Fade to grey – an outing in Scandinavian chill

Winter months in northern Europe are famed for the brightness of the snow, the shortness of the days and the darkness of the nights. Up by the Arctic Circle this is an understatement for the weeks either side of the winter equinox when the sun never rises above the horizon, making life tough in the perpetual gloom of the Twilight Zone. The majority of inhabitants however live outside this special area, and their reality is considerably less black and white.

Despite its proximity to the Arctic, the frequent presence of high-pressure weather systems and associated expansive blue winter skies, the prevailing autumn weather in southern Finland comes from the southwest, meaning cloud and overcast skies. As Al Stewart sang of the infantry soldier’s lowly perspective, ‘the grey skies of Russia (only 120km to the east of Helsinki) go on forever’. To counteract this depressing reality, what better way to confront this grey, and what better vehicle to do this from, than a sea-kayak. And what makes for a messy, often dirty grey reality of melted snow on land, on water is ideal for the local speciality: ice-breaking.

Even if overhead there is a monotony of colour, on the water one quickly becomes aware of the variety. Granite rocks and pebbles on the stony shore contrast with the snow patches nearby. The windblown roll of matted reed that lines the shore has a glossier hue than the broken grass stalks in the adjacent fields. For my afternoon jaunt I had travelled 80 km west from Helsinki to find a sheltered area of sea, as yet largely unfrozen, unlike the many inland lakes and ponds I had driven past on the way. Following a nearly a week of subzero weather, the few centimetres of ice on these were covered with a sprinkling of powder snow, reflecting a bright grey sky. By the sea shore the water is a few critical degrees ‘warmer’ and the wind more effective in maintaining clear water. The location is a familiar one to Jöns Aschan, proprietor of ‘The Paddling Factory’, a small rental operation working from his summer cabin located in the Swedish-speaking countryside outside the town of Ekenäs. Based at the side of the broad deep-water channel to Pohja, which ships keep open throughout the winter, Aschan can offer ice-breaking outings through the winter. Early December saw ice-cover limited to sheltered coves and bays, ideal for novice ice-breakers.

Our route this afternoon was explicitly utilitarian – to the local general store, cum fuel supply, cum café, about 6 km distant. In summertime this trip would witness numerous tourist cruisers, some yachts, silent fishermen, maybe other paddlers, not to mention a multitude of land- and water-based wildlife. The destination would be a hub of activity of lightly-clad visitors mixing with dungareed and booted locals. December brings change: empty expanses of water, skies devoid of wildlife apart for some duck, and on our trip a distant circling sea eagle. This was no Arctic expedition, but after initial contact with a net-laying fisherman, the total lack of human presence during our trip confirmed that we were operating at the edge of the civilised world.

Unfortunately our attempts at ice-breaking our way through a channel on the direct route came to nothing. Powering the front end of the kayak up resulted in a few seconds rather perilous wobbling atop the ice before breaking through. Then one is left in the middle of a quivering mass of ice floes, which restrict the paddle’s access to free water and, when overcome, tend to trap it under the surface. Not fun for a novice!

As the prime focus for human interaction in countryside Finland through the winter, the local gas stations, like our destination, offer a swathe of supplies and services, the most popular seeming to be the hot coffee. Bright jackets and hunting hats are huddled around cheery tables where local news is exchanged also with the storekeeper. Using English in this outpost of Finnish-Swedish civilisation was completely acceptable! However in contrast with the warmth of the coffee, the brightness even of the back of the shop where we had sat, and with the grey of the day was the cold darkness of the return journey.

The ice-cover on top of the kayaks was not a significant safety factor (though demonstrated the potential problem of an extended trip under these conditions), neither was chill after a few minutes exertion. Most challenging was in fact the lack of grey light to keep the visual senses reinforcing the sense of balance. As every drunk knows, walking a straight line with eyes shut is no easy matter. However as the remaining light faded it became apparent that in fact our isolation from civilisation was very relative. The skies overhead were soon very black, but the horizon ahead reflected the lights of Ekenäs 10 km to the north-west, and rounding a promontory was the distant glare of an industrial plant. These and the dim flashes of far navigation lights gave strained eyes the minimal stimulation to keep the kayak upright. The greatest threat to balance was from cramping forearm muscles, working overtime against the headwinds encountered on the last kilometres. In fact the most precipitous activity of the whole trip was exiting the kayak on shaky muscles, to find the landing stage slats covered with a sheen of smoothly rounded ice.

The knobbly granite shoreline was a welcome surface on which to stand upright and appreciate the beauty of the blustery open water just travelled.