A few weeks ago, as winter finally released its grip, I headed to the Highlands for the beginning of a new chapter in my wanderings. This trip was much anticipated. A run of office bound time in London as spring burst in to life around me had me itching to get out. Relish to that was a brand new packraft and a head full of dreams of a new way of travelling the wild. A prolonged winter had left my local reservoir too cold to venture in without an expensive dry suit and I was desperate for some much needed time on the water.

I didn't take long to settle on a location for this inaugural trip. Assynt boasts not only iconic mountains but a loch system that makes travel by water for extended periods not only feasible but incredibly joyful. Excellent preparation, I thought, for my first trip with the raft to Sweden in June.

A new way to getting to Scotland as I fly to Inverness after work as well adds to the sense of a new chapter. Whilst I had to grind through Gatwick the plus was being able to make the connecting bus to Lochinver via Ullapool the following morning which would have been unachievable on the Sleeper. By lunchtime I'm heading out of Lochinver and into that iconic landscape. As I climb along the banks of the River Kirkaig and ascend towards Fionh Loch the bulk of Suilven greets me, the fulcrum of this trip and one of Scotland's finest mountains.

This is certainly a new venture for me but the basics are easy to grasp. Camp set that first evening on Fionh Loch I prepare the raft. It's fairly straightforward and with a bit of practice you can be ready in about fifteen minutes or so. I launch into the choppy waters of the loch but it doesn't take long to get a sense of the boat. I begin to enjoy myself as I paddle a few hundred meters from my camp, out into the midst of the loch and quickly gaining an entirely different perspective on my surroundings.

Next morning and I feel I am doing this for real. I break camp, pack away and make sure everything is secure as I fasten my pack to the bow. I head east along the loch with Suilven to my side for several kilometres through the course of the morning. The next phase of my training is a portage as I cross from Fionh Loch to Loch Sionasgaig, a couple of miles across country but amply rewarded as I arrive at this island studded slice of paradise. An isolated loch, encircled by some of Scotland's best hills, and with not a soul in sight.

And as I paddle to a wooded island which will be my home for the night the appeal of packrafting is wholly clear to me. For relatively little weight water is no longer an obstacle, it's a vast opportunity opening up routes through wilderness and the opportunity to access land which few, if any, visit.

In the midst of native forest, on the delightful island of Sgerain Dubha, I make camp. As the wind drops and the loch stills, serenity simply as evening light shades the landscape. It's a memorable night on that sliver of land.

Saturday sees me head north and a rendezvous with Marc. More portage this time as I return to Fionn Loch but in this instance a few miles down from the day before. I spend several hours in the raft that day as I navigate across a connecting loch system to Loch Veyatie before packing the boat away and hiking across the flanks of Suilven.

Camp is a spot I enjoyed four years ago on the start of a ten dayer through Assynt and Sutherland. Loch Na Gainimh offers a sumptuous flat pitch of fresh grass at it's eastern end and I'm quickly settled in.

Not much to do the next day as Marc is to arrive in the evening. A lie in is planned but that is scuppered as I am forced out of the tent by the heat of the morning. nothing for it then but to inflate that raft and paddle the raft before a spot of lunch. A snooze and then more paddling before I begin to anticipate Marc's arrival. There he is at five, making his way along the estate path, bearing beer and steaks. We certainly enjoy the evening.

This has been a hugely successful trip, blessed by the weather but ultimately one in which I've come to grips with the very basics of packrafting. I'm under no illusions though, this is the start of a very long journey and whitewater is a world away from a benign windless loch. But as I fly south I'm optimistic and begin to really relish the prospect of two trips to Sweden and Finland later in the year. This is the start of something.

Ill post a little more with my thoughts on the beginning of my packraft journey before I head to Sjaunja at the end of June. There's some key differences in preparing for this type of trip and I've some thoughts too on how to modify the boat. The prospect of those big watercourses in Sweden is simply delicious, I can't wait!

March comes and I'm back hauling my winter outfit to Northern Scandinavia, a return to one of my old hefts, beautiful Jamtland. The snow rich winter that Scotland has enjoyed is ten fold there and I know I'm in for a treat as I pack my gear up into my rig and fly to Norway's coastal city of Trondheim in anticipation of the short train journey to Storulvan the next day. Winter, once very much the off season for me, has now become my favourite time of year. Summer is about sweat, insects and the feeling you should be making distance. Winter is a more relaxed time, you just need the right gear and a good skill set and you're away.

Over several seasons I think my winter tool kit is assembled and I know what I'm doing enough to push on next year to longer journeys in more remote country. Living in deep cold and working with the medium of snow has taken some learning but I think finally that I've grasped enough of the fundamentals to move onto the next level and some ambitious boreal winter trips. I spent six nights out of seven this trip living in temperatures as low as -28 degrees c and for the main I lived comfortably. I'll admit I've got the fact that a lightweight hot tent rig is the key ace in the pack and if you master the basic backcountry skills to keep your stove burning hot then nights out in deep cold become more than tolerable.

I'm going to keep my powder dry on a lot of what I've worked out through trial and error as well as having had some guidance from those more accomplished than me. The reason for this is that I'm to pen a feature for 'The Great Outdoors' magazine, out sometime next winter. That will be part guide but perhaps most importantly a celebration of winter travel and the much underrated author Kevin Rutstrum. For Rutstrum winter was THE time for backcountry travel and he devoted his life to honing an incisive knowledge of thriving in what he considered to be conditions close to a paradise. His writings are still relevant today and perhaps most importantly are deeply inspiring.

Suffice to say I had a good seven days in Jamtland and my desire to stay outside and avoid the comfort that the huts could provide (save for a night in Gasen, my rig is not meant for the very high ground of winter fells) says it all. There were some challenges of course but these tend to be the start of the learning curve. Dealing with 'green' birch is always difficult and I fared the best I could when this was the only wood around. Deep cold too on the final nights when my sleeping system was at the limits of it's functionality reminded me of that trade off between weight and performance (I use a two bag system so replacing the 'inner' bag with something slightly warmer is straightforward). But in the main I advanced my skill set and I was well rewarded.

Just a few simple adjustments to my kit means I was able to get the tent settled in deep snow much quicker. MSR snow stakes are worth their weight ten fold, the conductivity of a broad span of metal meant I could get the Drift Hot Tent up pretty sharpish and get on with other chores. The purchase of a pulk bag too from Snowsled (now Aiguille) and just organising and transporting my kit became much easier. Clothing too; Paramo threw my way a pair of Enduro Trousers and they were fantastic legwear for the entire week. Not cheap but a real investment if you need a resilient pair of trousers across a broad range of temperatures.

I'll say again my lightweight stove is a real servant to me. Without it 'cold tenting' would present a very different trip. Dealing with Brennen of Liteweight outdoors has been a pleasure and I've been in contact with him again recently to order some spares. A fantastic system and well worth the money as I expect to get years from it. See here for details. 

Get everything right and a winter trip to the sub-arctic is really like nothing else. There's a harsh beauty which is compelling and the interplay of light of snow. And if you're blessed with sunshine then there is nowhere else to be. There is a visceral joy in being out in these sorts of conditions.

Perhaps the most important thing on a winter trip is a sense of resilience and a desire to work hard. There's always chores to be done and I found myself racing every evening to have everything ready before sundown. As the sun dipped it simply felt like a switch had been flicked and quite promptly temperatures way colder than your typical domestic freezer bit hard.

But this light hot tent system works and every night I was cocooned in warmth when, just outside that micro thin layer of silnylon temperatures, were nudging minus thirty c. Whilst perhaps in many instances a cotton tent might be better (such as a Snowtrekker) this little system is potable enough to be borne on your back (as I have done so many times now in Scotland).

After a week out I returned to the earthly delights of a hostel and a hot shower with mixed feelings. Delight at another successful trip but I must admit I relished being in a centrally heated building and washing in hot water!

I look forward over the coming months to penning my article and consolidating my thoughts on a light weight approach to snowshoeing and hot tents. If this sort of thing appeals to you and you would like to get to grips at least with the principles I would suggest a listen to this podcast by Paul Kirtley. 

After my bimble a return to camp and then a comfortable night in the rather mild temperatures. Perfection indeed, none of the biting insects of the warmer months but equally an absence of numbing cold. I pottered that Saturday evening and readied myself for a trip up high the following morning.

With the next day dawning clear I was away early and simply followed a course north through bright morning sunshine, a day loaded with promise indeed.

Up to Beinn A Bhuird I stride, replacing 'bare boots' with snowshoes on the 800 metre mark. My Tubbs Mountaineers prove to be very useful, the crampons hold me well as I ascend a snow covered 45 degree slope with some ease.

It's an incredible day to be out and as I gain height the fullness of the Cainrgorms in winter is revealed. Simply an arresting sight as I pause on my ascent to take it all in.

The snow's crisp and firm up top, scoured no doubt by the likes of the cold wind which bites as I skirt the corries. Down below Dubh Lochan where I'd spent an idyllic August camp.

And all around far reaching views, not least the central plateau, all ice white.

Perhaps this is the way to do snowshoeing in Scotland I muse as I descend. It's certainly been an easy and enjoyable way to explore the high places with a light load. My trip in December was more difficult with a five day backpacking load causing me to struggle through fresh powder. Simply the lack of snow coverage in Scotland to justify a pulk, consequently your weight is not distributed across the snow and you just have to fight every step more.

An easy going Sunday night caps a peaceful weekend. It's a delight to return to my ready made camp after a day on the hill and have to do nothing more than simply brew up. A walkout the next day and a bus journey to Aberdeen.

Another Cairngorm trip over and sadness as I leave the peace of the Glen and travel first to the bustle of Aberdeen and then ultimately the grind of London. Much to look forward to though. I'm back to Sweden in March for a less balmy snowshoeing trip which should lead to a magazine feature next winter. I've been falling into the 'zone' by reading the enjoyable 'Paradise Below Zero', an arguable classic by a writer who is little known in the UK it seems.

I'll be up in Scotland in April after that. It's in my blood now. I'll try flying and see how that works, the advantage of living near Gatwick may mean it's feasible though the convenience of the Sleeper will be hard to replace. Hopefully, back to the Cairngorms in May as I seek to gain enough competence with a pack raft to make a trip to Sjaunja in Swedish Lappland viable.

Taking snow shoes up to Scotland has been a hit and miss affair in recent years. Last year saw me spend an entire five days with them strapped to my pack, I'd rushed up there after a large dump of snow in late November to find I'd missed it by days as I hiked in sometimes balmy weather more reminiscent of autumn. Scottish winter seems quite emphemeral, existing more in the memories of those who had patrolled the hills in the Seventies and Sixties than the present day.

This time I was a little more optimistic, heavy snow the weekend before and reports of Cairngorm skiing in full swing had me heading up on a planned trip with some hope. An opportunity perhaps to prep a little before a return to Sweden in March and reacquaint myself with my Tubbs Mountaineers.

Late December blackness at I pull the blind on the Sleeper as it stands at Dalwhinnie. The platform is covered in snow and as I busy myself to arrive in Aviemore I'm pleased that it looks like I might be in luck. Aviemore is reached on schedule and there is time for a second bacon roll of the morning and more tea before the friendly Gerry of Gerry's Taxis has me up at the ski centre at around 9am as light begins to pierce the December gloom.

Coire Cas is loaded with snow and its quite the winter scene, early morning skiers head for the lifts as I get ready for the off. Winter climbers too heading towards the Northern Corries and I trail a couple of them. My plan for the day is a rather simple one. I want to climb onto the perimeter of the plateau and peer down into the Lairig Ghru.

As I climb I reminded how physically demanding snow shoeing can be, its a work out certainly. This time there's not the weight distribution you get with a pulk. With a five day backpacking pack on my weight is much more centred and consequently I have to work harder. It's a useful reminder to keep my cardio fitness and a high standard is required for March. I remember the effort it took to ascend to Blahammeren last year.

I get my sparkling Cairngorm day though, by midday I peering into the Ghru and its quite a sight. Large parts of the Highlands shine too in the clearest of winter days, the Ghru is choked with snow and I wonder as to whether it would be an easy journey to pass through it. To the south the Devils Point is proud and it's an arresting scene.

It's winter so I've an eye on the time. I anticipate my first night in the fringes of Rothiemurchus. Its a surprisingly difficult journey down in thick snow and I'm again reminder how long winter travel can take. On rocky ground I remove my snow shoes and then I find myself post holing to my knees before I'm donning them again.

Into the treeline as darkness falls and I get ready for the night by setting up the hot tent and stove. I've been asked several times on social media as to whether setting up this little system is a time consuming matter. With a practiced hand I can now assemble the stove, a LiteOutdoors 12inch, in fifteen minutes (if you want a little more detail on all aspects of the stove then see the collection of videos here). Obviously you need wood. I generally reckon on around 30 minutes to cut and prepare enough for a few hours. A combination of sawing small logs and the quartering by batoning, this means you can reach the driest wood for a really hot blaze. You'll need two bits of additional kit for this, a basic knife and saw such as this .

The next day and a half is an easy meander through the treeline as I head to Glen Feshie where I am to meet Marc for Saturday night. I love the forests of the Cairngorms and traveling through the old pines is a sensual experience in the snow.

I spend Friday night deep in Inshriach, hiking hard off trail into the heart of the forest. If you look at a map of the Boreal forest you'll see it extends as far south a Scotland. In this snow it's easy to conceive of that.

This is a trip of bothies too. Inshriach brings Drakes which is fairly basic. The most striking perhaps in Scotland can be found in Feshie and I pass Ruigh Aitachean a little after lunchtime on Saturday. There's a man chopping wood outside and he stops to talk to me, Lindsey is keen to show off the bothy but Im conscious of the dying of the light and want to get to my favoured place at the far end of the glen.

Saturday night is a festive one. Marc arrives on a mountain bike carrying beer, wine and sausage rolls (my request!). We roast by the fire until the early hours of Sunday morning before heading to bed. Marc's in full bikepacking mode and he's in a bivvy. Next day is a slow one and I bid Marc farewell at lunchtime before I spend a very slow day preparing for another long night. Rain pulses in through the glen intermittently as I work. Consequently I light the fire early and my work brings me a hot pure blaze that night.

As Monday dawns I'm conscious I've a bit of a journey back to Aviemore. I opt for the high route over the Mhoine Mhor and hope for another day on the snow shoes. First though, as I promised him, I pop into the bothy for a quick tour. Lindsey is expecting me

It's incredible the change that the long restoration has bought. The work is of the highest quality and the once standard dingy interior is bright and welcoming. There are two Jotul stoves pumping out heat and the insulation that's been built into the bothy means it feels as warm as any standard domestic house.

Lindsey is the local MBA rep and he's clearly in the bothy for an extended stay. He explains the estate's vision for this bothy, one that perhaps is intended to attract a slightly less experienced bothy crowd. The estate is going to take a keen interest in the daily running of this bothy too with ghillies and other workers ensuring that visitors know that they are around and a certain standard of behaviour is expected.

Personally, I think that's reasonable but that may not be to everyone's expectation of what bothying is about. I resist Lindsey's offer of a coffee and he understands that I've a long journey ahead.

The rest of the day is a proper winter journey. As I climb onto the Mhoine Mhor it's clear that the only way I'm going to get across this with any expedience is to don my snow shoes. The scene is incredible, I really feel I've slipped into Britain's arctic as this huge white space reveals itself.

The snowshoeing is hugely enjoyable. This snow is packed and consolidated and it's very easy to travel across.

The real challenge of the day comes in the descent to Loch Einich. The summer path is obscured by snow and ice and as I descend I quickly realise that this is a potentially very dangerous place to be. I don spikes and have my ice axe in hand and one section of steep ice demands my full concentration. Simply it is a relief to reach the loch as darkness starts to fall. I then have a long journey along the estate paths to Coylumbridge by the light of my head torch.

I'm back in Aviemore after being picked up by Gerry with just enough time for a quick visit to the chip shop before I jump on the Sleeper. I'm grateful for my bed that night and really feel the day.

A good winter trip though, the last day particularly as my snow shoes were less of a toy and more of a serious aid to the journey. The hot tent as ever is a joy and makes long winter night very pleasurable. It makes living in cold and wet weather easy and I'm surprised more people don't do it. Above all another 'shakedown' before Sweden in March where the temperatures are much more serious. Some points to think about not least the need to keep a high standard of physical fitness. 

Winter's here and with it a different style of backpacking. Short days and long nights in the context of cold. I used to feel it almost a pointless season to venture out in. Why subject yourself to the discomfort of the conditions and try and squeeze some meaning out of the few hours of daylight? Stay indoors and wait till Spring, that's when the real business starts!

But in recent years I've had some of my best outings. Indeed, I'm working towards long extended trips, either on snowshoe or ski, in Scandinavia throughout the long snowbound season. Winter has an advantage, not least in Sweden or Norway it can be easier to travel across snow covered ground than battling the terrain that the summer can expose.

That's less of an issue in the UK but winter brings something else, it gives a depth of wildness to our hills and can really intensify the experiencing of being out. Get it right and some of the best trips of the year are to be had in our remaining big space.

I start this winter season with a five day run through Galloway. My first trip to the Borders in January made clear to me that here lies a real alternative to the Highlands. I start this one from the small town of Newton Stewart in Dumfries and spend a leisurely four days meandering through the 'highlands of the lowlands'.

Not so much a trip through the hills but amongst them. I wanted to check out a couple of the bothies in the Forest Park and got a sense of how they're used. My first day out takes me past White Laggan which was occupied by four friendly lads from Stoke. I pop my head around the door a little after lunch and they're very much at home with a roaring fire and a stack of beer. Easily achieved as they've driven here down the forest tracks and had a walk of no more than 500 metres to the bothy from the car. That said I would have happily spent the night in their company and politely decline both their offer of tea and beer.

My purpose really this trip is to reacquaint myself with my hot tent. I'll be back in Sweden in March so a few trips before then seems like a good idea. It's a slightly different form of being out, one that really demands a ready access to wood to make it as organic as possible.

It's also absurdly comfortable and this trip is no exception. For my first couple of nights I find the flattest pitch possible by Loch Dee and set camp. No easy feat, Galloway has some of the roughest ground I've encountered. I was warned by my Paddy Dillon guidebook mind, he recounts advice given by the OMM Mountain Marathon which threatens it's competitors with some of the hardest going in the British hills.

Loch Dee though is an idyll. Framed in it's winter garb it is striking and time slips by during my two night stay.

And it's cold too. I'm in a sheltered pitch but venture out to collect fuel or water and the wind cuts deep off the loch. Only an hour or so from Glasgow but this place feels like a real wilderness in these conditions.

But I've a hearth and home to retreat to and the experience is sumptuous. Spruce gives decent firewood and with a bit of work with my saw and knife I expose dry resinous wood. Evenings are blissful with whisky and wine. Company through the BBC Radioplayer and I indulge myself in the adaption of Joseph Conrad's biography.

On the Sunday I pack up and move north. There's a little more work in packing up the tent and stove but I'm pleased that from waking I can be breakfasted and away in 90 mins.

Reluctantly I leave Loch Dee and take a high line around the hills to my next destination.

Down below is the Backhill O Bush and I'm keen to visit this second Galloway bothy. In the park the bothies have a reputation for vandalism and as drinking dens. On this Sunday morning I pick up the forestry road and am surprised to have to stand aside for three cars and a caravan. Two walkers a few minutes later confirm that the bothy was full last night and people are making their way out.

But the bothy is in good order as I push the latch on the door. Still warm from a roaring stove the only real sign of the night before is a smell of frying hanging in the air. It's heartening to see that both bothies are in good nick and respected by their users.

One last night in the tent and then the walk out to Dalmellington. I have another comfortable night and the contrast between the warmth inside and the foul conditions out is marked. So with kit and techniques reacquainted with I feel ready for the season ahead.

Winter's here, enjoy it!

Alex Roddie, the TGO Online Editor, has put together a rather nice feature on the appeal of Scandinavia to UK walkers. A nice looking piece which is very well put together.
Read it here.

But look at this place and the neigbouring Russian lands through another lens and you can see that there is a singularity too and a sense of a broader region. The Kola Penisula is home to Russia's Samis and with Finnmark and the provinces to the south this is Sapmi of course and a significant part of it too. It's part of the Barents Region as well, a post Cold War concept of a region of co-operation between Russia, Norway, Sweden and Finland which is a legacy to a less fractious time.

I'm to have a sense of all these competing narratives concerning Finnmark over the course of the ten days. My appreciation properly starts with an unplanned extended stay in Kirkenes which extends to two nights instead of the anticipated one.

My walk plan is a start from Karasjok and a steady journey north to Alta with a significant detour to the Norwegian National Park of Stabbursdalen. Karasjok lies a four hour bus journey from Kirkenes. I'd been in email contact with the bus company who had informed me that the bus would leave at 1500hrs on the day of my arrival. This, I assumed, gave me enough time to get into town and importantly to buy gas before heading on the bus to the Sami town of Karasjok and a night there before hitting the trail the following morning.

Kirkenes certainly proves a good place to buy the last minute essentials and has several excellent options for outdoor supplies. What is less good is the failure of the bus to turn up when I expected it. I contacted the bus company as I stood forlornly by the bus stop and was told that the bus only ran twice a week and that I would have to wait until tomorrow.

In some ways this proves to be a blessing. The weather is wet and nasty and I would have had a rough first day on the trail consequently. An extra night in Kirkenes gives me an opportunity to visit the excellent museum before eventually getting the bus the following afternoon.

The bus journey itself is an interesting experience. One of my fellow passengers is a Russian from Murmansk who is travelling to his work at a fish processing factory in Norway. I have a good conversation with him as his English is excellent. He's worried about the significant portion of the journey to Karasjok which takes us through Finland. He's loaded up with Russian booze and doesn't fancy a hefty customs charge if we are pulled up at the border post.

Despite the bus journey lasting four hours I enjoy the scenery. I get a real sense of the wilderness up here as the hours tick by. The extent of lake and boreal forest is delicious and sets me to dream about future trips. This is a place of real possibility and I've a notion for an extended trip up here one day which would see me through northern Finland and completing at Karasjok.

It's autumn of course and we pass through endless golden birch forests. Darkness falls at around 1900 and I arrive at Karasjok at dusk and walk through the drizzle to the comfort of my hotel. Next morning though dawns dry and it's clear that the grim weather of the last forty eight hours has passed. Its time to begin.

The first part of my walk is essentially following the majority of an old postal road across the plateau to Alta and once again I've inspiration from Connie Roos' book 'Walking in Norway'.

This quiet little guide book has proved an invaluable reference to the mountains of Norway over the years. I learnt with some sadness that she had died in a freak storm in Corsica, I guess her legacy though is one of the only guidebooks in English to the Norwegian fells.

Perhaps fittingly you'll find this walk at the very end of the book, the sole bimble in a section entitled 'the Far North'. Reading it gave me the sense that this was an easy going venture and this is what's drawn me here. but stick solely to that and perhaps you'll miss something. My plan equally for this one is a venture into Stabbursdalen NP

And so on a brightening Saturday morning I set off from the Scandic Hotel in Karasjok and pick up the pace along 10km of highway to Assebakti from where I'll begin to head up onto the plateau itself.

It's always strange the first few hours of a walk. The pack, full to the gunnels with 8 days food, is obviously at it's heaviest. I've had a very extended journey to get to my start point and it's taken from Wednesday afternoon to Saturday morning before this point. I feel a staleness that I want to shake off as I begin a highway trudge west. But the colours are glorious and I'm heading out in a relaxed mood. It's September, perhaps the best month to be out in the Scandinavian wilds. The heat and humidity of summer have gone, with that the many mosquitos that plagued me only five weeks ago in Lapland. I am a little regretful at leaving Karasjok. Another day here and I would have had an opportunity to look around the Sami Cultural Centre and the Parliament too. A small workshop making Sami knives would have tempted me considerably.

By five pm I've broken through the birch forest that guards the flanks of the plateau and picked up the crude track of the old postal road. Once that initial battle was fought then the walking promises to be relatively easy. That promise is essentially kept over the next few days as I follow it in a north-westerly direction until breaking into Stabbursdalen and more challenging terrain.

But that's not to say that there isn't difficulty on those initial days. Whilst the plateau is essentially flat and dry at times there's the usual sub-arctic mire. Additionally, there is little infrastructure here and river crossings throw up some interesting moments.

The first days pass incredibly quickly. The weather is static almost, grey but dry and essentially mild. I sleep the sleep of the dead for the first three nights too. The ground is flat and welcoming pitches are abundant as I cross the mainly flat plateau. From the outset though I can see Stabbursdalen to the north with its relatively high fells. They're no giants but perspective lends them a grandeur and as I follow the old postal road I feel a sense of anticipation building as I pull closer.

If you wanted some form of accommodation on the old postal route then the first days offer two options. Old farms at Ravna and Mollisjok have state owned huts. If the weather had been foul those first couple of nights could have been spent indoors. But instead in this benign weather I enjoy a number of pleasing pitches as I roll up the distance over the course of the days. As Roos promises this is an easy going walk.

Reaching the old farm at Mollisjok has some significance. The hut warden there is the last person I'm to see for five glorious days and I break out on my route around the huge lake of Les'javri. This quasi inland sea takes almost two and a half days to reach it's northern shore from Mollis. I notice too that the path at Mollis splits though I follow my intended route. Whilst the old postal route is marked in the direction of Joatka the E1 follows the eastern shore of the lake, I muse that the last time I was on the E1 in Norway was at it's very southern end in Femund. That is an incredible 2000km away and I wonder about the prospect of following it one day. But the walking is good for the here and now though this trail could have served me. Perhaps if I'd wanted a longer period in Stabbursdalen this would have got me there a little quicker.

In any event I enjoy my remaining time on the old postal route. There's something about the relative ease and tranquillity of this walk. I fall into a comfortable rhythm, up at 8 and away by 0930 with a 5 pm finish. A break for lunch and just steady in between.

The slight fly in the ointment is a deformed Thermarest Xtherm. This starts to develop a bulge on about night three which by the last night renders it effectively useless. Fortunately I'm an old timer and bought with me a closed cell foam mat which is strapped to the outside of my pack. That and a foil blanket give me enough insulation but I certainly don't sleep as soundly towards the end of my trip as I did at the beginning. I have moments when I awake at night as I hit a cold spot. To say I'm unimpressed with Thermarest's £150 mat is an understatement. We shall see what they say.

As the miles roll by the pack weight decreases. So many years backpacking but I still struggle to get the right amount of food. This time I get it about right and I certainly have enough to eat this trip without carrying too much equally. In August I was on the cusp of not enough food as was feeling depleted when I reached Narvik. Here though the balance is right and it adds to the sense of equilibrium that characterises this venture.

Stabbursdalen draws near as I round lesjavri and it's hard not to feel the anticipation build as I edge towards these most northern of fells. With their adornment of fresh snow there's a sense of adventure.

The ground too becomes more noticeably broken and I start to work harder. Gone is the ease in parts, I start to fight the terrain again.

There's a shift in the weather too on my fifth night. The wind blows harder and colder. A few nights too there's a smattering of rain across the fly sheet.

The boundary of Stabbursdalen is crossed and I enter true fell terrain. The landscape though at times is like nothing I've seen before and I am thrilled that I've spent so much time walking in Scandinavia and yet there is something constantly new.

A mix of bush, trees and watercourses as I climb higher into the fells of this national park. I begin to regret too the passing of time and I wish that I had longer to explore every intimate part of this place.

There are 'bua' or bothies here too and gaze wistfully at the map. I'll be back here one day I reckon. Perhaps a start from Lakselv in the east would give me the opportunity to see much more.

I've moved now from the 400m line of the plateau to a high fell terrain at around 1200m. The ground feels noticeably different and resolutely montane. The weather harshens too and the cold wind bites.

My most challenging pitch of the trip is at a 1000m tarn. Tired and cold I summon up enough energy to fasten the Drift 2 in a strong wind. I weigh the pegs down in the loose ground with boulders. Satisfied I seek shelter inside and get as comfortable as I can.

Probably the toughest night of the trip this one, the wind rocks the tent but the Drift2 holds well. It's cold and raw outside.

The xtherm has pretty much had it. I manage ok on a basic CCF mat and the foil blanket. I can't quite shake my annoyance that such a key and expensive piece of kit has failed.

Next day though and the foul weather has passed. I descend from the fells towards Stabburselva itself, the great river that cuts through Stabbursdalen. I've been looking forward to this bit and anticipate a night camped in the shelter of birch forest and a fire to boot.

It's a memorable day for sure. I pass through a Sami reindeer pasture and notice it's busy with quad bikes moving back and forth. They're driving the beasts off the fells and I stop and have a fairly long conversation with a number of them. It's good to chat, the first conversation in many days.

The grayness of the last week begins to shift and the autumn colours really blaze. I work out a potential crossing place of Stabburselva from a vantage point and a potential camp for the night. As I do I see movement in the woods below and an animal break cover. It's a huge bull elk and its quite a sight to see him cover open ground below.

Having crossed the river I select a pitch on a high bank at a very reasonable point in the mid afternoon. This gives me time for the gathering of wood and as darkness falls a sweet smelling birch fire begins to burn.

And as darkness passes and night takes hold, just as I hope, there are green pulses of light in the clear night sky. The Northern Lights ripple and I have no doubt at that moment as to why I come to places like this. It is a memorable moment, I am very much in the present and content. It is hard not to hold a sense of awe watching them in this place and by the warmth of a fire.

Next morning dawns gray again. Like the morning after the night before.

I pack up and head west. The goal is an exit out of the wilderness and some way into Alta. This takes a day and a half to achieve and it's through decent terrain.

My penultimate night is pleasant enough and the lights play again. I miss the warmth of my fire though

It's late September but surprisingly the dawn comes bright and indeed fairly hot. The condensation burns off quickly and I'm shading layers as I pack up. My descent is interesting off the high ground and down to sea level is interesting. I've identified a canyon which provides plenty of rough and tumble as I struggle over talus and through forest.

But the weather is astonishing and I regret that I'm walking out. Hot, bright and clear as the day deepens. I worry about the difficulty of my chosen route but by about 1500 I've picked up a decent path which put me right out onto a highway. By 1600 I'm in the outskirts of Alta and I've picked up a local bus which puts me right outside my hotel.

As I travel home I reflect upon this trip. It's certainly been a satisfying one and I can see myself returning back up to Finnmark. Stabbursdalen itself requires more exploration and it has many delights. It's all thrown up a lot of potential future trips. In terms of Scandinavia I'll be back next March for sure (though possibly even January). Scotland will hold me over the next few months. Forward!

In a little under a week I’ll be in Norway again, my third and final Scandinavian trip of the year. Each season brings a delightful difference  and I’m very much looking forward to a 10 day or so autumn tour through Northern Finnmark and which will include a significant part of the walk through the national park of Stabbursdalen.

September is, in many ways, the best month to get out on foot through the wilderness of Scandinavia. Cooler temperatures make walking a far more comfortable experience than the heat of summer. The insects are mostly gone and the fells should blaze with fiery birch. And if you’re very lucky you may catch the Aurora.

I’ve never been to Finnmark before so it will all be wonderfully new. The wide ‘vidda’ of the region promises some good walking on a mountain plateau dotted with low lying fells and hundreds of tarns. There will be some change after I’ve crossed from Karasjok up towards Alta. From there I enter Stabbursdalen which looks enticing. I know little about it but I’m excited but what could be there. This site has some intriguing pictures http://www.turgleder.com/?project=packrafting-in-stabbursdalen-national-park and it promises that ‘Stabbursdalen National Park is one of Norway’s most remote and inaccessible National Parks. The diverse landscape varies from mountain desert like areas to lush birch forests, vast plateaus to narrow canyon like valleys’. I find this whole area intriguing. There is a lot of potential up here and watching Lars Monsen's Nordkalot 365 has shone a light on a hitherto unexplored place for me. Already my head is full of future plans threading Norwegian and Finnish parks together.

I’m going to take my time on this trip. No rushing about as I did a few weeks ago. I’m going bushcrafty too, taking an axe and a small tarp to sit under by a fire. the weather promises to be cool and possibly cloudy but we shall see. In any event a lot to look forward to. 

Day 1. Karasjok to Ravnastua.

The first stage of the walk is well travelled. Connie Roos in her book ‘Walking in Norway’ describes a five day walk of around 60km. I’ll be following her 'Far North' walk.

My walk starts from the Sami capital of Karasjok. 17km across the plateau following a number of lakes and rivers should put me near the old farm which now form a government mountain lodge at Ravnastua (http://www.ravnastua.no/ravnastua-2/).
Apparently the original Fjellstue was burnt down by retreating German soldiers in 1945. I would anticipate a shorter finish than the fjellstue and there is most likely a camp by the huge lake of Gaimmejavri to be had.

Day 2. Ravnastua to Mollisjok.

Roos describes this as ‘a long day, but not at all taxing’ at 25km. The map shows a trail, I understand that I’m following an old wilderness postal route. Half way there is a ‘odestue’ or emergency shelter with bunks even. The terrain looks wide and expansive with the promise of extensive views. Mollisjokk is another fjellstue (http://www.mollisjokfjellstue.no/).

Day 3. Mollisjok to Jotkajav’ri.

This is a nominal day skirting the huge lake Lesjavri as I follow a track north to Jotkajav’ri. There is potential to break off the Roos route earlier and follow the shoreline of Lesjavri as I now focus my attention on travelling up into Stabbursdalen.

Days 4.to 10 Jotkajav’ri/Stabbursdalen/Alta.

And this is the fun bit. No real plan, just to freewheel north. There’s a line of fells that have taken my eyes and these could provide a day’s entertainment at least as well as commanding views of the region. Skuovgilrassa and Cohkarassa are the most shapely (http://oppialta.no/topperinord.htm).

But the real promise lies in exploring the canyons and forests that line the huge Stabburselva. At some point I will have to cross it, the Norwegian ‘Fjellforum’ suggests it is fordable at some points but I will have to find them. By Sunday morning I need to be heading towards Alta. Tverrdalen offers a natural route out. Hotel booked in Alta for Sunday and then two flights get me back to the UK.

Some new Paramo to play with, the new Velez smock with it's zip system that allows full venting on the front. Other than that some standard stuff, not least the Trekkertent Drift 2 which is a fantastic touring tent.

If you are inclined keep an eye out on Twitter.

I'm still feeling this walk. A few days back from Norway and I tried a light run. My body is fatigued, fourteen days across the Scandinavian fells and it's hard to break out into more than a trot. I've lost a lot of weight and there's the odd bite still on my arms or head that begs to be scratched. Kit is slowly being cleaned and sorted, some indeed repaired. There's much to reflect upon, ultimately satisfaction in the distance covered but some key learning points to take on too. So many years into doing this and I'm still capable of mistakes.

This was an ambitious walk. Between Ringselet, my start, and Narvik, my finish, lies around 400 km of hard mountain terrain. Some of this was covered by air (60 kms between Kutjaure and Stalo) and a little by road (35 km from Evesgard to Narvik), but the remainder was on foot across mainly trackless mountain over the course of a fortnight. Trail conditions varied, as did the weather's effect on my perceptions of those conditions. Heat and mosquitos ratcheted up the effect of that distance, particularly in the first week. Quite a bit of that journey was across hard and unyielding terrain, piling through thick bush or boggy fells. A sense of time pressure as I raced to get to Staloluokta, no walking day shorter than ten hours with some even twelve, a lot of graft. I don't really do electronic devices in the planning or a recording of a walk. It's an old eye on paper map to plan and an idea of the hours walked in a day and the nature of the terrain. I was most likely on foot for around 170 hours across some hard terrain. Plenty of weariness and it's effect on the course of the journey. A few hours lost even as I make a silly navigation mistake at the end of another long day and head up the wrong  'jokk (river) deep into the heart of the Norwegian mountains. Fatigue and fallibility, indifferent to my need to close the ground between me and my finish, as the days tick down to the flight back home from Narvik.

The start though of this little adventure is the simple act of hailing a bus on a Swedish island in the midst of the Baltic, very much an opposite end of Scandinavia to the one I'm to fly from in two weeks. Outside the small seaside cottage on the island of Gotland I hug nine people with affection before heading to Visby, board the bus and start a twelve hour journey to the Lapland town of Arjeplog. It feels right to begin a mountain trip like this. When I lived here many years ago I would regularly bid my wife and then young children a fond farewell and head north. Away from the weathered pines and sands of the Baltic and up to the birch and fells of the sub-arctic. The start then of a long and enduring love affair with the Swedish mountains.

The most prolonged embrace of that relationship has undoubtedly been my 56 days south to north crossing of this mountain chain. During that journey I was struck by many things. One was the extent of it all, the other was how most people up to walk, ski and climb concentrate themselves in a few key areas. Simply, there's a lot out there which is seldom visited and I itch to see as much of it as possible.

I'd cooked up a plan on this one which I've posted about previously. I'd a notion to cross Arjeplogfjallen, one born from an idle moment a few years ago when I picked up an old battered guidebook from the Seventies on these forgotten mountains. As I sat by the stove one night in a Swedish hut, amidst pictures of the decade that I was born in, long haired healthy Swedes, cradled by the 'folkhemmet' albeit momentarily burdened with heavy external framed rucksacks, strode across these stony hills in stark black and white. The book declared that few people walk here and the unique character of these fells did not deserve that. Much has changed since then; the country is more individualistic and plural, most (not all) of those rucksacks have fallen from service. One constant though is how little visited these hills remain.

It's good to be north again, Arjeplog is a pleasant town, I arrive after a flight to Arvidsjaur from Stockholm and then my own personal minibus arranged through the local transport authority to Arjeplog itself. Small town Lapland but it's got what I require. Most important is the bus which I'm to catch at lunchtime the next day, straight down the E95 to my dropping off point at Ringselet. Apart from that it's other key logistical factor is that it has all you need. A couple of standard issue pizzerias, two supermarkets and an outdoor shop pepper the high street. A decent hotel too from which I watch heavy rain fall into the car park outside for many hours and wonder if I'll be spending days walking in similar torrents.

In better weather next day it's time to leave the comfort of the hotel and out I go, the last building that I'm in for twelve days. I'm not alone though in using that bus to head off into the wilds, it's summer time and the fells are a destination for many. The four other passengers are heading to Jackvik, a key Kungsleden intersection, a fairly standard drop off by all accounts. Ringselet though is by no means a normal destination for walkers, just a lake by the highway but with a rough road that takes me up to Tjarnberg and then continues to it's end by a reindeer slaughter house. From there just wilderness, you'll find the next road several hundred miles to the north.

We arrive at Ringselet, a non-descript bus stop but the start of the enterprise for me and I have a sense of nervousness as we pull up at the side of the road. A warm conversation with the bus driver as he helps pull my pack out of the luggage rack at the back, I'm a curiousity as a foreigner speaking Swedish is always an oddity. Then he's gone and I put the pack on for the first time. I'm loaded with enough supplies for a week and the pack feels heavy and awkward. Indeed, it's not just the pack that's feeling weighty. A good week's summer holiday with liberal beers and barbeques has taken an effect. Let's call it preloading but undeniably more than should be there as hip belt tightened. And so, at 1530 in the afternoon and just under two weeks until I finish, away I go and up the dirt road north.

The first miles are a slog. Past Tjarnberg where a helicopter is being attended to and up the road I head through a forest of birch. Tedious but at least it's fairly short. I spent three days in 2013 walking road like this as I headed through the lows fells of southern Jamtland. This time the journey is to be short, simply a way to ease myself up into the fells and the start of the journey proper. A stroke of luck though and something I couldn't have done on the Grona Bandet. I pass a Sami family group sitting by a smoking fire as they ward of the mosquitos enough to enjoy coffee. Within five minutes of passing a trail bike with trailer roars up the road and a grinning Sami teenager commands 'kom igen' when I initially refuse a ride in the back. We breeze the remainder of the dirt road.

And so it begins properly, by the reindeer slaughter house at the end of the track I pull on the pack again and work my way up onto the fell.

The walk feels more real after an hour or so pushing up hill and beyond the treeline. Feet are wetted in a river crossing and my clothes pick up their initial soiling. A bit of sweat, toil and soggy feet and it all begins to feel familiar. That feeling is only enhanced when by about 1900 I've decided I've done enough and I throw the tent down and pitch for the first time. As I do I'm crowded by tens of mosquitos which only intensifies as the wind dies down with the ebb of the day. It's to be a bad year for mosquitos. Relief only coming many days later as the weather becomes much more unsettled as I cross into Norway, the upside of wet and cold weather.

Wednesday morning and I crawl out of the tent on a bright morning, day 2 has begun. I've camped a couple of kilometres from the Arctic Circle, clear on the map but the landscapes indifferent. From the clutch of tarns that I've spent the night in underneath the fell of Tjidtjak I've set myself a fairly easy first full day with around 15kms of walking. Distance and my ability to cover it becomes an issue on this walk. Not so much my physical ability to pull the miles in, I find that easy on a maintained trail for sure. Rather, it's the nature of the terrain that I'm to cross over the course of the fortnight and the pressure to reach end points.

Today is first instance of it. The first hour or so across open fell is easy enough. Then it's a downward trajectory as I aim for the bridge marked on the map that fords the connecting river between the lakes of Lulep Luojavrre and Gruombajavrre. Both are part of the water system that feeds into the huge lake of Riebnes which forces Kungsleden walkers 30 km to the east of me to arrange boat transport.

Whilst I may have the ease of a simple bridge crossing compared to the Kungsleden I pay for it with some tough bushwhacking. Low birch forest, sub-arctic bog and dwarf will brake my progress significantly. As I slow in the heat of the day clouds of insects surround me. Hard, hard work and to be repeated at several points over the next few days.

By lunchtime, much later than I anticipate, I am delighted to see a bridge. This feels a very remote spot indeed and there is no guarantee of anything. However, I'm in reindeer herder country and the bridge serves that ancient function as it connects mountain pasture to lakeside Sami huts. I'm very grateful for it, the waters flow fast and would be totally unfordable as a torrent flows from a higher lake into its lower counterpart. Not for the first time I'm reminded about the power of water and Lapland and what a significant obstacle it is to the hiker.

I struggle up from the bridge through thick bush again. The map shows a rough trail from a collection of Sami huts at Gruuombe to some reindeer pens at Gadagavre but there's no sign on the ground. Simply more birch and bog. The twin lakes though on the fell are stunning and offer an easy choice of sites for my second night.

The third day dawns bright and with the sun climbing the sky the threat of another hot one. I notice that the mornings remain cool until about 0730, the first mosquitos then appear around 0800. I work quickly to get away before they become too bothersome. A similar day today in many respects, more descent off the fell side and pushing into bush. A significant water crossing again, this one though has no bridge and it's a roll of the dice on whether I'll be able to ford the point which I've selected. Again this is a series of lakes and rivers which now stretch for 50km west to east across Arjeplogfjallen. If I get stuck on this it is a very big detour, one which could potential throw my objective of Staloluokata in five days into serious doubt.

The water system comes into view as I make my descent off the fell. I'm nervous as I scan the waters. My intended cross point is foaming white as I recce the connecting rivers with my zoom lens. I pick a point though and descend, scanning constantly and trying to formulate plans B, C and D in case it all goes wrong.

As I get nearer I'm looking at the water for signs. Rippling, not quiet water, is what I want. Any breaking stones are a good sign too. A point selected by scanning the river from the fell side my allotted crossing point looks promising as I approach, I step in and give it a go. Cold is instant and I brace. The crossing though goes all right until I hit mid-stream. The water is strong and almost at my groin, just on the verge of knocking me over as I fight on. Diagonal and upstream I push, the current threatening to rip my poles out of my hand. But as I work on the current eases and I'm out and across. I'm delighted, a significant obstacle overcome.

I climb out of the bush and ascend up in a positive mind set. The fell of Gustar throws a wall above the lake system as I climb. After an hour I'm walking on open fell dotted with small tarns. Above me a helicopter chatters across the sky, probably bound for the remote fishing camp of Miekak which is my destination tomorrow.

This massif is the midst of Arjeplogfjallen and it's what I came for, mountain and lakes empty and nothing nor nobody in sight.

Despite the reward of this place I feel the pressure of time as I push on. Stalouokta is a significant point in this whole journey and it's one I've got to make in time, I've a helicopter booked for the following Tuesday, my eighth day. I've counted on enough ground in time to get my there on Monday. That planning though was done prone on my bed at home, beer in easy reach. The execution of that casual planning though is much more effort and I begin to fret.

A sense of pressure no doubt and I'm now turning out longer days then I would like. As I head to another system of tarns at Maskosjavre I'm pushing myself on despite it being 1830 in the evening and at least an hour after I would like to stop. Not what I would ideally do and I now consider the folly of planning a walk stretched out on a bed, casualness laced with optimism causing my eye to lightly dance over contour lines and space before concluding a 25km day across rugged fell is a breeze.

Daylight is constant at this time of year though there's a sense of evening as I push on. At last I've reached somewhere where I've felt I've done enough for the day. Conscience assuaged though shoulders ache. By a tarn simply referred to by it's spot height of '910' I throw the bag down with considerable relief  and begin to assemble camp. As the wind drops the fell of Vierkejtjahkka is mirrored in the water.

 And in the evening heat of early August insects cloud the shore line. There's an intensity to life lived in this hot sub-arctic day. Summer is short, it must be grabbed. I struggle with mosquitos again in the heat of the evening.

Day 4 dawns and I'm away by 0900. Another day of crossing high fells before plunging down into bush and part of a further extensive lake system which emanates from the Norwegian border many miles away. Significantly, I'm to pass by the very remote fishing camp at Meikak. By the looks of it's website it's a Shangri-La for serious fishermen. Reached only by heli in summer the rewards for the expense of reaching and staying here in some comfort are the wildest waters to fish in in Europe.

The routine of the day is similar to the last two. The difference though is getting through the bush around Miehkak. The day proves to be extremely challenging.

The first hours are ok enough. The terrain is high fell and whilst certainly rocky and broken at parts very much what I would expect from the situation. I follow the large tarn of Njuosejavrre before beginning to descend. For the first time in days I see evidence of the proximity of others. There are two small huts by the lake, part of the fishing camp no doubt. One has an open door and smoke rising from a chimney. I can imagine it's warm and dry in there as the weather becomes more unsettled and rain streaks the fell as I push on.

I catch conversation on the wind as I turn my back on those two human outposts. I'm very comfortable with my elected solitude on these walks but occasionally there are stabs of loneliness. I'm in one now as a shower envelopes me for the first time this walk.

Soon forgotten as I catch sight of Miehkak. As I descend the terrain around the lakeside becomes more apparent. It is stunningly beautiful, really so, but it looks like it's going to be a difficult route. Whilst mountain birch and exposed rock give a clear character the resulting thick rock and forest bar the way to the two bridges that I need to regain the high fells on the north side. That said this place is captivating, unique even. I readily understand why people would pay thousands to travel out to the fishing camp.

As the crow flies the distance between when I descend from the fells and when I regain them again is only a matter of a few kilometres. A boat of some sorts would make light work of this. The journey though takes almost all day as I fight me way around the headlands of the lake looking for the two bridges to cross the roaring waters that feed the lake. I muse on the advantage of a packraft. A notion which resurfaces several times again this walk.

I hike hard around the lake's headlands. The rock presents cliff faces at the shoreline and when I'm not pushing hard through bog or forest I'm climbing the sheer cliffs trying desperately to find the most efficient way through to the second bridge which spands the torrent tumbling out of the huge water systems to the north east. My struggle is in contrast to the serenity of the scene. On the glassy lake a small boat potters across before stopping. A single fisherman casts and watches the water's surface. I'm envious of both his leisure and his skill.

I find the bridge and begin to climb. Direct up and hard going again, it takes an hour to break through the treeline. Hot and sweaty I'm crowded by insects. Despite the toil I can't fail to note that it's certainly an impressive place with the waters roaring into Alep Miehkak.

Hurting a little now as I'm determined to clear this part of the walk, in effect to feel that I've turned a page in the walk and start the next stage of the journey through Sartavagge to Vaimok. Though it's 1800 I chide myself and resolve to walk a further couple of hours. Slipping and stumbling in the birch forest I have one of those moments when I wonder why I do this.

But as I climb onto open fell that questioning of this project ceases as I turn and just drink the view in. The water system I've just crossed stretches far. At the end of it is the huge lake Piesakhaure which I've walked around twice. At the end, around 50km away, is the Norwegian border.

And this is why I love Lapland, it's the depth of the wilderness here and a sense that for the most part it's unsullied. For relatively little effort and expense from the UK there are real wild lands not far.

By 2000 I've done enough. It's been a hard day and one in which I've eaten little, just pushed on grim faced. I throw the pack of and just about summon up enough energy to set up camp. But the spot I stumbled on more than selected is a sweet one. A flat grassy pitch, stunning views, a breeze to deter insects and a companionable stream to draw water from.

I rise early again ready to press on. Pleased with yesterday's progress I relax somewhat and appreciate a little more the place that I am in. This is the 20km valley of Sartavagge, a deep glacial valley jewelled with lakes and I'm to head north to break out of Arjeplogfjallen and towards the STF hut at Vaimok.

The hill walker in me is very appreciative of this valley. On the eastern flank five hills, quite the walk for the very energetic with the opportunity to summit Staikka at nearly 1800 metres. There can't be many who've done that. I muse about about the setting up of a base camp one day and a crack at these summits. So much possibility here in these mountains, a single lifetime would not be enough.

Today though is about pressing beyond Vaimok and turning another page in the story. The long glacial valley of Sartavagge presents an easier walk. It's another hot day and mosquitoes harass me for it. I spend the day with the head net fully on or worn, like some mountain walking nun, as a habit to keep them off the back of my head.

Five hours and I round out to the huge lake of Vaimok. It's an impressive place, reputedly Sweden's clearest. In the distance the huge shape of Sulitjelma and I'm struck by how much snow it still holds. I'm to discover in a week's time exactly how much snow remains on the Norwegian side of the border.

A little more leisurely today, I stop for lunch and just gaze at the lake. I knew it was going to be good. Not for the last time this walk I'm to think of the late Roger Brown. He declared in his arrival at this lake that he realised this was exactly the place that he had embarked upon the 800km Nordkalotleden in order to see.

I'm assisted along the northern side of the lake by the Nordkalotleden itself, after hard days' cross country slog there is an ease to following a well trodden path. This one leads to the hut at Vaimok. I break before it and head up, direct north and my two day route to Sulitjelma. I'm to follow a route now devised by the Swedish outdoors journalist Claes Grundsten in his book 'Pa Fjalltur - Padjelanta och Sulitjelma'.

It's a fine route, indeed an alternative to the Nordkalotleden and one that holds a quicker and a higher line between Vaimok and Staloloukta. I'm to spend two glorious days in snow streaked montane.

Camp that night is a fine one. The situation is striking, patches of old snow add considerable character as I find another yielding patch of grass with a convenient en suite stream.

Grundsten has this down as a two day route to Stalo. It is that certainly, for me it feels like a fairly relaxed two days. The walking is interesting yet, in comparison to my last few days, untaxing across firm ground.

The centre piece is the lake systems at Ravajavvrre, again adorned with snow. In good weather I make quick progress. Grade A stuff this and ignored by the majority who schlep the trails in the valleys below.

Indeed, there's even time to stop and admire. I find a sublime potential campsite, clearly used by others in the past but none the worse for that, at the eastern end of the lake. Grass leads to a small sandy beach and I struggle with the idea of calling it a day at 1500 and camping here.

But I press on, climbing and clearing the col at Viejevagge. The weather worsens as I follow the 'jokk down. It's one of those moments in Lapland that feel distinctly Scottish. It's easy to see the relationship between the two, indeed singular, mountain systems.

Day 7 and as I walk the 12km or so to Stalo I feel a sense of holiday. I'm well within the deadline I set myself and I enjoy a sense of achievement. My helicopter flight is tomorrow morning and I'll have a chance at Stalo to rest and restock. I'm in Padjelanta too, my fourth time here, and there's a human scale about the place. Indeed even, around Stalo, there's a pastoral feel with small birch groves. All, of course, is framed by the huge inland sea of Virihaure.

And as I descend, the sound of helicopters. It's hard to describe Stalo' as a village but there's a definite buzz about the place, literally, as several helicopter transfers a day bring both hikers and supplies into this wilderness settlement.

I reach Stalo at 1500hr and set up by the lakeside camping ground. by 1600 I've made my way to the small shop and I'm taken aback. When I was last here in 2009 there were a few tins and the odd packet of crispbread. Now it stocks everything you could imagine that you would need. From the entire range of Real Turmat to gas canisters to chocolate to duct tape to spare socks to blister plasters to beer. Everything that you could conceivably want is in this small kiosk. They even take cards too in payment! Whilst there is no mobile signal here data is uploaded to the helicopter once a day and taken back to Kvikkjokk. Equally, that transfer keeps stock closely monitored and the shop is restocked in the summer season at least once a day.

I'm almost giddy with the possibility and spend a fair whack but secure everything I need. If I'd known that the shop was going to be this good I would have left Ringselet with a much lighter pack. I also enjoy my first conversation in a week. The Sami woman running the shop is easy to chat too and we speak for about 20 minutes. Indeed, I'm to have a number of conversations that evening as people wander around the campsite and come up and chat.

Beer, swimming and more beer. A strong wind keeps biting insects away until it abruptly drops at 2000 and then the air is thick with them. I dive into the tent and set the alarm for the morning. I've a flight to catch.

The heli arrives at 0820 and a very relaxed pilot sorts us. He speaks with a distinct northern Swedish tone as he gets us settled in. I'm to be first out as I'm off at Kutjaure. The others are finished and are heading to Ritsem to catch the bus home.

On a fine day the journey 50km north is a spectacular one. Sarek is the main draw, we all peer right into the park. I gaze into western Padjelanta which I'll be traversing into Norway. This heli journey is easing me to the start point at the huts at Kutjaure. It takes twenty minutes to cover a walk which too me two and a half days in 2013.

Kutjaure arrives and to the surprise of many at the hut I'm dropped off. Ahhka is hard to ignore as I sort out my gear and get ready to begin the second part of my journey.

It's hard to shake off the relaxed feeling as I pick a north westerly bearing and then begin to follow the line of Siebergjahka. It's typical Padjelanta country. Broad easy going fells that over good pasture to reindeer herders. Today's ease marks the fact that this can be deadly country. Big and broad the unprepared or unfortunate have recently disappeared here.

The ground's firm but I'm feeling a little loose. I'm to drop time over the next couple of days until the realisation strikes that I've work to do and the days lengthen again. A sense of urgency grips the walk again but not today.

Camp's made by the Lake of Stibokjavrre. The fell of Stibok with it's distinct cliffs have an echo of Svalbard. I've thought about the merits of a Lapland trek vs a Svalbard one a little this walk. Not many insects in Svalbard, the extra weight though of the pack and the chore of setting the protective fence are not missed!

Again the inspiration for this part of the journey is down to Grundsten too. He describes a two day route to Hellebotn (a deep Norwegian Fjord which can be accessed by boat). I'm using part of it and then a northwards break over the fells to access the Nordkalotleden as it crosses Suollagajahhka.

Day 8 of this walk and I'm enjoying this quiet country, unwalked by most and the only company I have are a herd of inquisitive reindeer. I'm also walking at Grundsten's pace, it's an agreeable one.

At the foot of impressive Rautaive I'm spoilt for choice as I search for a pitch that night. One of the earliest camps of the trip. I'm rather seduced by the fact that I'm to pick up the path of the Nordkalotleden which I perceive as an easy way to push me north before I break off it and head deeper into Narvikfjellen and my eventually exit point of Beisfjord. I discover in about 24 hours the folly of my thinking.

Within a minute of packing up camp I spy the Nordkalotleden when I cross the brow of a ridge. Two tents are parked by the bridge and within an hour a heli swoops down and picks them up. I'm anticipating an easy day on a marked trail but that notion is mistaken. The route travels over rocky terrain which becomes slick during the course of the day. The good weather I've had disappears and unsettled conditions now hold firm.

By the afternoon the realisation that this is taking a lot longer than I might have anticipated. Tiredness too falls with the rain. I begin to struggle and make a navigational mistake which is to cost me several hours. Assuming that I'm on the correct route for the hut at Roysvatn. I climb higher into the murky mountains, crossing the Norwegian border for the first time and realising my mistake at about 2000 that evening.

The next morning I'm several hours in deficit. It takes considerable time to return to my intended route and I follow the trail to Pauro. On the plus side by lunch time the walking becomes much easier as I leave bouldery paths behind. Today is a day of following huge lakes. It is stunningly beautiful and a really wild feel. I even meet the first folk since leaving Kutjaure and enjoy a chat with an elderly Norwegian couple out on tour,

As I sight the lake at Kabtajaure I have cause again to reflect upon the utility of a packraft on a trip like this. I could have crossed the lake in about twenty minutes, instead I have to round it's feeder lake of Bovrojavri at the expense of at least half a day's walking. I investigate the possibililty of fording a river that connects the two but the depth and force of the flow spells danger, 

Arguably if I'd done that I would have missed one of the most interesting aspects of the Nordkalotleden, A few km short of the hut at Pauro one of the most peculiar bridges I've encountered. I watch a young couple cross it, we meet each other a few minutes later. The man's first response to my greeting is to explain how lucky I am! Apparently the boat is on the right side, I'm unsure as to what any of this means though. He explains further, there should be two boats at a gap in the lakes which allow hikers to get to the opposite sides. There is only one at present, one has washed away. If you're unlucky then the choices are swimming or a 10km detour abound the lake. I'm to read a little more about it as I eat lunch in the hut.

My boat journey is uneventful. I get a sense though of the strength of the current and the chill of the water. This lake, even in August, is holding a lot of ice. You would have to grit your teeth hard before jumping in.

At least traveling in the direction I venture would give you an opportunity to warm up by a roaring stove in the huts. Again, I'm grateful for the small miracle that is the DNT key.

I enter the first building for ten days. This hut is another testament to the mountain culture of Norway. A beautiful, homely and welcoming respite from the harshness of the wilderness outside.

To sit on soft furnishings as I eat lunch and I begin to feel like a civilised man again.

There is nothing I would want more at that moment in time then to stay here. To get the stove going, grab a bunk in one of the two bedrooms and to start to relax. But I've no time. It's dawned on me over the last 24 hours that I am falling short by about two days. I spend about 45 minutes going over my options and that to push on to Beisfjord from where there is an hourly bus to Narvik is wholly unrealistic. That leaves me with the problem though of getting back to Narvik. No signal and no information in the hut I'm taking a gamble on choosing a route down to the small village of Elvegard and hoping that there is some bus services from there.

Picking myself up and pushing on I'm at least reward with more good walking and a lovely camp. With cooler conditions now in charge insects have disappeared and to sit out on the first dry evening in three is a treat. I have time to reflect again on how I'm to get back to Narvik. With two full days left there is only one option and that is to descend to Elvesgard.

My last full day and I follow the trail to Sitasjaure where I find another spotless hut. Again this offers a good lunch spot and there are warnings about trail conditions in the hut book. What occupies me in my direction of travel are my chances of getting out of Elvesgard and toward Narvik without a grim 40 km of walking down the highway. A little after leaving the hut I get a signal and a timetable is downloaded. I see, as I suspected, that there are a couple of buses which are there to service schoolchildren. I am to misread one crucial detail which becomes apparent next day.

A final night on the trail. Whilst hydro is present as I near civilisation the situation is still striking. The mountains have a saga like character and a sense of height that is hastened by the fact that they fall dramatically to sea level. A real contrast to my beginnings some thirteen days ago in Ringselet.

A final camp before I descend to the valley below. Houses are now evident and I'm fairly optimistic about picking up the bus and getting to Narvik, Indeed I even use my smartphone to book a hotel in Narvik. But as I stand by the bus stop later that afternoon and no bus appears the penny drops. I look again, the timetable, in Norwegian, declares buses only run on schooldays. It is of course one week before Norwegian schools go back. I have a big problem.

I call the tourist office in Narvik and they confirm what I suspected. It will cost many hundreds of pounds for a taxi to come out and fetch me on a 70 km round trip, this is Norway after all. But then two pieces of magic. First a woman comes out of a nearby property and explains to me in Norwegian that there are no buses. She tells me that if I'm prepared to wait two hours she'll drive me to a bus stop, however, there's 'ingen skam' (no shame) in hitchhiking so perhaps I should give it a go and if I'm not there at five she'll will know that I had some luck.

Within five minutes I've a lift. A woman driving her daughter to football practice drives me all the way to my hotel in Narvik. Simply incredible, Norway is a country where if you've tumbled out of the hills after two weeks and stand by the road in soiled mountain clothes then you've been out doing something totally normal. One of the many reasons why I love it so.

And so within two hours of despairing as to how I'm to get to Narvik I'm sitting in a hotel room in my underpants drinking beer, awesome! I begin to reflect and I continue to do so. Some things went very right, I got the correct amount of food albeit I was starting to get a little hungry at the end. My kit was spot on and I had the right clothing, tent and sleeping equipment.

This was an ambitious walk. I fell short by two days so I guess my planning was a little optimistic. That said trail conditions were tough and I coped well. I'll take note though of one important thing, I'll be more careful in planning alternative exit routes from the hills where they are available, I could have come stuck in Elvegard. Generally I would have preferred more time in camp too, that's when you've time to stop and take it all in. The small details of a walk need attention, it's important. Always something to learn, so forward!

In a little under a day I'll be flying to Sweden to a family beach holiday in the south before heading back north. This time it's Lapland and I'll be looking forward to returning for the first time in four years. My Grona Bandet was such a feast that I needed to digest that, it's now time to go back and I'm relishing the potential challenge that this route presents.

What my Grona Bandet gave me was the sense of the huge expense and possibility that exists in Scandinavia's mountains. I may have covered just under 1000 miles in two months but in some ways I just saw a slither of what is there. You could spend several life times traversing these mountains and still not exhaust it all.

Fittingly perhaps this journey starts not far from the best section of my Grona Bandet and in many a way it adopts what I liked best about it. Crossing parts of the mountains way off people's radars and on a route of my own devising. The start is through Arjeplogg fjallen, not far from V'jalme and heads north a described. It's very wild country but intriguingly, as you'll read, there's the potential to visit to a remote fishing camp.

Stalo forms the mid point of the walk and my main resupply option. Not obsessed with lightweight certainly but I am taking a conscious decision to guard against taking too much food. Options though are not abundant this trip, the STF huts I pass have no food stocks and on the Norwegian side of the border, this far north, there are no self service options.

I'll see what I can source at Stalo and hope I can cobble together enough for the second week. I'm taking enough basic rations for ten days and have some leeway.

Stalo is significant too as I will be using it to grab the heli up the trail. I'm being dropped off at Kutjaure before heading into wild Padjelanta before picking up the Nordkalotleden and a meander to the environs of Narvik. This Narvik section should be good. Very quiet but stacked full of huts, trails and shapely mountains. A massive contrast to the busy Kungsleden about 50 km to the east.

It should be a good walk. Enough challenge and some long distances, hopefully some down time too with spectacular camps and a few interesting huts on very quiet trails. So for more detail have a look at my trip notes below which have helped me plan and estimate my journey and also provide my family with an idea of where I may be at a given time. There's one days' slack in the timetable too. I may need it as some day's are long and poor weather can quickly slow things down!

Day 1 - Ringselet/Spira

Bus leaves Arjeplog bus station at 1330. Should arrive Ringselet, at 1500hrs. Using a service road which connects a reindeer slaughter house to the highway some 10 km away I will walk to the Sami village of Tjarnberg. Here I pick up a rough trail which will take me another 6km to just above the tree line and a collection of Sami huts at Spira where I will pitch for the night.

Day 2 - Spira/Guksek

My first full walking day involves following a rough footpath for about 8km across open fell before heading down backing into the treeline and crossing over the footbridge a small river which feeds lake Gruombajavrre, Mid point in that morning’s walk I cross the Arctic Circle. Climbing back into the high fells from a number of Sami huts at Gruomba another 6km should see me crest the fells past Gadggavre and then back down to the lake of Guksek.

Day 3 - Guksek/Miekak

This has the feeling of a long day across country. Betting the farm somewhat on crossing potentially fast flowing water flowing feeding Bartavrre I handrail a system of lakes almost due north for 6 km. A lone reindeer herder’s hut marks the point where I turn NNW and handrail a beck which tumbles down from the tarn of Vapsagurra. 10km the across high fell using the large tarn of Njarggalisjavrre as an aiming off point I’ll crest the high fells above Lulep Miehkak looking for the bridge down below bringing me into the locality of the fishing camp at Miehkak.

Day 4 - Miekak/Vaimokstugan

Hut to hut but another long day across country. Starting from the locality of Miehkak http://www.miekak.com/ (I may or may not call into the camp, there’s a basic shop supplying guests which may be of use). From there up onto the fell past Skarrebatkajavre I then follow Sartjajohhka into the long glacial valley of Sartavagge for around 15 kms until it emerges out onto the large lake of Vaimok (reputedly one of the deepest in Sweden). Skirting the lake to its east and I finally pick up part of the main trail network (this is Sulitimaleden) to Vaimokstugan.

Day 5 - Vaimokstugan/R’jaure

The STF huts at Vaimok (https://www.svenskaturistforeningen.se/anlaggningar/stf-vaimok-fjallstuga/) provide a nominal start point for the day. Using a route described by Claes Grundsten (http://www.bokus.com/bok/9789113024929/pa-fjalltur-padjelanta-sulitelma/) it’s a two day walk to the relative bustle of Salto. The route though is another two demanding days across country.

The first day of this route sees me climb from the hut for 5km before the fells present a cliff wall which stretches for 20 km west to east. Grundsten confirms though that following the small outlets from a tarn named only by its height (‘1181’) allows exploitation up onto the plateau and a myriad of lakes which are dominated by Ravejavrre. I’ll aim to camp at it’s NW edge, indeed its recommended by Grundsten with some fine spots.

Day 6 - R’jaure/Stalo

Perhaps an easier navigation day as I follow the ‘jokk in Vieggavagge before heading down to Stalo. After the climb up from camp its 4km over open fell before the valley and its deep canyon becomes apparent. About 14km through to the Sami village of Stalo (http://www.slowlife.se/eng/destinations/tarravalley_padjelanta/staloluokta/cabins.html) and a potential pitch on the shores of Virihaure.

Day 7 - Stalo/Kutjaure

The main event of the day is the 0800 heli flight to Kutjaure (http://www.fiskflyg.se/daily-flights/ritsem-staloluokta/?lang=en). Ill need too to buy some basic provisions from the small Sami shops at Stalo. Some merit in moving the flight to the following day to consider and taking half a day more to reach Stalo. This would give a some slack on the walk to Stalo, a rest half day at Stalo and more time to buy food in what would be my last opportunity.

Day 8 - Kutjaure/Valldajahka

I’ll either have camped in the vicinity of the STF huts at Kutjaure (https://www.svenskaturistforeningen.se/anlaggningar/stf-kutjaure-fjallstuga/) or have arrived on the early morning heli at 0830. In any event this heralds the start of another couple of interesting walking days as I follow another route by Claes Grundsten across country. Western Padjelanta is seldom visited and this route cuts right across it. The day consists of a 14 km handrail of Sieberjahka, rounding the large lakes of Stibokjavrre and Galbejavrre. Before crossing a large valley between Rautjaive and Coruk before heading down to meet Nordkalotleden (https://www.bradtguides.com/articles/nordkalottleden-trail/?destination=52 or more extensive Swedish description here http://www.karesuando.se/kdo/nordkalottleden.htm) and camp.
Plenty of excellent DNT huts from this point! https://www.ut.no/omrade/4.1282/

Day 9 - Valldajahka/Roysvatn

Running parallel with the Norwegian border I follow the trail directly north on the Swedisn side until it breaks into Norway and the offer of a roof for the night at the hut at Roysvatn. (https://www.ut.no/hytte/3.1655/)
 

Day 10 - Roysvatn/Pauro

A fairly short day perhaps between this two Nordkalotleden huts as the trail runs northwards wagging between Norway and Sweden. This is a borderland dotted with large lakes and several glaciated peak tops, the largest being Gihccejiekna which is very extensive. Potential finish at Pauro (https://www.ut.no/hytte/3.1653/)

Day 11 - Pauro/Skoaddajvvikhytta

Rounding the huge lake of Sitasjaure the trail breaks east. Significantly, I leave Sweden for the final time this trip. The nominal end of the day is the hut at Skoaddajvvikhytta.

Day 12 - Skoaddajvvikhytta/Cunojavrehytta

What’s nice about this section is how the trail fractures into a web of options.. My end destination is the small village of Beisfjord which lies about two days away from the start of Day 12. For planning purposes I’ve factored a day to Cunojavrehytta but shorter or longer options abound with quite a few remote huts available in the area.

Day 13 - Cunojavrehytta/Beisfjord
 
The last full day with the intent to finish with a camp in Stubblidalen. From there an early start on day 14 and 5km or so out of the mountains and direct to a bus stop for the short 20 minute ride to Narvik.

(Note - One day's slack in timetable)