A bluish-gray mist and drizzle sweep across the car window. We’re driving along small, winding roads in Northwestern Norway toward the small and relatively unknown Rago National Park in early June. On internet forums, however, it receives the praise it deserves: 'The most beautiful place I’ve ever been to,' 'Breathtaking views,' 'Incredibly beautiful the whole way!'

Rago National Park offers a pleasant loop trail of about 25 km. We leave the car—our camping van—at a convenient pull-off halfway along the paved road. The trail starts a couple of kilometers from our parking spot and ends on the same road, a couple of kilometers back.

Beside us rises an almost vertical, bluish-gray cliff that looks like a giant, and below it flows a turquoise, crystal-clear river. Just your typical Norwegian scenery, it seems.

The trail immediately climbs up a steep sandy slope. With backpacks on, we’re huffing and puffing, laughing between breaths that Norwegian trails knock the wind out of hikers right from the start. The weather, however, is perfect for hiking, at least for a winter-loving Finn. It's about ten degrees Celsius, and the air is as fresh as in a northern jungle.

Norway and its nature aren’t new to either of us, yet it still leaves us speechless time and again. It feels like walking through a Tolkien story, in an ancient world inhabited by elves, fairies, and gnomes. Waterfalls cascade down tall cliffs, their roar propelling us forward. Misty fog drapes the mountain peaks, blending them into the clouds, making it impossible to tell how high they really are. The nature, just awakening into the green of spring, is abundant and vibrant. The silence is palpable, and there's no one in sight.

The trail is incredibly diverse. In Northern Finland, you get used to hiking on flat trails extending as far as the eye can see at the top of a fell, or trekking across bogs on boardwalks. The Rago hiking trail, however, is different every kilometer; there’s flat bog (with hardly any boardwalks, so the waterproofing of our shoes was tested), dense forest where fallen trees from the winter need to be manually lifted and moved aside, rocky sections where you often wonder if the trail really goes this way and then try to crawl with your backpack on.

According to the map, the eight-kilometer stretch takes us an entire day. I even named the trail “Norway’s adventure park route”, as it requires you to use all your limbs to make progress.

The progress is incredibly fun. During the eight-kilometer day hike, I never once thought about whether we were getting close to the cabin. I admired the clear rapids, breathed in the fresh mountain air, climbed, crawled, and avoided muddy bog pools. We crossed bridges in landscapes that precariously hover above cold rivers and could easily be settings for imaginative fairy tales.

We take our lunch coffee break after a long climb on the side of a mountain, where millennia of flowing water have smoothed the rock to a marble-like finish. Below us spreads the river delta, where the trail began and continues upstream. The green river winds through the valley like the Amazon. The valley landscape requires a good while of sitting in place before you can truly appreciate its scale and beauty.

We sit on the edge of a boulder and enjoy our lunch snacks. Around us runs a crystal-clear mountain stream, from which we can happily refill our water supplies. There’s no need to worry about water on this trail; even the melting snow from the peaks flows from every possible crevice, and every stream tastes fresh and pure. I ponder how the pure waters of the northern world must be one of the greatest treasures on Earth and how it seems so taken for granted.

The first day's journey was indeed about eight kilometers on the map, but it took the whole day. The trail ascended up the mountainside, then descended into an unmarked ravine on the map, and then climbed back up the mountainside again (hmm, can you put it that way…). By the end of the hike, it was hilariously fun, but maybe not so much for the leg muscles.

It’s good to take a nice number of breaks. When walking, you only need to watch your feet, but when you stop, you’re not quite sure whether it’s the climb up the mountainside or the immense beauty of the landscape that’s taking your breath away.

We spend the night at a wilderness cabin, Storskogvasshyttan, once we finally reach it. For a Finnish taste, Norwegian cabins are almost luxurious. For us, a cabin can be a hut made from logs with a felt roof, a few makeshift sleeping platforms, and possibly a stove or fireplace. The Norwegian cabin has beds with mattresses and pillows, a gas stove, a heater, and a full set of dishes including porcelain cups and plates.

We’re the only ones at the cabin. According to the guestbook, only a handful of people visited in the late winter (I’m still wondering how they managed to get here in the snow) and even fewer in the spring. Looking at last year’s entries, July is clearly the most popular time for this trail as well.

We prepare dinner outside at the campfire site. To my surprise, there’s a complete fire ban in Rago National Park (perhaps elsewhere in Norway too?) throughout the summer, so dinner is cooked using a Trangia instead of an open fire.

On the second day, the trail crosses the Amazon-like river that had previously flowed through the valley below and continues along the gray rocky slopes on the opposite bank. The trail is overall easy to follow, but not necessarily easy to traverse. The spring floodwaters are flowing strongly, and on the second day we have to come up with tricks to cross various mountain streams, ponds, and other water bodies.

If there’s no water on the trail, there’s still snow. We have to deviate from the trail frequently to avoid snowdrifts in the shady spots that are too soft to support a hiker but too deep for snowshoeing. However, like the previous day, this only added to the enjoyment of the hike. In addition to physical exertion, it also requires using your head to figure out how to get through and where to cross.

Only once does crossing a water body become thrilling. On the map, a small-looking stream has become wild from floodwaters, and the current plunges a few meters down a cliff edge as a waterfall into the valley below.

The crossing point isn’t marked on the map, leaving it for us to figure out. I suspect it’s because, on a dry July day, you can cross it with a small jump, while early in the season, it might require swimming. It makes sense to leave the crossing point up to the hiker to decide based on the current conditions.

We circle the stream for a while, trying to find a spot where the flow is either gentle or the water level is low enough so it won’t sweep us or our gear down into the valley. The smooth rock underwater provides no grip, and heavy backpacks could be dangerous if we fall during the crossing, so the spot needs to be carefully considered. We eventually find a crossing point where the flow is moderately strong but the water depth is only a few inches.

We toss our shoes to the other side, and E wades across to take the backpacks I hand over. Even though the water only comes halfway up our shins, the strength of the current and the icy coldness of the water are surprising. It splashes up to our thighs with its force and numbs our feet in seconds. Quickly, one realizes how small and helpless one is when nature exerts its power.

We only make it across with cold toes, and on the far side, we take a break to admire the clarity and power of the stream. I might even leave a few nuts in a crevice as a thank you to any spirit that might inhabit this place and allowed us to cross unharmed. You never know...

The second day’s journey is longer than the first, at 17 km. However, after the initial mishaps, it mostly takes us along the smooth mountain slopes, through passes, and on cliff edges. The hiking is lighter and more brisk, allowing me to focus on the towering mountain peaks rising up to the clouds on all sides and the breathtakingly clear mountain tarns that seem to sink into their depths just by looking at them.

A few ptarmigans follow our path, flitting to the next boulder and making their characteristic calls as we walk past. The ptarmigan’s call, sometimes referred to as laughter, sounds like the chattering of gnomes, and it’s easy to imagine the wilderness spirits laughing at the odd passersby.

The scenery is stunningly beautiful. Even though we walk in the same valley for two consecutive days, each new cliff edge reveals a new dimension, a new waterfall, a new crystal-clear lake. In this wilderness, apart from the narrow path worn into the rock, there’s no sign of human presence. The world needs more places like this.

At the end of the second day, we reach the most famous spot in Rago National Park. The breathtaking 200-meter-high Litlverivassforsen waterfall, which is often called a must-see, can also be visited on a day trip from the opposite direction. The well-trodden paths around it suggest that many more people come here than to other parts of the trail. However, at this early point in the season, we are still the only ones here.

The waterfall cascades down the mountainside right where the trail crosses it via a bridge. After the previous challenging water crossing, we are a bit concerned about whether the bridge is in good condition during this high water level, or if we would have to return the same way we came. On one side is a massive glacier lake, whose coldness is already felt in our fingers. On the other side, the slope is so steep that even the ptarmigans seem to avoid it. The bridge is the only way to get across the river.

Apparently, the Norwegians know their nature and its conditions well; the bridge stands sturdy and safely takes us to the other side of the waterfall. From the bridge, the height or grandeur of the waterfall is not yet fully appreciated. You can only imagine it by estimating the distance down to the valley floor, with the water splashing up somewhere on the other side of the ledge.

I try not to look back as we climb up the mountainside from the bridge to view the full grandeur of the waterfall. I want to save the moment of seeing the awe-inspiring scene for when I turn around and not peek at it beforehand.

When I finally turn my gaze down towards the waterfall cascading into the valley, I am left speechless. I might even shed a few tears; the scenery is so breathtakingly beautiful and overwhelmingly massive. I can hardly bring myself to capture it on camera; I just want to stay in place and stare at its picturesque splendor.

To the right rises a steep, still speckled with snow, mountain wall. From its slopes fall numerous waterfalls (so many that I lost count) into a mirror-like and crystal-clear mountain lake. From this vantage point, the lake's water is held back only by a small rocky outcrop, which from the waterfall and the bridge we just crossed, bursts forth as a white veil cascading down into the valley. There, the now-familiar turquoise river meanders through the lush valley. The entire spectacle is framed by towering mountains reaching up to the clouds, cradling the valley like a bird’s nest.

Wow.

I almost feel like not posting the photos, so you could experience the beauty of the place yourself. However, I firmly believe that even after seeing these pictures, you will be left speechless when you arrive at the site.

These photos are for you, who might not be able to visit the place yourself but want to see what nature is capable of creating.

The final stretch feels like it's spent savoring the sensations of these landscapes. The trail continues with its familiar challenges of large boulders, streams, and confusingly narrow passes where a hiker carrying a backpack can barely squeeze through.

We encounter a few sweaty day hikers, including an Italian couple who, panting, ask how much farther the waterfall is. Even a day trip to the waterfall is not entirely easy and quick.

Before reaching the paved road again, the trail descends from the mountain down a sandy slope similar to the one we climbed at the beginning. The descent is so long and occasionally steep that carrying the backpack begins to take a toll on the knees.

Rago National Park is breathtakingly beautiful. It is unfortunately overshadowed by the Lofoten Islands, which are at roughly the same latitude but a short distance to the west and are extremely popular.

I still haven’t decided whether it’s good or bad that beautiful places receive little attention. However, I think that when you get to experience and see such wilderness beauty firsthand, you come to appreciate and respect nature even more.