This summer, I have been alone very little. That’s unusual for me. I usually need solitude to feel calm, alert, and mentally healthy in every way.

I’ve spoken a lot in favor of silence, and while it can be experienced in the company of others, I feel that silence and being alone are essential for my health and overall well-being. This summer, both of these essentials have been quite scarce. There has been renovation work, guests, more renovation, and new guests. A few trips and more people (however lovely they may be), and the pot begins to boil over worryingly.

That’s why I’m heading to the wilderness.

Despite all the busyness, I managed to carve out five days for myself, threw a tent and other camping gear in the back of the van, and set off toward the north. We are already in the north, but in my mind was a place that I remembered from two years ago during a winter trip — a deserted, quiet, beautiful spot. Even back then, I found something magical about it.

The wilderness of Tsarmitunturi.

A place I didn't even know existed until a couple of years ago. I stumbled upon it while casually browsing the maps to see what natural treasures are hidden in the northeastern parts of our country. Just north of the crowded Urho Kekkonen National Park, in the eastern part of Inari, lies one of our eleven wilderness areas. It's not often that we talk about these places (I still wonder why not), but somehow the Tsarmitunturi wilderness remains overlooked. I didn't mind, as I was looking for solitude and peace.

I park the car somewhere on the northern side of the wilderness, in the same spot as two years ago. Through the gate of the reindeer fence and up the sandy road, which has been licked by the rain, until I dare not drive any further — not even with the van.

My phone receives a text message saying, "Welcome to Russia," followed by the last signal bar disappearing from the screen. My family knows almost precisely where I'm going and when I'll be back, so there's no worry. They know where they can pick me up if something goes wrong. Later, I heard that my godmother had tried to call several times, and when she found no reception, she thought, "Sanna is probably in some wilderness again." That's how well they know me <3

I pack the tent and other supplies into my backpack as the sky gathers a dark, ominous veil overhead. Somewhere, thunder rumbles. It echoes unabated over the low forests of the wilderness, divine and loud. I wonder how this will turn out...

I first walk to the end of the forest road and, with a map in hand, jump into the pathless forest. It's like diving into another world. A quiet and deserted one. The summer birds have already performed their serenades. What remains is a storm gathering somewhere in the distance and the rustle of my feet on the damp blueberry patches.

I stop at the edge of a swamp. It stretches far, and nothing is in sight. I clear my throat and let out a shout from the depths of my lungs into the swamp. Just as a test. Somewhere behind it, life continues along the edge of the forest, responding multiple times. Nothing else is heard except for the beautifully melancholic echo from somewhere beyond that dark forest. I recognize it as my own voice, but it still feels as if it has picked up something else along the way. Something that can only be reached in the wilderness.

I'm getting tired of walking quickly. Traversing the pathless forest with a backpack that I haven't carried this heavily in a long time is taxing right from the start. The purpose of this trip isn’t to race for miles or conquer peaks, but to simply be and find peace. However, there's still a distance to the campsite by the lake that glimmers on the map and shines in my mind. Why didn’t I eat properly before I left? A foolish mistake.

I take the backpack off my back a couple of times and grab berries from the edges of the swamps, popping them into my mouth like a hungry animal. Juice dribbles from the corners of my mouth. I don’t usually care much for these berries, but now they taste better than I can remember. I’m starting to understand why they are called the gold of the north.

At the edge of the forest, an eagle flies over my head. So close that I can see its white, enormous tail and bright eyes. It gets startled by me, perhaps seeing a human for the first time in its life, and changes its flight direction with such a tight turn that I wonder how such a large bird can maneuver so skillfully. It gains a little distance and continues gliding through the sky like a silent ghost. It seems to have concluded that a master of flight of its size doesn’t need to be bothered by a slow hiker struggling under a backpack.

Just as I begin to enjoy the all-encompassing silence, thunder rumbles with the force of the entire sky. The same echo that had so gently responded to my shouts moments ago now repeats the booming sound like the best festival bass amplifier.

Honestly, I get startled. I’m alone in the middle of absolutely nowhere in a forest where the once sweetly low trees now appear very tall, and everything seems like an excellent lightning rod. I break into a run.

As I reach the campsite, it starts to rain. I didn’t make it to the lake. Or didn’t dare. Now, thinking back, I probably wasn’t in any real danger. Hunger and fatigue can do strange things to the mind. Nonetheless, I decided to pitch my tent by a beautiful and clear stream in a sloping forest.

I try my best to predict the direction of the thunder and my mental landscape like a seasoned meteorologist as I choose the best possible sheltered tent spot. I might even recite some kind of makeshift prayer to whoever-the-thunder-god-is, asking that I won’t disturb anyone or anything if I can set up my tent in peace and rest there for a day or two. I’ve been reading a lot of novels based on Finnish mythology lately. It must have influenced me.

I finally get the tent up and breathe in the shelter it provides. It’s funny how such a thin fabric on metallic poles feels like being safe within the walls of a home. I peek through the entrance at the sky and look at the clouds. Thanks to my poetic skills or sheer luck (that remains for the reader to decide), they have changed direction. The thunderfront that was rumbling toward me has now moved to the other side of the swamp, grumbling away but deciding to leave the game and continue its booming over the mountains.

I thank whoever I last recited my poetry to. It doesn't hurt to be on good terms, just in case, with all the beings that inhabit the wilderness. I certainly am not the only one and am not in a suitable position to define what kind of creatures dwell here. I am merely a visitor in this story.

Finally, I get the food cooking. While waiting for my gourmet meal to be ready—if you’re curious, it was a whole pot of noodles and vegetable meatballs—I watch the thunder in the distance as it mows the horizon, completely indifferent to my worries or my little tents.

After the meal, everything gets easier. I should have guessed it, of course. Who is silly enough to run into the wilderness with a heavy backpack to escape a thunderstorm while still hungry?

Exactly.

I spend the evening marveling at the stream. Its babbling is like the best symphony orchestra's flute section. After the thunder's rumble, it's so beautiful and clear. I leave my wet shoes in the tent and tiptoe barefoot on the cool stones of the stream, sipping the water as if it were the finest sparkling wine. I feel like royalty, even though I have just one set of clothes soaked by the rain and my sleeping gear with me.

Sometimes, you need to let go of everything before realizing what true wealth is.

Before going to bed, I take a wash in the stream. Using my Trangia pot as a bowl, I rinse away the day’s scares and dirt, chuckling at the cold water in my lofty solitude. Although I am almost certain of my solitude, it feels as if someone is watching my activities. If that was you, reveal yourself, for sometimes a random passerby might stumble upon the same stream.

If it wasn’t you, perhaps my thanks and my poem didn’t fall on deaf ears and didn’t disappear into the depths of the wilderness.

In the evening, I ponder aloud why the heck I’m doing this. I haul ten kilograms of gear into the wilderness, get soaked, feel afraid, and whine about my hunger all alone. I’m almost always in some sort of discomfort, and in that moment, I can’t remember why on earth.

But when I shriek at the coldness of the water in that clear little stream, which babbles like a flute quartet, and how wonderful it feels to be clean and just fed, I remember again. I remember why I endure all the trouble, tolerate the discomfort, and put myself in these situations.

I feel more alive here than anywhere else.

At home, the shower provides water on its own, food can be bought at the store, and life is relatively easy. It’s easy to forget the wonder of things. When even the basics—food, shelter, and cleanliness—require a bit too much effort, they feel like luxuries. Suddenly, they are worth more than gold.

Moreover, I find myself in the wilderness. Somehow, I suddenly remember who I am, what I want, and what I need. I come up with new ideas, review past situations and conversations, and feel emotions that perhaps get overshadowed in everyday life. I evidently need a lot of space for that (there probably isn’t any more space than the wilderness in Finland...) and time alone.

Thank goodness for the wilderness.

With the wilderness spirit and a touch of Snufkin,

♥ Sanna