Our grey Netjetter Chelsia comes to the end of her Arctic hike, and now plans to return to London before heading south to the Namib desert for the second leg of her trip. You can email her at chelsia.netjetter@theguardian.com and read her competition entry here
It's over too soon: the Kvikkjokk rapids signal the end of Chelsia's Sarek hike.
It is Arvo Pärt 's day today. I have been saving my iPod batteries so he can accompany me on this special day - my last in the Sarek. The space and stillness in his music answers all this immense, quiet wildness. We set off together, with slow steps - I do not want this day to end.
It is a mountain-top hike, and the wind is playing a white chasing game with the clouds around the peaks, but the glaciers are unmoved. I am trying to imprint this scene, these feelings, to steep myself in this vast splendour, to find some permanent store for it.
I have reached the top of the Sjnjiera peak. There are views of the Tarraatno delta, and the sun is catching a lake in the next valley, like a giant mirror. The wind is threatening to hurl me over the edge and I lift my face to it. I look back at the peaks of the Sarek standing, ancient and timeless, offering all that wild beauty and challenge. Then I start a slow descent through the pine and birch.
I have not been walking long when I hear the sound of angry water and turn aside to investigate. Water is hurtling over an expanse of rock, flinging spray and deep base notes. The Kvikkjokk rapids - already I have arrived. I stand perfectly still. My head is still full of space and quiet. I am not ready for this - I would like to turn around and go back up, do it all again.
In Kvikkjokk itself, water comes out of taps, the bread is soft and sleeping is done on beds. Amazing! It is a tiny hamlet, where Elizabeth, one of only 16 permanent inhabitants, tells me quiet mountain people live, except in the springtime. Then, snow mobilers and ice fishermen book all the guest lodges two years in advance. She also tells me the government wants to tax the picking of cloudberries - a traditional Sami money-earner, and meagre at that. Since it takes most of a day to fill a couple of buckets with cloudberries during their very short season, it seems a bit excessive.
Do we foresee a change of government when the country votes in October? Perhaps it is needed after 18 unbroken years in power. Elizabeth shows me a barometer of another kind - this is a suitably positioned stick which rises at a 45° angle when the weather is to be fair, and droops for low pressure. She has hers positioned on a little wooden man on her porch! I didn't have her down for such a sense of humour.
And, happily, as it is a fine day, I conclude my tour of the hamlet and stride out along the Tarraatno river and the rapids. I don't sign up for white water rafting, but it looks inviting from my perch on the rocks where I soak up the last soft warmth of the 10pm sun.
I have learned so much over the past fortnight: there is a different way of being, harmony is possible with all nature, and the world won't stop if I don't have a daily bath and clean clothes. I have also learned about freedom and being still. Now I am going to have to acclimatise myself slowly, like a diver coming up from the deep.
