Nordic Gold

The treeline gave way to tundra, as the sun's rays brought a warmth rarely felt in the vastness of Northern Sweden. As soon as I reached for my sunglasses, overcast returned and slight smiles appeared on the faces of my group.

"You know you're a tourist when you grab your shades at first sight of sunlight," my guide said with a grin.

Up and up we continued.

"Where are we heading?" I said, while coyishly returning my sunglasses to my pack.

"Just around the bend…"

"Or maybe it was a little further up?"

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Heavy breaths began to synchronize during the journey. The rain started. Innocuous gray clouds quickly matured into threatening skies. Goretex jackets squeaked as they were hastily removed from packs.

"Welcome to Åre, where we experience every season within an hour."

What once was warm and sunny rays progressively changed into freezing rain. It's no mystery why so many celebrated outdoor brands originated in this remote Swedish area: necessity.

With murkier skies ever approaching we looked for shelter. We found our woodland sanctuary, which could only be described as something out of a Tolkien novel.

“I'm looking for someone to share an adventure,” joked someone from the group.

Hobbit quotes began as we unpacked in our dry and cozy hideaway. Underneath the shrubbery and between fallen trees, the ground was filled with various pots, pans, and silverware. No, we didn't visit IKEA beforehand, but to a casual passerby, it certainly would have appeared so. The preparations began for my favorite Swedish tradition: FIKA!

(FIKA is often translated to "coffee and cake with friends" but merely requires warmth and convenience.)

Fantastic. I was chilled and exhausted.

Within minutes a fire roared; the pounding rain balancing a crackling fire. Laughter and stories rang out as pancakes sizzled over open flames. Hotdogs lay on sticks waiting to be roasted. We devoured a feast worthy of Thor. Sorry to the vegan/paleo/vegetarian/ gluten readers, but the full picnic featured: pancakes, bacon, hot-dogs, cinnamon rolls, berries, and coffee. Hours disappeared like minutes.

"Should we press on?" pronounced my guide "So soon?" I echoed with slight hesitation

"We have been resting for almost three hours. Time to pack up."

Brushing sleep from my eyes and yearning for a nap instead of another hike, I started cleaning our rest-stop. The rain began to slow. The sun appeared again for a subtle moment, then disappeared.

"It's getting late, and we still haven't picked a single berry,"

Nomads looking for the sweetest of treats, we ventured on. We were looking for cloudberries, or as the locals say “hjortron.” They are golden –yellow soft and juicy berries, with characteristics similar to blackberries. Traditionally they are served as tart compliments to Swedish desserts and ice cream. Sadly, these exotic fruits are incredibly finicky and difficult to find; only growing on small bushes in remote areas. Upon summiting yet another barren slope, we found them. Appearing before us, was a field glowing with a vibrant orange aura.

"I can't believe it, look at all the hjortron!"

"What a year!"

"I can't remember a season like this!"

"We'll have to save some for spring!", the shouts continually rang out.

The revered berries were everywhere. With blind gluttony, we began picking at a rapid rate.

"One for me, one to take," I childishly hummed.

Buckets filled simultaneously with stomachs. We had more than enough. The sun began to set over Åre lake in the distance. It was time to head down. We marched and hummed in a line as joyful stooges, heading towards the nearing tree line.

"I'll be back tomorrow, ready to fill more buckets."