Théo Giacometti
Photographer
Midnight Sun Blues
While the heat is getting crushing in the South of France in this month of June, I finish loading in my bag my down jacket, my fleece and my down. Tonight, when the sun goes down I will take the road, the plane, the plane again, and finally a bus to Kiruna. More than 250 km north of the Arctic Circle in Swedish Lapland, here I am with my lifelong friend for an unforgettable adventure: almost 200 kilometres on foot, in total autonomy through the territory of the Sami, reindeer and the midnight sun. A story of walking, snow and friendship.
Imagine the icy north wind slamming the canvas of the tent without ever stopping, carrying rain or snow with it from the end of the world. Imagine the endless days and the shy sun that never sets, illuminating the high plateaus with its blue light. Imagine our tiny, insignificant steps, swallowing kilometres one after the other, crossing wild valleys and passes through tundra and snow. Imagine the herds of reindeer in the distance, descending the slopes and crossing the swamps, in a dull silence. Imagine us in the middle, two brothers in search of freedom who offer an unpretentious adventure to their heart, awake muscles and soul on a journey.
After 16 hours of travel, we finally set foot in Lapland. One runway, one flight a day, one bus. Kiruna, 67° north latitude, 250 km north of the Arctic Circle, an iron mine and backpacks left in Stockholm. Before we even started to walk, this adventure but already our nerves to the test. And we will make the observation several times, a great complicity between partners in this kind of adventure is vital.
We will finally arrive the next morning at Nikkaluokta, for a ten-day trek along the Kungsleden, a track of more than 400 km linking Hemavan to Abisko. We will only travel the northern part of this route, between Nikkaluokta and Abisko.
From the first evening this extraordinary environment destabilizes us: a ceiling of low clouds and a sun which revolves around us unceasingly. There seems to be no North or South, no dawn or twilight. Just a cold grey light, radiating large valleys, where vegetation struggles to survive through the immortal snows.
We will progress from Nikkaluokta to Kebnekaise, the highest point of the country, then due north to Abisko. As we gain altitude, snow is more and more present in this month of June, and temperatures continue to drop. Rain and snow are both driven away. The camera's starting to go off and business is having a hard time drying up. But throughout our adventure, we have the joy of being accompanied by wild reindeer, unpredictable ghosts of the vidda, discreet but not so fierce, watching us from afar.
Fatigue, physical and nervous, begins to gnaw at us, desperate to find a dry place to pitch the tent, and struggling for a few days against an icy and continuous rain. The trousers stick to the thighs, the shoes are soaked, the bags wet and the nights are unbearable. The north wind seeps everywhere in the tent, and freeze our bones, yet wrapped up by several layers of fabric: down jacket, hat, fleece and superposition of socks. Sleep is rare and agitated, the bag wears us out during the day, the cold ends us at night. We cling to each other, alternately buoyed and drowned. The moments of relaxation, around a card game or a drop of genepi are life-saving. After the long days of walking, during which we swallow the kilometres, often in silence, with our heads hidden under the hood, these moments of sharing comfort us.
On the fourth day, we embark on the ascent of the Tjaktapasset, a pass at an altitude of 1,150 metres, and a stage of 25 kilometres from snow to waist, which will end at one o'clock in the morning, at the end of an immense plateau lit by the midnight sun and traversed by several torrents winding under the thick layer of snow. Decisions are sometimes hard to make: walk again, take a break despite the cold? Our bodies seem to have gotten along, when one lets go, the other takes the lead. As if other choices didn't exist: my friend is tired, I have to take the lead. Untiringly we take turns, as if held by an invisible rope: friendship.
This adventure was possible thanks to the support of my partners. Thanks to Intersport Barcelonnette.
Thanks to Canon for EF 300 mm USM 2.8 and Tamron for SP 35 mm SP
While the heat is getting crushing in the South of France in this month of June, I finish loading in my bag my down jacket, my fleece and my down. Tonight, when the sun goes down I will take the road, the plane, the plane again, and finally a bus to Kiruna. More than 250 km north of the Arctic Circle in Swedish Lapland, here I am with my lifelong friend for an unforgettable adventure: almost 200 kilometres on foot, in total autonomy through the territory of the Sami, reindeer and the midnight sun. A story of walking, snow and friendship.
Imagine the icy north wind slamming the canvas of the tent without ever stopping, carrying rain or snow with it from the end of the world. Imagine the endless days and the shy sun that never sets, illuminating the high plateaus with its blue light. Imagine our tiny, insignificant steps, swallowing kilometres one after the other, crossing wild valleys and passes through tundra and snow. Imagine the herds of reindeer in the distance, descending the slopes and crossing the swamps, in a dull silence. Imagine us in the middle, two brothers in search of freedom who offer an unpretentious adventure to their heart, awake muscles and soul on a journey.
After 16 hours of travel, we finally set foot in Lapland. One runway, one flight a day, one bus. Kiruna, 67° north latitude, 250 km north of the Arctic Circle, an iron mine and backpacks left in Stockholm. Before we even started to walk, this adventure but already our nerves to the test. And we will make the observation several times, a great complicity between partners in this kind of adventure is vital.
We will finally arrive the next morning at Nikkaluokta, for a ten-day trek along the Kungsleden, a track of more than 400 km linking Hemavan to Abisko. We will only travel the northern part of this route, between Nikkaluokta and Abisko.
From the first evening this extraordinary environment destabilizes us: a ceiling of low clouds and a sun which revolves around us unceasingly. There seems to be no North or South, no dawn or twilight. Just a cold grey light, radiating large valleys, where vegetation struggles to survive through the immortal snows.
We will progress from Nikkaluokta to Kebnekaise, the highest point of the country, then due north to Abisko. As we gain altitude, snow is more and more present in this month of June, and temperatures continue to drop. Rain and snow are both driven away. The camera's starting to go off and business is having a hard time drying up. But throughout our adventure, we have the joy of being accompanied by wild reindeer, unpredictable ghosts of the vidda, discreet but not so fierce, watching us from afar.
Fatigue, physical and nervous, begins to gnaw at us, desperate to find a dry place to pitch the tent, and struggling for a few days against an icy and continuous rain. The trousers stick to the thighs, the shoes are soaked, the bags wet and the nights are unbearable. The north wind seeps everywhere in the tent, and freeze our bones, yet wrapped up by several layers of fabric: down jacket, hat, fleece and superposition of socks. Sleep is rare and agitated, the bag wears us out during the day, the cold ends us at night. We cling to each other, alternately buoyed and drowned. The moments of relaxation, around a card game or a drop of genepi are life-saving. After the long days of walking, during which we swallow the kilometres, often in silence, with our heads hidden under the hood, these moments of sharing comfort us.
On the fourth day, we embark on the ascent of the Tjaktapasset, a pass at an altitude of 1,150 metres, and a stage of 25 kilometres from snow to waist, which will end at one o'clock in the morning, at the end of an immense plateau lit by the midnight sun and traversed by several torrents winding under the thick layer of snow. Decisions are sometimes hard to make: walk again, take a break despite the cold? Our bodies seem to have gotten along, when one lets go, the other takes the lead. As if other choices didn't exist: my friend is tired, I have to take the lead. Untiringly we take turns, as if held by an invisible rope: friendship.
This adventure was possible thanks to the support of my partners. Thanks to Intersport Barcelonnette.
Thanks to Canon for EF 300 mm USM 2.8 and Tamron for SP 35 mm SP
