My adventure friend Emma was coming to Lapland to visit me for a week. This meant the start of a big adventure: a ski trek through my home national park, Pallas-Yllästunturi National Park. The plan was—like usual—loose, but the goal was to ski from Pallas to Hetta, a total of 60 km over four to five days.

Due to the possibility of the wilderness trails being unmaintained, we were also prepared to turn back from halfway through the park, at Hannukuru, since skiing 30 km through deep powder snow is no longer fun. We monitored the trail conditions using the ski maps from Hetta, Raattama, and Muonio, which show when they were last groomed. Although we were traveling in the second half of the winter school holiday week, week 10, only about 15 km of the route had been opened for skiing. Based on information from various Facebook groups and calls to the nature centers, we learned that if we were lucky, we could ski the entire route on the tracks left by snowmobile riders and maintenance workers who had been there before us.

A big adventure includes little surprises and uncertainties. We packed five days' worth of food and gear into our sleds, loaded our skis and equipment into the car, and headed toward the fells of the national park.

Day 1 - Pallas Nature Centre - Nammalakuru

The day turned to its second half as we arrived at the Pallas Nature Centre parking lot. The wind blew fiercely across the hardened snow, and our car was soon covered in a layer of snow as we packed our sleds for the first time on this trip. A few skiers, wrapped in scarves and hoods, sheltered from the wind in the small hotel’s entrance.

I tucked the map and the compass I had brought along just in case into the front pocket of my anorak and we set off, pulling our sleds down towards the forest, where the trail markers began to disappear. Wooden stakes were erected every few dozen meters along the entire skiing route, making it easy to follow even in bad weather. However, no hiker should set out without a map and the skill to read it. Throughout this trip, I found myself checking the correct direction and how far it was to the next warm shelter more than once.

We skied for several hours across a flat, forested swamp. We tried to find a windbreak among the pines for our lunch break, but the slender silhouette of the candle pines offers little shelter from the harsh wind. We dug ourselves into a small snowdrift, and the warm noodle lunch enjoyed on top of the sled tasted incredibly good. As always, food eaten outdoors is delightful.

The light of the evening sun reflected off the snowflakes swirling around us. When we could keep our eyes open, we admired the dance of thousands of shimmering diamonds in the last rays of the golden winter sun. At other times, it was necessary to shield ourselves from the wind and snow with a combination of hood, scarf, and warm hat.

As evening approached, the route turned from the swamp toward the fells, and we would reach the shelter of the Nammalakuru wilderness hut for the night, where we could dry our breath and sweat-soaked clothes and rest before the new day of skiing.

The wind subsided after the vastness of the marshland, and the sky cleared. Before ascending the fell, we stopped for a snack break at a small shed that provided a stark shelter from the evening gale.

The ascent to the fell was challenging. The strong wind had completely filled in the snowmobile tracks that had served as our path, and we were essentially skiing through deep powder the entire way. I, moving with backcountry skis, opened the trail while Emma, following behind on her touring skis, struggled to navigate the meter-high snowdrifts, which would have been a tough challenge even without the added difficulty of climbing the fell.

After nearly eight hours of skiing, we finally arrived at the Nammalakuru hut. There were others at the hut, which meant it was already warm inside. Usually wary of encountering other people, I was relieved that we could take off our damp clothes and warm up by the glowing stove that was already radiating heat.

Day 2 - Nammalakuru - Hannukuru

The snowstorm and wind had calmed down during the night. The morning sun shone brightly and invitingly through the cabin windows, waking the hikers shortly after seven. There is no permanent water source available at the Nammalakurun cabin during winter, so all food and drinking water must be melted from snow. To get a few liters of melted water, you have to gather ten liters of snow.

These concrete daily tasks, along with cooking and gear maintenance, are what I enjoy about these trips. They keep my mind focused on the present moment. Food, water, warmth—everything revolves around those essentials, leaving no room for worries about the outside world.

Nammalakuru is located, as its name suggests, in a gorge between two fells. From the cabin, the route continues up the next mountain slope. After a warm night of rest and a breakfast porridge generously topped with butter, the ascent felt more like a gentle morning workout compared to the previous evening's climb through deep snow. As we packed the toboggans, two maintenance workers arrived in the cabin yard, their fresh snowmobile tracks promising us an easy, pre-packed trail.

The golden sun reflected brightly and harshly off the white expanse. Its light washed out the colors of the landscape, leaving only shades of blue and cool yellow, making the gorge feel like a snowy dreamland.

What goes up must come down.

With Emma’s skis that lack the grip underfoot like my snowshoes, you really get to enjoy the thrill of descending. I found myself having to kick for speed down some slopes, but the fully loaded toboggan provided a nice push.

Descending on backcountry skis is more manageable in deep snow than on hard-packed surfaces, so I ultimately ended up skiing slowly along the edge of the snowmobile trail while Emma zoomed down the mountain at breakneck speed on fresh tracks. She waited for me at the bottom, even managing to have a snack before I reached the base of the fell.

Since the backcountry trails and winter routes hadn’t been groomed yet by week 10, our route wound a bit. Departing from Pallas, we traveled along the western side of the fells, but after Nammalakurku, the trail descended to the eastern side, along the shore of Vuontisjärvi. Because Vuontispirtti, a popular holiday destination, is located on the other side of the lake, the surrounding trails had just been freshly groomed.

On our journey, we encountered many day skiers who stopped to chat and ask about our trip. Apparently, there haven't been many tobogganers out on these spring snowfields yet. Several seasoned Lapland visitors shared that they had skied the same route in the past, their eyes twinkling as they reminisced about stories from skiing expeditions of yesteryear and wished us safe travels in the fells.

From other skiers, we also received valuable information about the condition of the trails and routes—information that the internet or guides sitting in nature centers hadn't been able to provide us. It felt like we had stepped back in time to an era when information was passed from mouth to mouth, rather than through screens.

After skiing throughout the daylight hours, we arrived on the ice of Hannukurku Lake. On the other side awaited the mid-trip reward—Hannukurku’s wilderness sauna. The evening offered its best as the frost tightened, causing the sauna’s walls to creak, while the northern lights danced in the completely light-pollution-free sky.

Day 3 - Hannukuru - Sioskuru

The morning dawned clear and beautiful as we embarked on perhaps the most scenic stretch of our route. Clean from the sauna and fueled by butter porridge, we continued our journey along the winding trail that cut through the fells and ravines all day long. On the fells, the snow had become hard and solid from the combined forces of the sun and wind, making it easy for the skier to glide along. We took a few shortcuts across the flat white expanse of snow.

Traveling through the ravines, one feels small beneath the shadows of the towering fells. Majestic, blue-hued giants rise silently beside us, exuding a sense of ancient wisdom and beauty.

We knew that behind the towering white giants of the horizon lay our next shelter, the Sioskuru wilderness hut. Skiing across the plain before reaching the fells took nearly half the day. However, the journey was light and buoyed by the sun and good conversation. We had plenty of energy and time for some extra fun breaks along the way.

It was nice to end our snack and lunch breaks with little power naps under the warm rays of the sun. A well-packed sled provides a comfortable resting spot and surprisingly energizing daytime sleep. There was no sign of the fells' wind or snow. The air stood still, allowing the early spring sun to cast its first warming rays upon us.

The evening sun painted the horizon in pastel pink and blue hues as we finally climbed between the white mountain peaks towards our overnight shelter.

With our cheeks flushed from the sun and a full day spent outdoors, we made our final descents into Sioskurun, each in our own style. Emma raced ahead with speed, while I glided slowly behind. I even tried sliding down on the sled-style over the packed snow on the heavy mountain slope. My technique and speed didn't improve much, but it was a fun way to end the day.

Day 4 - Sioskuru - Hetta

At night, the walls of the Sioskuru hut creaked and rattled. A fierce wind howled through the gorge, waking the occupants every few hours. We checked several times to make sure our sleds and skis hadn’t blown away from the side of the hut. A nighttime bathroom trip ten meters away almost left us lost. The wind and snow swirled so fiercely that the outlines of the hut vanished as soon as we stepped outside. We hoped the morning light would conquer the storm, allowing us to set off early.

Morning broke, but the storm continued its work. It blew hard, flinging frost-laden snow horizontally like knife blades. The sun rose behind the mountain, merely observing the antics of the storm. The warmth and gentleness it had offered the day before were lost behind a misty curtain of swirling ice crystals.

During breakfast, we discussed the plan for the day. Our route would take us into the headwind, ascending the gorge toward the broad peak of the mountain, making us even more vulnerable to the storm's forces. Skiing in this weather wouldn’t be sensible.

We considered an alternative route on the other side of the gorge, partly shielded from the wind. However, this path would be nearly twice as long and might not provide enough protection from the wind, as it would cross open marshes where nothing would stop the wind's power. Taking the detour wasn’t an option.

Our last alternative was to wait until the next day in the hut and continue our journey then. We checked the weather report (there was internet access at the Sioskuru hut, which isn’t available everywhere along the route), and it hopelessly showed similar winds and added snowfall for the next day.

We had no choice but to protect ourselves and our gear as best we could from the razor-sharp snowstorm and icy winds and slowly make our way toward the mountain peak.

I calculated that our speed to the mountain peak was less than a kilometer per hour. Taking lunch or drink breaks was nearly impossible, as stopping in the stormy wind was more exhausting than slowly moving forward. We quickly sipped hot soup from a thermos, leaning against each other, which we had heated up in the hut beforehand. We couldn’t let go of any gear for even a moment; our poles and mittens were always on the verge of being swept away by the storm.

At the top of the mountain, the landscape looked otherworldly. Loose snow swirled over the hard-packed surface in wave-like, uncontrollable movements. The sight was a mix of the moon's surface and a desert sandstorm. The sun still shone coldly from behind a veil of frost, creating a halo formed by ice crystals around it. I got a frostbite on my index finger while trying to dig out my camera in these conditions.

The scene was incredibly harsh, wild, and beautiful.

Once we reached the other side of the mountain, the wind finally loosened its grip a bit. Our ears rang after hours of listening to the storm. It was both hot from the ascent and cold from the wind that had blown against us for the last couple of hours. We were almost certain that by evening, we would find frostbite on our cheeks, no matter how much we tried to protect them inside our clothing.

Somehow, we found the energy to speed up our journey. We skied quickly, free from the wind's force, down smaller, sheltered ravines. The ravines felt like large ditches, where we traveled along the tracks of a snowmobiler who had passed a couple of days before. I reflected on how stunning the ravines covered with mountain birch would look in summer. I definitely need to see the Hetta-Pallas summer route in the coming years.

After several kilometers of marshy terrain, we stopped for a substantial lunch at the Pyhäkeron wilderness hut well into the afternoon. Our original plan was to spend the night at the hut and continue the last 7 km the following day. Perhaps due to our determination in the harsh conditions, we collectively decided to ski the entire distance to Hetta that evening. A few day skiers witnessed our attempt to find a ride from Hetta to Muonio for our car with smiles on their faces. After dozens of phone calls, we found ourselves—quite exhausted, along with our sled—being picked up by P. Hirsikangas, a taxi entrepreneur from Muonio, whose warm and excellent service I can only praise.

The ski trek ended with our final glides across the ice of Lake Ounasjärvi into the village of Hetta, bathed in the light of the setting sun. Thank you, Emma, for the companionship and resilient adventurous spirit!

Thank you for reading my adventure ✨

♥: Sanna