Finland Wilderness Training, Day 2, Part 2 - New Years Eve and contemplation of the year ahead

It’s a very simple existence at base camp.  There is typically only one organized activity a day and the rest of the time is reserved for individually practicing the skills we have learnt or taking advantage of the wellness facilities of hot tub and sauna which this week are surprisingly underutilized. During my daily pilgrimage across camp from cabin to spa only once or twice do I have company.   Once I have grappled with the heavily insulated cover a few times I work out a way to manhandle it from the top of the hot tub without losing more than one nail or taking a hard clout on the leg. Then I slip off my clothes down to my swimsuit and can instantly feel the freezing air begin to cling to the moisture on my skin. Hopping up the couple of steps to the rim I balance on the edge and swing my legs over and slip slowly into the steaming water taking my time and enjoying the sensation of heat slowly working its way up my body. With my head leant against the wooden rim I enjoy the peace and the tranquility and lie gazing into the darkness of the trees, watching the vapor slowly rise.  It drifts, drawn gently into the chilly darkness, until it disappears like some arctic ghost.

This morning we walked to the mill, a two story wooden cabin perched upon a corner of the river on one of the more difficult sections of the summer whitewater rafting course (see images ten and eleven on the gallery).   The wood has weathered to a dull grayness over the years and some of the people that have visited have carved their names deep into its planks.  I trace my fingers in the grooves where Liisa and Jouke and Hanna have left their marks and for a moment I stand and wonder about them and where they are now.  The cabin is still used as a boffy in the summer and I can imagine how different the place must look without its cloak of snow which softens and anonymises the surrounding features.  As I walk back to the camp I run my hands across the bark of the trees and stand for a moment, alone.  Despite the sound of the rushing water of the river behind me, it feels strangely still.

The afternoon is free time and there are several options, one is to walk the Little Bear Trial which is a 12 kilometer sub trail of the much longer 80 kilometer Karhunkierros (Bear's Ring) Trail or to go snow-shoeing across the frozen lake or cross –country skiing.  There is the option too, of just settling in to read a book.  One of the features of Basecamp is that there is no internet access or Wi-Fi so there is consequently no temptation to sit in front of a screen for the afternoon though it would have made writing up this blog much more ‘in the moment’.  With a smart-phone one is not entirely insulated from the wider world and the signal here, out in the middle of a national park and only 25 kilometers south of the Arctic Circle is better than the one I get at home.  One of my only criticisms about Basecamp is its lack of an informal social area.  There are no sofas to collapse on in front of the fire and no easy chairs to curl up in and watch the snow falling outside.  The only gathering area is the dining room which has a long row of tables either side of a central block where the food and hot drinks are served.  People meet here to chat or play board games but it lacks the kind of layout that would make socializing between meals much easier.

Lunch is ready when we get back from the mill.  It is nearly always soup and there are always two options; one which is gluten and diary free and the other for people with a common or garden digestive system like me.  The food is straight forward but consistently good and it’s been very easy to grow accustomed to and begin to enjoy the traditional dense black bread that is served alongside the more convention white sliced.   After a few hours out in the cold, coming into the warm of the dining room is like being embraced by a lover – cheeks tingle and flush as the blood rushes quickly to your head. 

The light begins to fade at 2.15 in the afternoon but it doesn’t stop a sledging competition. The sledges are erratic and difficult to control but this just adds to the laughter as one after another we attempt the down-hill course.  The snow sprays up into your face and into your mouth and down your sleeves and at the bottom it’s usual to end up in a heap beneath the sledge in a tangle of arms and legs.  Trudging back up the slope, dragging our sledges behind us we spur the others on.  As I wait in line for my turn I remember it is New Year’s Eve and that tomorrow a whole new year begins.    

We are thrown out of the restaurant as they set up for the NYE dinner because chef has prepared a special meal and they are paying more attention than usual to setting up the tables.   Instead we stand in reception and talk about what we’ve done that day and what we have planned for the next.  The bar is open and the drinks list is interesting.  Having not had alcohol for three days since my travel sickness episode I figure NYE is as good a time as any to get back off the wagon.  I opt, firstly, for a long drink so I have a Long Drink.  That’s right - this refreshing aperitif made of sparkling grape juice and gin is called somewhat unimaginatively, if precisely, Long Drink.  It was created as an official drink of the Helsinki Olympic Games of 1952 and so, in an effort at a bit of entente cordiale, I try a couple and mentally award it a gold medal.  I’ve read about Tar Schnapps, another Finnish specialty, but decide to attempt it post dinner.  I get the feeling that Tar Schnapps might be the spirit version of the three minute knock-out in boxing.

Dinner is cheery and full of chatter but we have finished by eight o’clock and midnight seems very far away.  I lean back in my chair and close my eyes which feel dry and gritty and realize I am very tired.  For a moment I feel depressed and contemplate going to bed and not worrying about making midnight and seeing the New Year in.    There is no background music and nobody has brought a dock for their iPods.  I turn on data roaming and locate a version of Auld Lang Syne on You Tube so at least we will have something to play at the crucial moment.  Ten minutes before midnight we begin to layer up in coats and hats and scarves and turn out onto the large balcony at the back of the building.  There is a group of about thirty of us in total and we stand there watching our breath in the air and stamping our feet and clapping our hands to keep warm. Across the lake in the small village beyond, some fireworks go off.  We watch them streaking up into the darkness and shattering into cascades of silver and gold, and red and blue and then hear the delayed bang as the sound travels over the lake to where we stand. The staff come out to join us and we are all then on the balcony counting down to midnight, some in Finnish, most in English, one in Swedish and as the hour strikes we cheer and then work our way around each other and hug and offer good wishes for the year ahead.  It is dark and the air is crisp and in the background fireworks continue to light up the sky in which feels like an homage to the missing Northern Lights.  As I linger on after everyone has retreated back into the warmth I lean on the balcony, gazing out into the darkness and sip my Tar Schnapps thinking about New Year’s Eve a year ago. I feel like I am looking at time through the wrong end of a telescope and everything seems so small and so far away but somehow it still seems to be having an impact.  I feel a bit like Janus looking both forward and backward at the same time.  But there is no point in dwelling and instead I focus my thoughts on the next twelve months, the submission of my doctoral thesis and my 50^th birthday.  There will be a very special holiday and hopefully a move to Cambridge.  All in all it has to be a better year than the last one.

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