It’s five in the morning. I wake up to the smell of coffee and the soft sounds of a backpack being packed in the kitchen. E has already been up, packed lunch into the backpack, and breakfast is ready in the car. How wonderful.

The cold morning air hits my face as I step out of the creaky door into the dim light of dawn. We load up into the car—two dogs and us—and head toward the Small Bear Trail, the most popular hiking route in Finland.

The thought of it feels daunting. I usually avoid popular places to the last minute. Not just because I tend to dislike the things that everyone else seems to enjoy, but because I seek solitude, quiet, and peace when I go on hikes. I had thought I would never find that on the Small Bear Trail, which is why I’ve avoided it for so long.

To my delight, I was wrong.

Photo by: E ❤️

The parking lot is as quiet as the road in our little village. It's still some absurdly early hour. The lot itself is huge, almost like one you'd find at a big supermarket. Just looking at it, I can grasp the sheer number of visitors this place must get. A wide, gravel-paved path leads into the forest—nature’s modern highway.

But nature remains silent. And so incredibly beautiful. It seems indifferent to the "highway" cutting through it, as around us stretch vast forests, wetlands, and glassy lakes resting under a blanket of morning mist.

The wide path makes it easy for us to walk side by side. Its width and all the amenities seem almost comical, given the immense silence and peace surrounding us. We are the only ones here. It's as if the organizers had prepared for a huge festival crowd by fencing off a massive area and bringing in every possible convenience, but no one ever showed up.

The only festival-goer here is the eerie morning mist, quietly drifting over the surface of the lakes. Its movement resembles a slow, graceful dance. From somewhere across the water, it drifts in, disappearing into the start of the forest.

We arrive along the trails just before seven in the morning at a place I’ve seen hundreds of photos of beforehand. Myllykoski. It feels as if I’ve already been here before. The suspension bridge, the gray log cabin, and the roaring rapids beside it. All around is ground that looks trampled like a military drill site. I can only imagine how busy it must get during the day. But even an army's marching drills wouldn’t compare to the true ruler of sound here—the rapids' thunderous roar.

The thunder of the rapids locks up my ears. It hums so intensely, I feel as though I’ve sunk into the white noise of a television. You can feel its power as it shakes the wooden structure I stand on. It’s right next to me. The spray fogs up my camera lens and the surrounding landscape as it shoots toward the morning sky and the trees framing it. Standing on the edge of all this feels like defying nature's forces—and it feels incredibly good.

Photo by: E ❤️

I can't hear E when he asks right next to me if we should move on. He gestures toward his ears and shakes his head. Breakfast was left unfinished before we hit the trails, but I wouldn’t want to eat here anyway. The immense power of the water is mesmerizingly beautiful to watch, but it doesn’t exactly soothe the ears.

I understand now why I’ve seen countless photos of this place and why it draws so many visitors. The picturesque nature and the quaint cabin are like something straight out of a Grimm Brothers' fairy tale. I can’t imagine what it feels like when the place is full of people, but right now, in this story, it’s just the rapids, the cabin, and us.

The autumn colors have taken their first strides in recent days, painting the trees along the trail with golden hues. Walking is easy, and it's nearly impossible to lose the path. On one of the countless lakes along the way, a coot bobs up and down, grabbing breakfast from beneath the water. It doesn’t seem bothered that we’re walking just a few meters away from its buffet table. Perhaps it’s already used to the many hikers that pass by. I toy with the idea that it’s stocking up on a hefty breakfast, getting ready to show off for the day hikers like a model in a storefront display.

Whatever the case, we continue along the golden trails, still just the two of us.

Photo by: E ❤️

We stop for breakfast at one of the many rest spots scattered along the trail. There’s no shortage of them, with a break area every few kilometers, ensuring that hunger won’t catch you off guard on this route suitable for everyone.

A loon calls out from the lake as I pour coffee into my kuksa and take a bite of the sandwich, already cooled by the crisp autumn air. The first rays of the sun begin to filter through the forest, gently chasing away the last wisps of mist that dance over the calm surface of the lake.

Photo by: E ❤️

I’m quickly beginning to understand why the Pieni Karhunkierros trail is so popular. Along the way, it feels as if an entire little world is packed with various natural landmarks and breathtaking views, each more beautiful than the last. I dare say that all of these places look even more stunning in the soft light of early morning and in peaceful solitude than they do under the harsh glare of midday sunshine, but it’s undoubtedly impressive at any time of day.

The most breathtaking moment of the hike lasts less than a minute.

We arrive at the top of a high cliff. Below, a steep, forested gorge opens up, mirrored by another just across the way. Between them lies a valley where the morning's final mist lingers, on the verge of vanishing into another dimension, giving way to the first rays of sunlight rising over the treetops. For a brief moment, the mist hovers in place, as the sun peeks over the silhouetted forest, lighting up the entire landscape. The deep-cut ravine, the dark, silent candle-like spruces lining its edges. A few golden-leaved trees glowing from within the valley, as if illuminated by some inner light. And above it all, the mesmerizing, magical beauty of the morning mist.

I manage to press the camera shutter just a few times before the entire spectacle vanishes. The mist retreats, waiting for the evening twilight, the sun slips behind the clouds, and the forest returns to its deep green silence.

We stand, speechless, on the cliff's edge. It feels as if someone had briefly opened a window into another world. Though we stand at an official lookout, where countless footsteps have surely trodden before ours, it feels as though I had been somewhere entirely different.

We hike nearly the entire route alone. At one rest stop, a sleepy hiker bundled in a yellow parka and beanie slowly rises from the campfire, likely having spent the night at a nearby lean-to. Part of this trail overlaps with the longer Karhunkierros, which is also among Finland's most popular hiking routes.

Along the trail, there are many astonishingly beautiful spots. We have them all to ourselves, but only because we set out early on a weekday morning.

The atmosphere changes the moment morning fades into day.

By the time we complete the circuit and return to Myllykoski, it's nearly lunchtime, though we haven't paid much attention to the time.

Myllykoski feels like an entirely different place. The same rushing rapids, the same rustic cabin, and the same fire pit remain, but now the sound of children's laughter and cheerful conversation carries over the roar of the water. The trail that felt so wide earlier is now congested, and we wait on a set of stairs for what seems like an oddly long time to let hikers coming up pass first. The waiting itself isn't an issue—after all, where would we be in a hurry out in nature?—it just feels strange.

The fire pit area is bustling with people. By "bustling," I mean dozens, which, in the middle of the wilderness, feels as if I've been suddenly transported to a busy city. Friendly hikers greet us politely, but I find myself standing there, mouth agape, in quiet astonishment.

I'm even more bewildered as we approach the parking lot and hear German being spoken in the distance. We pass what appears to be one or two busloads of lively German youths, visibly invigorated by the beauty of the surrounding nature.

I'm truly happy that our nature has so much to offer to everyone. There's plenty of it to go around, and we have more than enough room here for all. I just find myself collecting my thoughts and processing this strange feeling, realizing that in the last two kilometers of our walk, I've likely seen more people than I would in an entire week back home. This is new to me.

The lack of sleep from our early start is a small price to pay for experiencing the beauty of this hike in peace, without crowds or chatter. If you want to walk Finland's most popular hiking trail when no one else is around, set out at the break of dawn. As a bonus, especially in the fall, you'll be rewarded with the magical misty landscapes of early morning.