Remote, beautiful Lapland

By Alice Courvoisier. Paddlers: Alice Courvoisier and Ruth Cantrell

A two-week journey along the Finnish-Swedish border rivers

It began to rain as Ruth and I launched into Lake Kilpisjärvi in late June. I had hoped to go only a short distance that afternoon and camp with a view of Saana Fell, a mountain sacred to the Sami people but the weather deteriorated and a strong tailwind pushed us onwards. Besides, a vegetation of low bushes and dwarf birches stretched out to the lakeshore, so that places suitable for camping were rare. The lake was stirred into a choppy expanse of grey waters and we had our skegs down to limit weather-cocking. Eventually, we stopped at the head of the Könkämä River and pitched the tent on a narrow stretch of grass, a few feet away from the water's edge. Later that night, as wind and rain battered the sides of the tent, we felt very isolated in this remote, foreign countryside.

After three months spent by the sea, we had finally left Norwegian waters and hired a taxi to transport our kayaks and us over the 50 kilometres separating Skibbotn, on the Lyngenfjord, from Kilpisjärvi in Finnish Lapland. From there, we intended to paddle 537 kilometres down the longest free-flowing river system in Europe, along the Könkämä, Muonio and Tornio Rivers to the city of Tornio, on the Gulf of Bothnia. This waterway has formed the Finnish-Swedish border for just over 200 years and hosted the Arctic Canoe Race, which ran between 1983 and 2000.

Ruth had completed this challenging canoe marathon with her K2 partner Liz Young back in 1995 and had always wanted to return to Lapland. The destination equally appealed to me, it was close enough that it could be reached overland, yet far enough to feel adventurous. To guide us on our journey, we had the annotated maps of the rivers that Liz had used at the time of the race. They included a description of the main rapids, with grades ranging from I to V, explained the camping laws in Finland and Sweden and mentioned places worth visiting along the way.

Effortless paddle

Our first morning by the river was windy and sunny, ideal conditions to dry a few items as we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of coffee and sweet porridge. The details of the first rapid were hidden by an island, so we put safety first and carried the kayaks, equipment and food along a 500 metre portion of snowmobile track. In the afternoon, the current and tail wind made for an effortless paddle. We travelled across small lakes and along narrow river stretches snaking through sparse woodlands. Higher fells were visible in the distance, their tops often treeless with patches of snow. Occasionally, we spotted small settlements, isolated cabins partly hidden amongst the trees, and a few motor vehicles, reminding us that the E8 followed the river on the Finnish side.

Avian life was thriving, we saw geese and a swan, a bird of prey hovering far above, ducks, black throated divers and sand martins. At the end of the day, we reached a rapid named Peerakoski. Inspection revealed that it was short and we convinced ourselves that it didn't look too difficult, so we put our helmets on and launched into the waves. Ruth was buzzing after leading the rapid, whereas my excitement was tempered by how difficult it had been to control my heavily laden sea kayak in a white water environment.

The next day was overcast, with a cold wind blowing from the north. Around noon, we encountered Lammaskoski, the next major set of rapids, a 3.5 km stretch of white water including two Grade V rapids. This time however, the entry rapid looked more daunting than Peerakoski, all we could see from the rocky bank were wave trains disappearing around a bend of the river and we decided against paddling. Portaging however wasn't a pleasant alternative; it would be a gruesome struggle against the vegetation, along an overgrown, rock-strewn, windy footpath. In addition, we didn't know how many of the Lammaskoski rapids we would deem safe to run and were reluctant to risk walking the full stretch. The remaining option was to return to a settlement we had seen four kilometres upstream and try to hitch a lift along the road in Finland, so we slowly paddled and lined our kayaks back the way we came, against wind and current.

We landed on the Finnish side and spotted a car with a trailer parked by the river. There was a dark red, wooden house and a few other buildings nearby but the place was otherwise deserted. We decided to try our luck in Sweden and knocked on the door of what seemed to be the main house. A sign indicated that it was a first aid outpost and, as we discovered, a family lived there. After hearing us, the husband decided to phone the owner of the car, a reindeer herder, who kindly agreed to help. A few minutes later, the Sami man appeared in his motor canoe, helped load the kayaks on his trailer and drove us a few kilometres south. After thanking him, we launched straight into the exit rapid of Lammaskoski, an easy Grade III, still stunned by how selflessly helpful the locals had been.

Most difficult rapid

The next day we portaged Pättikkäkurkkio, the ‘most difficult rapid on this border-river’ according to the map and reached Rautukkurkkio and Vesipola, two Grade IV rapids, in the afternoon. We donned our midge nets to scout from the mosquito infested riverside forest, then returned to the kayaks, each accompanied by her private swarm of insects that she could only shake off by running the rapids. The weather had turned lovely by then, with the annoying consequence that mosquitoes and midges were out in force, so we worked out strategies to elude the blood-thirsty insects. Whilst at camp, we wore trousers tucked into socks, long sleeve tops and occasionally midge-nets, and we covered our faces and hands with an effective locally bought repellent, and cooked over smoky fires. On warm evenings, we took turns to bathe in the cold river water and quickly dressed up again while the other, armed with a towel, chased the mosquitoes away. At times though there were enough breezes to keep Lapland's buzzing insect life at bay.

The scenery slowly changed as we paddled south along calmer waters. The birches grew taller; pines appeared on the banks, gradually followed by alders, aspens, cedars, firs and spruces. When the sun was out, we discovered shades of green that we never knew existed. There was the tender green of bursting buds, the bright green of birch foliage, the darker green of pine needles, and the silvery green of the grey willow leaves. Their intensity varied through the day and with the flutter of the wind; once the evening arrived, they all donned golden tones.  

In northern Lapland, we had travelled past temporary fishing camps, isolated cabins and settlements that slowly increased in size, until we reached the first twin towns, Karesuando in Sweden and Kaaresuvanto in Finland, linked by a bridge over the river. The only shop on the Finnish side was by a petrol station and didn't have much in terms of groceries. Instead, it offered a wealth of bushcraft equipment, fishing and hunting gear and a selection of one litre cans of beer; in these parts I guessed, you don't buy your meals, you catch them! As we carried on south, habitations increased in number and variety, from small houses, to working farms and riverside villas surrounded by well-kept lawns and gardens. Some days later we resupplied at the town of Kolari and returned to the river just in time to watch a water plane land.

One evening, as I sat outside amidst tall grass, I suddenly noticed a strange silhouette on the water. It resembled a giant wedding dress, maybe three metres high, with a dancing woman at its top. Using binoculars, I could see that this strange contraption floated on empty plastic bottles. We caught up with the ‘River Lady’ the following day. Its crew was part of an art project involving local communities on both sides of the border. As we chatted, the dancer at the top brought out a small harp and started playing. This was grandiose, I'd have been perfectly happy just to drift by their side, listening to the pure sounds, enjoying the warmth of the sun, the coolness of the water and the gorgeous landscape.

Crossing the Arctic Circle

After crossing the Arctic Circle, we decided to rest for a few days and booked a small cabin at a riverside campsite in Overtorneä. We were tired after 11 days of travel on the river and both had upset stomachs. We had been drinking filtered river water until recently, but now suspected that we had pushed our luck too far south. Whilst recuperating, we visited the 16th century wooden church as well as a restored 19th century farmstead, which was also a repository for ancient, painted furniture. After three relaxing days, we felt ready to tackle the final 75 kilometres to Tornio. The river widened as we neared the Gulf of Bothnia. It was warm and the atmosphere had a definite holiday feel to it: people were enjoying the weather, swam and played in the river, or sunbathed on low, reddish sandbanks that they had reached by boat.

On the second day after leaving Overtorneä, we battled a strong headwind for hours before reaching Kukkulankoski, the last Grade IV. Traditional, wooden fishing jetties jutted out towards a confused mass of sunlit waves. After portaging, we settled at a bar terrace to enjoy a glass of local lager, celebrating the never failing evening light and our last night in the tent. The next morning, a short, enjoyable paddle brought us to Tornio and concluded our river journey. Over the past two weeks, the current had gradually taken us through pristine countryside, from the cold, remote plateaux of northern Lapland, via salmon fishing territory, down to the Gulf of Bothnia, now bustling with activity and tourists. An adventure we would both happily take on again.