7th day, Somashytta-Kuonarjoki

Mosquitoes have not woken up yet, I can leave alone. The cabin is cleaner than when I arrived, that much I can do for the Norwegians.

After a kilometer I’m in Finland that looks exactly the same as Norway. Same rocks, same crowberries. The border is marked with piles of rocks, painted yellow, that for the birds probably look the same as all other rocks.

Before the first Finnish hut a river had been spread out on the landscape. The Kuopmajoki hut is small, charming, and clean. Much cleaner than the Norwegian huts. I haven’t yet come across any paid Norwegian huts, though. Now that I’ve just become a member of the DNT (Den Norske Turistforening) and have imported into the European Union the key that opens the doors to all the huts… 

I cross a long, hot stone desert. Clambering over rocks radiating heat is exhausting. The awakened mosquitoes don’t make things any easier. One has to choose between sweating in a rain jacket or itching without it. I try both to get the full experience. There’s a sound of a bell but the reindeer who likely goes with it, is nowhere to be seen.

At the foot of the mountain lies Pihtsusjärvi, with the Halti base camp on its shore. This means a huge crowd of people, since among foreigners it is common knowledge that it’s every Finn’s duty to climb Finland’s highest peak and look up at the neighboring Norwegian mountains. A huge crowd here means five tents around the hut; inside the hut I meet three young Finns, and on my way out I pass another 5–6 people. Yesterday I didn’t see a single person all day.

As I leave, a dark cloud begins to rise in the direction I’m heading, with flashes of lightning inside it. The Finnish hikers said there’s a thunderstorm warning for Halti today or tomorrow. I’ve been promised, of course, that it won’t rain all the way to Kilpisjärvi and beyond, but I still glance anxiously at the cloud, trying to guess how far away the storm is. That turns out to be a tricky task, since a pleasant wind that has picked up and the river rushing alongside the trail drown out every other sound. Instead of admiring the mighty Pihtsusköngäs waterfall, I end up staring at the cloud, taking only half the break such a waterfall deserves. The trail winds together with the river, and I spot the first trees of the day. Clouds of different colors also mean the landscape has gained another dimension and that there’s more to photograph. It’s a slightly nervous kind of photographing.

Eventually, the cloud drifts away altogether, but another rises behind me. Now I have to keep looking over my shoulder, which on this rocky ground is not exactly healthy. Meekonjärvi comes into view, with Saivaara towering behind it. Around the lake are boulders covered in calligraphic lichen. In short, a very picturesque place. I don’t stop there, though. The final part remains of today’s planned journey, and I hope to cover as much of it as possible being dry.

I catch up with a limping man whose backpack is oddly sagging, with various items dangling from it, and something whistling in the wind. As I pass, I ask if he’s all right, and I find out that he’s English-speaking, optimistic, and on the same path as me. His friend is walking ahead. I pass them both. We climb up the slope. The louder the thunder booms and crashes, the more dramatic the views become. A sunbeam crosses with a rainbow against the dark cloud. All around, it’s raining. There are no mosquitoes. I put on my rain gear, lose faith in the rain, and take it off again. The rain finally comes three kilometers before Kuonarjoki but only briefly.

The hut is full of people. I retreat outside, where it’s drizzling again, but the air is cooler. When the rain stops, the mosquitoes return instantly. By the time it finally starts to rain properly, I’ve already fallen asleep and don’t worry about whether the tent will withstand the wind.

35 km, the longest day so far.