2014-08 Through Sweden with Murphy
Why the hell do I even plan? I found myself asking this question quite often over the last few days.
Not out of frustration, but during the planning time I could simply have gone on tours. The result surely wouldn't have been all that different!
But I'd better start from the beginning.
After spending the last six months preparing and refining my plan for this trip, I noticed a certain arrogance at Hannover Airport on August 12.
Long-sleeved merino shirt - hanging on the clothesline.
Belt - right next to it, so I can't possibly forget it
Off to a great start, whatever, everything's still within reason. Not even the "flight delay" announcement during my layover in Munich could dampen my mood, maybe a little bit of Murphy was with me.
Having arrived at Stockholm Airport, the delay made me miss the last train to Falun. So my plan was - off to Stockholm Central, check into a hotel, and then off to a metal pub for a beer. Not 10 minutes after arriving in Stockholm, impeccably dressed Swedish women wanted a photo of the man with an epic beard *g*.
Looking at the hotel prices for a room - I just thought: „I don't want to buy the room, just rent it for one night!“ So I scrapped the backup plan: no sleep is also a solution, off to a metal pub. Put the saved hotel money into high-proof spirits, pull an all-nighter and head to Falun the next morning - sleeping on the train isn't a bad idea either. Since it was still too early to go out, I first tried to buy the things I was missing.
Alcohol and cola for the Captain. After haunting ten supermarkets without success in search of alcohol, a friendly saleswoman tipped me off to try a gas station.
So off to the next gas station for alcohol - finding one can't be that hard.
That was my thought over the next two hours, during which I ran wildly through Stockholm and found nothing. After more than two hours I finally found a gas station that sold "bio-ethanol" as a solvent/cleaning agent. Finally!
Not five minutes later I found the next gas station... and the one after that... Why is it that you only ever find the thing you don't need right now?
On the way back I found a lovely pub.
In we go, and let's turn night into day!
At four the fun was over though, and I started my way back to the station. A train to Falun was leaving at 6:30 a.m.
The ticket counter was supposed to be staffed from six, but in the end it opened at half past seven. So I bought my ticket and at quarter to eight I was finally off - finally time to sleep.
In Falun I first got to take out my first aid kit, since another festivalgoer preferred to slice off half a fingertip with a falling schnapps bottle rather than drop the cheap vodka.... no comment.
From Falun station the first kilometres led to the festival grounds. Because of all the weight, I was already looking forward to the way back, when the weight of the rum and cola would drop off.
Arriving at the festival grounds, I didn't feel like I was on holiday, more like at home. At home in a wonderful landscape among Germans, Icelanders, Swedes, Norwegians,...
I'll also never forget the odd confused looks I got for asking passers-by, in accent-free Swedish, whether they spoke English for whatever questions I had.
Such was the case with Solveig from Gävle, who invited me over for a coffee if I ever made it to Gävle. Swapping numbers and visiting Sol were on the to-do list for this trip.
Over the festival days I couldn't let everything pass me by, neither the adjacent forests nor the sights.
On that occasion I also bought a map right away at the next bookshop.
On the last festival day we went to finish off the leftovers once more, before the tour finally began after three hours of sleep. I don't know though whether it was the lack of sleep or the fresh air. After just four hours of hiking I was so wrecked that I pitched my tent and slept through almost until the next morning.
Only a moose, which burst out of the woods 3m from my tent as if stung by a tarantula, bugled once and ran back into the forest at the same breakneck speed, could rouse me from my sleep.
The next morning I wanted to take it easy. Five to six hours of hiking, then pitch the tent and read a book.
Had I only known how dense the vegetation is, I would probably have left the tent at home. Finding a level, clear 4m*1.5m patch was impossible. So I set up the poncho as a tarp and used every opportunity.
The next evening the search for a spot didn't get any better either - I was haunted by the thought that such a large, non-freestanding tent could become a problem on the tour.
That evening I camped by a beautiful lake.
Who wouldn't want to be able to wake up to such a backdrop.
The following days, finding a sleeping spot didn't get any better either - again and again I felt the need for a lightweight brush cutter.
According to the map, no direct path led to the destination anymore - so suddenly it was either walk back 5km and take a 10km detour,
or simply cut straight across the fields - through the forest.
I preferred plan B - I don't like going back - , a fateful mistake.
So first I headed north to the railway tracks, then walked a kilometre along the track bed to reach the next private road.
Walking on such a track bed with a heavy pack is really quite miserable, but at least you hear the trains early enough.
The private road was found, unfortunately not quite entirely.
According to the map, it runs west past a body of water.
I watch as the road, coming from the north, leads straight into the water.
On the far bank I couldn't clearly tell whether the road came out again. I had lost a contact lens and didn't want to put in my spare lenses with my permanently muddy fingers.
So I continued into the unknown, east past the water, straight through boggy terrain, knee-deep in mire.
Once I could see from the other side of the water that the private road didn't come out of it anywhere, I whipped out the map and realised that if I simply walked in a south-easterly direction, depending on the angle, I'd pass two or three private roads, all of which led to the destination. So on I went. First through the mire, then through carpets of blueberries and finally over scree, where a trekking pole made sure nothing happened to me when I fell. Still, from there on I continued with just one pole until the private road.
There an Italian senior couple picked me up and took me the last few km to Hofors. I barely speak Swedish and no Italian, and they could neither speak German nor much English. The conversations using hands and feet were very interesting. In any case, they raved about "Kungsberget", which is supposedly reachable nearby via the Gästrikeleden - which likewise leads to Gävle. So once I arrived in Hofors, I sat down by the next lake and pondered whether to throw my entire plan of hiking to Stockholm via Gävle overboard.
I fired up the GPS to see how many km it was to Kungsberget... I think you heard me screaming "MUUUURRRRPPPPHYYYYYYYY" all the way in Germany. The German topo SD card was really no help there! The Swedish topo map was still at home in the card reader. I was no longer sure whether it was my trip or Murphy's.
Once again I had lugged something useless along with me - like the tent. But the Gästrikeleden plan sounded too good to be discarded. So I went looking for an internet café to get a Swedish OSM map for the GPS. Unfortunately, internet cafés have gone extinct in the smartphone age - even in Sweden.
I also had a switched-off smartphone with me, with GPS too, but I wanted to save the last few percent of battery for emergencies.
But then the idea came to me - off to the hotel - get the clothes freed from the stench of the bog, charge the smartphone, download a Sweden map for the phone.
The next morning I crawled out of the hotel bed as if I'd been put through the wringer. That must have been too much luxury. After a good breakfast I set off to tackle the stage to Kungsberg.
Since I couldn't figure out from my map where the trail started in Hofors, but it seemed foolproof in Västerberg, I took the forest paths to Västerberg to hike the trail from there.
In Västerberg it was then quite simple - next stop Kungsberg!
That was my shot of motivation - I ran and ran and ran along the trail at a brisk pace.
The trees were marked every 30-100m, no map needed for that.
The trail revealed a beautiful nature to me
The junctions along the way were also excellently marked.
There were also shelter huts for the night on this trail - so the blueberries no longer concerned me in the tent problem!
But when I saw the next town sign in the evening, I knew - it's Murphy's trip!
"Hofors" - NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
I had been walking the trail in the wrong direction the whole time. If only I had whipped out the map once in a while, or the phone, or asked Superman.
Just short of giving up in frustration, I walked to the next shelter hut, made a fire and started drying my clothes.
The Frisian cotton balls that came with the fire steel are also history now. Just like half of the Vaseline, and my birch bark supply has shrunk a lot, but I had to play it safe - even the heartwood was wet. Everything was wet; even dead branches still hanging on the trees were soaked through. All the rain lately had left its mark.
Walking the whole trail to the end in the other direction - I didn't have enough time left for that. So I decided to take the bus to Västerberg the next morning and get back on the trail - this time the right way around!
From that moment on it became quiet. Don't let anything throw you off the plan... just the trail, nature, the occasional cooking fire and me. On the rest of the trail I was able to set up my tent one more time. Carrying it along really paid off *grml*.
Once in Gävle, I contacted Sol about the coffee.
Unfortunately she had to work until evening, so I walked on to Engelsberg for a swim in the Baltic Sea.
After that swim, for the sake of the coffee, I headed back to Gävle to see Sol.
I was offered a shower and to have my clothes washed through.
I still don't know whether I was offered that out of hospitality, or whether it was pure self-protection
After another night in a comfortable bed, I got the tip to hike to Årsunda - the Riviera of Sweden - since it was supposed to be very beautiful there. There was also a campsite there, which should ensure that my tent could be set up once again.
On site I realised that camping is basically quite nice, if only those other noisy campers weren't around.
Against the noisy campers, only sleeping with good earplugs helped.
On departure day I went via Gävle to Stockholm.
There I still had to visit a Viking restaurant that had been recommended to me at Wacken by my Swiss neighbours, who had just come from Sweden at the time.
After the end of the trip went relatively free of Murphy,
he showed up again after the restaurant visit.
Missed the last train to the airport by three minutes.
So off to the airport by taxi.
Missed the last train to the airport by 3 minutes.
So off to the airport by taxi.
He showed up there again too
The longer I think about it,
I was never at the planned place at the planned time during the whole tour.
But I was always at the right place at the right time.
It was simply indescribable!
kImpi
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