A day view from the cliff, overlooking the beautiful scenery underneath.
Blacksas, Sweden
So there I was: butt-ass naked in the middle of the woods.
Let’s back up a bit. Now, contrary to what volunteering at a rural Sweden workstay may sound like, I am not the naked drum circle type of girl, nor a sex cult groupie. I was once accused of being a never-nude, and while topless tanning in Greece is indeed on my track record, let’s just say I’m at a non-streaker baseline. No, it was simply getting cold, and I was changing into warmer, non-damp clothes to get cozy for the night.
Well, as cozy as a night spent up on the metal roof of a shelter on a mountain summit. But you know what I mean. We had been planning the overnight for a few days, and since Ellie had been there before, she painted a picturesque vision for us, with trees as far as the eye could see, a slate-gray cliffside dropping down, overlooking the archipelago and its mysterious recesses. But the best part, she described, was the shelter had a roof, and one well within reach.
“Imagine sleeping up on the roof, under the stars,” she mentioned, a gleam in her eyes. It had been a while since I’d slept under the stars, and the prospect of doing so was too tempting to pass up.
. . . . .
The hike up the lookout point wasn’t dangerous, but it was steep. Out of the two routes going up, I had elected to take the more challenging one. There was a long discussion of getting up the mountain with two carloads of passengers (eight in total) with most of us wanting the challenging route up, but the forecast of rain inserted a bit of an obstacle. Not knowing the exact terrain of the trail, I lobbied for taking the more level route back out the next day in place of the steep one. Slick rocks or gravel were something I’d experienced frequenting canyon trails up and down the Utah and Salt Lake valleys. So slipping downhill with a pack and with fellow canyoners of various experience levels activated some deep maternal mama bear instinct in me, and I pulled for a compromise. We eventually all agreed that Olle and Victor would drop the six of us off at the challenging trailhead, then park at the easy trailhead, meeting us later at the summit. When they dropped us off, the climate was warm and humid, so red shorts and white T-shirt was the way to go. Looking and feeling like a discount Reese Witherspoon from Wild, away we went, into the woods.
The pack on my back was my tried-and-true, but while the waist strap alleviated some of the weight of the overnighting gear in its compartments, it was a rushed packing job at best. I’d been camping before in Utah, and knew any weather was bearable if you packed clothing accordingly. The Swedish saying “There is no bad weather, just bad clothing” was an idiom that rang all too true in my experience. In this case I took it seriously, filling my pack with sweaters, extra leggings, and an extra blanket apart from the sleeping bag. While good for my core heat, I had packed in a hurry (more on that later). That means it wasn’t centered correctly, and each upward step I took onto the craggy rocks into the forest trail was off-balance. I tried thinking of it less like a carnival balancing act, and more like going up stairs. One step at a time, one rock at a time, it was doable. In that way I made it up the challenging part accident-free, the rougher terrain a contrast to the more level woods up ahead.
The forecast for the weekend was rainy, and while the hike up was initially steep, the trek up the muddy paths eventually leveled out onto more or less level rocks. A cliffside looks over the Swedish archipelago, with the hazy outline of Finland only a finger’s outstretch away. Up and away from the cliff, however, rests a cozy shelter, complete with a bench and fire pit. Because Swedish laws make it illegal to chop forests for firewood, park rangers stock public overnighting shelters with wood for heat and cooking.
Using our combined ingenuity and strength, us girls put our brains to our brawn and pushed a nearby bench over to the shelter, allowing easy roof access. The view was more spectacular than I imagined, and with my sleeping gear insulated and prepped, all I needed was proper clothing. Summer in Sweden was surprisingly warm, and the midnight sun as the summer’s trademark did not disappoint in supplying enjoyable weather and long yet pleasant nights outdoors. But already the wind was kicking up, a biting chill blowing in from what I suspected was the jealous next door neighbor of Finland. My shorts and T-shirt were good for the hike up, but I planned on enjoying a night devoid of cold-induced discomfort, and they were chilling from the lingering sweat from the hike.
Cue the nude. I sequestered myself in what I deemed an acceptable temporary closet, surrounded by foliage, a little dipped into a nook not too far from the campsite. I had seen wayyyy too many movies about getting lost in the woods, and had no wish to become some dumb foreigner who got herself lost in unfamiliar territory, let alone an unfamiliar country. I made sure I was in hidden sight and within relative shouting distance of the shelter, but still out of the way of any meandering paths.
It didn’t take long before I realized how very wrong I was. While far out enough from the shelter and crisscrossing rock flattops, I didn’t take into account other paths I hadn’t seen. Remember the other route, the easier one? The one with the parking lot? I was already mid-disrobed when I heard voices, much closet than I’d anticipated, passing by. It was then my error hit me. It was kinda too little too late at that point, and I either had to get back dressed and search for a new spot, or hide and wait. I crouched down, pine needles sticking into my naked knees, waiting out my chance to finish robing like I’d intended. The male voices I’d heard spoke rapidly in Swedish, making their way down and out to what I guessed was the shelter, since the sounds died down to my far right.
You ever have to hurry and perform a task? And because you know speed matters you end up messing it up more than necessary? That’s how I was getting dressed, butt naked in the middle of the woods. Somehow the simple task of putting my feet through underwear became much more complicated than it really needed to be, and my fingers kept slipping on the bra straps as if I’d never done it a thousand times since age thirteen.
Sigh.
I paused, confused by new sounds. This time, voices passing by were in English. Voices I recognized, to my horror, as Olle and Victor. I scooted behind a tree, flinging on pants with all the grace of a Sasquatch. It was one thing to be caught undressed in front of strangers, Swedes at that, who as a rule considered it rude making eye contact in public transport. But Olle and Victor, two people I actually knew? And had to be in company with?? No way I was exposing myself. I threw on a shirt, not even caring if it was on the right side or not.
By the time I was back in camp, Olle and Victor had settled their packs in the shelter.
“Where ya been?” he asked.
“Uh. Just. . .peeing. . .” I answered. I grabbed some tinder, itching for something else to burn besides my face.
“So. S’mores, anyone?”
. . . . .
Now, you may be asking yourself, Why would I begin a sequel to last time’s post alluding to alleged profound themes, with this ridiculous anecdote? Because, I answer in all candor, it is absolutely true.
What’s more, the absurdity in it may be a running metaphor for my very life.
Even amid the amenities of modern American life, I am often feeling less-than-robed or ready to be out in the woods, no matter how prepared or experienced. I suppose that’s a good thing though. Humility is said to be the key to all of the virtues. It is only then one is open to listen, be still, and ultimately learn.
The trip to Blacksas was also not as easy as we thought it would be. What we thought would be an easy exodus in the cars was weirdly roadblocked by a nearby explosion.
That’s right — I said explosion.
Apparently there was some sort of gas leak at a nearby property. With local firemen cordoning off the area, Francesco and Victor were gridlocked in traffic, waiting their turn to even see if they could get back on the road to the farm. Of this, however, we back at the farm were unaware. In fact, my biggest challenge was that of eating the last of the licorice ice cream to make room for tupperware purposes. Roberto was going to make dinner for us the next night, but because we were camping earlier than initially planned, he was graciously making the meal for all eight of us to take up the mountain as a takeaway dinner. Because we had limited tupperware, Maria and I used took one for the team and sorted through which ice cream containers were nearly empty, finishing them off in order to use their plastic containers for the boxed dinners.
“For the good of the team,” she announced, and we inwardly saluted our ice cream spoons.
“Have you seen the boys?” Ellie came in, her pack neatly squared away. Marina’s bag was also neatly packed, a drawstring with the bare essentials. Half of my crap was still on the floor in various piles, most of it sweaters.
“They said they wanted to grab some drinks at System Bologet, so they took the car.” In Sweden, alcoholic beverages sol din grocery stores are limited, with their alcohol content regulated, If you wanted anything stronger, you had to go to System Bologet. Their green signage was unmistakable.
“They’ve been gone a looong time.” The worry was etched on her face.
“Either they realllly needed time to decide what alcohol to bring, or there’s been some sort of horrible accident,” I joked.
Aaaaaaaand not too long after that, we got the call. (Ironic how that turned out.) They were stuck beside an accident, they explained, and the firemen would only allow them one way passage. We had to meet them outside at a certain road, otherwise their one way passage would be them passing back home, and we wouldn’t be able to leave again for the day.
Getting everybody’s stuff together in that short amount of time was a veritable scramble. Yet, being the adventurers we all were, nobody complained. We piled in our separate transports, awaiting what would come next.
The drive through the explosion-gas-leak-field was not as dangerous as it sounds. The fire department did indeed let us pass through one way, and I was treated to one of the hottest men I’d ever seen sported a fireman uniform. Proving once again that the firemen in every town, city, and country are just as hot if not more than their stereotype suggests.
We were on our way. To what, no one quite knew. But the faces of Marina, Maria and Ellie, they were all ready and willing explorers. I felt a swell of pride. I imagine the expressions of Lewis and Clark, venturing over unseen lands were no less noble or bright.
. . . . .
Tune in next week for the concluding of this trilogy at Blacksas, frought with cliffside human pyramids, s’mores, Italian swear words, and of course a visit to McDonald’s.