In the Land of Snow-Loaded Trees - A Short Ski Trip in Muonio

I spent the weekend enjoying the outdoors in Muonio, specifically in Oloksella. I hadn’t been there in winter before, even though I’m quite familiar with the nearby fells and terrains. The presence of the hotel and ski resort—both of which are quite charmingly small—doesn’t particularly draw my interest. But in January, if any time, it’s quiet there before the spring season begins.

Here’s a little tip: If you ever want to visit Lapland during a calm, uncrowded time in winter, come in January. At that time, the holiday season rush has somewhat settled, but the skiers and travelers inspired by the spring sun haven’t yet arrived.

I skied straight from the parking lot of the Olos Hotel along the so-called competition track, occasionally being passed by speedy men in tight suits. To be honest, I’m not very good at skiing. I can stay upright on my skis and move forward, but slowly, especially on the track. I don’t understand the appeal of track skiing. Perhaps it’s because I don’t do it very well. Following a pre-carved groove, like a road, feels a bit uninspiring. I was already turning back to the car when the trail just meandered near the cabins, and I quickly grew bored.

However, I came to a junction where the track continued neatly through the built environment, but an unmarked trail, partially buried under deep snow, led upwards toward the slope.

Well, that’s my route—let's go!

The cabins faded far behind, as did the competitive skiers in their little suits and belts. What remained was only an endless, quiet forest of snow-laden trees and a puffing, rosy-cheeked me in the deep snow. Wonderful.

I’ll share a secret. I adore snow-laden trees in winter. Sometimes they appear alive, sometimes not, but it doesn’t really matter. Yet, there’s something astonishingly vibrant about them. They sway gently in even the slightest breeze, carrying tons of snow on their shoulders. The snow-covered branches that touch each other rustle and whisper to anyone who pauses to listen.

Snow-laden trees look different in every light. I can swear that when I look at the same tree twice in a row, it always appears to have a different shape on the second glance. And anyone who has seen a snow-covered forest illuminated by the moonlight can hardly deny my belief.

Back to the trek. Although I could write at length about the snow-laden trees and their life or lifelessness, depending on how one wants to interpret it,

I persevered and skied stubbornly up the slope of the fell, even though it was quite exhausting. I found myself regretting that I had only packed sandwiches and carrots for snacks. Who brings such snacks to the fells? Maybe I’ll stop by the village on the way back and buy some chocolate for consolation.

I skied all the way to the kota, which is also referred to as a scenic hut. It used to be in the form of a shelter (an open structure on one side), and back then, the view down into the fell valley and the snow-laden forest truly looked like a landscape painting. However, nowadays, Metsähallitus is building closed round huts at every rest stop for some reason, from which you can only see the scenery from the outside.

Nevertheless.

Fortunately, the sun painted golden edges on everything it touched, and it was just as nice, if not better, to be outside than inside the kota. I ate my carrot sandwich in the kota and decided that, still a bit hungry, I would definitely stop by the village store on the way home.

I immensely enjoyed the trek. I loved being completely alone. Not even the dogs were with me—just me and the snowy forest. At first, I recognized that it felt a bit lonely. I almost called E from the ski trail to have company on the dull track, but I held myself back.

I made the right choice. After a moment of boredom and being in my own company (which surprisingly takes some getting used to), solitude reaches a new level. The mind clears and purges itself of trivialities. It fosters new ideas and allows for rest. You hear yourself and find calm.

I think I’ve written and talked about this before—about solitude, its different levels, and its benefits. It’s an immensely interesting and inspiring topic. I could write at length about it.

But let’s try to stay focused on this trek for now.

The return journey went much faster than the ascent up the fell. Before I knew it, I was back on the competitive track, which no longer felt so irritating. I had refreshed myself in my own peace and found tranquility.

But I noticed that near the groomed ski track, the snow-laden trees stood quietly and still. Their whispers don’t reach the places where all other life takes up space.

Wishing you a sunny week! 🌞

♥ Sanna