The Path of Winds - Hetta-Pallas Ski Trek in February

This is my second time skiing Finland's perhaps most famous hiking route in winter. In the summer, this place is packed with people and tents filling the fells, but in winter—especially well before the ski holiday season—the Hetta-Pallas trail is quiet and empty. Perfect for us.

When you want to ski when no one else is around and seek solitude, you also have to make your own tracks. By early February, especially in the northern sections, few have skied the trail. According to the hut logs, we are among the first on this ski trek route this winter.

Our backcountry skis carry us even through deep snow, and though our sleds are heavy, they follow us faithfully, no matter how thick the snow. The fells call to us under the winter sun, and the wind joins us right at the start of the trek, never letting go throughout the entire journey.

We ski from one wilderness hut to the next, mostly following the marked trail. It sounds easy, and this time, it’s relatively straightforward. However, we’ve brought a tent with us and are prepared to camp if needed. We have a paper map, a compass, and the skills to rely on them alone to navigate our route. Some of the trail markers are buried in snow, others broken or blown away by the wind. In strong winds, the tracks of snowmobiles or other skiers disappear within minutes.

Every year, people are rescued from the Hetta-Pallas trail due to missing gear, getting lost, or injuries. It only takes a twisted ankle or bad weather to make it impossible to reach the next hut. Winter is no joke.

A small, friendly but important reminder for ski trekkers and those planning a ski trek:

Don’t rely solely on wilderness or reservation huts, even if packing light seems tempting. Don’t depend only on trail markers or your phone’s map for navigation. There’s no internet or phone signal in large parts of the trail.

No one wants to be in trouble in the winter fells with inadequate gear.

Great, now we're on the same page about the basics of ski trekking. And now, onto the trail itself. Welcome to join us on our ski trek!

Day 1: Hetta - Sioskuru Wilderness Hut

We left one car in the windy parking lot of the Pallas Hotel, and with the other, we drive to Hetta by the shore of Lake Ounasjärvi. Our sleds are packed full of food and warm clothing—perhaps a bit too much of both, but better that way.

We set off on the ski trek in good spirits and feeling warm.

I pull off my fur hat right after crossing the ice. Even though it's windy, February is surprisingly warm. At home, that warmth has been a bit frustrating at times, but now, with four days ahead of us out in the winter wilderness, it's only a positive thing.

After about eight kilometers of skiing, it's already clear that this won't be an easy trip. The deep snow and sled demand their share of effort, but the mind is still light. The snacks we enjoy during breaks seem to disappear into a bottomless pit, and the extra provisions don't feel so unnecessary anymore.

At Pyhäkeron hut, we have a brief hope of finding a packed trail. The trail grooming machine stops by the hut's yard but turns back toward Hetta. When we ask the driver when the trail to Sioskuru and beyond will be groomed, he answers in typical Lapland fashion: "Should be groomed in the next few days, but not in this weather—it’s too windy."

Well, no big deal.

Lunch break on the sunny terrace of Pyhäkeron wilderness hut.

The winter route mostly follows entirely different paths than the summer trail. In winter, the fell summits are mostly left off the route, but instead, skiers are treated to one gorge after another. On a windy February day, the gusts calm down in the gorge, as do other sounds. In the sky, a hawk uses the wind to lift its wings.

A few snowmobiles zip past us—likely locals, as snowmobiling in Pallas-Yllästunturi National Park is only allowed with a special permit. Normally, snowmobiles aren't my favorite, but now they leave behind a nicely packed surface for us to ski on through the gently rising, one-kilometer-long Haaravaara gorge. For the next two days, the snowmobilers and the hawk remain the only living creatures we encounter on the trail.

We take our last break in the final rays of the afternoon sun, just before reaching the Sioskuru wilderness hut. In February, the sun doesn’t stay up for long, and it’s already dark by five, so it's best to keep up the pace if you want to reach the shelter of the hut while there’s still daylight.

According to the guestbook, not many people have visited Sioskuru wilderness hut yet this year. The hut and our dinner enjoyed by candlelight feel like pure luxury after a day spent in the wind.

Sioskuru hut still has its old-fashioned charm, with thick log walls and small windows. Metsähallitus is rapidly modernizing the hut network, and I’m not entirely in agreement with their approach to the purpose of wilderness huts in places like this. Several old huts along this route have been replaced by new, bright wilderness shelters with narrow benches that are uncomfortable to sleep on.

However, on the wide wooden platform in Sioskuru, sleep comes easily and uninvited. Outside, the wind continues its lonely howling, but behind the thick log walls, you barely notice it.

From the light-pollution-free sky above Sioskuru wilderness hut, the Milky Way is clearly visible, along with faint northern lights.

Day 2: Sioskuru - Hannukuru

The morning is—unsurprisingly—windy. So windy that we don’t rush our morning routine. E has checked the weather forecast for all the days in advance and written it down for us (I usually don’t bother with that, but now it has proven to be quite useful), and according to it, the wind should calm down a bit after the morning.

Sioskuru wilderness hut is, as its name suggests, located in a gorge, and the wind sweeps through along the gorge. Weather forecasts in the fells can be a bit hit or miss. Or at least they have their own rules that have nothing to do with meteorologists’ predictions. Well, the fells have been here longer than we have, so we can give them a little leeway every now and then.

We check the latest weather update by sticking our noses out the door and harness ourselves back in front of the sleds. It’s definitely windy today, no denying that. With a storm hood over my eyes and the sled’s shafts jingling behind me, I feel like a horse in front of a sleigh on a journey to the ends of the earth.

You can ponder a lot while skiing through the white wilderness for about six hours a day.

The second day of the trek is the most beautiful—perhaps one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. The wind swirls loose snow straight up the slopes of the fells, making them look like living beings. It’s as if they are slowly moving with the wind, one snowflake at a time, like sand dunes in the desert.

I find myself pondering the story of Saana and Malla at Kilpisjärvi, ancient giants frozen at the shore of the lake. Perhaps these giants have their own stories behind them as well. I wouldn’t doubt that for a moment.

During the day, we don’t see a soul besides each other. We ski silently all day across the white emptiness.

The route from Sioskuru to Hannukuru is the most pleasant and beautiful of the trek. It follows the high ground formed by the sides of the Ounastunturi fells and hills. The wind has packed the snow, making it easy to ski, and the weight of the sled is completely forgotten as it glides smoothly over the firm surface.

However, descending the slopes with backcountry skis is nearly impossible—at least in a stylish manner. Instead, you have to let your poles guide you wherever the skis take you. They don’t have edges to control the direction; they simply slide straight downhill, whether you intend to go there or not.

Skiing downhill with backcountry skis doesn’t work very well—fortunately, in the fells, it doesn’t matter much which direction you go.

The wind is strong in the fells, even stronger than in the morning, if that’s possible. Luckily for us, it’s coming from behind, helping us along the way, but it still feels harsh.

During our lunch break, we try to find the biggest tree on the fell ridge to get some protection from the icy snow blowing into the back of our heads. However, trees can’t grow very large in these conditions, so our dream of shelter from the wind dissipates in about 23 m/s gusts.

We end up stacking our sleds against the wind and digging a pit in the snow. Wrapped up in our insulated jackets, we manage to enjoy about two tortilla lunches before we have to continue on our way.

The fell expanse ends at the towering walls of Rouvikuru, which have enough mass to stop the wind that has been howling in our ears all day. The trail descends pleasantly and gently straight to Hannukuru, which in recent years has become a camping-style accommodation area with two reservation huts, a kota, a sauna, and a wilderness hut.

You can also relatively easily ski to Hannukuru from the eastern side of the national park, either from Vuontispirtti or Ketomella. The sauna at Hannukuru and the large reservation huts attract even day hikers. It’s no wonder—a sauna in the middle of this frosty winter landscape feels like an oasis for travelers.

We share the Sioskuru wilderness hut with a group of young Czechs. They kindly hint that the sauna is warm. After our dinner, we head straight into the soothing warmth under the bright starry sky.

The sauna at Hannukuru is a paid but open sauna, and it's indescribably wonderful to warm up and wash after a day of trekking, especially in winter. In the winter, there’s a small hole cut in the lake from which water is carried to the sauna using a sled. It’s important to remember to empty the containers in the morning so they don’t crack when they freeze. The sauna fee can be paid at the Metsähallitus Eräluvat store. It’s advisable to take care of that in advance, as there are no internet or phone connections at Hannukuru, just like in many other places along the trail.

Day 3: Hannukuru - Nammalakuru

We wake up to the sound of the Czech youths bustling in the adjacent room. It turns out they are also on the same route, heading toward Pallas. We head to the sauna to empty our containers and clean up after ourselves. A cheerful group of four older women skis toward us from the reservation hut, sharing their Kilpisjärvi ski trek experiences and marveling at our backcountry skis. Although you rarely get to be alone at Hannukuru, the people I’ve met there have always been open-hearted and incredibly kind. Perhaps it’s the magic of winter and skiing that works wonders for everyone.

From Hannukuru, we must first ascend, as the name suggests, before we can descend again. The elevation gain is minimal, but the slopes are steep. More than once, I toss my skis into the snow halfway up the hill and walk the rest of the way. The weight of the sled pulls me down more than the climbing skins on my skis can hold me up. Phew, where were those extra chocolate bars? A significant amount of energy is consumed while working hard in the cold.

After descending the slopes of Suastunturi, we arrive at a loooong straight stretch. It’s so long that the end, nearly ten kilometers away, is almost visible through the lines of trees. The trail runs along the border of the national park and passes by Suasjärvi, Varkaanjärvi, and Vuontisjärvi. Only at Tynnyrijärvi does it take a small detour east before returning to brush against the base of the fells.

The ski route from Hannukuru to Nammalakuru is mostly a straight path that stretches as far as the eye can see.

The dull stretch is brightened by the silhouettes of various fells against the winter-blue sky throughout the journey.

After a long day, reaching Nammalakuru means climbing an agonizingly long uphill from the shores of Vuontisjärvi. Halfway up, a skier descending calls out for encouragement, "Just about a kilometer to Montellinmaja." That doesn't provide much comfort when the kilometer-long ascent takes nearly two hours. A few freeriders still descend in the evening twilight from Montellinmaja, shouting their encouragement to us, the red-faced sled pullers.

The day turns to evening, and the winter light fades into the darkness of the starry sky before we arrive at the Nammalakuru wilderness hut. Luckily, it’s already warm inside. The group of Czech youths has made it there before us. The winter water source was also a great delight for the tired skiers. Melting snow for water takes its time in the evening chores, but now we can fetch clear water directly from the winter spring.

This winter, Nammalakuru treats skiers to an open water source. There’s no need to melt snow for all the utility water, from drinking to making morning porridge and washing dishes.

We enjoy double portions for dinner and immediately lie down on the hut’s sleeping platform afterward. E stays behind to chat with the Czechs about their lives and daily routines, while I retreat to a quiet corner to invite sleep.

The wind continues to blow against the window frames until dawn.

Day 4: Nammalakuru - Pallas Hotel

The last day of our trek dawns just barely from the grayness. After yesterday’s ascent, my legs feel as heavy as the clouds hanging in the sky. We pick up the pace for our morning routine: fetching water from the winter spring, boiling porridge and coffee, doing a quick wash-up, packing sleeping bags and mats, preparing lunch for the food thermos, and finally loading the snowy sled back up for the final destination of the journey. By the fourth day, the hut chores flow smoothly and with routine.

I’ll say it outright: the skiing on this fourth day, about sixteen kilometers, is painfully dull. The snow veil covers everything in sight, sucking the winter's few colors from the landscape, and the sky decides to unleash a proper February snowstorm on us. For the first time on this trip, the wind and snow turn against us, as if it doesn’t want to let us leave this place.

One small ski push at a time, we slowly make our way through the monotonous landscape toward the hotel. Along the way, I have time to think about various things.

This kind of train of thought has become familiar from previous trips. I recognize that it always follows the same pattern:

First, my mind is filled with small, everyday concerns. Did I remember to lock the car doors? How are Papu and Rover doing with our friends? Next, thoughts of people—family, friends, acquaintances—past and present arise. You probably crossed my mind too.

After that, my mind fills with ideas, melodies, texts, images, and videos. I sing, talk to myself, and try to store the best parts of my creative thoughts in my mind. Some of them inevitably get lost in the wind and the landscape, but that’s just part of it.

When the ideas run out, what’s left is emptiness.

The mind is empty. Just like the landscape. Just like the snow falling on my face. Just like the swish of the skis and the creak of the sled. I can’t think of anything, nor do I want to. I feel boredom, but it doesn’t bother me. Nothing bothers me. Everything is peaceful and empty.

I’m jolted from my thoughts by E’s exclamation: “The hotel is in sight!” It comes as a bit of a surprise. Is this really where it ends? Just as I’ve finally found my rhythm with my skis and the still surprisingly heavy sled, along with the melting snow on my face and the wind blowing my hair into my eyes, our journey is coming to a close.

I’m exhausted, but I smile. I’m sweaty, yet my mind feels clearer than it has in a long time. In the wind and snowstorm, everything unnecessary has been left behind, and what remains is only what I can and want to carry forward.

We arrive at the bustling courtyard of Pallas Hotel. It’s disorienting to transition from the serenity of nature to the hotel’s entrance and lobby, where people are ordering beers and enjoying their everyday lives. I would even say it’s a mild culture shock. Unfortunately, the hotel restaurant doesn’t open until tomorrow (what luck...), but we still reward ourselves with heavenly-tasting sugar donuts and fresh coffee.

Ah.

♥ Sanna

I’ll return to the trek soon with a video. First, I need to recover from the shock of warm water coming from the tap just like that. How incredible!