CHAPTER XI

AN IMPRESSION OF THE MIDNIGHT SUN

As we left the Abisko Tourist Hotel, the solitary birch tree which stood as sentinel opposite the main entrance and garden of the hotel swayed and rustled in the wind, and fitful gleams of sunshine percolated through the grey clouds in the direction of Pålnoviken, while the genial manageress wished us God-speed.

It was half-past eight, and we estimated that we would reach the summit of Mount Njulja in about three and a quarter hours, that is to say, just in time to view the midnight sun, assuming the sky cleared sufficiently to enable us to see it. And walking down the path which branches off to the right, as you turn your back to the hotel and Lake Torne Träsk, we soon reached and crossed the first level crossing over the railway, which leads to the mountain. It was not too warm to allow of strenuous walking, and not too cool to prevent the dew of perspiration from becoming perceptible, but unlike my friend Mr. L——, who was accompanying me, I had no spikes to my shoes, a circumstance which proved a considerable handicap.

The path which we now followed wound up the mountain slope, through a wood which at this season of the year was a perfect dream of wild flowers, and to my astonishment I noticed, in addition to the wild geranium, several varieties of Alpine flora which I had never expected to find in Lapland, such as the primula (primrose) and the deep blue _Gentiana carinata_, as well as a fascinating pink flower to which I was unable to find a name. After nearly an hour’s strenuous going, during which the birch and juniper bushes became gradually more and more stunted, we came across several snow-drifts which delayed us considerably, the track that we followed proving so insecure that I began to stumble repeatedly, and on at least two occasions to find myself up to my waist in snow. On reaching a certain point where there was a clear view of the valley and lake in all its widening expanse, we stopped a moment to enjoy the view, but suddenly perceiving at least two other ridges beyond the one immediately above us, decided to complete the climb before taking any further rest.

[Illustration: VIEW FROM TOURIST STATION, SALTOLUOKTA, LAPLAND]

“We must hurry,” I said. “We are not even half-way.”

“How high is Njulja?”

“Just over 4000 feet.”

“What is the time?”

“A quarter past ten.”

Feeling that all our labour would be wasted if we were not in time, we set out once again over difficult ground which in spite of its arid and troublous character was not without a certain grandeur, while we felt a magic quality in the atmosphere which drew us on and exhilarated. It became a race with the clock, in which, owing to certain muscles which I had strained in the snow-drifts, and the lack of proper paraphernalia, which caused me usually to be yards behind my friend, we should logically have been marked out from the first as second-best, yet we trudged on undaunted, the thought of the successive ridges remaining to be climbed so dominating our pedestrian world that we made no endeavour to talk. I shall never forget that climb, nor the effort which I made to disregard the strain which with almost every fresh step became gradually more painful, nor finally how, after a period of time which, though only three hours, seemed more like six, my friend, who was ahead, climbed the last ridge and waved his arm towards me to tell me we had reached the summit. More quickly then, and with a spurt of almost uncanny energy, I rushed forward to where he stood, a tall slim figure silhouetted against the sky, and stumbling forward reached the highest point of the mountain. Never shall I forget the radiant glory of the vision which gradually began to unfold itself before my eyes, and how magically it seemed to dispel all recollection of the fatigue and strain which I had undergone.

Before me, and encompassing not only Lake Torne Träsk to the north and west but also the Abisko valley to the south, were range after range of serrated snow-topped mountains which the clearness and mystery of the Swedish air were surrounding with a veil that was almost luminous, while above, pure clarity, illimitable, boundless, soared; with in the west over Pålnoviken, long bars of grey clouds tipped with gold which the night breeze was chasing northward. Suddenly, as if in answer to my hidden prayer, a spray of crimson light shot swiftly from behind a cloud to the west and glittered through the air. It transformed every peak and headland into a glimpse of fairyland and illumined the lake with a shimmering band of gold, while the distant peak of Kebnekaise began to glow like a pyramid of frosted silver. Speechless I gazed spellbound at a sunset which, rivalling the most beautiful southern twilights which I have seen, in the glow and variety of colour that it displayed, afforded even greater pleasure in that, unlike any other, its changing tones did not pass rapidly into darkness, but lasted many hours without any real diminution of splendour. Purple and mauve and even blood-red was the sky, with here and there an island of rosy-tinted cloud which appeared to be floating in the empyrean; and as these colours slowly faded or changed to every variation of blue, the midnight sun continued to creep along the mountain crests which lay to the north-west, and the lake to turn to glittering silver wherever it was not shot with gold. It was like the gradual unveiling of a dim enchanted region where colours were softer and less troubled than a moment’s thought, and the air of so choice and rare a quality that one felt strangely invigorated by it. And only the sudden stirring of a chilly northern wind which swept along the brow of the mountain recalled me to reality. We then remembered that we were cold and weary, that I had strained a leg muscle, and accordingly that steep as had been the ascent, the descent would probably prove even more arduous. And having accepted and drunk a cup of very warming coffee which two friendly Swedes, who had also accomplished the climb, insisted on forcing on us, we set our faces once more towards the valley and began the descent.

[Illustration: STORA SJÖFALLET, GREAT LAKE FALLS, SALTOLUOKTA]

What I suffered on the journey back to Abisko words cannot adequately describe, for whereas the thought of what I had set out to accomplish when starting out to climb Njulja had enabled me to put up with some very real discomfort, not even the enticing prospect of the comfortable bed awaiting me on my return sufficed to make me overlook the very excruciating pain which my leg occasioned for the greater part of our crawl home. I say crawl, for our progress, from being fairly brisk as we started out, soon degenerated into a veritable shamble, while we were continually obliged to halt in order to rest my foot. I shall never forget, however, the glory of the view that opened before us when we reached the last ridge before entering the wood which covers the lower slope of the mountain, or the vivid contrast that was presented between the dazzling snow and mountain-tops now coloured blood-red by the sun, and the green clusters of white-stemmed birch and juniper and brawling rivulets whose babbling as they hurtled down to the lake, and the piping of a solitary bird, were the only perceptible sounds. Like the memory of the supreme moment during which the midnight sun first pierced the clouds above Pålnoviken, it is one of those recollections which the mind always conjures up whenever it would evoke beauty.