Yesterday I turned thirty-two, and I couldn’t have asked for much more from a birthday. We had a day of classic mountain walking, on wide, well-marked trails, with clear skies. At the end of it we dropped down into Klimpfjäll, where a warm bed, a delicious reindeer pizza and several beers awaited. Along with a shot of ‘bäska droppar’, a face-warpingly bitter Swedish wormwood spirit which my walking companion insisted was essential for my continuing cultural education.
Today it’s back up onto the fells, and another five or so days to Hemavan. I’ll write more fully about this stretch when we get there, but for now suffice to say that my thirty-third year is off to a grand start.