue via Sitasjaure to Ritsem, and take a boat across the lake to Vaisaluokta. That way I could have a rest day tomorrow and split two long days into shorter ones, still reaching Kvikkjokk in time to meet Kalle as planned. Yet turning back is always hard, and I don’t want to trade the Norwegian huts for the Swedish ones. We pore over the maps all evening.

35 km today. Probably the most exhausting day so far.