Day Five. Harkan River Sweden.

0720hrs. Mike is awake. The camp is strangely quit. Usually sounds of a wood gathering party traipsing through the undergrowth or chattering around the early morning campfire over a brew or the pots and pans clanking are heard but not this morning. Mike decides the bug bag is to snuggly to exit yet.

0800hrs. Mike recognises Jay’s boots as they walk past the open end of the bivvy. The boss is up and about. Time we Stopportons were as well. 

I don't recall what they were so intently gazing at!

Soon we are joined by Mel and Les, they set about fanning and resurrecting last night’s fire from the embers. They also had the foresight to use the slightly smaller pot to heat rather less water than was usually filled in the large kettle. This allowed for a quicker brew and a quicker re-heat when others joined them around the fire. Whilst Jay and Mike went off collecting firewood, the noise of sawing echoing through the woods, forced others to rise from their slumber. We were soon joined by Steve and Ben. Ben, a man who was seldom seen without his chopper in hand would process the logs that Steve and I dragged into camp. Jay thought it best he rouse the remaining sleepy heads. This might be a good time to speak of the Bahco Laplander Saw.

https://www.thebushcraftstore.co.uk/bahco-laplander-folding-saw-734-p.asp.

The Bahco is a 9” long saw when folded but as sharp and dangerous as a sharks bite. This is without doubt an ideal companion to a good quality and here I hate to use the term, survival knife. Since 1982 when John Rambo first appeared on the screen in your local cinema the production of those gizmo knives have rocketed. Most are useless at best. I.M.O. Don’t even get me started on ‘survivalists and zombie hunters’. Seldom have I found the need to carry an axe but then again perhaps my requirements for kit in the field and therefore my load out was geared toward something different. An auger and C4 perhaps.

Gradually the camp came alive.

An artist at work.

 Tim set about breakfast, which was a leisurely affair. Nice thick delightful rashers of bacon, more akin to belly pork. Cooked on the ‘skillet’ with fried eggs. I could not believe it when someone stated “I’ll have that egg there” as if they were dining at the Ritz!

With breakfast over, whilst various pots, pans and dishes were washed, the tents, hammocks and bivvys struck and the canoes loaded, Jackie managed to find time to cajole Maisie into coiffuring her hair into a double French plait. Or should that be double Heidi plait.

Maisie. The mobile hairdresser.

A few members seemed to be a bit cream crackered yesterday and that may have been why so many turned in ‘early’ with a few ‘passing’ on dinner. This morning though all seemed bright eyed and bushy tailed. It would only be a short paddle to our next campsite with the promise of an easy afternoon. Remember that old adage “The only easy day was yesterday”!

Re-loading the canoes.

Today, Jackie received notice of her promotion and would for the remainder of the trip Captain the boat. It would be an ideal opportunity for some cross training for both of us. In this respect Johan was brilliant. Keeping an eye on us and our paddling strokes and handling, he soon corrected a couple of minor errors we were both making. I say minor, he may well of course have a different opinion! 

Captain Jack. "I have the helm".

The day was bright and sunny for a change and the river wide, with a calm surface and a gentle current which gave us a nice ‘push’. Perhaps it was the magic of this delightful section of the river which led us up the wrong lead. Can you only have leads in ice fields? It certainly wasn’t a tributary. Perhaps more a side lake or widening off the river. Perhaps creek, a ‘gert’ great one but a creek might be the more appropriate term. At this juncture we Stopportons were ‘tail end Charlie’ and as such when it was discovered we had taken a wrong turn round an island, when given the ‘go about’ signal we were then at the head of the group. It was only a minor diversion but did lead to the discovery of a brand new wind-hut in a fantastic position which would bear investigating at a future date.

1230hrs. Landed at Holmen Raststuga. GR 4744

The Fisherman's Hut.

This is an old original fisherman’s hut dating from about the 1920’s. Mike and Jackie were the second canoe ashore after Jay and Lewis’s and Mike was keen to get some photos of the place before others crowded in and started cluttering up the shot. Terrible thing to say but the magical beauty of this spot dictated that I take photos as I would wish to remember it.

Unspoilt by ‘others’. Is it not the case with so many people that find themselves often in high and wild places that we begrudge sharing the beauty, peace and solitude with others. Not with-standing groups of friends with whom we might be travelling whether they be old friends of some years standing or new travelling companions as on this trip.

Have I extricated myself now? Can I stop digging? The old hut seemed like something out of a Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale. OK he was Danish but that’s still Scandinavian!

Bowing slightly through the door we entered. It was akin to entering church. It immediately reminded me of the old sod houses found out on the prairie of the U.S. or an old prospector’s cabin found high up in the Ruby Mountains in Nevada. Even the lottery tickets glued to the inside of the walls bore similarities to the way the early homesteaders would paper their walls with the pages of Sears and Roebucks catalogues. Over the years visitors had left not only their signatures and comments in the ‘visitors book’ but tiny gifts. In many respects the cabin had everything needed for you to live in, pots, pans, candles, lanterns, blankets, a table and two benches which doubled as sleeping platforms. etc. We all, with a great deal of reverence took our turn to sit inside, pause, reflect and feel the warmth of its history engulf us.

Jackie and Maisie, both on exiting were moved to tears! What would Alf Garnet have to say about that I wonder?

Thanks must go to the owners of the island and hut for continuing to allow us through campers access to this fantastic spot and to those of us fortunate to be able to visit it to ensure we respect and protect such structures.

Maisie was so moved by the experience that she spent most of that evening carving a wooden heart which she left as a gift amongst the rafters.

Lunch was now upon everyone’s mind. A fire was lit in what would turn out to be one of the best campfire pits and locations and soon the kettle was boiling. No sooner had it done so than Mel appeared with a bowl and what she described as her ‘smalls’ and asked for hot water. All I could see in the bottom of the bowl were a few pieces of dental floss! The fact that no one had yet had any hot water for a drink and she was demanding hot water for washing seemed slightly off to me. Why did she not do as I do. Take one pair of Shreddies for every fort-night on the trail. Wear ‘em for a week, turn ‘em inside out and wear ‘em for a second week. This suggestion was of course lost on her.

Disc cutters, cheese, ham and herring constituted lunch.

1430hrs. After a working party had gathered in sufficient firewood to cook tonight’s meal. The rest of the time was your own. Having finished your bivvy construction you were free to join a group practicing whatever skills were in demand or sit by the fire and do now’t. On offer were fire lighting, spoon carving, whittling, trapping and additional canoe lessons, geared toward single use of the Canadian. Fishing with Lewis was also on offer. He had just caught a brown trout in the river and so was acknowledged as the go to man for instruction.

Jackie who had a working knowledge of fire lighting was keen to learn more and practice her skills. Mel also thought that seemed like a good idea. Mike was keen to practice the black art of fire making with a bow and drill. Whenever I had tried this in the past I had failed. Here was an ideal opportunity to practice in ideal conditions under Jay’s expert eye. Les, the handbag, opted for spoon carving and was taking instruction from Maisie, both under Johan’s supervision. Dave was carving a ladle with a mean looking axe.

Ben who had set up camp near to where we had landed on the point had a healthy blaze going and would soon under Tim’s watchful eye be cooking the chick peas. This would accompany Tim’s Guiso stew tonight. Lewis took himself off to conduct more fishing along the riverbank with Casper

whilst Johan, his spoon carving tutorial completed, took his canoe to the far side of the river and tried his hand at fly fishing. Steve and Ric generally made themselves useful around camp.

It’s harder to say who was prouder, Lewis for catching the fish or father that his son had caught it. To date, the only member to catch anything. Thirty-five thousand moose in this part of Sweden. In the next two months,  twelve thousand will be shot. As a food source how many had we seen….none. Stay close to Lewis in a survival situation as he was the only man producing results!



Jackie fire lighting.



 

The girls had 15 minutes to collect all material, light a fire and burn through a piece of string. Completed in 11 mins.

As Brucie would say “Didn’t they do well”. I believe the smile on Jackie’s face says it all. Well done.

It was now my turn to perform. No pressure then. Jay had suggested the best type of wood to use as the base was Ivy with hazel as the drill. Mike was busy thinking were on earth am I going to find a decent chunk of Ivy anywhere near here and just about to enter panic mode, when from behind his back Jay produced not only a nice ‘plank’ of Ivy with a drill but the makings for the bow as well. As with most things in life, preparation and planning prevents …. well you know the rest.

 

 

 

Thank you Jay for your words of encouragement and threats if I failed a third time.

The shout had gone up!  “Maisie’s in the river”.

Most of us assuming a fellow paddler might be in trouble rushed over. It was not until we arrived at the riverbank to ensure she was  safe that we realised she was taking a dip. At the same time I think we realised that this might well be as embarrassing for us as her. We were in truth concerned for her safety, having established all was well, loitering on the riverbank, were we now being pervie?

No of course not. Never the less to a man we all seemed to turn away immediately and give her privacy.

Not before Mike snapped a photo for the diary! Strange though. Later that afternoon when someone shouted Johan’s in the water, no one raced over!!

On a slightly more serious note, when Mel was in the river later that afternoon the current  took  her off her feet and she was taken a little way down stream. This was the first time the river had caught Mel. There would be another occasion when this happened for which we were to thank her.

Feeling elated at my success with the bow drill the only other thing I wanted to accomplish on this trip was catch a fish with my old issue Combat Fishing Kit. I needed an expert in this field and so I sought out Lewis. I found him down on the river with a rod casting flies for trout.

Now I’m that good a fisherman that I couldn’t even find a worm. I turned over numerous logs and stones. Dug into the damp earth banks with a stick as I had had seen Ray Mears do on many occasions. Could I find a worm no. Once again Lewis came to my rescue with a solitary worm. He was big and fat, the worm, and boy did he wriggle when I threaded him on the hook. Then again I suspect I might have as well! I decided upon a spring loaded trap. This would mean I did not have to attend to the line and would allow me a better strike on the fish when and if he took the bait.

I took a few minutes to prep the stakes and tie off a decent springy overhead branch. The trap was set all I had to do was return later that evening to check.

Ben had been attending the chick pea cooking in his camp site all afternoon. I know ‘cos I spent some thirty plus minutes with him whilst he demonstrated his home made fire piston to me. Very impressive.



Mike attempting use of Ben's home made fire piston.



That was until it was Mike’s turn to have a go. I now realise why they invented safety matches and the Ronson Lighter. Incidentally, did you know that the Sherman Tank of WW2 was also nick named ‘The Ronson’ by the Allies. It had a propensity for conflagration as soon as it was hit by enemy fire.

The Fire Piston.

Fire pistons have been used in South East Asia and the Pacific Islands as a means of kindling fire for years. They are found in cultures where the blow pipe is used as a weapon and this suggests they may have developed out of blow pipe construction. Their use has been reported from Burma, the Malay Peninsula, Indo-China, Borneo, Sumatra, Java, Kalimantan, Sulawesi, the Philippines, Madagascar and South India.

In the West, the first fire piston was made in 1745 by the Abbot Agostino Ruffo of Verona, Italy, who was making a pair of air guns for the king of Portugal, John V. While Ruffo was testing a gun's air pump for leaks by plugging its outlet with a scrap of wood, he noticed that, after he had pressurized the pump, the wood had been scorched. Subsequently he found that tinder was ignited by the pump. Ruffo made an apparatus to study the phenomenon further. An 1876 article in the New York Times claimed that the modern fire piston was reinvented independently in the west through experiments with the air gun, and not modeled after Asian designs.

It is recorded that the first fire piston made its wider debut in front of scientists in 1802 and was patented in 1807 simultaneously in both England and France. Fire pistons, or "fire syringes" as they were called then, were popular household tools throughout Europe during the early nineteenth century, until the safety match was invented in 1844.

1800hrs. The entrée for tonight’s dinner was served. This was the remains of last night’s Spaghetti Bolognese. Or should that be Reindeer Bolognese. Even better the second time around. Delicious.

This was followed by Tim’s Spanish Guiso, a rustic country stew. Chickpeas, chorizo, pancetta. This had been sat in the cooking pot over the fire for some time now. The aroma was delicious. We could hardly wait but wait we must. Tim would never serve anything until all was just so.

To idle away the last thirty minutes or so till dinner was served Tim, in keeping with the Spanish themed dining we were to enjoy this evening, passed around his Bota. The name of which you might not be too familiar with but I am certain you will instantly recognize the item.

It is, or rather was traditionally made of leather and lined with a goatskin bladder. They would hold any type of liquid but invariably this would be wine. I had seen these in the Pyrenees carried by Basque shepherds where  they are called ‘zahato’ I believe. Tim’s, I am happy to report held no wine but did come full with a rather splendid Cherry Brandy mixed to Tim’s own recipe. It slipped down a treat. The warmth of the drink matched only by Tim’s generosity.

Johan then produced a flask of whisky, which was passed around the assembled members, as we sat by the fire. Johan regaling us with stories of the ‘Old Norsemen’. This led naturally to numerous questions about Sweden and environmental issues.

Mike and Les decided to check on the fish trap set earlier and were rewarded with a fish on the line. Again this was sufficiently large enough to thread onto a stick and cook over the fire but not of a ‘legal’ size as such and so with Johan’s help was returned to the river. Never the less I now, as its newest member, joined the Harkan River Fishing Club.

Dinner was served. If Tim is likened to Andhrímnir, the chef of the gods. The god that killed the mighty boar Sæhrímnir and cooked him in his cauldron and fed him to the gods and fallen warriors in Valhalla. Might we mortals sat around this glowing campfire not be likened to Odin and his Valkyries?

OK you might need to stretch the imagination a bit here I suppose. It depends upon how much of the Cherry Brandy and Whisky one might have consumed.

Even gods visit earth occasionally and with the falling light, the meal and further story telling finished it was time to wash the pots, pans and dishes.

2230hrs. A splendid day as all agreed, spent in a most magical spot. I suspect privately there was not a single person who did not offer up thanks to whatever God or deity they took comfort in and gave thanks that they had been ‘allowed’ to visit here today. In no small part thanks were needed to Canoe Cornwall, Jay and Johan. “Tack”

Just as I was about to drop off to sleep Jackie decide to tell me a story about the Old Fisherman’s hut as recounted to her earlier in the day. It sounded intriguing. Yes, I could tell it here but it might be better if you ask Jay about it one evening, when next you are sat around the campfire with him.

Oh and bring a bottle of single malt.