Tag: Wild camping

Pause on an Anthill

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#throwback – 13 June 2024

Relieved that things ended well yesterday, I let out an antisocially loud yawn as I wake up.
Suddenly, a woman is standing next to my bed. She asks if I’m okay—apparently I arrived very late last night. Turns out her tent was pitched barely 20 metres behind the hut, hidden behind a rock…

I’m mortified—by my exaggerated yawning and the loud self-coaching I did during the night. She must have heard it. She did. But it also reassured her. At least she knew it was a decent human arriving.

She’s a striking figure, with red hair and tattoos. I’m impressed by her story: despite physical limitations, she heads out to do what she can do, rather than sulking at home. Often she walks no more than 5 km a day, but she’s out in nature, truly enjoying it—and you can see it!
We agree to stay in touch. These are the encounters that matter.

Grateful for my excellent health, I continue walking.
Not long after, to my surprise, I end up right back where I wasn’t allowed to camp yesterday. I’ve taken a wrong turn, and this route was much shorter. Yesterday’s ordeal wasn’t necessary at all…

When I take a break, I spot a sawn-off tree stump surrounded by pine needles. A perfect seat.
Then suddenly—ants! A whole column of them is marching into my rain trousers. I sat down on an anthill!

They’re big red ants. I tell myself to stay calm—if I panic and start slapping, they’ll definitely bite. I carefully take off my trousers and remove the ants. I should’ve known—a pile of pine needles is often a nest.

After walking barely 9 km, I come across a hut and decide to stay the night. After last night’s little adventure, I think that’s fair. The sun is shining now and it’s lovely here.

I sit on a rock doing nothing at all—and that’s everything.

By 7:30 p.m. I’m so tired I just go to sleep. Risking waking up at the crack of dawn—but so be it.
Instead, I wake after just 90 minutes. Then, at 10:30 p.m., I drift off again—this time until morning.

Nighttime Adventure

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#throwback – 12 June 2024

In the early morning I enjoy the mist rising above the little lake—what a view from my inflatable mattress! So lovely to wake up like this and doze off again. The promised sun and 15 degrees turn out to be a sham. It rains for hours, and I stay in the shelter until half past one. It truly lives up to its name. I don’t mind—laptop open, I write for a few hours. I do adjust my route though: instead of tackling tricky mountain paths, I faff around a bit and take the easier gravel roads.

Around six I pass a small church with a fancy white wooden bench set. I cook there and use the public toilet, complete with running water, soap and a mirror. The sun even makes an appearance, making it just warm enough to linger there for a good while.

I’ve set my sights on a shelter in a nature reserve. Camping is almost impossible here due to all the rocks and uneven terrain. It’s still quite a trek, but at exactly 10:00 p.m. I arrive—only to discover that camping isn’t allowed here, not even in the shelter. Annoying, especially as it’s getting dark, but luckily I spot another hut just 2.6 km away.

But that short stretch turns into a real ordeal. I can’t see well in the dark, I lose the trail, and the area is truly rough—fallen trees, rocks, and muddy patches. It takes me an hour and forty-five minutes to finally reach my destination. By then, it’s midnight. Along the way, I catch myself talking out loud, like to a small child attempting something difficult: “Okay, one step forward… pause… look carefully… turn around… pull the cart uphill… one, two, pull… yes, that’s it… now keep going… easy… watch your step.” It helps me stay focused, avoid tripping, and reach the end without injury.

Relief washes over me when I arrive safe and sound. It takes another hour before my adrenaline finally settles down.

Life is Beautiful!

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#throwback – 11 June 2024

In the local scouts’ hut, I sleep straight through until seven. There are some mosquitoes, but they don’t really bother me. I’ve noticed there are many kinds of mosquitoes. One kind causes more trouble than another. They sting differently, itch differently, buzz differently. You could write an entire thesis about them. Sometimes they come in swarms, and other times you expect them and don’t see a single one.

In front of the hut lies a bow made from a forest branch. I try shooting with it—easier said than done, especially since the handmade arrows aren’t straight. Try hitting something like that. No bear shot, so I settle for updating my Instagram and WhatsApp before heading off.

As I walk up a hill, my shorts suddenly fall down to my ankles. I barely avoid tripping and burst out laughing. I’ve lost so much weight that my shorts are now at least two sizes too big. I usually keep them up with the strap of my Wheelie, but I must’ve forgotten this time. I’m looking forward to buying a new pair in Stockholm. These shorts are really old and faded anyway, but back in the Netherlands I decided not to get new ones—I expected to lose weight. I just didn’t think it would go this fast. And that while I eat like a construction worker.

The trail is stunning—I want to stay everywhere. I feel like I’m in love. The forecast for today and tomorrow is good too, although it has cooled down a lot. Everything seems to be going my way again. I eat at a church with a public toilet, where I also wash myself and my socks. I’ve had wet feet constantly these past days and my socks don’t smell very nice anymore. That’s putting it mildly—they stink so badly I make myself nauseous. Truly disgusting, but hey—part of the job.

After this little laundry session, I continue feeling fresh and cheerful. Around 7:30 p.m., I find the perfect campsite next to a breathtaking, mirror-like lake—with a shelter, a compost toilet (with toilet paper!), and a picnic table all to myself. Life is just so beautiful.

Sun and Deluge

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#throwback – 10 June 2024

Bad weather is forecast, and of course today’s route is long. I’ve almost run out of food, so a visit to the supermarket is a must. Just as I’m about to leave, it starts pouring with rain, so I postpone my departure for a while.

Suddenly, a man walks into the hut. “Oh, I didn’t expect anyone here,” he says—neither did I. He’s here to hang an information board about the nature reserve. He tells me he used to be a commercial photographer, but he got completely fed up with the industry. At 40, he changed course and now builds shelters and other structures in the wild. He says he notices that especially men around forty tend to be jealous. The idea of spending your days outdoors and escaping the rat race seems like heaven to many of them. It pays less, but it brings a huge increase in well-being. I can only agree.

When the weather clears, I head out. The trails are varied—some easy, others so difficult I really should have carried the cart on my back. But hey, you learn as you go. Less than a kilometre from the store… the deluge hits. Once again, I’m lucky: I spot a bus shelter. I don’t stay completely dry—the driving rain blows in—but it’s still a big help. I’m incredibly relieved when I finally see the Willy:s megastore appear in front of me. Inside, I warm up on a bench with a fresh roll that tastes like a pastry. The misery is quickly forgotten.

Nothing changes faster than the weather—suddenly the sun bursts through in full glory. I seize the moment and cook a hot meal next to a volleyball court. A touring cyclist stops by, clearly craving a chat. He sits with me for a while and shares all kinds of route tips, which come in very handy.

On the map I see that a shelter is only four kilometres away, but I end up walking double that distance because I run into two closed paths and have to make long detours. So frustrating—by then, I’m completely exhausted. At a scouting hut I finally roll out my mat and sleeping bag, and sleep wonderfully dry.

Double Rainbow

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#throwback – 9 June 2024

Yesterday we went to bed very early, especially David John, and that’s why we wake up very early today. I follow D.J.’s example and by 7:30 a.m. (yes, you read that right) I’m packed and on my way. I’m not really in the mood for a proper breakfast— a banana and some coffee make a perfect alternative. My roommate has already left quite a while ago. Some people do like to overdo things.

It’s chilly and a strong wind is blowing. Not exactly pleasant, but as long as I keep walking, it doesn’t bother me too much. At least it’s still dry.

Fortunately, the route is easier again, and after about an hour and a half of walking, I reach the Navsjöns Nature Reserve with a huge lake. This place must get pretty crowded in summer, because there’s a picnic table every fifty meters or so. There are also lovely little beaches and easy access to the lake for swimming. I actually see quite a few people—which doesn’t happen often. Most of them are fishing.

I try to find a table where the wind doesn’t blow too hard, but that’s easier said than done. I want to fry some eggs, you see. The flames go in every direction and I lose a lot of heat, but in the end I devour my version 2.0 breakfast as if I haven’t eaten in weeks. Absolutely delicious!

The weather stays changeable, but I get lucky. Most of the rain falls just after I arrive at my shelter around 3 p.m. There, I can cook out of the wind, go for a swim (read: give myself a proper wash), and calmly do my laundry. All in all, it’s a lovely afternoon with alternating rain and sunshine.

At one point, it really starts pouring, while the sun shines brightly at the same time. That must mean there’s a rainbow somewhere! And yes— I step out of the hut, turn right, and see a stunning double rainbow. A breathtaking gift from nature.

From heaven to a hellish path

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#throwback – June 8, 2024

In paradise, I wake up to a bird concert right in my windowsill. A sweet little bird is singing its heart out. The silence is gone, but the alternative is just as beautiful. I wash my face with water from the lake. Just beneath the surface, a little crayfish is enjoying the warm rays of the sun.

As beautiful as the day began, it didn’t stay that way. Soon it turned cloudy and drizzly. The route was incredibly tough and I made slow progress. I walked the entire day but only managed to cover 15 kilometers. Those last few hundred meters were killing me. I had seen on the app that the shelter couldn’t be far, and when I turned a corner, there it was. I let out a primal scream—absurdly loud and dramatic. A man came running out of the hut, startled. He thought I had fallen and asked if I was okay. Yes, yes, I’m fine—I’m just so happy to have arrived. I was mortified, thinking I was alone.

He introduced himself as David John from Stockholm. He gave me a warm welcome; he had already built up the fire. Although the huts are supposed to be open to anyone as long as there’s space, I still asked if he minded me staying. I really had no energy left to continue. He had no problem with it, and unlike my previous experiences, he wasn’t surprised to have company. Apparently that’s more common on weekends. We exchanged insights about hiking routes and countries we’d visited. It was cool to see that he also walked in barefoot shoes. Like me, he had great experiences with this way of walking and no longer had knee problems. He was the first person I’d seen barefoot in Sweden—which made sense, he said, because it’s still in its (barefoot) infancy here.

David John ate his freeze-dried hiker’s food straight from the bag, while I had fresh vegetables and meat. He was a bit jealous and said it smelled amazing. We shared my chocolate over a cup of tea, and by half past eight he was already asleep. I followed his lead, though I couldn’t fall asleep right away. But after some reading, I drifted into a deep sleep.

Marble kitchen

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#throwback – June 7, 2024

As so often, I want to set off early—but once again, that turns out to be a lost cause. Eventually, though, this diesel engine starts rolling. The route is more difficult than ever and at the same time absolutely stunning. All kinds of vegetation line the steeply ascending and descending rocky path.

For the first time, I have to carry my hiking trailer on my back. Not a problem, since it has shoulder straps too—you can wear the Wheelie like a backpack. It’s heavy, because you’re lifting the weight of the cart itself as well, but it goes surprisingly well. Slowly, step by step. Luckily, I’m almost due for a supermarket run, so the cart isn’t top-heavy.

I feel like a hero when I reach the top and reward myself with coffee and a sandwich. The view is, once again, breathtaking—and there’s even a comfortable picnic table. Going downhill is easier, but far from fast. No worries, I don’t have to be back home for another ten months and three weeks. So: no rush. It goes how it goes.

Knowing the terrain will stay challenging, I hold back at the supermarket in Krokek. Today’s dinner: kebab skewers with a mix of vegetables and potatoes—labeled “Andalusian style.” I lived in Andalusia for years and never had anything like it, but hey, it tastes good. Vegetables are fairly expensive in Sweden, so I often buy frozen ones—much more affordable, and you usually get a nice mix for variety. A solid solution.

Today’s kitchen is set among marble. I’m in Marmorbruket, a region famous for its marble since 1673. The steps of the Royal Palace in Stockholm are made from it, as well as parts of the Paris Opera House and Harrods in London. I feel honoured to be part of that list.

And it doesn’t stop there. A bit off the trail, I find a breathtaking campsite by a lake. When the birds go to sleep, it becomes so quiet I briefly wonder if I’ve gone deaf. The water is perfectly still, not a breeze in the air, and the silence is deafening. Gulp. It truly doesn’t get more beautiful than this.

Lost my trekking poles

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#throwback – June 6, 2024

All my electronics are charged again, my clothes are clean—I’m ready to hit the road and get out of this hotel as fast as I can. The room price includes breakfast. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve let go of fixed mealtimes—and wouldn’t you know it, today I don’t feel like eating early at all. But I force myself anyway, because hey, it’s “free.” What a dummy. Typical Dutch, right?

The start of today’s route is awful—an endless industrial zone and a busy road. Suddenly I realize I no longer have my trekking poles with me. And just like that, I remember exactly where I left them: in front of the cold-looking church in Norrköping. It had started pouring rain, I was distracted and just trying to stay dry. So incredibly stupid! I hadn’t missed them until now, because the terrain’s been flat and paved, and I haven’t needed my tent. You see, my tent is set up with one of the poles.
Going back makes no sense—it would mean walking 20 km, and who’s to say they’d still be there after a day and a half? I could kick myself.

Checking the map, I see there’s an outdoor shop 1.5 km ahead, still on my route: XXL, the Swedish version of Decathlon. And there I find beautiful carbon fibre poles—the kind I’ve always wanted. In the Netherlands they’re insanely expensive, so I never bought them. These are super lightweight, foldable in three sections, and €100 cheaper than at Bever. In the end, I’m honestly quite happy, even if it sucks that I had to spend €81 unexpectedly. But I really wanted poles like these.

The rest of the day is amazing. After a gorgeous hike along a winding forest trail, I cook dinner with a stunning view (rainbow included), and find a spot to sleep by a lake full of swans.
So… let’s not whine about those €81 anymore.

From Lock to Lock

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#throwback – June 4, 2024

As strange as the place seemed, surrounded by all that felled wood, it’s wonderful here. The sun filters through the trees, and the strong scent of wood continues to enchant me. I sniff to my heart’s content. Around noon, after some writing and daydreaming, I head toward Söderköping.

The trail follows the Göta Canal, with its many locks. A serious difference in height needs to be bridged here, and it’s fascinating to see the locks lined up like steps in a staircase. As a Dutchman, I’ve seen plenty of locks in my life, of course—but I still find them beautiful. Such an outstanding example of craftsmanship. At one of the locks, I have an extended lunch at a picnic table, thinking about times long past—how the canal was dug, how the locks were built. To be honest, I can’t picture it properly. All I know is that it must have taken a massive amount of manual labor, without the techniques we have today.

Söderköping is a lovely, welcoming little town, with a town square, charming streets, and colorful buildings. The ice cream shop on the square is doing well. People are dressed for summer and full of good cheer. One of the streets is decorated with flower-shaped spheres—truly stunning, and the contrast with the steel-blue sky is phenomenal.

I would have loved to stay much longer in Söderköping, but I still need to walk a bit further to get away from the houses and find a quiet spot for the night. From the 30%-off bin at the supermarket, I pick up burgers and vegetables. I am Dutch, after all—even if I feel like a citizen of the world.

At the end of a dead-end road, I finally find a place to camp. It’s hard to find a patch of ground where I can actually get my tent pegs into the soil, but eventually I manage. No rocks or stones this time—just rock-hard clay.

Sniff addiction

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#throwback – June 3, 2024

I sleep wonderfully in the roadside grass again. In fact, I’ve been struck by how well I sleep on this entire journey. Not that I never wake up during the night, but everything feels so peaceful and natural. Even waking up in the middle of the night feels that way. Every morning, I wake up completely rested, even though I usually rise very early and don’t sleep that many hours. Around eleven I set off, and not even two kilometers later, I feel hungry and eager to sit down again. And I can give in to that! I never could have done that “before.” I’d have thought it was ridiculous—who takes a break so soon again? But now it makes me feel proud. I even take the time to unfold my little chair and properly enjoy the moment. It feels so good to listen to your feelings and your true needs, no matter how odd they might seem. I feast on some bread rolls, my apple, the sunshine and the view. This was the only right decision. Period.

Water management fails me today. I used up the last of it with my morning coffee, and I don’t come across a single water source on the way. I pass a few farms, but there’s no one around to ask, and no outdoor taps in sight. A box of cherry tomatoes saves me—still 95% water, after all. I always thought “cherry tomato” was a silly word, but now it makes perfect sense. They taste like the sweetest candy and quench my thirst. Not having died of dehydration, I’m lucky enough to pass a church with a graveyard, where I can refill my water and cook my hot meal among the violets.

At my camping spot, I can indulge in sniffing to my heart’s content. Some people sniff glue, others cocaine—I sniff wood. My God, it smells amazing. I’ve pitched my tent in a half-cleared forest and I’m fully immersed in the pleasure of fragrant, fallen nature.