In the middle of nowhere. Ah, how can you resist such a slogan? I certainly can't, especially since I am more or less known for enjoying trips that lead to nowhere in particular.

This time, despite Salla’s great slogan, the trip does actually have a named destination. The goal is Salla National Park and Iso Pyhätunturi. Although I've skied and hiked in various places in Eastern Lapland, Salla has unfortunately remained just a stopover, except for summer trips.

There are as many Pyhätunturis in Lapland as there are Long Lakes in Lake Finland or School Roads in every municipality or Korhos in the address book. In other words, many. Salla also boasts the Iso Pyhätunturi, the highest fell in Salla, offering stunning views from its summit. I remember reading that in northern place names, the word 'pyhä' (holy) doesn’t refer to religion or faith but rather to some Sami language term. However, since I couldn’t find a reliable source for my memory, let’s leave it at that. I’d be happy to receive any more accurate information if someone has it.

We’re a whole group, just the two of us and the dogs. However, despite objections, we have to leave Papu in the warm car while we head up into the fells. The deep snow and steep climb are too much for thirteen-year-old little legs, and Papu’s adventures are now more about strolling around the village or short trips to campfire spots. Papu stays curled up, paws tucked in, on the warmth of a sheepskin.

As we climb, I envy Papu’s warm resting place. With every meter we climb, the fell wind blows directly into our faces, as if trying to push us back to the parking lot. It’s no wonder that the well-marked path, which is usually packed tightly, sometimes disappears under snowdrifts and the blue trail markers get lost in the snow.

We lose the trail, especially above the tree line, from time to time, and despite our efforts, we have no clue where the marked route is. At this point, it doesn’t matter much. We’re climbing up the fell and plan to come down from the other side, so there’s no real risk of getting lost here.

However, I always feel the need to caution that even an easy route can turn into an unknown path in harsh, icy wind conditions. In the fells, you can never be too cautious or over-prepared. Especially in winter.

Despite—or perhaps because of—the harshness, the empty and wind-swept fell is incredibly beautiful. Your eyes can wander in any direction; looking east, beyond the border, they only reach dark forests and white snow.

In nature, emptiness is immensely beautiful.

I'm trying to set up the camera on a tripod at the top of the fell, but it won't stay upright in the wind, no matter how much I bury the tripod legs in the snow. We had planned to take a coffee break at the summit, enjoying the view. Maybe a snow mound will offer some protection from the wind. But no. The wind is relentless, making the lookout tower creak and groan, so I circle the tower from a safe distance. If it were to get carried away by the wind, I don't want to be anywhere near that metal structure.

My hair gets tangled with ice on my face (I should have put it up in braids), and the hood stays on only if I hold it by hand. I close my eyes and let the wind whip around me. Fighting against it is utterly futile. It will win regardless. In the fell, we humans are insignificant and powerless parts of nature. It does everyone good to experience that once in a while.

We end up skiing nonstop over the fell and straight to the other side. There, the wind eases a bit, but not enough to stop and rest in the snow for a coffee break.

We start to navigate around the snow-covered, frost-covered trees, which resemble marshmallows at least as much as they resemble trees.

We search for a tree with a specific type of snow coating, sheltered from the wind. We find it under a small drift, perfectly positioned against the wind. We take off our skis. I immediately sink into the snow up to my waist and crawl the rest of the way to the tree.

We dig away the snow from around the tree's lower branches with our snow-covered mittens until the lower branches are freed. Since Iso Pyhätunturi is located within a national park, we’re not allowed to touch or damage the tree’s branches. Not that we would do so elsewhere unless we were clearing our own forest, but that's not the point here. If I may anthropomorphize a bit, it feels like the tree even sighs a little as the heavy load of snow is lightened.

A small, cave-like shelter forms beneath the tree’s branches, a traditional winter refuge in the forest. We place a sheepskin on the ground, take out our snacks, and get a moment to relax amidst the storm. If the tree and its branches were larger, one could even sleep here. Snow and tree branches insulate warmth quite well. This time, our rest is only for a coffee break, but it’s a welcome one.

Conditions in the fells can change quickly, even within minutes. We get to experience this in reverse for once. We started our journey in strong winds and foggy scenery, but as we descend, the sky clears in half a minute, the wind stops, and the sun begins to shine through the marshmallow forest. The landscape, once a blue-gray white, transforms into a scene of gold and white. Glittering flakes like golden specks fall slowly from the branches of the spruce trees as we make our way down.

We had set out early, right at sunrise, so we arrive at the parking lot with plenty of daylight still left. Papu digs himself out of the warm trunk and reluctantly moves as we pack the skis and snow-covered backpacks next to him.

With daylight, energy, and coffee still in abundance, we decide to take another short ski trip somewhere Papu can join us. After a quick look at the map, we find a shelter a short drive away that’s almost right by the road.

In winter, maps can sometimes be misleading. What appears as a road on the map might be nothing more than a path through the snow-covered trees. However, someone has driven an ATV along this "road," so we decide to ski the distance we had planned to drive. After all, skis are also a means of transportation.

The journey isn’t long; Papu can handle it easily, and we reach the shelter to make a campfire. Judging by its size and convenient location, it’s clearly a popular spot. This time (as is often the case on our trips), there’s no one else there, so we get to enjoy the last of our coffee and the sourdough-baked (of course) carrot cakes we packed along in peace.

On the way back, we stop by the Salla Nature Center. There’s something about these visitor centers built alongside national parks that always makes them enjoyable to visit. They offer local crafts, art, and regional delicacies. There’s rarely any so-called junk or unnecessary souvenirs. It’s nice that even here, there’s a focus on high-quality, authentic products that support local craftsmanship and skills.

We pick up a paper map of Salla National Park. The notably friendly seller chuckles and says, “So, you bought a map of your backyard!” Well, our backyard doesn’t quite extend this far, but it could be considered part of the local area. There’s still so much more to explore and admire here.