Chelsia Tongue 

Aktse – mosquito capital of the world

Taking in the view: the Rapa delta with the Skierffe on the leftThe word Aktse is Sami for "nine", which bears no relation to the 192 bites I have counted so far! But this is a magical place, guarding the Rapa delta from its hiding place in the trees, surrounded by acres of blue and yellow woodland flowers and giving rise to two Sami holy places. I dump my rucksack and take stock.
  
  



Taking in the view: the Rapa delta with the Skierffe on the left
The word Aktse is Sami for "nine", which bears no relation to the 192 bites I have counted so far! But this is a magical place, guarding the Rapa delta from its hiding place in the trees, surrounded by acres of blue and yellow woodland flowers and giving rise to two Sami holy places. I dump my rucksack and take stock.

Some sort of wash is needed, so heading for the stream I strip off. Bad move - the mosquitoes think it is a banquet and I now itch in unscratchable places. I hurry to spread salve (which doesn't work) and console myself with a cup of mountain water.

Aktse is also home to a Sami family who dispense smoked char and bread to hikers and will offer transport across the delta - which is just as well, because the wind is howling down the delta and whipping up waves, which would have been more than match for me in the tiny canoe left on the shore for hikers. But Leonard takes it all in his stride - or is that stroke? Safely across, I scramble through reindeer fence and start the ascent through more birch and pine forest.

It's a scenic walk - around the gentle slopes of the lower reaches of the Tjahkkelij and over several rushing streams for replenishing water supplies. I have noticed that the water bottle - or rather lack of it - is a shibboleth for those with in-depth local knowledge, who merely carry a cup clipped to the outside of their rucksacks.

Once above the tree line there are vistas in all directions, and the confluence of the Laitaure and Rittak lakes spreads out before me, forming the large Tjakjajaure lake.

I find a large rock to serve as a backrest, pull out my Wasa crispbread and tube of cheese and settle down to lunch. There is a large raptor (could it be the fabled golden eagle?) playing on the thermals, perfectly matched by the Andreas Scholl floating and swooping Vivaldi's Cum dederit delectis through my iPod. With such stunning beauty before me, all thoughts of reaching the Sjabttjakjavrre lake any time soon will have to wait.

 

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