Day 5, Ammarnäs – Rävfallsstugan wild camp, 22 km
For a long time I’m wavering, a zero day or go hiking? It’s dry, but the past few days I’ve been misled a few times already. Eventually I decide its too nice to stay inside. I hoist my backpack up and hike back to the parking lot at the edge of the river. A bridge and a bit later I am standing at the other end of Ammarnäs. I cross the road to a pine forest and at a second road I hike past a sign ‘no snowmobiles allowed’. There I no longer see any way markers. Back then and at the tarmac I discover modest orange dots. I follow them up  towards the bottom of a ski slope. Through the forest at the edge of the slope I hike upwards. It’s fairly steep, this is not what the elevation profile looked like. Halfway up the slope I meet the German woman Zilke and the Danish Morten. Lightning fast Dutch Bart joins us and we take pictures of each other with Ammarnäs and it’s grandiose lakes in the background. Past the ski station the trail continues on a track and it takes a long time before we reach the tree line. Then we have an amazing view of the mountains and reindeer parade in front of us nicely. A bull has bloody strips of skin hanging from it’s antlers, a sign the rut is not far off anymore. There’s a lot of wind and I feel a blush on my cheeks. Nice! The mountains show a different face again and again and it never gets boring. When I descend, I discover a waterfall on a distant mountain slope, where I suspect Rävfallsstugan will be. This time the trail heads fairly straight towards the waterfall, but the last stretch especially there’s a fair bit of birch forest. My feet are letting me know they have had enough for today. Then I reach Vindelälven with it’s angry rapids. Just on the other side of the bridge in the forest there are some gorgeous bivouacs. I pitch my tent and only visit the unmanned hut for the latrine and the nifty hose spouting deliciously fresh river water.

Dag 6, Rävfallsstugan wild camp - Sjnuttjie shelter wild camp, 26 km
By accident I hike 26 kilomters today instead of the 21 I had planned. Whoops!
The morning starts out well. I do some stretching exercises for my feet and head out. Slowly I climb up through the woods. The trail is boggy here and there and board walk take me across the worst swamps. I steadily climb higher until I am approaching the tree line. Two hikers who are descending tell me the fells are quite windy, but at the third bridge it’s not too bad and that’s the best spot to take a break. I hike into the emptiness of the hills. For kilometers I am alone, surrounded by mountains and sloping hills. There’s nobody about me, no other hikers as far as I can see. Such good fortune, this moment feels personal, a little present especially for me. Here and there I see reindeer in the distance. A crow croaks and the sound echoes across the mountains. I realize how immensely quiet it is. Only my breath, my footsteps, the sound of my trekking poles against a rock, the sucking mud, jubilant water. Natural sounds, a balm to the soul. Two bridges across wide rivers are fairly new, the wood still yellow and unweathered. At the third bridge the wind is calm and I do take a short break, eat something and let the landscape affect me however it may. After a while I hike on along the Lisvuojávrrie, an elongated lake. Boardwalks across swamp where wool grass dances on the wind like small cotton balls. An hour later I cross a wide river with stepping stones and take of my backpack in the leeward of a hill. While I nibble at the Mjukbö with cheddar cheese bought in Ammarnäs I watch other hikers making their way across, some hesitant and carefull, others dancing across the rocks like they are smooth pavement. Morten and René, the cheerful German hiker I met in the hostel at Ammarnäs, overtake me, but when they take a break further on, I pass them again. Grey shower curtains glide past the mountains and I put on my jacket. The stretch along the lakes feels long. The map indicates a campsite, Tsjiegnatisjávrrie, but at the wobbly red bridge I see high shrubs and mud only. According to René the bivouac was at a second bridge and I hike on. At a reindeer fence I turn on my Garmin-watch to keep track of the distance and after 1,5 kilometers I am beginning to suspect I have missed the bivouac. Morten has joined me and when a female hiker meets us on the trail, we turn out to be already quite close to the emergency shelter at 26 kilometers. There again we meet René, who we tease with his second bridge, Karoliena with her dog Richard and French Adrièn. There are three Belgians going south as well. The shelter is nice and warm and I put my boots on the iron plate next to the stove. Later I go collect water in the lake. Up to 500 mketers from the shore there’s a trail, after that there’s swamp in which I sink up to my knees and I make my way to the water with difficulty, though the water is clear and delicious. I pitch my tent behind the shelter. The earth is soft an moist, but I collect some flat rocks to put in the vestibule, to keep my backpack dry.

Day 7, Sjnuttjie shelter wildcamp - Rahpajagati River wildcamp, 24 km
For the first time in a few days I wake up to sunshine and blue skies. But a chilly wind is blowing and the sun has no warmth in it’s rays. I head out and after a little grove the land is open with undulating mountains in the distance. The trail is soggy and I cross various streams. A small herd of reindeer, including a white one, flees swiftly. Rneé and Adrièn overtake me and I hike with Morten for a while, until he stops by Leif, the German I met in Servestugan. Leif has found a gorgeous bivouac on a little hill looking out over a lake in which a mountain is mirrored, but apparently feels unwell and Morten helps him packing up his ultralight tent. The trail is a variety of little patches of forest and open, treeless plains with low shrubs and reindeer in the distance. The wind is still blowing strong, but while hiking I am warm enough. At a little stream I rest, protected from the wind by a low slope in the landscape. Leif and Morten join me and it turns out Leif feels so bad he is thinking about giving up. Food poisoning, he thinks. We remind him you shouldn’t quit on a bad day and drag him along with us along the trail until across the edge of a hill we can see a lake. There Bäverholmen must be, the hamlet on the shores of the Iraft, from where you can take a boat to Adolfsström. We descend in a calm pace through birch forest. Then we reach the Bárasjuhka, a gorgeous river full of rapids. The path weaves along the shore, now right at the water’s edge, then a but further into the woods, where the sound of the river becomes an uniform murmur, and you cannot hear the water bubbling around each separate rock. When we cross the river for a second time, a signpost says it’s only one kilometer to Bäverholmen. But somehow Swedish kilometers are longer than Dutch ones. Boardwalks, mud, tree roots. It goes on and on. Finally we arrive at a neatly shorn lawnand see a brown tipi ahead and the Värdhus, the restaurant, which turns out to be closed for the season. Fortunately the owner is present and opens the door for us. The sugary drinks have already been put into storage and I pinch the last packet of apple juice. Even before I have finished it, the owner puts on his coat and jumps into the boat taking Morten and Leif to Adolfsström. I am greedy, I came to hike and hike I shall. It’s only eight kilometers after all. But again Swedish kilometers turn out to be long. Tree roots, rocks, streams. Only on the board walks I can stretch my legs for a bit and hike at my own pace. For motivation I turn on my smart watch and while my Garmin counts the kilometers up, I count them down. Halfway through there’s a little trail to the lake’s shore, where I find I gorgeous bivouac. The thought of Morten waiting for me in Adolfsström and the coca cola he promised me motivates me to go on. More forest, more rocks. It never gets easy, but the knowledge that I consciously chose this, makes the hike lighter. Then I see a concrete quay with little boats. A tarmac road. I hike past hikers pitching their tents on a camping at the edge of the village. Morten awaits me at the Handelsbod, the legendary shop which is closed by now. But the cola tastes delicious. After 30 minutes we seek out Johanssons Fjällstugor, but we find the reception empty. A camping at the other end of the village is full of caravans with a wooden shed to increase the surface somewhat. Tents are not welcome here and therefor we return to the Kungsleden, where there’s supposed to be an emergency shelter 1,5 km on in the forest. We follow a track into the woods, but do not find a shelter. We do reach a bridge across a little river with a fire pit and low benches, where we find the three tightly packed tents of René, Adrièn and Karoliena. There’s just about space for my Hubba NX still and because Morten has had a few hours of rest and feels better, we send him out on the trail again to find a spot a bit further on, which he does begrudgingly. There’s no latrine anywhere near. This finally feels like wild camping.

Day 8, Rahpajagati River wildcamp - Jäkkvik 19 km
The morning starts out cold and I stay in my snug sleeping bag for a long while. When the sun starts coming through and the others are stirring, I get up after all. By the time I have packed up its unusually late, almost 09.00 hours. Morten is already underway and René quickly shoots past me. I follow the winter route for a good while across the track and enter the forest. And there I stay. For a good long while. That’s np chore, because the forest is beautiful and the sun has come out. For the first time in a week there’s a flawless blue sky. Hardly any birds chirp, some kind of finch flees before my heavy boots. Now and again there are rocks, some grey, others black. I climb and descend, make some pace on the boardwalks on occasion. At a viewpoint I meet Karoliena and René and take a short break. Again there are some beautiful bivouacs and even a latrine. Such care and attention has been given to the trail. Us hikers are spoiled rotten. I cross a river and the roller coaster continues. In between the trees I catch glimpses of the mountains. The eleven kilometers to Pierljekaisestugan are long. On occasion a tree lies across the trail and even if he leaves are green still, there’s already half a circle visible where hikers have forged a new trail trough the blueberry bushes. Contrary to other huts this stuga is not on a clearing in the forest, but wedged in between the trees where the two huts have conquered some space. On the porch I hang my tent out to dry, next to René’s and Karoliena’s. Karoliena falls asleep and Morten is talking to some Swedish day hikers. After half an hour Morten and I continue on. We finally reach the tree line in a landscape that can only induce happiness. I am surrounded by mountains. Remarkable peaks, countless shades of green, the red of approaching fall, blue water and the yellow sunspots between shadowing clouds gliding over the forests. The trail gets easier here too, level and without too many rocks. Still there’s a lot of mud. When I don’t pay attention, I sink almost up to my knee  in the bog. I laugh cheerfully, today nothing can ruin my mood. This is why I hike. This is enjoyment. The trail downwards is rocky again and long. Morten grumbles and I stay positive. After an authentic barn and a likewise authentic house we cross a road and reach Kyrkans Fjällgard Hostel. After a wonderfully warm shower washes the mud of my legs I walk to the supermarket to buy some Leukotape for my toes. I do not have blisters, but because my socks and shoes are continuously wet I have chafing sports on all my toes, even with the special toe socks I am wearing for the first time this thru-hike. I have tape on me, but not enough for a month. Tomorrow the weather will turn bad. An excellent moment for a zero to give my feet some time to recover somewhat. After that it’s back to work.

Day 10, Jäkkvik - Bartek rivier wildcamp, 19 km
After a wonderful zero at the hostel, with sauna!, I tape up my feet with Leukotape and hoist up my backpack. Morten, Gernman Zwantje and I hike out of the hamlet past beautiful wooden houses and a barn with pale elk antlers. The stretch from Jäkkvikk to Kvikkjokk is supposed to be the least popular part of the Kungsleden. No manned huts, difficult to reach and no less than three lakes to cross. I am looking forward to the solitude. A taste of wilderness, without the luxury of huts. After a lock we hike into the forest. It’s an easy forest trail, without to many roots and rocks. The earth feels soft underneath my feet. We follow the contours of the Jäggávrre, sometimes right on the shore and sometimes further into the forest. It’s a fair stretch, but after a short canal and a bit of gravel road, we traverse the last bit of forest to the first crossing across the Tjårvekallegiehtje. At a wooden shelter there are six backpacks. Two rowing boats are approaching the other shore, one is still upside down on the beams. When we inspect the boat, we see that one of the oar grips is missing. Therefore we wait until the other rowing boats return and load up there backpacks. Then we get into one of the boats. I row across and it’s harder than I thought. Again and again I deviate to the right and have to compensate. This is the shortest crossing, only 400 meters. After a wobbly trajectory we reach the other shore, where two Swedish women are loading up their backpacks. I get out and Morten and Zwantje take a second boat to take back with them to the other shore, where Rene and Adrièn are already waiting. The rule after all, is that there has to be at least one boat on each shore, so no hikers is stuck with all boats on the other shore. When Morten and Zwantje are back, I want to get going quickly, the wait has made me cold. Zwantje remains behind, she hikes slower than us and chooses a calmer pace. Morten and I make a decent pace. Here too the forest path is not too hard, but fairly muddy at times. Streams flow right across the trail and puddles have collected in potholes. We encounter a reindeer fence and apparently the pink tubes hanging in a gate are enough to keep the reindeer out. Around 12.30 hours we take a break on a rock and shortly after hikers meet us who have been taken across the Riebnes by the motor boat this morning. There are quite a few, at least some of them are going to have to row three times shortly. Suddenly those motor boats don’t seem too bad after all. We hike on and after a stretch of low shrubs below a power line we start to climb. Steeply. Straight up. Sometimes a stream flows across the trail, or rather, the stream is the trail. I have put on my water proof socks, but Morten is complaining like crazy and moans how hard it is for him continuously. And he wants to hike the 4000 kilometer Pacific Crest Trail? This is his first thru-hike, but it doesn’t sound like he is having much fun. I encourage him, like a good hiking buddy does. Yes, it’s hard and wet and steep, but that goes with the territory. If you can’t stomach discomfort, you’d better stay home. I wouldn’t want to miss this for the world.

It takes a long time before we reach the tree line and  then it starts raining too. But in the distance I glimpse blue skies and when the drizzle stops a little later the wind brings a fresh blush to my cheeks. Looking back the view is amazing, grey mountains and lakes, where veils of rain glide through the valleys. Looking ahead I have not yet reached the summit, the trail is a twirling ribbon in a landscape that slowly turns to fall colors. To the right an impressive mountain, 884 meter high Välllåjvve, looms over me. Once at the highest point Lake Riebnes appears in the deep, while on the plateau various lakes adorn the landscape. I slowly descend in between two lakes and the higher one is overflowing into the lower one. Again I look for a way across the water with rocks and clumps of grass. This is fun! The descent is fairly steep, Morten, who has gone ahead, waits for me in between the trees. We get down quickly, where we are 1,5 hours early for the afternoon boat. Along the water there are some vacation homes and we seek shelter for the rain on the porches. We can’t protect ourselves from the wind though, blowing from across the water. It’s cold. Eventually it takes more than two hours for the boat to arrive and they are the most miserable hours I have spent on the trail so far. The boat lands on a stony beach and via a small ladder we reach the fore, hikers with heavy backpacks and trekking poles, hunters with unloaded guns and slender hunting dogs. The cabin can hold a fair number of people and it’s warm there. A few people make themselves comfortable at the fore next to the luggage. Although the view of the mountains is better there without a doubt, right now I am in need of warmth. When the steps have been hauled in, the skipper quickly boats across the other shore of Riebnes Lake. There is actually a dock and a hamlet, Vuonatjviken, with vacation homes and a little shop. Zwantje and two Slovenians book a room. Maybe I would have done so too if not for something truly wondrous: on this shore it’s windless and the sun is out. It’s amazing here. Together with Rene, Adrièn and Morten I get going for some more kilometers of trail joy. René and Adrièn quickly disappear ahead. Especially Adrièn I don’t expect to see again with his killer pace. Morten and I hike on till almost 19.30 hours, when we discover a wonderful bivouac along the shore of the Bartek River. I am right at the water’s edge, Morten a little higher up. I have an amazing view of the lakes. But it gets cold quickly and I crawl into my sleeping bag

Day 11, Bartek rivier wildcamp – Sálvojåhkå rivier wildcamp, 28 km
Today I am hiking alone, without Morten. He’s not a bad bloke, but he complains so much I am wondering why he’s here in the first place. I am having the time of my life in a beautiful landscape and all he’s talking about it the pain in his feet and how hard the trail is. Such negative energy I do not want around me. I leave when Morten is still packing up and run into an obstacle right away. A bridge across a fairly sizes stream is half submerged and doesn’t reach the other shore. With stepping stones I quickly reach the other shore with my feet still somewhat dry. After all, this is not my first river crossing. The trail goes up trough the forest along a swirling river, which I cross a little later. The trail remains rocky, but is never very hard. Numerous lakes pass me by, one even more beautiful than the other. I am alone with my thought and I like it. Somewhere in this birch forest I will be crossing the arctic circle. There is supposed to be a sign, but I do not see it. When I rest for a bit, Morten overtakes me, but hikes on when I don’t make ready to join him again. Slowly I am approaching the tree line. A hefty mountain, 953 meter high Båråktjåkkå, dominates the horizon, but the Kungsleden runs to the left of it and not all the way up. On a ridge Morten is waiting for me. He has taken some pictures of me he wants to mail me. He’s is trying to be friendly and I feel slightly guilty when I pass him with a ‘Sure, will do’, but I remind myself that his happiness is not my responsibility and I do not have to be nice at my expense. I hike on and climb further up, at least two hundred meters elevation. The reward is all around me, the higher I get, the more mountains and lakes I can see. It’s a wonderful landscape, rocks like grey pimples on the red colored mountain. The route remains high for kilometers and again and again there’s a new view, a new combination of mountains and lakes and rocks to enjoy. There are reindeer, again a fair way off. Although the day started out fine, it’s clouded and there’s a nice breeze. Snowy mountains are shrouded and the landscape is darker than I would like. Eventually I take a break because I have to. Morten passes me by again. This time I show him possible bivouacs on the map, but don’t mention which I’m aiming for myself. Happily the sun breaks through and elevates the landscape. In the valley I see a tent and I suspect hunters. A little later some gun shots sound. A bird is spooked into flight and I see it’s a Fjällrippa,, a rock ptarmigan. With its camouflage it hardly stands out against the rocks, if it hadn’t moved I would not have seen it for sure. I stop to take a picture and a hunter impatiently motions me to hike on, alerted to his prey’s location. The trail meanders away from Båråktjåkkå. Across a ridge snowy peaks appear in all their might, numerous lakelets nestle in between the rocks and wild streams struggle downwards in between their narrow banks. An unprecedented joy comes over me, happiness in the beauty of the landscape. I feel privileged to be here, today, in this landscape. I feel for the people who, for whatever reason will never behold the amazing Swedish nature.

Halfway across the mountains there’s a kata, a traditional Sami shelter. A frame of branches, clad with moss and a dirt floor. The holes in the roof, meant to let the smoke from the fire escape, have been patched with plastic. It reminds me of the sod huts made of peat in Drenthe province. Dark and unattractive. Only in dire need I would stay here. I hike on and the landscape remains gorgeous. Lakes, rocks, fall colors. This is a landscape which brings me joy. I see hikers looking for bivouacs and pitching their tents, but hike a little further. Preferably I pitch my tent next to a river or stream and here there are only lakes. When I descend through birch forest, I surprise a reindeer, which quickly flees. Again the soil is very wet, the trail goes straight through a swamp. The peat bounces underneath my feet and hikers have made wide tracks, like a herd of reindeer having a dancing party. I start looking for a bivouac, but for kilometers the forest is to soggy to think of camping. Through a thin strip of forest I see the water of a lake, but along the shore there’s big rocks and the ground slopes. My feet are tired and I have little eye for nature’s beauty now. Not until the bridges across Sálvojåhkå river I discover two bivouacs. I quickly pitch my tent and prepare some pasta, with the fish I have brought along as a treat for hard days. Morten surprises me by passing by, I had expected him to stop earlier. He complains he’s tired and hikes on.

Day 12, Sálvojåhkå rivier wildcamp - Tsielekjahka rivier wildcamp, 22 km
Morning mist hangs low over the river, hoarfrost is on my outer tent and the sock I have hung out to dry in a tree. I snuggle deeper my warm sleeping bag. Eventually I set out around 09.30 hours, unheard of in my book. Soon I reach a bivouac with a latrine, where someone has left behind two Italian slippers. I immediately think of Leif, whose cheap slippers broke in Jäkkvik. I wonder if he’s still hiking?
Morten is still busy packing up too. He complains the last stretch through the forest was not well maintained and had expected more board walks there. I scold him. That we are allowed to hike through a swamp is unique and nature isn’t always nice and tidy. What did he expect, a side walk? I understand a thu-hike like this is not everyone’s cup of tea, but don’t blame the trail for it. There’s nothing wrong with the Kungsleden.

I hike on, past lakes where the trees emerge grey from the fog. Fog has it’s own beauty and I stop regularly for pictures. Still I am glad to have departed late, because patches of blue take up more and more of the sky. The trail winds through the forest, slowly I climb higher, although I do not yet reach the tree line. I start to get warm in my jacket. Through the trees I see mountains. A massive bump and a row of snowy peaks behind. I catch up to a German woman and together we rest at a stream, where we hang our tents out to dry in the bushes. The sun has broken through and I fill my water bottle in the murmuring stream. The woman says her resupply box, sent from Ammarnäs, only arrived in Jäkkvik after ten days. She waited an extra day, but only today received confirmation. From other hikers too I have heard their package, sent with Bussgods, has not arrived. Fortunately I have received conformation from both Kvikkjokk and Saltuolokta that my resupply boxes are waiting for me.
After a while I hike on alone and reach the tree line.  A fast flowing river curls away from an intimidating mountain, 1266 meter high Goabddábákte. The trail goes straight towards it and with every curve and swirl of the trail the mountain becomes more impressive. Only right underneath the fairly steep cliff does the Kungsleden turn right. I take a short climb up to the saddle between the two mountains, Goabddábákte left and the slightly lower Sjpietjamválle on the right. The trail is level and easy, for a while I can make pace and wonderfully stretch my legs. At the feet of Sjpietjamválle I descend into the dark shadow of Goabddábákte, where it is nice and cool. The route turns muddy again, which is nice and soft on my feet. Still I am glad to reach the sunlit slopes again. Snowy peaks are closer now and adorn the horizon like a pearl necklace. The landscape undulates down towards the Tsielekjåhkå river, where at the base of an iron bridge I not only find Morten, but also Dutch Jasper and the two Slovenians have made their bivouacs. Fortunately my tents fits right in between.

Dag 13,  Tsielekjåhkå rivier bivak - Kvikkjokk, 12 km
We are grateful for the morning sun and hang out our tent to dry on the bridge. By the time I have had breakfast and am ready for another day of hiking, both the outer tent and the groundsheet are dry. I am the first to head out through low forest. The trail is easy, without rocks and roots and I am making decent progress. The trail takes me across some hills, lying like folds in the landscape between me and the water. Now and again there’s a lakelet and there are boardwalks, but it’s never hard. I encounter various beautiful bivouacs and Niels emerges from one of them, a Dutch young man I apparently already met in Jäkkvik, although I do not remember him. He’s faster than me, but takes a break in the sun after an hour. I have a serious case of get-there-it is and hike on. Only at the last descent to Sakkat, the lake we have to cross, the trail becomes a bit more challenging. Fortunately that mostly affects the sobo’s, who are having to climb hard and steeply. For me it is just as steep, but at least I am going down. A first stream I cross via stepping stones. A second one is not directly on the route, but the waterfall sounds so impressive I gladly hike towards it through the shrubs. When I am standing next to the roaring waterfall, a branch of foliage keeps me from viewing the waterfall fully. Fortunately there are plenty of rocks and carefully I scramble into the stream for a better picture. Then I scratch my head. Going back down to where I came from is not the safest option across those wet and slick rocks. I climb a bit higher still and step safely back onto the shore. On then, ever descending and my impatience increases. The winter trail, which I had missed for a while now, joins the trail. Some final boardwalks and I see Mallenjarka, the unmanned hut on the shores of Sakkat. I walk to the water and have a fantastic view of the lake, the wooden jetty and the mountains behind. This is a perfect picture postcard. It’s still a two hour wait for the boat and I use the time to wash my pants, which are already covered with mud up to the knees after only two days. I also dangle my feet in the freezing water for a while before allowing them to warm up again in the sun. Niels and Morten joint me and we talk about our plans for the coming days. Morten will quit his hike in Kvikkjokk. He’s still convinced he could hike the PCT easily, but has adjusted his priorities. He also thinks Sweden should be ashamed about such a poorly maintained trail like the Kungsleden. I, of course, have a different opinion on that matter, but think he chose wisely by stopping. This is a trail for enthusiasts, people who love hiking and for whom the love for nature is greater than their desire for comfort and dry feet. Who constantly complains, might be better off staying home.
By the time we can expect the boat to arrive, my pants are as good as dry and my feet are refreshed nicely. Not much later a large dinghy arrives, bringing two mountain bikers. We pack all our backpacks and trekking poles in the fore and sit down for an amazing twenty minute boat trip to Kvikkjokk. Via a winding route in shallow waters we reach a tributary, a camping with those strange wooden shacks attached to caravans and finally the jetty. It’s only a short stretch uphill to Kvikkjokk Fjällstation, where it’s busier than I have seen so far on the Kungsleden. The Padjelantjaleden starts here, there are many day hikers and many hikers start or end their hike here, where a bus leaves for the rest of the world once a day. The hostel is packed to the brim and even a spot in the restaurant cannot be guaranteed. I collect my resupply box and descend to the tent field. After downing two cans of coca cola in quick succession, I hike to the village, where the church is a gorgeous jewel. Wooden diamond shaped slates layer the walls and inside there is an amazing wood stove. The fine bell chair has space for two church bells but carries only one. Because there’s an ugly tour bus in the back ground, I return again later and take Niels with me. All in all a wonderfully lazy day.

Day 14, Kvikkjokk - Suobbatjåkhå rivier wildcamp 30 km
The plan was 21 kilometers. Wildcamp somewhere along the ridge with a view of the lakes between the Tjahkelij and the Suobbatjåhkkå. A fine plan, but halfway through the day I chuck it without a second thought.
The day starts out sunny. I pack up my tent and collect water from the roaring Gamájåhkå river which squeezes through narrow passages in the rocks just behind the Fjällstation. I hike to the reception and do my stretching exercises on the stairs. I will be grateful later.
The Kungsleden goes right through the Fjällstation, a passage way in between two outbuildings. I follow a wide gravel path with here and there bivouacs and still quiet tents. My backpack feels heavy with the extra food I’m carrying now, but the weight feels familiar. My backpack has become an extension of my body and the weight the comforting hand of a friend on my shoulders. I miss my left gaiter, Which I tossed yesterday because of the many tears. Before I even reach the first boardwalk, I have to stop to empty my boot. Fortunately the boulders in the forest are too large to make the jump to my boot. There are many of them too, a whole lot of them. All day board walks, rocks and tree roots leap frog each other on the trail. Hiking normally is not possible, each step is a move in a chess game and has to be thought of and considered. It’s not annoying, but in the end I’ve had enough. I meet Jasper and Niels and mix their names up. There’s a gorgeous lake where two grebe-like birds dodge me. Along the shoreline especially it’s hopping from rock to rock. Sometimes a stream flows across the trail for variety. The sun is nice and warm and despite the rocks I am enjoying myself. Then I pass two reindeer fences shortly after each other, leading the animals to a pen where it’s decided which animals will be butchered. The first has wooden beams you can slide to the side, the second a gate with an iron latch. Shortly after I reach Pårtestugan, situated on a small peninsula in the lake Sjábttjakjávrre. Here I visit the latrine, because digging a cathole in this soil is a sheer impossible task, even with an iron trowel. Relieved I hike on, after all I have only hiked 15 kilometers so far. A little later I meet the stugvärd, the host, and everything changes. He tells me that the weather is changing. The day after tomorrow it will be clouded and windy. I was planning to take the afternoon boat to Aktse tomorrow, but if I hike a bit further today, I can take the morning boat and hike up Skierfe the same day. I do not want to miss out on that, I have been looking forward to the mountain supposedly affording the best view in Sweden for days now. With this new plan in the back of my mind I hike on. The trail never becomes easy, how ironic that I love hiking in the mountains and simultaneously dislike rocks so much. I do not reach the tree line until 17.00 hours. I ascend a bit further between two mountains, 1117 meter Favnoajvve and the lower Huomnásj, only 884 meters. The view of the lakes is everything I hoped for. A patch of green juts out into the water, enveloping the gracefully curling end of a stream. The ridge is level and hiking is a bit easier. Still I am so focused on my feet and the water below me I only see the reindeer when I hear their hooves on the rocks when they flee before me. The hills are adorned with fall colors, exceptionally beautiful. I cross the Jakkejagasi river on a very high, metal bridge I reach with something ladderlike. Downstream there’s a tent and someone waves. It’s too far off to see if it’s Niels or Jasper, but I wave back cheerfully. My feet are starting to hurt and still I don’t stop. I feel invincible, driven and my GPS counts down the kilometers to Aktse till something manageable in the morning. On and on, further and further. I am surrounded by mountains and I am enjoying myself, but although I am trying to be in the moment, right now I am primarily looking ahead. I descend a bit through a birch forest to the emergency shelter Jågge, which stands quietly in an open field of flowers. On then across the ridge, until the ground unmistakably bends downwards to the valley.  It takes a fairly long while before I find a suitable bivouac and even if it’s not completely level, I’ll take it. I don’t feel tired, but have no energy left for cooking. Anything that does not directly involve shoveling food into my mouth is too much trouble. Fortunately I put licorice and M&M’s in my resupply box. It’s not very healthy, but very tasty.

Day 15, Suobbatjåkhå rivier wildcamp - junction Kungsleden/Skierfe wildcamp 6 km + Skierfe, 14 km
My alarm goes off early and by 06.00 hours I am hiking. I cross the river and follow the path across sot earth and board walks. Son I reach a lake around which, half hidden in the forest, a fair number of tents are pitched. Most hikers are still asleep, a few are having breakfast or are packing up. The trail is fairy easy and quite soon I reach the emergency shelter, where I meet Israelian Anet, who is just as addicted to hiking as me. A man rows away across the silent lake, leaving behind a single boat. I hoist the white flag and wait for the motor boat, which arrives unexpectedly early and drops off a number of hikers. Then he takes us across the Lajtávvre. The lake is flawlessly smooth and mirrors the surrounding mountains beautifully. It’s a painting, a work of art. It’s almost a shame that it’s only three kilometers to the other side, where a large group of hikers is waiting to be ferried across. The last kilometer to Aktse is all boardwalk, surrounded by long grass with red plumes. There are some other houses, but the Fjällstuga is instantly recognizable by the surrounding tents and the hikers slinging their backpacks upwards or quickly getting some water at a source. I buy two cans of coca cola and start the climb up. Originally I wanted to pitch my tent at Aktse, but when I saw the ridge from the boat I decided to do so at the junction to Skierfe, so I would have to make the climb only once. It’s a fairly steep climb, but after half an hour I am above the tree line and at the junction. There are plenty of bivouacs and I choose a fine spot with a water view near a mint green tent which is vaguely familiar.
With a light day pack I head out. The lack of weight on my back feels strange, it’s not right and for a moment I worry I have forgotten something. The trail starts out friendly, but here too there’s no escaping the mud. I jump and step from stone to stone, across roots and through shrubs. Then I get higher and it gets drier. I do not make much progress, because the view of Rapadalen valley becomes more beautiful by the second. In Sami the valley is named Ráhpavágge and it’s a vast delta of meandering streams ending in the Lajtavrre, wedged in between impressively high mountains. I meet René, who is on his way back from Skierfe and we catch up about the people we have met on trail. Skierfe towers ahead of me, 1.179 meter tall, but I see I have to cross the lesser mountains first, which have been layed down in front of Skierfe like the creases in an old coat. The trail is not marked, there are numerous paths and sometimes I choose a wrong one, ending in a huge boulder field. There are cairns to give direction, but they too are confusing sometimes. Skierfe is a tourist attraction and other hikers help me to orientate myself. As usual in the mountains, I start the climb of Skierfe with a detour, from the far side of the mountain. On Skierfe itself the trail remains tricky at first, but less so than in the boulder field. Then the many paths merge to one clear trail to the top. Once high up I throw down my trekking poles, pictures first. I lay down on my belly and stick my camera out over the edge, going almost straight down. Rapadalen valley is uncommonly graceful and rightly deserves the honorary title of best view in Sweden. The view humbles me, this much beauty, it makes one feel small. How lucky I am to be here, am allowed to see this. Such a privilege. It’s clear and on occasion the sun breaks through. I have not hiked that far in vain yesterday. This view was worth every ache. After my hunger for pictures has been satisfied, my stomach growls. The can of cola and the M&M’s from my resupply box are very welcome now. Despite the sun peaking from behind the clouds, there’s a fierce, chilly wind. After 15 minutes I head down again. The trail is far easier now, it seems like all the many options have disappeared and there is only one, clear trail. My right foot hurts. It turns out not to be a blister, but a decent pressure spot already red and about to turn into a blood blister. As long as I don’t put the front of my foot directly on a rock, I will be fine. Or so I hope.

Day 16, kruising Kungsleden/Skierfe wildcamp – Avtsusjvágge noodshelter, 18 km
There’s a dark sky and an enormous rainbow over Skierfe. The rain tickling my outer tent and the shower gliding through Rapadalen, are proof I have chosen well to expedite my plans and climb Skierfe yesterday. I snuggle in my sleeping back for a while more. Around ten I let the air out of my sleeping mat and really start packing up. Half an hour later I hoist my pack on my back and start the climb across Doaresoajvve’s slope. The trail is fairly rocky and I plant my feet carefully to spare the pressure point as much as I can. When I look back, I see a distant lake shimmering in the sunlight. Ahead is a mountain full of rocks, red with the approaching fall and a rainbow. How lucky am I, that I get to do this. And fortunately the trail gets easier and I can hike on at a pace. At the sign ‘last chance to call for a boat’ I do not have signal. Luckily Anet has already booked the afternoon boat yesterday and I am not worried. The descent is steep, but the view of the lake Gåbddåjávvre and the surrounding mountains is amazing. I descend to a birch forest where the boardwalks are quite exciting on occasion and seem to be held together with only a few nails. Sooner than expected I reach the boat house, where René and Anet have joined a German couple at the iron table. I dig out my M&M’s, but have only eaten a few when a French couple announces the boat’s arrival. They have booked it outside the usual hours and we too pay the slightly higher fare to be ferried across immediately. This way we do not have to wait four hours and that’s worth 100 krone. The crossing is exciting, the skipper boats fast along the red buoys and keeps a slalom course around hidden rocks. On the other side we pay the fare and order a can of cola at the skipper’s wife, who emerges from a gorgeous blue house with flowers on the porch. After a short break we hike on. René soon is soon hiking ahead of us. The trail is wide and easy, more of a track than a trail. On the plateau there are many reindeer, lazily grazing in small groups, a colored collar with numbers around their necks. When they see me coming they trot away just as lazily, not fast and not far. The trail runs along a deep gorge sporting a river and it’s beautiful I keep taking pictures and wonder how such a thing came about. After 11 kilometers we reach the emergency shelter, tethered to the ground with sturdy iron cables. The wind is gusty and I do not doubt the cable’s necessity. The hut is cozy and we decide not to chance pitching out tents in this wind. On the wooden benches below the slanted roof we roll out our mats and sleeping bags.

Day 17, Avtsusjvágge emergency shelter- Saltoluokta Fjällstation, 9 km
The wind howls around the emergency shelter all night. Eventually it gets quite warm and none of us feel like going outside. But nature forces me up. My toilet paper has run out and in Aktse they didn’t sell separate rolls. The bit I took from the latrine is gone as well. A few pages with advertisements from my guide book offer a solution. It feels a bit like sacrilege, tearing pages from a book, but I have to. After we have packed up, we leave. René soon speeds off and because I stop frequently for pictures I lose sight of Anet as well. The wind is against me and my fingers are getting cold. But the landscape remains fantastic, the mountains impressive and the reindeer plentiful. Slowly I reach the end of the plateau and see Langas Lake in the depth. The mountains have a grim blue color and the views are amazing, especially because of the fall colors. Then I descend into a birch forest, which turns into a pine forest. I see several other marked trails and day hikes and have to restrain myself. I was supposed to take a break, remember? I hike on to the Fjällstation, where I pick up my second resupply box, filled with goodies and a whole kilogram of Gouda cheese. Then I wait with René and Anet in front of the fire until we can check in.      

Day 18, Saltoluokta Fjällstation - Vakkotavare - wildcamp, 3 km
Today is a travel day. Although it’s nice to talk to René, the Dutch Laura and the other Dutch and German hikers in the Fjällstation, after check out in the morning it’s primarily twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the 15.10 boat. Again I have timed my rest/travel day well. All day it’s drizzling and raining and it doesn’t look like it will improve. When it’s finally time to get on the boat, we are all itching to go. The bus arrives not long after and I quickly charge my camera, which I had forgotten about. The bus drives slowly on the narrow road past the Suorvájávrre, but from behind the large windshield above the driver we can see it is slowly getting brighter. When we get off at Vakkotavare, it’s dry. My feet are itching to get hiking. We start a steep climb upwards along a spectacular waterfall swirling and thundering across the rocks. Lara and René take the first bivouac in the forest, but I hike higher until above the tree line. Surprisingly there’s almost no wind there and after three kilometers I pitch my tent next to a murmuring stream. I have a view of a snowy mountain top, another remains hidden in the grey clouds.  

Day 19, Vakkotavare wild camp - Kaitumjåkka rivier wild camp, 18 km
The sun is trying to come out, but the wind keeps it cld. Still I start hiking in good cheer. The landscape around me is absolutely gorgeous and I savor the snowy peaks. There are rocks and boardwalks and the reindeer show themselves well again too. On a ridge I see the huts from the reindeer shepherds described in the guide book. The trail swings towards a new bridge and I start descending towards the lake Teusajaure. When hikers start meeting me in groups of two and four, I know the morning boat has crossed. One of the last people I meet is the stugvärd, who makes use of the quiet late season to hike herself. She advises against rowing, the wind is fairly brisk and right near the other shore there’s a strong current. I want to consult with René before I resign myself to waiting five hours for the afternoon boat. I descend through a larger forest than I expected and reach the water. On the other short, temptingly close, I see the wooden buildings of Teusajaurestugorna at the foot of a huge waterfall. The first half of the kilometer long crossing the water is calm, but on the other side I fee foam on the waves. I take some snacks out of my backpack and prepare an early lunch while waiting for René. He arrives not much later and together we decide to chance it. René is rowing and he does so much smarter than I would have done. I would have gone straight towards my goal, but René rows with a arc against the waves and aims for a bit of shore above the stugan. By the time we reach the other shore, the current pushes towards the stugan. Right before the place where we are meant to leave the boat, it’s shallow and impatient like usual I jump straight into the water. My boot fill up quickly, but I don’t care. We pull the boat unto the beach and hike towards the stugan, where it’s nice and warm. I put my boots next to the stove to dry and wring out my socks. They end up next to the stove on a washing line. I put on my waterproof socks and after a break of about an hour we hike on. René disappears from view quickly, but I don’t mind. We don’t hike together, but meet each other frequently and it feels familiar. The trail leads straight up, to the right of the waterfall, which remains hidden for now. Then I see a little side trail and a lounging hiker confirms it leads towards the waterfall. And boy, it is impressive this close up. I climb further up, again above the tree line. Across the ridge a beautiful number of snowy peaks appear. A bit of snow whirling around me proves it’s getting colder. I descend to a valley where the Kaitumjåkka flows. All around me I am seeing white peaks and overlapping mountains. Parallel to the water is a reindeer gate, with reindeer on both sides. Lakes with wool grass hug the boardwalks. According to the guide book the trail is supposed to be easy, but the amount of stones and rocks counter that. A dark sky promises more snow. At an iron bridge René calls out for me. I pitch my tent next to his, but a buff of the Balkan Trail I found along the way is not his.

Day 20, Kaitumjåkka rivier wildcamp – Salkastugorna wildcamp, 25 km
The hardest part of the day is getting out of your snug sleeping bag in the morning to break down your tent in the cold morning air. I let the air out of my mattress with a pop, which suddenly makes the sleeping bag a lot less attractive and force myself to the camp chores which simply go with wild camping. The sun is trying to break through, but it’s still windy and it’s a bit chilly. Not much later I stomp across the iron wobbly bridge into the forest towards Kaitumjaurestugorna. The stuga is beautifully situated on a hill which looks out across Padje Kaitumjaure lake. The stugvärd, an elderly woman, is happy to have a visitor, this late in the season. She says there are an unusual amount of hikers still on the trail, this September. She also says tomorrow it will rain and storm. That doesn’t bode well for the Tjaktja Pass.
I leave the stuga and deviate from the Kungsleden for a bit to look at the ‘bath, of which another hiker said it was worthwhile. It turns out to be the Tjäktjajåkka river squeezing in between the rocks. A tiny sandy beach is supposed to be the beach. Back onto the Kungsleden. I hike through a valley surrounded by gorgeous mountains and can’t stop looking in every direction. The landscape undulates up and down and sometimes there are lakes further enhancing the landscape. Now end again there are bits of rocks, but there are also stretches where you can hike almost normally. The boardwalks are a bit exciting sometimes, half rotten or held together with only a few nails. It remains chilly and for the first time I put on my woolen gloves over my fingerless gloves which protect my palms against friction with the trekking poles. The cold also affects my camera’s battery and in order to be able to take pictures I put the battery in a warmer spot. It makes taking pictures quite a hassle, first taking out the battery, taking a picture and putting it away again. But it’s worth the effort. René passes me and takes a break at Singistugorna a little later. The sun has come out and in the leeward of the shelter it’s quite nice. Here the stugvärd says the rain and wind will not be too bad. We’re not sure what to do, but hike on towards Salkastugorna regardless. The route feels long, but is very nice. I am continuously surrounded by white peaks. I am also meeting more hikers now, this is the most popular section of the Kungsleden: easily reached and almost all the huts have a little shop. Most people hike Abisko – Nikkoluokta and leave the main trail of the Kungsleden at Singi. The Fjällraven Classic, a large hiking event with about 2.000 hikers, goes in the opposite direction, from Nikkoluokta to Abisko. I pass by an emergency shelter where hikers are resting sheltered from the wind. I should give my body some rest as well, but hike on. It does sting a bit when you’re overtaken by a young gall in sneakers. Near two bridges I look out for René, but don’t see his tent pitched there. Has he hiked on to the stugan after all? When I get there, I see several tents surrounding the stugan, including a familiar green one. I pitch my tent next to René’s and enjoy the cola, which I buy in the shop. Several reindeer nibble on the bushes, not six meters behind my tent. It cools quickly and I dive into my sleeping bag.

Day 22, Salkastugorna wildcamp – Alesjaurestugorna wild camp 25 km
After an unexpected and very lazy rest day because of the poor weather forecast, today I can’t wait to get hiking. Around 06.00 hours in the morning I start packing my stuff and half an hour later I head out. I follow the valley Tjäktjavagge to its end and along the way surprise a couple of reindeer. Two pace nervously along the edge of a deep river before finding a please to cross and join their herd again. Later I find Niels, Eva and Roger pitched next to each other and also preparing to start hiking. I walk on, slowly, enjoying a smooth lake mirroring the mountains, a distant waterfall. When I am at the foot of the pass, I take a short break and eat some M&M’s. A bit of fuel before I start climbing. But the way up is far shorter and less steep than I was expecting. A stretch of no more than ten meters is a bit challenging, but after that it’s a gradually climbing mountain path. Snow adorns the mountains surrounding me, but the trail is fee of it. Before I cross the pass, I look behind, into the valley I’ve been trekking through for two days now. I can’t see the end of it, but the distant mountains are gorgeous. They’re not sharp, jagged peaks like in the Alps, but rounded bumps in grey and green. Ahead then and I reach the emergency shelter on the pass. A surprisingly large number of hikers is coming up from the other side. I descend across stone and water. There are many boardwalks, even where they are really not needed. Just prior to the next valley I make a detour to Tjäktjastugan, one of the few huts without a shop, as a sign at the junction warns. But it’s still worth it, because the river, listed as Čeavččanjire on the map in the guide book, slows into the valley with a powerful waterfall. From the hut there’s a little trail to the river and even before I can look upon the waterfall up close, I am surprised by a number of fjällripa, rock ptarmigan. A whole family, extremely well camouflaged between the rocks. I manage to take some nice pictures and am happy. What a gift. While the stugvärd splits wood for kindling, I sit down on one of the benches with an amazing view of the valley and the water reaching for the horizon. The river flows in a deep gorge and on the other side I see hikers on the Kungsleden like small dots. Ather a while I return to the Kungsleden and walk there myself. Again the trail is easy, little rock, lots of boardwalks and often smooth earth too. I can see the fjällstugan, Alesjaure, long before I reach it, but the trail winds towards is painstakingly slowly. In a wide arch the trail circles the hut. Across hills and little mountains. The hut barely gets closer and I can feel myself getting tired. Eventually I reach a plateau where tents are hidden among low shrubs. René is there and we chat a bit before I start looking for my own spot. I find it along the river, behind some benches and a barbeque made out of half an oil drum. On the benches René and I cook our evening meals. Very nice.

Day 23, Alesjaurestugorna bivak - Siellajokha River, 18 km
Rain is softly tapping my outer tent. My thermarest sleeping mat has delaminated partially during the night, causing a large pocket of air to collect at the bottom. Fortunately the largest part is still usable and together with my inflatable pillow I can still stretch out decently. I turn over. When the rain appears to lessen, I force myself to get up. I pack my things and cross the river, across the iron wobbly bridge which sings with every step. The trail to the fjÄllstuga is steep, but short. From the plateau I have an amazing view of the elongated lake, Alisjávri, and the Sami-village on the other shore. I descend to a muddy path along the shore, with boardwalks here and there. I catch up to Laura, who has camped next to the lake and is slowly getting started with stiff feet. There’s low shrub, which saturates my pants, that had stayed dry up till then. René passes us and disappears in the distance. It starts to drizzle again. Streams and rivers are flowing down from the mountains. Sometimes there’s a bridge, but we also get to hop across from stone to stone. After five kilometers there’s a boathouse, a covered shelter where in the busy season hikers who want to skip a few kilometers can take a boat to Alesjaurestugorna. We shelter against the rain, which doesn’t worsen, but is persistent. We snack and lunch and Laura bushwhacks to the slanted latrine without a door a ways off, but eventually opts for the shrubs. We start hiking again. I am wearing almost all my clothes, except my sleeping outfit and put on my rain pants for the first time. Snugly bundled up the rain doesn’t matter. Via a small passage the Alisjávri flows into the Rádujávri. The mountains in the background are misty, but no less spectacular. Still hikers come towards us, even though not as many as yesterday. Slowly the trail turns away from the water. There’s a reindeer fence, which we conquer with sturdy steps. Then we trek into the valley Gárddenvággi, in between  1154 meter high Gárddenvárri and 1461 meter high Šiellanjunni, whose top is covered by clouds. There’s a short stretch with rocks and I progress slowly. Across a narrow ridge I descent to the waters of the Siellajokha, which I can hear raring already. Just on the other side of the river there are some bivouacs, the last place prior to Abisko National Park where wild camping is allowed. There are not many tents, but the latrine smells disgusting and is filled with trash and along a side trail too dozens of pieces of toilet paper are decomposing. I even discover some diapers underneath a rock. Juck! I put my tent next to René’s and we make plans for our last day of hiking. Laura hikes on to Abiskojaurestugorna, because she wants to arrive in Abisko around noon. With 16 kilometers I will not manage that early, but that I will arrive there tomorrow is certain.

Day 24, Siellajokha river wildcamp - Abisko, 16 km
Again I awake to rain, but it doesn't stop me from getting up early. For the last time I pack up and head out. The trail leads slightly up along birches far apart. Then I descend to the sign announcing Abisko National Park and its strict rules about camping and ppicking berries and mushrooms. There are boardwalks, curling gracefully towards the next hill. From deep green, cloud covered mountains waterfalls are flowing down. Abiskojaurestugorna is slightly off route and I hike past it, starting the final 12 kilometers to Abisko. The trail runs along the elongated lake Abeskojávri. Angry foam heads are blowing across the waters.  Halfway along the lake there's a Sami village and that means double boardwalks for the atv's with which they travel from their summer- to their winter villages. The trail is easy and there are hardly any rocks. Now and again there's sme rain, but over the mountains across the lakes I can see blue sky and that makes me hopefull and hapy. The summer trail stays away from the Sami village, but when I see a few buidings, being curious, I cut through a stand of threes t the winter route, which runs right past the village. There are two kata's, traditional houses from wood and peat, actually in use, with windows and a stove pipe. The village appears quiet and abandoned, the kata's wel locked. It wpuldn't occur to me to peek in the windows. This is a living village, not a tourist attraction and as a visitor I respect the people living here, even if theyre not here now. There are wooden houses and sheds too, a mixture of old and new. On the summer route I see René with his yellow rain cover walking by. As usual he’s pretty fast, but on the AATV-road I can catch up to him. Not a minute later, I stop at a latrine and lose him again. Although the rad makes for easy hiking, it still feels like a shame to end the Kungsleden like this. Now and again there’s a small detour through the fell, but the distance on the road is longer than I would have liked. Then the summer route finally leaves the road and I get to hike in the forest after all. The lake gives way to a river and the roar of a waterfall sounds in between the trees. The first few times I can resist temptation, but when the sound increases, I just have to look. The rapids where the water squeezes in between the rocks are very beautiful. It’s nice to be in the forest again, seeing trees after such a long time in treeless plains. There are several little bridges across streams and I notice they are made out of narrow-gauge. According to the guide book there was a quarry here somewhere, but I didn’t notice. The trail turns and runs right alongside the water, flowing though a deep and narrow gorge of black rocks. Cool! Then I look ahead and see a yellow car on a bridge. The end is near. I meet day hikers and for the first time spot a bench. And then my feet touches tarmac, I have to pass underneath a railway and a highway. The tunnel has been decorated with stylized reindeer and speakers sound traditional singing. Nice! On the other side of the tunnel it’s very parklike. A Bordermuseum, gravel path, signpost to the parking lot some ways off. And then there’s the wooden gateway, with all stugor on one side and mountains and lakes along the trail on the other. It’s done. And like always I feel a mixture of happiness and sadness. Happy to have fulfilled yet another dream of mine, accomplished yet another goal. Sadness because it’s over. I would have liked to hike a month more. Sweden is such a beautiful country. And the Kungsleden is an awesome trail.

View my pictures of this hike here.
View my YouTube-videos here.