A Journey to Nowhere

These are the best kinds of trips. This has been what hiking means to me since I learned to walk: wandering through forests, just being, moving without paths or markers. Only later did I place it under the term 'hiking,' and even later realized that you can also hike on marked trails, with structures built for that purpose. But these kinds of trips, with their wonderful lack of planning and total freedom, will always win for me.

We set off first thing in the morning. The temperature still drops below freezing at night, hardening the snow, and if you can motivate yourself to leave early, the nearly meter-deep snow will still hold a skier.

I wanted to go somewhere with no one else, no roads, no signs, no trails, and no tracks. I had often admired the view from a small hill along a road I’ve driven past a thousand times, thinking it would be nice to ski down into the valley, where a small wilderness lake opens up. With two dogs in tow, we strapped on our skis beside the bare, snowless road and skied down into the valley. Toward nothingness.

Down in the valley, we first crossed a small bog, on the far side of which sat an ancient hay barn, sagging under the weight of countless years. In front of it was a dark little bog pond, which must be beautiful in the open land season.

Without studying a map or planning ahead, everything you encounter becomes a surprise. This way, you observe the terrain, its shapes, and its features much more closely than if you had already examined the area on a map.

Despite the early hour, the sun had already climbed high and was shining with all its strength, drawing even more intensity from the pure white snow. The sunglasses left at home would have made skiing across the open terrain easier. I rested my eyes from time to time and skied with them closed.

I became more aware of the snow underfoot, and its uneven surface affected my balance more when one sense was out of play. Still, I decided to sacrifice my eyes to the brightness and admire the snow-free, forested hills rising behind the lake.

The temperature soared higher and higher. Not even a breath of wind accompanied us as we skied along the lake’s edge. The center of the lake had darkened from water seeping onto the ice, and for a moment we considered crossing to the other side to explore the hill landscapes. However, the unknown lake and the unexpected warmth of spring made it seem risky, even though the ice was likely still tens of centimeters thick beneath the water. Despite the warmth, the thought of breaking through the ice didn’t appeal, so we were content to ski along the shores, heading toward nowhere.

Clothing had to be shed frequently as the sun climbed higher. The scent of sunscreen lingered in my nose, even though there likely wasn’t any within tens of kilometers. The overwhelming warmth felt like a southern beach holiday, somehow connecting the memory of sunscreen from the far reaches of my mind to my senses. Although it felt comical in the snowy landscape, sunscreen wouldn’t have been a bad idea in this weather.

Since the destination of the trip was unknown and the route unmarked and aimless, we took a break for snacks whenever and wherever it felt right. A headland stretching westward had already shed its blanket of snow under the warmth, and a sunny mound offered a soft enough spot to serve as a resting bench. Without skis, my feet sank into the soft snow up to my hips, and climbing up the bank took its time.

After munching on our snacks, we enjoyed nature’s sunny terrace. The dogs savored their small treats and then lay down to rest, visibly content to be away from home and familiar forest trails.

We didn’t check the time even once. There were no other travelers, and nothing human was in sight the entire trip, except for a few quiet cabins lingering in the shadows on the far side of the lake. It was time to leave when the blue sky became covered by grayish clouds, and our legs grew tired beneath the skis.

We had stayed out long enough for the sun to soften the surface of the snow, and we lost the best snow crust for skiing. The return journey became heavy at times, with our feet sinking half a meter into the snow every third glide. Digging through winter snow has become familiar over the years, but it still doesn’t spare you from breaking a sweat.

Papu, who is starting to collect "grandma issues" from joint pain to back stiffness due to age, began to struggle as the snow gave way under its weight. Despite its resilience, Papu’s small legs aren’t suited for trudging through deep snow, and these days, it’s been promised cozy retirement days filled with heat therapy and massages rather than tough hikes. Luckily, Papu is content with any form of travel as long as it can be part of the adventure. So, I made a soft spot for it in my backpack, on top of the snacks and spare wool sweaters. There it traveled happily, sniffing the air and enjoying the leisurely pace.

At home, a sunny and warm evening awaited. Signs of last summer had started to emerge from under the riverbank. After what feels like an endless winter, those little signs bring comfort. It’s possible these may be the last skiing trips of the season.

Spring is coming.

<3: Sanna