GIITU*, SAREK

*Giitu means ‘Thank you’ in the local Sámi language

A story of love, gratitude and

Evelina flows through deep, untouched snow in Låddebákte possibility from the wilds of Sweden’s far north.

Endless

Words Evelina Nilsson

Photography Thomas Vialletet

April 2021. I’m standing on a glacier in Stora Sjöfallet National Park, Sweden, crying with awe. I am—after skiing one of the best runs of my life, after spending ten days here working on a film called Longing for Àhkká—now looking out over a canvas I cannot describe with words. It’s a place of never-ending beauty, a place that feels eternal; mountain tops run as far as the eye can see, deep into Sarek National Park. I already know I want to come back to explore this area more.

In the months to follow, Sarek whispered my name. The memory of that vast beauty was imprinted in my very soul, and Sarek’s call felt strong. But there are so many possibilities in the park, it’s almost hard to pick one objective, so I called one of my best friends, Albert—a lover of mountains who has had a special connection with Sarek for quite some time—to ask him what we should ski. He simply said, “Låddebákte.”

“You have to ski the couloir,” he continued. “It´s the coolest run in Sweden in my opinion. But with Sarek, you have to expect crazy weather, howling winds and cold temps.”

And so the seed was planted. But it was not until the following spring that we could set off. We planned to be out for twelve days, with the aim to make our way to a Låddebákte couloir called ‘Lådderännan’, roughly 30km in and three days away. If we saw something that caught our eye, something in our flow, we would ski that too. We wanted to take another route on our way back to have more options to ski and see more of the terrain. Beyond wanting to make a film about our trip, we had almost zero expectations for this expedition, perhaps simply because none of us had been out there except for our cameraman, Martin. Often, when we don´t know what we have gotten ourselves into, we keep a positive mindset. We remain in an innocence that keeps faith as its greatest ally.

Igrew up in a family with a core belief: “Anything is possible”. To now witness a world in turmoil, I realise it goes both ways. Whatever we put our belief in is also experienced through the lens of our own perception. On an individual level, this pandemic has taught us unique lessons and reflections. Dreams and projects outside of our country’s borders have been pushed into a future unknown, though I guess we are always in the unknown. You don’t know anything; you just think you know. As a Swede, I personally learned I have a country so beautiful and diverse, wild and pure. It’s something I have always known, but perhaps not given the focus it truly deserves. You probably learnt the same about Australia, or New Zealand, if that’s where you’re from, during your periods of lockdown. Not being able to travel encouraged me to dream about the wilderness of Sweden and its many gems to find.

Before the pandemic, I had been planning a project with my Kiwi partner in exploration, and fellow team athlete with The North Face, Janina Kuzma. Janina (Ed: who wrote ‘The Trap’, the fine piece on mountain heuristics and safety in the last issue of Wild) and I met back in 2016. We were both filming for Shades of Winter, and were lucky enough to do a trip together in Canada. It was love at first sight, and since that first trip we have done many missions together worldwide. From skiing Mt Taranaki in New Zealand to Mt Hermon in the Middle East, our goal has always been to unify through the expression of skiing, and to learn more about how we, as a people, can connect through our unique qualities.

It was a true honour and delight to be able to finally invite Janina to my home and ski the sacred lands of my country. Lucky enough to call myself a Swede during these craziest of times, I was able to roam free here in Sweden. For Janina, so used to back-to-back winters, it was not as easy. She is passionate about travelling and learning about different cultures, about what unites us despite our different backgrounds.

Why are we driven into such wild places far from the comforts of home? What about these places is so enticing? I’ve always been drawn to the Sámi, the Indigenous people of Sweden. They seem so connected to nature and the wild places I love. When Janina and I were researching ahead of our trip, we started looking at maps and reading about the Sámi people, particularly those who live in the area we call Sápmi. Our curiosity grew daily. The Sámi are the only people allowed to use snowmobiles in Sarek and Stora Sjöfallet National Parks, which are pasture grounds for their reindeer, and throughout the parks they have small huts for shelter which they use as they drive their reindeer herd along.

This is part of what makes the area so special. The people here are dedicated and passionate about nature. They are willing to pull their gear through any conditions. I strongly believe that when we connect to these sacred places on Earth, when we are truly one with nature, we also reignite and recognise the part of ourselves that is always at peace. The constant part of ourselves that has been with us through all of our experiences, the unwavering stability that is our true self. When everything in life comes and goes, this remains. You remain.

APRIL 2ND, 2022. ROUGHLY A YEAR after I looked out onto that view of Sarek, I was back, part of a crew of five, ready to dive deep into the wilds of Sweden on a journey we will always cherish. Besides Janina, I was with my sister Julia Nilsson, our filmmaker Martin Olson from Sweden, and our guide/ photographer Thomas Vialletet—French-born but who now, like Janina, lives in Wanaka, New Zealand.

Gale-force winds and Arctic temps greeted us, but on that first day, it felt like anything was possible. Striding along on crosscountry skis, we each pulled beautiful, old wooden pulkas— traditional sleds laden with gear, some 80 years old and refurbished to last a hundred more. Step by step, the mountains rose even higher; it was truly the greatest feeling. No circumstance could bring us down. Not even putting up our first base camp in a blizzard dampened our enthusiasm; if anything, we looked on it as preparation for the days to come. My sister Julia and I payed close attention to the more experienced winter campers, gleaning tips from them on how to stay comfy in the storm.

That first night, we were welcomed by the most extraordinary northern lights. The wind dropped as green and purple lights danced above our heads. It seems when one accepts the challenge and walks into the unknown, there is always a reward, some kind of confirmation or sign to encourage you to keep going. All the struggles drop away, and you are left grateful to be alive to experience something beautiful and pure.

WHEN ONE ACCEPTS THE CHALLENGE AND WALKS INTO THE UNKNOWN, THERE IS ALWAYS A REWARD. ALL THE STRUGGLES DROP AWAY, AND YOU ARE LEFT GRATEFUL TO BE ALIVE TO EXPERIENCE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL AND PURE.”

BEFORE OUR TRIP, A HEATWAVE had passed through the Swedish mountains. Everything froze, so I didn’t expect any good snow out here at all. But that didn’t matter. I was happy just being here, here with people I love to share a journey with. But it turned out my expectations were wrong, because the blasting, stormy weather that accompanied us from Day One was also coupled with heavy snowfall. Instead of ice or slush, we had deep snow. Perfect powder. Our first day of tree skiing was an absolute joy. Before coming here I thought we would mainly be skiing open faces and big lines, but with the hard winds, the avalanche danger pushed us to ski in old birch trees. To go from cross-country skis to downhill was incredible, feeling free of the heavy weight of the pulkas.

Dancing through the forest together, down to Rapadalen (Rapa Valley), was so beautiful. It felt special to us all, because the night before our trip started, we met some people at Stora Sjöfallet Mountain Lodge. They had just come back after days in Sarek’s wilds, where they’d gone past Låddebákte and had skied the trees down to Rapadalen. They could barely contain their excitement. “You have to ski Rapan,” they told us. “The snow is incredible!” When they said this, I don´t think any of us understood at the time how good the conditions really were; luckily enough, a few days later, we got to experience the same amazing snow.

WE CONTINUED TO MOVE SLOWLY through Sarek, pulling our pulkas in silence, soaking in our surroundings. Open, vast, tranquil. It was sometimes challenging, though. Most of the time, the temps sat around -10 to -15 degrees Celsius, and they were accompanied by strong, Arctic winds. Often, we could barely see one step ahead of ourselves. But then a sudden parting of the clouds would permit us to see the sky, letting us witness the majestic mountain peaks with their mysterious essences. Being in Sarek is like moving through the most beautiful painting, but seeing and experiencing all of its dimensions. With no cell reception, you can completely disconnect to reconnect. It makes it easier to shed the distracting layers that no longer serve us, to feel the clarity of true joy, and to experience our natural state of being.

And the crew, despite the weather difficulties, was stellar. We laughed at our struggles, laughed at our falls towing such heavy gear, and laughed at our skinny cross-country skis. Never have I been on a mission with so much ease and balance in the crew. Nobody complained. When we couldn’t ski due to the storm, we embraced spending tent time together, learning new card games and games of dice.

After some extreme storm days at our Låddebákte base camp—even with the crazy wind gusts, our tents stayed strong— we finally had a weather window to try and ski the couloir. Our initial plan was to boot straight up it, but we couldn’t quite see the top, so instead we skinned around the mountain to enter from above. Three ptarmigans flew right in front of us as we gained altitude, mine and Julia’s spirit animal gifting us a sign. We were on the right path. We just might get to ski the most extraordinary run in Sweden. May the force be with us.

Tom checked the snowpack, and gave us the green light. Dropping into the couloir, we were granted the biggest surprise: bottomless, light, perfect powder. Totally effortless. We took turns going first, each section like unwrapping the best Christmas present ever. It was one of the deepest runs I have ever skied. Seeing Janina and Julia´s faces brought me tears of joy.

On the last section, a falcon soared into the couloir to join us. To us, the falcon is a representation of Matilda Rapaport’s essence. Our deceased friend had come to say hello. Matilda was a close friend of ours, another pro skier who we got to know through filming and competing. Sadly, she passed away in an avalanche in Chile in 2016. Matilda was one of those people who aimed high, living a truly lived life, one full of excitement and inspiration. She always held the crew together through her love and compassion, and was always there for us whenever we needed her. She still is. We still hear her wise words whenever in doubt. Her warm embrace still comforts us through any challenge. The unique essence we gift the world ripples long after our human deaths. Seeing Matilda in the mountains, in the form of a bird or a soft whisper of the winds, reminds us that we are on the right path. A deep remembrance to live life fully from the heart. Back at base camp, we all felt so lucky and grateful.

IMAGES - LEFT TO RIGHT, TOP TO BOTTOM

Evelina changing ski binding modes in a storm

The party shredding though the Rapan Forest

Taking shelter from the storm, playing a game of Ten Thousand Janina enjoying the Scandinavian powder in the couloir

Janina and her pulka, which she’d named Ragnar

THE

NEXT FEW DAYS, WE AGAIN TOOK

COVER from the storm and celebrated Julia´s birthday. I had totally forgotten to make a cake, but we did have some Hershey’s cookies and cream. We waited out the weather for another day, before starting our five-day march back to civilisation. Our route back was different to our way in, so we were not sure how long precisely our return would take, or even sure of the best route exactly. What we did know, though, was that we had nearly 60km in front of us. And thanks to the deep snow, we had a really tough time pulling the pulkas; we often ground out just 1km/h. Every day was a new challenge, but we rose to the occasion. If someone needed help, our fatigue vanished. As with any significant challenge, surrendering to the process always brought a reward, a kind of confirmation that we were on the right path once we allowed everything to be exactly as it was or is. An eagle soared by. We found other people’s tracks to

THE ONLY TASK IS TO MEET EVERYTHING WITH PRESENCE AND EQUANIMITY. BEING WITH WHAT IS. WE ARE REMINDED THAT LIFE IS SIMPLE AND BEAUTIFUL WHEN WE LET GO OF THE STORY. AND WITH THAT COMES FREEDOM.”

This image of (right to left) Evelina, Julia and Janina was taken on the third day, about one hour after leaving the previous night’s camp. It was a magical moment. There wasn’t much wind, and it was almost clear, but lots of levitating snow flakes, tiny floating crystals, gave the appearance of haze. At the beginning of the trip, temperatures averaged around -15ºC during the day and -25ºC at night. On the first evening, when the team witnessed the Aurora Borealis, it dropped to -27ºC. And that’s before windchill. Temperatures were, to say the least, a bit chilly.

Moving slowly back to civilisation through the fresh snow

Despite the difficulties of dragging the pulkas through deep snow, the crew remains happy follow, making the deep snow ploughing so much easier. Moving across the frozen lake and timing the only bus ride between Gällivare and Kebnats, making the last part of our journey tremendously smoother. Faith in the unknown is what leaves room for miracles. I felt so grateful to be sharing this experience in one of the coolest places on Earth together with my sister and Janina, and for them to finally meet and, what’s more, to do so in a place like this.

Being out in the wild for such a long time with no input from the outside world is like a great meditation retreat. The only task is to meet everything with presence and equanimity. Being with what is. We are reminded that life is simple and beautiful when we let go of the story. And with that comes freedom.

Sometimes when we experience a big journey, it usually takes time to reflect on the insights and to integrate all the lessons learned. This trip was different. I could feel the appreciation as the journey was unfolding, as it was happening right there and then.

AS THE MONTHS HAVE PASSED BY since the end of the trip, and a film from the journey has been made, I am constantly reminded of the pure aliveness we all experienced through our journey. Seeing a photo from the trip, or watching the first draft of the movie, I am realigned with the gratitude, love and freedom that emanated from all of us during the expedition. Whatever factors brought us to this feeling of peace and this sense of completion, these are our permission slips to come back to our natural state of being.

CONTRIBUTOR: Evelina Nilsson is a pro skier and yoga teacher based in Åre, Sweden. Photographer and IFMGA-qualified mountain and ski guide Tom Vialletet is from France originally, but now calls Wanaka, New Zealand, home.

And when I look back now, my heart sings. There was flow. Love. Deep belly laughs. Pulkas flipped over. The birds. The snow. The sky. The silence. Thank you to everything. I feel like myself again, like I did as a child when everything was easy, before all the stories and concepts. I feel free. The beautiful thing is that I can bring this feeling into any experience. It’s my choice. My biggest thank you is to skiing, which shows me unity every day. Union with myself, the people around me and nature. Thanks to the best crew. Thanks to the land Sápmi, to the Sámi, to the mountains and to everyone who is so in love with this magical place. See you again soon. W