That evening I found a sheltered spot at the edge of the woods, far from the last village. Only a large farm was within sight. The place was slightly elevated above the surrounding pastures, sheltered by some large, old oak trees. On the last few kilometers here, I had passed meadows where cattle were grazing. But not just any cattle, these were Scottish Highland cattle. They have incredibly thick, long, shaggy coats, ranging in color from light to dark brown. And large, dark, gentle eyes. You just want to stroke them immediately. They are generally peaceful, as long as you don't use violence against them. Because then these rather small animals can develop tremendous strength in their defense.

The stonemason of Hjärtum

Along the Göta River towards Lake Vänern. After the cool, rainy days, today is a truly hot day. The sun is blazing mercilessly. Unfortunately, the amount of walking on asphalt is exceptionally high right now. What a sweaty combination! Even before reaching Trollhättan, I feel tension and pain in my left lower leg and ankle. I try to explore and improve my movement patterns while walking. How do I place my feet and how do I roll through the stride? Do I land more on the outside edge or do I roll my ankle inwards? Do I put more weight on one leg? Are there differences between my left and right legs? Do my hip bones move evenly? Do I raise one or both shoulders?

Then I reach the Trollhättan shopping center, just outside the city on the other side of the Göta River. I get something to drink and rest in the shade. After taking off my shoes and socks, I see what's going on. My left lower leg is noticeably swollen and painful from the ankle to just below the knee. I suppose it's called lymphedema. But why? So many questions, no answers! The pain would be bearable, but the sight of my swollen foot fills me with panic. It feels like a complete catastrophe! Surely, it can't all be over already?

Stop! First, I need to calm down and try to clear my head, I keep telling myself like a mantra. Not so easy. I limp into the nearby pharmacy and get some Voltaren ointment. And somehow, I still need to get out of this urban area. I wouldn't know where to pitch my tent and maybe rest for a few days. And besides, I don't want to admit to myself that this is already the end. However, I have absolutely no idea how to get out of this mess.

It turns out to be one of my longer hiking days on this tour. The pedometer reads 45 km at the end. The Voltaren ointment seems to have little to no effect; only keeping moving helps my head and body. The area is so built up that I can't find a decent, secluded spot to sleep for a long time. Around 11 p.m., I bivouac, offering only makeshift protection from view, in a holiday home complex next to some bushes. I set the alarm on my mobile phone for the first time. I want to be out of here very early in the morning, before the first people arrive. I've barely settled into a lying position when I've already fallen asleep.

The next morning everything was unchanged. I walked a few more kilometers to the campsite in Sikhall and rented a small cabin for three days.

I'm spending my time with hydrotherapy, lymphatic drainage massage, a little walking, and mental work. And the latter will be the deciding factor and turn everything around for the better. Why? I remembered reading about something called TMS syndrome on the website of Johanna Öhrling, a young Swedish woman, a year ago. TMS stands for Tension Myositis Syndrome. I'll try to keep it brief: Physical symptoms like pain and organ dysfunction can be triggered reactions to subconscious mental and emotional phenomena, such as suppressed or repressed emotions. John Sarno, who originated this concept, was able to demonstrate in 30 years of research and practice that pain can be a reaction to a psychological issue and characterized the workings of our subconscious. In other words, TMS is a mild oxygen deficiency in the tissue that can cause severe pain but is reversible. TMS is more common than you might think. The good news is: once you understand how it all fits together, you can find ways to convince your subconscious that there is no life-threatening situation. If it listens to you, the pain will disappear.

After three days of rest and mental work, I was itching to get going again. Maybe a sign that I could continue? My foot wasn't 100% healed yet, but the pain was minimal. I decided to continue at a reduced pace, with more breaks and shorter daily stages. And it worked! After about a week, I was able to get back to it as if nothing had happened.

I'm in Drevfjäll, on my way to Flötningen. It's a warm day, blue skies, sunshine. It's early June, and summer is sending its first harbingers. When I pass a meadow, I see some plants already growing there, like hawkweed and dandelions. The warmth also makes the forest smell wonderfully of tree resin.

Late in the afternoon I reach Id-Persätern. Here stands a small, old, and abandoned farmhouse. Years ago, the farmhouse was somewhat restored, and one room is open to the public. As is typical for houses of that era, it's a small room with space for an open fireplace and a table. Benches line the walls around it. Everything is very old, yet appears well-maintained.

A large meadow in the middle of the woods, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, surrounds the small house. Naturally curious, I want to have a look around. So, I go behind the house. And what do I see there? Curled up in the grass right against the back wall, which is still warm from the sun, lies an adder. Its scales shimmer black in the light, and the zigzag pattern on its body is only faintly visible. It looks quite large, but that could be deceiving. It doesn't react to my presence yet. I can't resist the temptation to photograph this magnificent snake. A while passes before it finally feels disturbed and starts making its way home. As it slithers away, I get a sense of its full splendor. This is by far the largest adder I have ever seen. I estimate its length at just under a meter.

Ankarede is located in northern Jämtland, near the Norwegian border. According to oral tradition, it has been a meeting place and gathering point for the Sami people living in this area since ancient times, around the 17th century. And this place is still vibrant today. Around 30 Sami huts (kota) stand here, and new ones are still being built or dilapidated structures replaced. Weddings, baptisms, and funerals still take place here today.

I reckon it'll take me another two or three days to reach Hemavan. But it's been pouring rain since this morning, so hard that I can't muster any real enthusiasm for hiking. The gray of the clouds blends seamlessly with the gray of the constant rain, making it impossible to tell one from the other. Obelix would say the sky is falling on my head. I trudge listlessly through the rain on the completely soggy path. I try to find something encouraging in my surroundings or in my thoughts. That's going to be difficult today. Late in the afternoon, I pass a few holiday homes in the middle of the forest. Nobody's staying here at the moment; otherwise, I would have mustered the courage to ask about accommodation.

I'm sure no one's there. And then I do something I never normally do. I sit on a covered porch and enjoy being dry for a few minutes.

Almost nothing on me is dry anymore. I've been soaked to the skin for hours. No rain jacket can withstand this constant downpour. My trousers aren't so bad. And as long as I'm moving, I don't get cold. That's why I can only sit here for a short time.

I continue my journey through the rain. It starts to get dark, and I'm seriously worried about whether I'll find anywhere dry to sleep in. The tent is still wet from yesterday. It's going to be rather uncomfortable, but if that's how it has to be, then so be it. I'll stay a day in the hikers' hostel in Hemavan and dry everything out. Well, I've finally found a comforting thought.

So, lost in this thought, I trudged through the forest for another hour.

Suddenly, there's something yellow among the trees. It's moving towards me. Well, a young mother with her child. Both wrapped in yellow raincoats. I hadn't expected to see anyone in the woods. The surprise is mutual.

Out here is something special. You don't just walk past each other. No, you talk to each other, about where you're from, where you're going. When I ask about a shelter or something similar in the area, she thinks for a moment. Then she replies that her vacation home is very close and I could stay overnight in their sauna. She just wants to discuss it with her husband first. I almost hugged her for that. A trail angel in the middle of nowhere, but at just the right time. I can hardly believe it.

Waiting for a boat

While researching my hike, I stumbled upon a rather surprising discovery. The Kungsleden trail is known to end in Abisko. At least, that's what it says. However, until the 1970s, there was a ferry connection from Abisko across Lake Torneträsk to Laimoluokta. From there, the Kungsleden continued to Treriksröset. But nobody talks about that anymore. According to official statements, the ferry service was discontinued for economic reasons. The trail is still marked on the " Fjällkartan " maps BD1 and 3. I was very curious about what awaited me. It's about 200 km of trail with almost no infrastructure. There was supposed to be a Sami summer settlement and three shelters along the way. I was determined to hike it.

There were only two difficulties to overcome beforehand. Between Abisko and the small port of Torneträsk on the lake of the same name, there is no hiking trail, not even a secondary road. The approximately 40 km distance must be covered on the E10 highway. This turned out to be a tedious and long day hike with heavy traffic. In the port of Torneträsk, one has to rely on luck to catch a boat. Occasionally, someone crosses the lake, someone who lives in one of the few, and very small, villages on the opposite shore. These villages have no road connection. So, their only options are a boat and a car left in Torneträsk to obtain everything they need from the nearest town.

After recovering from the traffic on the E10, I waited for my luck at the harbor the next morning. The sun sent down its warming rays, so I made myself as comfortable as possible. It was already afternoon when someone arrived and started getting his small boat ready. When I asked if I could hitch a ride, he replied that it wouldn't be a problem, except he wasn't going to the other side. His holiday home was a little further east, but on the same shore. Then he had a brilliant idea about how he might be able to help me. He had recognized a boat at the quay whose owner he knew and who lived in Lahteluokta on the other side. If his boat was moored there, he was sure to be back that day. Without further ado, he dialed the owner's number, and lo and behold, the boat owner answered and said I should just wait; he'd give me a lift. Another trail angel – simply fantastic.

It's a frosty, clear morning. The tent is covered in hoarfrost. Inside the sleeping bag, however, it's comfortably warm. It would actually be conceivable to stay in it a while longer. A quick call to room service to order breakfast, including hot coffee. But no one answers the phone. This is probably due to the fact that I'm in my tent in the middle of the Lappish tundra, and there isn't even a cell phone signal.

Then, off to a great start to the new day. Speaking of days: How many more days until the end of the trip? I'm not entirely sure how far it is to Treriksröset. I'd estimate 3-4 days.

The closer I get to the supposed end of this tour, the more often I notice this ambivalence within myself. Part of me longs to finally reach the destination. Let's get it over with. Another part, however, can easily imagine it continuing like this, for more days, weeks, perhaps months, with no clear end in sight.

In the evening I reach Hurvejohka, a mountain hut. It's been cloudy for several hours, with a strong headwind, and now it's started to rain. The hut is a godsend. I don't light a fire in the stove, because I think someone in need could use the wood far more than I can. However, four walls and a roof really mean a lot out here. It's a bit warmer than outside, and finally, I'm protected from the annoying wind and rain.

The next morning greets me with the same dreadful weather as the previous evening. I'm faced with the question of which way to go. I have two options: a path west to Pältsastuga or further north directly to Golddaluokta. From there, it's just a stone's throw to Treriksröset. I opt for the latter.

On the Duoibal plateau, a vicious wind is blowing directly in my face, and it's getting colder and colder. I put on gloves and a long-sleeved shirt under my rain jacket. Even so, I don't warm up. I start to curse under my breath. The trail stretches on endlessly, like a tough strudel dough. The descent to Golddaluokta is quite steep and partly very muddy from the rain. I'm walking carefully, as if on eggshells. And yet, it still happens. I do a pirouette and mercifully land on my back. The backpack cushions the fall considerably. But now I'm cursing loudly. Three times. Then I have to laugh at myself and am very glad that nothing is broken.

Once I reached the bottom, I was pleased to find a shelter with a stove. But today I'm going to light it and sit right in front of it. That much is certain.

To Treriksröset are only 3km left. The question of whether I should go there now or wait until tomorrow morning is nagging at me. I can't decide for a while. Why am I suddenly finding it so difficult? In the end, I'll stay in the cabin tonight and then hike the last stretch tomorrow morning. Why rush to the end now, I tell myself.

There's plenty of firewood for the stove, and I sit in front of it, feeling a bit cozy. I spot a package of ramen noodles in the hiker box. I've read and heard so much about them. I'm going to try them now. The result is shockingly awful. So, hordes of hikers "live" on this? That's definitely not for me.

It's time to settle down. I'm certainly not getting any more "visitors." That's a good thing. I really don't feel like any kind of company right now.

After a reasonably comfortable night, I'm greeted by a bitterly cold morning. But at least it's dry. I'm even having breakfast today. I'm taking my time with it. I'm in no hurry.