20th day, Skoaddejávre–Sitashytta

The wind that whistled about the hut in the night has fallen still. There are no mosquitoes either. Perhaps here, too, it is still early spring, even for them.

We cross undulating ground, ford a few streams. The cliffs grow more and more sculpted, while smaller stones lie scattered in no particular order. A light breeze makes the walking pleasant; at this altitude the sun does not bring oppressive heat. Water descends in steps toward the valley floor, where the gravel road, my companion for the afternoon, can already be seen. But first there is the scramble down. Suddenly, willows, dwarf birches, and grasses appear among the rocks.

After a picnic between the power line and the road, I leave Nikodemus eating and splashing in a trickle of water, and begin along the gravel track on my own. The road radiates heat, rises and falls, and crosses twice into Sweden. From time to time, a turquoise lake comes into view. The stones that would serve as seats are always a little apart from the road, separated by ditch-like ground. More often than not, I don’t bother to reach them, and don’t sit.

By Lake Sitasjaure, flowers bloom in abundance, mostly willowherb. I take time watching the bumblebees.

At the hut is a family with a child. I go sit into the lake, which here is not deep, and later I watch with envy as the toddler is fed cucumber and carrot.

Over dinner, I get a glimpse of Scandinavian life, listening to a Swede and some Danes living in Norway talk about their lives. Language and culture change smoothly across borders; often those who live on either side of a frontier have more in common than people from opposite ends of the same country. It is an intriguing thought.

Today: 21.1 km. Twenty days walked, a third of the time still ahead.