Arctic Circle Trail: Day 5

What a glorious morning. I stroll up the small hill behind the hut, with a hot drink, to watch the sun’s rays paint the hills.

My last three days on the trail are relatively short, so I linger over breakfast, enjoying the view across the lake. Heidi and Carlos have gone their separate ways, leaving Nabil and me to chat. We both lived in Japan for a while, falling in love with the culture and enjoying the zany features of life in Tokyo.

He has hiked many trails round the world, so I’m keen to discover his favourites. I may pass on China. He ended up at a military base by mistake and was sent away by the guards. Unfortunately, he lost his way and found himself back at the base, at which point they released the dogs, chasing him to the edge of a gully, where he fell and injured himself. All I have to worry about are bogs.

Leaving Nabil to hike the more challenging southern route, I hop across a small river before climbing into the hills. It’s the warmest day so far, and I’m soon sweating in only my base layer.

There’s a long trail down into the next valley, which I’ll follow for the next two days. I pass a red-faced German chap sitting on a rock, spreading tomato paste on tortilla wraps. He’s wearing a mosquito net, although I don’t see any mosquitoes. He does not look happy.

“Is there much more of a climb? I’ve been climbing all morning.”

I never know whether to tell the truth, being bad news, or lie and encourage people. I settle for some vaguely neutral response.

A forest of dwarf willow trees, reaching just above my head, makes for a tricky descent, with rocks and small gullies hidden among the tough winding roots. I stumble a couple of times, but my poles keep me from falling.

I’ve not used any soap on the trail, relying on cold water washing. My hair is taking on a life of its own. Peering down into a bog pool I see Gollum staring back. Should I be worried?

Nerumaq hut is dwarfed by the towering valley walls.

The hut can sleep six, which would be cosy, but Carlos and I have the place to ourselves. He sketches while I head down to the river. He arrived early enough to take a dip while the sun was out, but it’s in the shadow of the hills now, so it’s freezing. I don’t hang around.

Carlos is great company and we chat until dusk. He tried the Cape Wrath trail in Scotland but abandoned it two thirds of the way through due to a foot infection from the constant damp. It’s rated the most difficult trail in the UK and definitely on my list. We fantasize about our favourite meals and conclude that anything requiring a knife and fork would be a feast after eating freeze-dried meals for five days.

Taking a walk outside, a young couple from the Balkans have pitched next to the hut. We’ve exchanged greetings a couple of times on the trail, but they don’t speak much english and prefer to camp rather than a share a hut, causing Carlos to refer to them as the “honeymoon couple”. The valley is silent.

There are small windows positioned perfectly by the lower bunks such that when you lie down you can see the sky. We discuss taking hourly shifts to try and see the aurora borealis, but are too tired to wake up before dawn.