The day is gray, even though the sun was supposed to shine. I meet my friend Laura at the Totovaara parking lot. The road has been plowed for the first time this winter, just in time for the ski holiday. We’re both craving the fresh winds of the fells and some peace and quiet. Aakenustunturi offers just that, even during the busy ski holiday weeks. Its long, flat summit stretches out for kilometers, rising majestically from the dark forest toward the horizon.

The view from Haavepalo’s wilderness hut would offer a beautiful vista over the fell valley, but the ski trail leading there directs most people along the same path. Since we prefer our solitude and untouched snow, we decide to head for Aakenustunturi’s new wilderness hut, Aakenustupa, which was built to replace the now-closed Porokämppä. I spent what must have been one of Porokämppä’s last nights there last fall. I have fond memories of the hut, and its closure is a bit disappointing. I understand that the old huts don’t meet today’s safety standards, and it’s not worth renovating them to do so. But does a small piece of hiking and wilderness hut culture disappear when the historic log walls and creaky doors of old huts are closed for good and replaced with the smell of new wood, spotless stoves, and tightly sealed windows?

As we skied up Aakenustunturi’s slope, chatting and catching up, light snow accompanied us, hiding parts of the view that stretched out below. The mild early spring weather and the steep climb forced us both to shed layers more than once. The strong winds from previous days had now calmed, but left their mark, creating snow sculptures around the roots of trees and dusting branches with a frosted coating.

A windless, warm fell is rare, and we enjoyed it, along with the grayish-blue landscape of Finland’s wilderness.

After crossing the tree line, the view below began to clear, and from the top of the fell, we could see all the way to Levitunturi. I’ve stood on this same fell many times, but I’ve never seen this view before. For some reason, Aakenustunturi has always hidden itself behind a veil of mist for me, but today it revealed a blue-and-white stage stretching all the way to the horizon. The spring sun didn’t make an appearance, but in this setting, you don’t even miss it.

Time seems to disappear in the fells. There's already plenty of daylight—soon there will be more here than anywhere else in the world—so the time of day hardly matters when walking along the white slopes of the fell. We glided down the light powdery snow on the other side of Aakenus and set our course toward the new Aakenustupa. It’s marked differently on maps—missing from some—but on Laura’s paper map from this year, it had found its place. The sign for the hut had fallen victim to a heavy snowstorm and was buried in the snow. I dug about ten centimeters of snow off it so that the next hikers could find the right direction, but it was still somewhat swallowed by the drift.

We weren’t the only ones interested in the new hut. Outside, there was a veritable outdoor gear shop’s worth of equipment for traveling through the fells: backcountry skis, snowshoes, sliding snowshoes, and freeride gear. I peeked inside the small hut, and it was buzzing with activity. The cozy space was filled with the shuffle of various boots and paws. We decided to move away from the hut to enjoy some peace and quiet in the stillness of the fell. Luckily, there’s plenty of that to go around for everyone here.

At first, I felt disappointed that the new hut had been built far from the old Porokämppä. For some reason, I wish certain things in the world would stay the same. But I quickly changed my mind as I looked out over the view from the new hut, with the blue fell valley stretching out below and white peaks rising beyond. The old Porokämppä was nestled at the base of the fell, hidden in thick forest.

Sometimes, change is for the better. I have to admit that.

We dug out sitting spots in the meter-deep snow and spread our lunch on a snow table. Sipping coffee and tea, we enjoyed the quiet and peace of the fell. The hustle and bustle of the hut was left behind, beyond the tall spruces and our backs. In this moment, it didn’t matter at all. Here, you can be fully present while letting your thoughts wander freely.

On trips like this, I feel most myself. With no specific goal, no pressure to perform, moving quietly and slowly—just for the joy of it. We talked about how hiking culture could use more of this alongside the fast-paced, extreme sports and male-dominated narratives. People often come to nature to find peace, silence, and stillness. Yet, for some reason, when it’s presented to the public through TV shows, it almost always includes loud sound effects, fast video cuts, and almost invariably, a man moving quickly with a gun, fishing gear, or at least a knife. It feels far removed from reality.

Here, in the total quiet, where the snow absorbs even the slightest sounds and distant people blend into the trees like figures, all of that seems so out of place.

We tossed around different ideas on how to bring these changes forward. How could we introduce more female perspectives, the peace of nature, and the slower pace into hiking culture? The core reasons people go into nature. Things are better than they used to be, but it’s far from finished. Most hiking and trekking books are still written by men, and TV shows and YouTube content on the subject are largely dominated by male voices. Hunting and fishing are often portrayed as inseparable parts of hiking and trekking, even though people venture into nature for many other reasons. Superlatives, speed, and extreme sports dominate the narrative, whether in magazines or other media. Yet, the number of female hikers is enormous and continues to grow, with many enjoying day hikes more than weeks-long challenging treks. For some reason, there is still a tendency to emphasize the difficulty and danger of being in nature more than the peace, presence, and safety it offers.

We made our way back across the fell's summit, where the calm air felt almost warm on our pale winter faces. The pristine snow was interrupted only by tracks of ptarmigans and other fell birds, each telling its own story. Everywhere you looked, there was peace and complete silence. Even Levitunturi, typically a lively, city-like environment in the midst of Tunturi-Lappi's wilderness, looked from afar and from this angle like just another sleeping giant among the others. The pale spring-winter sun greeted us from somewhere still quite distant.