Posted: Mon May 18, 2009 11:02 am Post subject: A week in the Wilderness in Finland by Saija Soumaa
Once a year, early one August morning, I sit in our kitchen dialling one particular number over and over again with two mobile phones. Two phones because the line is very busy, and I want to be as quick as possible, to have the best possible chances of getting through. I am preparing for our yearly hunting trip up North.
There is little sense in it really, but the National Board of Forestry in Finland has not come up with a better plan. The Finnish government owns vast areas of land, mostly commercial forest, but also nature parks and nature conservation areas. Most of the government-owned commercial forests are divided into hunting areas. Before each hunting season, licences are sold to individual small game hunters to hunt a restricted amount of small game.
So this is the way it goes: hunting licences to government land are sold to Finnish hunters over the telephone. The dates when licences are sold to particular areas are given on the internet, and then everybody tries their luck on the phone, competing with all other eager hunters in the country. With an enormous amount of luck, you may get through early enough to get licences precisely to the area that you want, and for the time period that best suits you and your hunting companions. But it is a good idea to have alternative areas and dates listed, and your second and third best choices figured out, before you pick up the phone.
It has become evident over the years that I am both quicker and more patient with the telephones than my husband, and so this is a task that I have before me every year. It may take two or three hours to get through, which is frustrating. But the prize, if you get the licences, is well worth it.
I haven’t always managed to get us licences to the particular area where we would have most wanted to go, but that doesn’t matter too much. We study the maps, make our route plans, and, when we finally get there in late September or early October, we study the terrain. We have learned a lot over the years, and in a few days we usually find out where the best hunting grounds lie. Moreover, we have good dogs, so enjoyable hunting is to be expected when we set off.
Dogs Lead the Way
I haven’t always been a hunter. Twenty years ago I could have signed an assurance that I would never be a hunter. But I already liked German Pointers a lot as a young girl. There were no hunters among my close relatives at the time, and I knew that German Pointers are true hunting dogs. Life as a mere family dog wouldn’t be satisfying for dogs like that. So I never got a German Pointer, not until I met my husband.
I have always enjoyed hiking; I enjoy the peace and quiet of nature. I much prefer the countryside to the hustle and bustle of big cities. I was born and raised in a big city, so I know the difference. I was lucky enough to fall in love with a man who also loves the countryside, and who was brave enough to marry me: a girl from a big city with a country girl’s heart. He is a farmer, and also a hunter. Already as a young boy he decided to get himself a German Pointer, as soon as he got settled. When we were married, and our first child was six months old, he decided that he was settled enough. He wanted to get a dog, and I had no objections.
I had nothing against hunting either; I just thought I would never hunt myself. I had already tasted game meat, it is delicious. I am not a vegetarian, and I know that all the meat that we eat comes from animals that have to be killed for it. The game lives free in the wild until it is shot; there seems to be nothing wrong with that. There are strict regulations, and hunting is only allowed during the hunting season, during a certain time of the year. A responsible hunter causes no unnecessary pain to the game; he is strictly forbidden to do so. A good hunting dog is essential in responsible hunting. I love dogs, and the fact that my husband hunts made it possible for me to get a German Pointer – at last.
Beginning to Hunt
Our first dog was lovely, but my husband was clearly the number one person for him. That was only natural, since my husband had trained him, and he hunted with him. I followed those two close behind on hunting trips for a few years, and marvelled at the smooth co-operation between man and dog. It was like hiking, spiced with additional experiences. Before long I got a feeling that this was something that I wanted to do myself, only with my own dog.
The first step, though, was to get myself a game licence. ‘No game licence, no German Pointer puppy’, was the principle. Then I got myself a shotgun, and began practising. It wasn’t easy at first, although most of the men at the shooting range were eager to give advice. It took some time to learn to handle the gun. And I still need to practise. I find practising very important, as good shooting skills mean better hits, and less suffering for the game.
My first German Pointer has been like a dream come true. She has taught me more than I could ever teach her. She is soft to handle, obedient, but has great passion to hunt; and marvellous understanding of the terrain, wind, and the game. It really does make a difference to have your own dog. For the dog it is important to get quarry after working well, it is like a reward for a job well done. And so, quite naturally, I began to hunt.
A German Pointer is a versatile hunting dog. At home we hunt ducks, doves, hares and pheasants for food. We also hunt raccoon dogs, badgers, foxes, and minks to control their populations. Occasionally our dogs are needed to track a wounded animal, such as an elk or a deer. Our dogs hunt and point game like the British breeds, pointers and setters. But they also retrieve the quarry like retrievers and spaniels. And track wounded game as hounds do.
The finest hunting that I know of is hunting grouse: wood grouse, black grouse, snow grouse, or hazel hens. The populations of those birds are so small in Southern Finland that we need to make hunting trips up North to be able to hunt them. We try to make at least a couple of one-week hunting trips a year. The best and most memorable trips have been the ones made to the Fell District, in search of snow grouse. Fells are smooth and round-formed hills or minor mountains of Lapland; the snow grouse is a near relative of the red grouse found on the moors of Scotland. Game is scarce in Lapland, compared to the situation in Central Europe, or in the United Kingdom. The trips are quite extreme physically, but that just adds to the experience for us crazy Finns.
The Trip
In late September we pack our huge backpacks with provisions for a week, enough warm clothes, other necessities, and a tent. We drive through the whole of Finland, more than a thousand kilometres (620 miles) in one day. When we are near our destination, we take a room in a motel for the night, in order to be able to set off into the wilderness early the following day.
The next day, having driven the few hundred kilometres still left to go, we look for a place to park our car. We leave our car on the side of the road, in a place roughly chosen in advance, and mark the place on the map. And we set off into the wilderness, turning our backs on civilization for a week.
There’s no road, no decent trail, only occasional tracks of all-terrain vehicles of the local reindeer owners. We travel for roughly ten kilometres (6.2 miles) on foot with our backpacks, search for a good setting for our tent, and set up our camp. On rough terrain the ten kilometres are quite sufficient; after that the walk will turn into agony with heavy backpacks. On the other hand, ten kilometres are sufficient to get us away from other hunters, as most hunters begin hunting from the roadside and stay overnight at some cottage near the roadside. Sometimes we move the tent a little further after a few days, to get it near the best hunting grounds in the area.
As soon as we get a few metres off the road, we are overcome with a powerful feeling of freedom. The sounds of nature take over: the wind, the birds, a brook streaming by. We don’t talk much. We breathe in the fresh air, the scenery. The feeling of physical exertion is soothing; the mental stress and the worries of everyday life slowly recede into the background. The physical obstacles that we encounter are positive challenges: a stream that we need to cross; rocky ground that we need to go round. Crossing a tough stream without getting our feet or our equipment wet is a victory. We conquer the stream and we excel ourselves; that is an intense feeling.
We are free to pick the place for our tent. It is government land, no one is going to come and tell us not to camp there. When exhaustion creeps in, and the distance from the road is sufficient, we begin to look for a suitable place for our tent. We want to have running water – a brook – nearby, protection against the wind, firewood, soft ground, and promising hunting areas within reach.
The Snow Grouse
When we have the tent all set up and ready, it is time to begin hunting. Eating can wait, hunting cannot. It feels extremely light to walk without the backpack, and our spirits are high in face of the whole week’s enjoyments. It seems like the dogs feel the same: their search is light, full of energy. The first evening’s hunting is more like scouting: finding out about the terrain, the vegetation, signs of snow grouse. It is an extra bonus if we find quarry during these first few hours. Sometimes we do. It always feels as great: a sudden adrenalin rush in your veins, your heart beating fast…
We haven’t seen the dog for a while and we stop to wonder about its whereabouts. We know which direction she was going to when we last saw her, but we don’t know her exact location. After a while we are quite certain that she is on point. A few long seconds pass, maybe a minute. Adrenalin rushes in. Then we see her: coming towards us with tense movements; her whole being as if electrified with exciting news. She reports: comes to its owner, jumps against him or her, and whines or barks a bit. Then she starts back to where she came from, turning once in a while to make sure that we follow. And of course we do. We know that the dog has found grouse, and came to tell us about it. The dog goes back to the birds, takes a point, and waits for us to give permission to flush the birds. These are the finest moments: co-operation at its smoothest; deep understanding between a dog and a human being.
We see the dog frozen into the position in which she caught the scent of grouse; her nose pointing towards the birds, each muscle tense, one leg lifted from the ground. Only the fringes of her tail quiver in the wind. We cannot see the birds yet; we just know that they lie ahead. We load our guns, and begin our approach as quietly as possible. If the vegetation is low, we may get a glimpse of the birds, immobile, pressed against the ground. When we get near enough, one of us gives the dog permission to flush the birds. A white cloud rises into the air; guns are fired, a few birds fall. With permission, the dogs retrieve.
A warm bird in my hand, I stop to admire its beauty. The bird is almost totally white already, only the head, the neck, and parts of its back show remnants of its brown summer plumage. The colours are bright and shiny; the feathers feel smooth and soft against my hand. The feeling is always as powerful: a mixture of joy, sadness, and respect. A moment of silence is appropriate.
High Grounds
During each trip we take the time and climb up onto a fell or a high hill on a clear day, just for the fun of it, but also to admire the scenery from the top. It may take a few hours, but it is worth it. Once we are on the top, we put on our extra clothes to avoid getting cold, and have a snack while enjoying the scenery. There is always a fresh breeze at high elevation, no matter how beautiful the day, and after the climb it gets cold very quickly unless you are prepared. Hot soup from the thermos tastes incredibly delicious up there!
And the scenery! Vast open land as far as you can see, smooth fells and hills, and broad valleys between them. Shades of grey and brown close by; streaks of gold where there are still leaves on the mountain birches; beautiful shades of blue in the distance, and white where there’s snow on top of the highest fells. Small ponds and lakes across the valleys; small rivers and brooks running between them. The nearest signs of human interference – a few cottages – far away in the distance. No neighbours, not a single human being in sight.
Silence. Only the sound of the wind, and an occasional cry of a raven to be heard. A powerful feeling of freedom, of space. And at the same time, a powerful feeling of smallness. All the worries of the world seem insignificant in face of the vastness of the view.
By the Camp Fire
After a long day’s hunt, there is nothing sweeter than to sit by the fire, have a cup of red wine, some roasted grouse, and mashed potatoes (prepared from a dry powder). The food tastes heavenly, and whatever the quality of the wine, it tastes like first class. There’s a special kind of magic in the camp fire. Staring at the fire is utterly relaxing and comforting; and the warmth gives you a reassuring feeling of safety and homeliness.
But before those sweet moments, a lot has to be done. We share the work: I do what I can, and my husband, who is more experienced, does the rest. I always feel that he does much more than I do, but I am learning all the time.
When we come back to our tent in the evening, the first thing to do is to light the fire. That can be a bit tricky: the wood available is usually more or less wet. There are no pine trees at this altitude, only mountain birches, some small willows, and dwarf birches. Dead, dried branches of mountain birches will serve as firewood; pieces of birch bark will do as kindling. I collect wood, and my husband starts the fire. Then I fetch water while he prepares the bird that we are going to eat that night. He is quicker with the bird, and I like to fetch water, to stretch my legs. It often is quite cool at that time of the day already, and moving about makes me feel warmer.
I boil the water, and prepare the mashed potatoes. We have a gas cooker with us, a tiny camp model with a few special, light metal dishes to go with it, so we don’t depend on the fire for our cooking. The fire helps in getting some of our equipment dry, and warms us up nicely. I get our plastic plates and our forks ready. We carry our wooden cups on our waists, so that it is easy to stop for a fresh drink when we encounter a brook during the day.
We sit by the fire, talking, enjoying ourselves, until we get too sleepy to stay awake. Then it is time to take our warm clothes off, leaving just our warm underwear, and crawl into the tent, into our sleeping bags. The first few seconds are dreadful: you feel so cold that you are shivering in your bones. But once the sleeping bag gets warm you are as warm as ever, even if it is -10 ○C outside. As it sometimes is.
The Ultimate Compatibility Test
The local people in Lapland claim that if you want to test your partner, to make sure that he or she is really the one for you, the best way to do this is to take him or her for a trip into the wild. They say that the wilderness tells who is really going to stay by your side.
Who knows, that may be true. The conditions in the wild are quite extreme. I wouldn’t go there if I could not trust my partner, if I wouldn’t be able to count on him. We can count on each other, my husband and I.
There are just the two of us for a week. We get to concentrate on each other, to be there for each other. At times we need not talk, we know what is meant without words. We get to see each other utterly exhausted, dirty, our faces all red from the wind and the cold. But we don’t even take notice of the petty shabby details on the exterior, we see the person inside. And that person remains the same, with all the qualities that have drawn us to each other in the first place, and more. There’s no room for pretence in the wild, no covering up, only the plain truth.
I believe that these trips of ours have only made us stronger.
Back to the Civilization
A week goes by only too quickly. On the other hand, after a week in the wilderness it is good to go home; back to our loved ones, to our children who are eagerly waiting for us.
During the week we have gained new perspective on the normal things of everyday life.
The soft bench of our car feels luxurious. The first shower after a week’s stay in the wild is a treat. And it is nice to rest your muscles and sleep in a real bed. It is wonderful to see your family again. But as soon as your body has recovered, and the rush of modern life hits you, you’ll begin to miss the life in the wild. Luckily, the memories endure. And a part of the peacefulness and serenity of our minds that we acquired during the trip remains.
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Click to see full size image _________________ Home of pure German Longhairs ,Ch HV's and Ch GSP's.
A beautiful, well written piece full of atmosphere and I really enjoyed that for a monday morning Please pass on my appreciation to the author, Brenda.
P.s. You haven't got the NBF phone number have you
Peter
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Please pass on my appreciation to the author, Brenda.
